I awoke this morning, dazed and feeling like the world owed me something as I tossed my arm over, to find only my pillow. After years waking up beside her every day I’m finding it hard to adjust to the fact that she’s gone. Her name was Sandra, I’ll never forget the day we first met, it was in a Victorias Secret Lingerie store, she was there with her mother and I was there alone killing some time before a dentist appointment. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to have her, but I had to find a way to distract her elderly mother so I could make my move. I approached a member of staff and alerted them that the elderly lady had put multiple articles of clothing into her handbag right in front of me. While the mall security guards walked her confused Parkinsons suffering old ass into a backroom, I made my move quickly and suddenly like a Toddlers bowel movement. I approached Sandra telling her I was the store owner and need to speak to her. Before I knew it we were getting down and dirty in my shiny red Ferrari (It’s not really a Ferrari, It’s just a Ford Fiesta that I put a Ferrari sticker I got with a Formula 1 Magazine on the bonnet of) Alas, All good things come to an end. And 9 months ago she did, She was tragically killed by left wing insurgents from Paraguay on her South American tour of Porn Stars homes.
I made my way to the edge of the bed and sat there for just a moment to soak in the misery that is my life. Aside from the massive hole in my heart, Arthritis has taken hold of my knees and wrists, shoulders and back both stiff and sore and an over zeallous pet Ferrett named Dr. Gregory FairFellow has ensured what’s left of my penis look like a half eatin’ Polish sausage with gone off Swiss Cheese wrapped around it. Nevertheless, I walk to the bathroom and brush my teeth with a toothbrush that should have been thrown out years ago. Same old routine, brush, brush, brush, rinse the blood out, gargle with mouthwash, blow snot at the mirror and mouth the words “I hate you” at my own snot covered reflection. Most people believe breakfast is the most important meal of the day, but for me it doesn’t exist. Growing up my mother always told me that breakfast was introduced by the Jews as a way to soften the rest of us up so that they could one day exterminate us and feed on the goo inside. Her Anti-Semetic Pro-Poka Dot Umbrella agenda helped make me the man I am today, which is not much of a man. I’m always eager to get out of my own company for the day and away from the memories of dead former lovers, elderly women I deceived and my racially intolerant Umbrella loving mother. I gather my car wallet, car keys and phone and head on out the door….