Wife # 1
I'm so charming, oh so charming, it alarming how charming I feel!
Got married today, went on a honeymoon, had the best sex of my life. Ho hum. New wife now sleeping in large crater in the middle of the bed. She's soHOLY SHITBALLS, BATMAN! Is that her NOSE!? FUCK! It looks like the prow of a sinking ship. Oh my God, that thing's like the beak on a pelican. It's practically a bovine proboscis. It looks like the Grim-Freaking-Reaper's fucking scythe! No way. No freaking way. I will not be married to the Nose from Hell. This chick's GOT to go
The bovine proboscis thing got me thinking. Have decided to take a quick stop over to Wisconsin, the land of dairy. There's a lot of cheese where we're going. I'm not sure how that affects people long-term. Have visited cattle farm and bought extremely heavy hat. Put two and two together, mix them up, bake at three hundred degrees for twenty minutes, serve with a nice pinot noire and voila! Grim Reaper a la cattle grid. I'm 140 pounds of nose lighter. What a relief!
Wife # 2
Being a widower changes a man. In fact, it had its perks. Desirability increases exponentially with tragedy. Bonus. Have new squeeze who, thank God, has quite a lovely nose. Not large at allin relation to her GIGANTIC mouth, which could probably suck-start a leaf blower. Am losing patience. The bitch bit my neck during, uhm, you know and it hasn't stopped bleeding. Bloody Mosquito. Mosquitoes MUST be swatted. Hmperhaps, due to her insect-like nature, she'd like to learn to fly. Off a high cliff
Damn. Wasted a full ounce of lead on Wife # 2, or, as I like to call her, Bloody Mosquito. Turns out her insect nature is less dominant than I thought. Had to be persuaded to jump off cliff. Tossed, more like. Harumph. Perfection's hard to come by these days
Wife # 3
Met new Mrs at bust stop. Hubba hubba. Gorgeous. Built like a walk-in cooler, but gorgeous. Met her folks on the way to the church. Wouldn't stop chewing my ear off. Literally. The little sister (damn ankle-biter) was probably raised by wolf-like cannibals. Wonder if they exist. Probably. Anyway, that would explain a lot about clingy family. Godawful people. Pops wouldn't stop talking about my bus stop lover (Yes, we did it at the bus stop. What can I say, I can't afford plane tickets.) and how "she might be built, but she wouldn't hurt a fly.
That means spineless in Quebec.
Anyway, this family is really pissing me off. Whoever said you don't marry the family?
Damn. That was messy. Unfortunately the only way that I could see to divorce myself from the "Cling-Ons was to divorce myself from the wife. Number three as it were. Well, actually, divorce is too expensiveI meant I offed her. Wait, why am I explaining. I know what I meant. I wrote it, after all. And I'm not senile. Yet. I'm--getting way off topic. Anyway, pushed Mrs Bus Stop in front of a bus. Strange poetry in that. Hm. I'm getting artful in my old/middle age. And that stupid art teacher said I had no talent
Wife # 4
Have decided to broaden horizons. Have taken metal shop class. Hope to make a meat cleaver. (Wonder why.) Equipment partner is some hot mamma. So many trite sayings about metal rods apply. Have decided she is the perfect new wife. Seduced her over the shop table. (Note to self: Do NOT use magnet to remove metal filings from buttock. Cancel next MRI.) Married at metal-lovers' convention. Life is good. She is slightly chatty though
Couldn't take the bloody noise. Slightly chatty meets Motor Mouth. I shudder to think. Soldering iron finally came in handy. Mouth was easy to close. Soldering shut the nose was harder. Too bad I'm so intolerant. Wonder if that makes me a bad personNah.
Wife # 5
Search for fulfillment continues. Took gourmet cooking class. Instructor could fry eggs on her naked midriff, she's so hot. Didn't like it when I told her that, but oh, well. Have started pickling in class. I think I'll do well, seeing as I'll have so much extra help. Considering I married her and all. I think I'm addictedand I think I like it. It is after all a victimless addiction.
That whole victimless addiction thing? That's a crock of shit. Crap. Never could take criticism well. My temper got the better of me. Obviously. And how was I to know I could ever be moved to bludgeon someone with pickles. It's not exactly a common occurrence. And so what if they were a bit squidgyany crunchier and they'd be cucumbers. I HATE cucumbers. Anyway, I killed her. Not another one, I know, but really, I had no choice. Next time will be better.
Wife # 6
Have discovered inordinate fondness for tennis. Possibly because Wimbledon has dominated all four channels on T.V. Have signed up for infamous tennis coaches Bjork and Hans. Big German brutes, and kinda touchy-feely. Disturbing. I just hope they keep their "Hans to themselves. Ah, I crack myself up. Speaking about me being up, have once again settled down to a life of marital bliss. Did I mention AGAIN? Anyway, she's a fellow tennis student. A coachee if you will. She's a bit slow to gain hand-eye coordination. She swung at a ball, missed and swiped herself upside the head. Funny as hell. Her clumsiness is a bit of a turn off though.
I had to do it. I saw that one last botched backhand and I lost it. You can't be that bad without trying. So I killed another wife. What a waste. On the bright side, the tennis ball machine rental was TOTALLY worth it. Actually, I almost got the impression the thing actually enjoyed it. Killing her I mean. Creepy what they can do with artificial intelligence these days.
Wife # 7
Had a sweet tooth this morning and there was nothing in the fridge. Went to the bakery to pick up some canolies. (What is it about those things that make me think of sex?) Anyway, this glorious, GIGANTIC pastry caught my eye. The baker, a cute young woman, offered me a discount in return for a favour. Many favours, actually. Interesting favours. Believe me, after that, I was convinced that she's the one for me. Only problem, though. She's constantly covered in flour. Plays hell with the carpets and upholstery.
Remember that huge pastry I talked about? I bought it. Best investment I ever made. Killed two birds with one stone. Actually, killed one wife and cured a sweet-tooth with one large Danish pastry. Damn, that was a good danish. Totally worth it.
Wife # 8
Have learned that Canadian literature sucks. Prodigiously. Not to mention names *cough* La fille begue *cough* but it's really despicable how twisted these authors are. I'm sorry, but any story with that kind of plot-line should be put out of its misery and used for kindling. It's the quintessential French story. Ug. On the bright side, have remarried. In fact, she wrote the book. What? She's HOT. Well, there's no accounting for taste. Obviously.
Evidently Wife # 8 was not prepared for the final draft of The Book That Shall Not Be Named. Apparently, her whacko editor took certain liberties with the plot. Basically turned it into a twisted, disgusting mess while maintaining the original tedious writing style. Wife did not expect this. So, after she made me runny eggs for breakfast for the third time, there really was no alternative but to show her what prolonged exposure to her story could do to a person. It was not pretty. But hey, renewed bachelorhood's not so bad
Wife # 9
Decided to conquer my fear of heights. Have been climbing step ladders all day at phobia class. Boring as hell, but it does wonders sculpting my thighsHave met new lady love on step five. Married by step nine. What can I say, I'm a fast worker. Anyway, all would be well, except the woman insists on hogging the clicker. Any self-respecting man knows that the remote control is the second most indispensable appendage in his life, first being his Appendage. Obviously. I have an idea, though. Next session's the advanced heights challenge.
Never knew that watching a woman jump out of a plane sans parachute could be such a turn on. If I'd known, I wouldn't have stolen her gear. Oh, well. Late wife brings new meaning to the term "fallen woman in any event. I have a feeling, however, that whoever coined the phrase was not thinking in strictly literal terms
Wife # 10
So, I finally got off(Sounds dirty. I love it.) my fetish for doing it in high places. Planes, trains and automobiles just aren't cutting it anymore. And you have NO idea how hard it is to do it on an extension ladder. I've still got prong marks on my ass. It's nasty. Anyway, my new wife is quite a catch. Great balance. Quite limber, too. Good thing I married her; I've got lots more ladders where those came from. Plus, she's got friends in high places. Curator of a museum or something. Maybe we can find an ancient folding chair to do it on. Or Napoleon's bed. Or Lincoln's bureau. Or Tut's caskethm. Kinky.
I can't believe I married again. Elizabeth Taylor's got nothing on me. Apparently, she's got nothing on my wife either. Ladder Chick looks like death warmed over in the morning. That and her breath smells like a two thousand-year-old mummy's tomb. Of course, in all fairness, her breath gave me the inspiration to dispose of her. Tut's got a new tomb-mate. Now that I've got that problem WRAPPED UP (hee hee, I crack myself up. Get it, wrapped up? Mummified alive? Maybe not.) I can find Wonder Wife. Not holding breath.
Wife # 11
Oh Canada, our home and native land!
There's something about a Canadian flag at half-mast that just gets the old motor running. Mostly because any lower and the end of the flag gets caught in the exhaust. Damn stupid place for a flag pole is next to your garage. But anyway, dispensed with the funeral of Wife # 10, thus half-mast. Have moved on quickly, however. New wife is a busty blonde bimbo. Insatiable. Yummy. Must get back to start a lube job. And this time, I'm not talking about the car...
Okay, so blonde bimbos aren't my type, but at least I'm learning. How was I to know that ability to make toast decreases exponentially with cup size? A common mistake, I'm sure. So of course, I had to kill her. I mean, burnt toast is a fire hazard, right? Anyway, I got so fed up that I had to go outside. And lo! there it was. A method of murder so perfect in its simplicity I just had to try it out. I called Blonde Bimbo outside and strangled her with the flag. Patriotic, and yet strangely fulfilling. I always was the hands-on type.
Wife # 12
The only problem with being a widower when you're a hands-on type is the increasing need to rely on the hands-on approach, if you get my drift. So, I went and got myself a wife. Again. she's kinda hot...hot headed, I mean, but I like my women to have a bit of spit and vinegar in them. Makes for an interesting love life. She's into rioting, and I can tell you, life is never boring. The frequent arguments are getting to be a bit of a problem, though. I'm getting sick of buying new china and sweeping up champagne glass fragments. And the wok is so dented my stir-fries are suffering. Not to mention the holes in the walls. And the floor. And the ceiling...
So all that rioting came in handy. As a method of murder, I mean. Set her up with her buddies at a seperatists' rally and told them she said, "Quebec without Canada is peanut butter without sandwitch" or something equally lame. She disappeared under a mass of writhing bodies. Nasty.
Wife # 13
While delving into French-Canadian culture, I discovered a useful little tidbit. Fleurs-de-lys are often mistaken for hemlock. The lovely little number that informed me of this has just recently become my wife. Hey, she's useful. I tell you, that eager usefulness is GREAT for those rainy nights. And cold nights. And dark nights. And boring nights. And horney nights. Hell, even durning the DAY...
Okay, so maybe needy's not my thing. So shoot me. I was GOING to shoot her, but dismissed the idea on the grounds that A: it wasn't creative, B: it wasn't fun enough and C: I wanted to see what hemlock does to people that ends up killing them. Agonizing, really. And quite interesting to watch. The sound of John Denver being strangled doesn't even come CLOSE. Wish I'd had the presence of mind to record HER. Make a shitload of money off those geniuses at Monty Python. Put it in a video...
Wife # 14
Bastards at Monty Python wouldn't know humour if it snuck and kicked them in the nads. What a shame. And I don't like SPAM! Anyway, I thought sleeping with a big wig at the studio would get me somewhere. Obviously I was mistaken. So, now I've got myself ANOTHER useless wife. Career woman; feminist type, too. *Shudders* So obviously, she's got to go.
It's snowing. Again, as usual, whatever. Although in retrospect, it was for the best. The Christmas spirit--and the endless repeats of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation--inspired me. Stabbing someone in the neck with an icicle is not only efficient, it's entirely untracable. Talk about the perfect murder.
(Note to Self: Cut down tree...wear high-hells, suspenders and a bra! I wish I was a girly, just like my dear papa! Whoops...little off topic. I never did become a lumberjack...)
Wife # 15
So Christmastime is a royal pain in the ass. Literally. I discovered this the hard way with my new wife. We were putting up the tree the other day, but an unfortunately-placed sprig of mistletoe got in the way and, well...suffice it to say that several shiny red glass bulbs are not hanging on the tree, they're rather mashed in a very uncomfortable place where the sun don't shine. Ouch. I now have to sit on a rubber donut. Not fun. Boy do I need a vacation. and a less clumsey wife...
Here I am in lovely, sunny California at Disneyland. The happiest freaking place on Earth. I'M NOT HAPPY! Where's the excitement, dammit?! The most enjoyable part og my vacation was when I fed Wife # 15 to a dinosaut. Enough said. Kids didn't really enjoy it though. Acted all horrified and distraught and traumatized. Stupid Americans and their pesky morals...
Wife # 16
Went to some tree and plant show. I now hate trees. Plants suck also. A couple man-eating ones were kinda cool, but not enough for me to go back. Ever. Or anyone else for that matter. I reverted to my pyromaniac youth and torched the place. I am ashamed. It was fun to watch though; there was a LOT of kindling, after all. Anyway, some plucky employee, obviously a tree-hugger, managed to save a few of the more valuable plants. I noticed a prize-winning giant Venus flytrap made it out... Married the girl though. Hey, I was getting lonely. And of course I couldn't just love her and leave her. I am a good Catholic after all. Well, not a GOOD Catholic per se--I kinda pick and choose my commandments. Obviously.
Alright, the talk about religion jinxed me. My marriage went down faster than Wife # 9 after her doomed skydive. Damn woman spent more on rubber gloves than I did on my car. Did she deserve to be fed to that ginormous Venus flytrap? Absa-fucking-lutely! I see a rubber glove, I'm running in the opposite direction.
Wife # 17
Have become absolutely obsessed with daytime hospital soaps lately. Have now decided to live according to the all-important Ten Commandments of General Hospital.
1. Thou shalt die in order to be re-born next season or in time for the ratings sweeps.
2. Thou shalt be an evil doctor, a sexy doctor or both. Doing it with patient helps.
3. Thou shalt get in a car accident every so often and be admitted for thy injuries.
4. Thou shalt suffer from chronic amnesia.
5. Thou shalt be unsure of the identity of thy baby's daddy. (Paternity testing's cheap now-a-days...)
6. Thou shalt give birth to an alien love-child once and a while.
7. Thou shalt be victim to attempted murder every so often.
8. Thou shalt fall for a hunky brain surgeon who is trying to kill you/your spouse/your alien love-child.
9. Thou shalt watch religiously and perhaps join a General Hospital cult. Memberships are $3000 and all proceeds go to the poor actors of the soap.
10. Thou shalt
never miss an episode on pain of death. Or stoning, depending on your neighbourhood and/or religious denomination.
Sexy nurse who got killed off in an unfortunate hostage situation (some guy wanted a new kidney PRONTO.) has become new wife. Hollywood types. Gotta love 'em!
Remember what I said about Hollywood types? Forget it. Complete and utter bullshit. Damn woman acts like the Fucking Queen of England. So I arranged a little...operation for her to undergo. Open-heart surgery--no biggie. It's not like she actually NEEDS it. The surgeon accidentally-on-purpose left a scalpel in there though. How unfortunate. I'm not even sure that they USE scalpels in open-heart surgery. You know, scalp is on the HEAD, yadda, yadda, yadda...I wonder how it got there...
Wife # 18
My buddy who owns a cranberry farm just sent me three tons of the bloody things. I'm not quite sure what to do with them, aside from eat them, of course, but you try to eat a bajillion little red berries in one sitting. I pissed cranberry juice for a week. So I decided to freeze the rest of them. Buddy's sister kindly gave me some recipe book--"Cranberry Crap" or something. But hey, it's the thought that counts. Married her to show my appreciation. That and two mouths eat three tons of cranberried faster than one.
Decided that getting rid of cranberries wasn't worth getting leg-shackled to that one. Actually, it's probably physically impossible to leg-shackle, considering her monstrously clubbed foot. That thing's ghastly. So I shoved her into the freezer with the frozen cranberries. That was a job, I can tell you...
Wife # 19
"Extreme biologist" introduced me to the care and feeding of mutated super-animals. The telepathic swan enclosure is my favorite. Touchy bastards--they always peck at the rude and boorish people who are not impressed enough with their finer points. Great fun, watching that! They are also suitable grisly--they tend to disembowel small animals and they bite any fingers that come near their fence. New wife saved my pinky toe. I opened mu mout and she quickly ran over saying, "Don't say it!" I politely told her that I hadn't said anything yet. "Don't even think it!" The swans advanced. Menacingly. "Too late," I said weakly. We had a merry little chase, which consisted mostly of me being chased by stupid, overgrown birds and using her as a human shield. So, in gratitude, I married her. Problem is, I think she might have been exposed to...whatever that flock of glorified turkies was exposed to. I think she's telepathic, too. Tooo damned perceptive, in any event.
Apparently, Wife # 19 was not telepathic. If she were telepathic, she would have KNOWN the swans were trying to disembowel her. She did, of course, have that head cold though. Wonder if THAT had anything to do with it...
Wife # 20
Take me out to the ball game, take me out to the crowd...
Baseball season's now underway. The bats are swinging, the balls are flying and OH DEAR GOD! That sounds like a porno flick. I've GOT to stop slealing my neighbour's satellite signal, or I'll be sleeping with a tent post in my lap, if you get my drift. Anyway, I found a cheap way to get season tickets for cheap. I married the bat girl. Not the Bat Girl as in Batman and Robin, (although I wonder if she's put on the costume...) she hands out baseball bats. Man, I've got connections. And that tent pole thing has become quite useful...
The Bat Girl costume is TOTALLY wrong for her. Quite disgusting, really. The face mask WAS an improvement, though. That is, of course, until I killed her. She liked the Detroit Tigers. How in the hell could I live with a psychopathic bitch who likes the TIGERS!? So, you see, there was no alternative. I set her up in the field and I started batting practice. Now THAT was a sight...
Wife # 21
I want to juggle. I've always wanted to juggle. It's an interesting skill, especially if you grew up watching the circus like me. Juggling with swordsnow that's talent. Naturally, in pursuit of the personal fulfillment Dr. Phil's always talking about, I meandered on down to the Big Top to find a suitable instructor. (NOTE TO SELF: Don't bother using yellow pages in future. Useless 30-pound collection of driveldoesn't even have a decent sword juggler) Instructor turned out to be some hottie with many, MANY talents. Married her yesterday. What? I was in the mood for a wedding. Waitis that a hair?
Well, that's the end of that. I was, shall we saymisguided. Circus hottie ended up being the bearded lady as well. (Cutbacks are a bitch.) I had to engineer a little mishap because although her beard was pretty damn lushand soft like you wouldn't believeit was really, REALLY creepy. Anyway, to make a long story short, her being a sword juggler doesn't mean she can swallow a sword in the jugular. She choked on it. You'd think she's be better at her job
Wife # 22
The summer heat has become unbearable. It's been almost 15 degrees Celsius all week! I've decided that a nice trip up north would be perfect to clear up the sinuses and cool off. So, set off for the Yukon for what promises to be a memorable vacation. Even met a new honey. She's an Inuitfur-lined coat, snow shoes and everything. Eskimo kisses are pretty hot, too. Got married in an Inuit ceremony a few days ago. Her father gave me a platter of whale blubber and told me to eat up. We're going to bash the skulls of some seal pups tomorrow. This vacation was a brilliant idea.
Well, if this vacation was a brilliant idea, the wife was a dim bulb. Couldn't speak a word of Englishor Frenchand kept nattering on in a foreign language. And Eskimo kisses lose their appeal somewhere along the honeymoon. Plus, it's so damned cold up here, the smallest bit of liquid freezes as soon as it reaches open air. I won't even tell you how much our honeymoon sucked because of that. Things also shrink in embarrassing places and I'm sick to death of having a two-watt personality laugh at me because of it. So I hooked her up to a bobsled buck-naked and sent the dogs running. What a relief.
Wife # 23
Due to the embarrassing mishap in the Yukon, have decided a tropical vacation was just what the doctor ordered. Hopefully it'll rectify that whole shrinkage fiasco and any lingering effects it might have had. So, I'm in Fiji and I've discovered that the hula is not exclusive to Hawaii. Some damned fine luaus going on around here, too. Kinda strange, though. Apparently if a hungry baby can't be fed by its mother, dear old dad lets junior latch on to his nipple. Sort of a poor man's pacifier, I guess. Damned confusing for the baby, though. But I'm getting off topic. I HAVE met Mrs. Right, however, and on this very beach. She's a looker, I can tell you. Breasts like two exquisite coconuts. And if you've ever seen coconuts in a string bikini...yummy! All I can say is, Who's your daddy?
One sure way to get rid of a man's amorous intentions is to remind himquite vindictively I might addthat he is old enough to BE her daddy. If that doesn't spoil the moment, nothing will. Now I can't even look at Coco (New nickname for wife #23. Short for coconut. Like it?) without feeling the same rage, loathing and utter despair I get when I remember my own childhood. Disgusting, really. Anyway, in a truly inspired moment (after having spanked Coco and sent her to stare and a palm tree and think about what she'd done) I hunted down a glorious-looking coconut, climbed the tree and dropped it on her head. She was out like a light. She won't be bothering me again. It was, after all, a very big coconut
Wife # 24
I'm home, and if it's not as exciting here as it is in Fiji, well, at least I don't have to deal with foreigners anymore. I was beginning to miss the simplicity of a small town with no police force or social standards. Anyway, have jumped back on the proverbial horse and got myself a new wife. Nothing much to look at, I admit, and not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she's promisingly loyal and eager to please. Like a puppy, really. She's new to the area, though, and she's very excited to see all the sights. Checked out the world's largest dirty hoe yesterday. Today was the world's largest documented left testicle. Quite a medical miracle, if you ask me. The needy puppy routine is kind of familiar, though...
Shit. I forgot how much needy wives suck. We all know loyalty's not my bag. Evidently Lassie Wife expected her loyalty to translate to my fidelity. Yeah, right. So, while passing the world's largest battery today, I convinced her to climb up on top of it and give it a lick. Her death was sort of tragic, in a way. Pathetic, really, in the same category as watching bugs fly up to a light bulb and get fried on the surface. Kind of funny, too, when I think about it. I always did enjoy watching bugs get zapped, although I'm told that's a completely different story...
Wife # 25
Had to stop at a gas station on my way home from the world's largest battery. Met a couple of sorority girls filling up their Volkswagen. You should have seen them all climb out. It was like watching some freakish circus act with clowns crawling out in seemingly endless succession, and we all know how much I like the circus...Anyway, Sorority Girl #1 (or SG1 as I like to call her) has, like, totally become my new wife. She's young and restless, bold and beautiful...Should be fun.
I spoke too soon. SG1 is a total bitch. Cattier than a bunch of wildcats in heat. I had to do something fast before she gouged my eyes out. Luckily, she's as stupid as she is annoying, so I led her to the deep-freeze and told her the ice cream man was driving by. She launched herself in there with a fist full of change, panting like a dog. Poor thingthe ice cream truck never came. In fact, she never came out of the freezer. Oops...
Wife # 26
So, since SG1's (un)timely demise, I've been back on the prowl. Went to some trendy clubs, but didn't find anyone of the "white trash variety. Had to go to sleazy strip clubs and ramshackle dives to get me some of that. Found heaven on a pole at the Rusty Wicket. Stripper. Very limber. Married her yesterday at city hall. The bouncer and the bartender were our witnesses. We also invited the prostitute who kept us company the night we met. A more dignified procession you never did see...
The stripper did not work out. Actually she didn't work. Well, not at home, anyway. One of the few times I'm actually disappointed that my wife didn't bring her work home with her. Damn her. One wonders, what's the point? Anyway, couldn't stand that sweet, sweet torture, so I trove her to the top of a hill and asked her to get something from the trunk. I might have kind sorta in a way maybe put the car in neutral before getting the hell out. Boy, do I feel sheepish. Although, she did make a very satisfying splat.
Wife # 27
I am a changed man. After experiencing the cheap degradation of the seedy strip-club scene, I've decided that I need a more wholesome girl in my life. Who could be more wholesome than a nun? I tottered on over to the local convent and after a lovely (and very informative) spying/stalking mission, I found the perfect little piece of tail to lure away from the path of God. The dude's got enough women absolutely devoted to himit's about time I got in on some of the action. (Plus, he can always create his own specimen of perfection whenever the hell he pleases whereas I have to actually do the legwork.) Anyway, Sister Cathy's a cute little thingsurprisingly flexible. She's got the whole supplication thing down pat, I've got to say. Bonus!
Bible thumpers suck! My little nun drove me nuts with her constant sermons, preaching and general pain-in-the-butt-ness. For God's sake, I AM NOT GOING TO HELL!!! Anyway, luckily, she has a thing for the sound of music, and her idolMariais an avid cyclist. New wife has been pedaling about like mad. So, in order to get rid of the conservative little bitch, I decided to engineer a little biking "mishap. She ran right into a tree. I know, I knownot exactly subtle, but very effective.
Wife #28
After having an EXTREMELY inhibited wife, I think it's time for some explosive sex. And who better to have jungle bunny sex with than with a member of the bomb squad? I tell you, we had some major demolition going on in here the other night. Not to mention blowing the roof sky high in the morning. Speaking of sky high, I must go...take care of some business.
Ah, the spark is gone. The fuse is blown. The switch is tripped. Like all great relationshipsand bomb scaresour love life fizzled and dies and ignominious death. The girl was too prudish for her own good. What a dud. Oh, well. It was almost too easy to get rid of her. All I had to do was build a homemade bomb, send it to her office, have it sent back for lack of postage and refused due to suspicious ticking sound, then had to hoof it over to the bomb squad office, hand deliver it and warn someone that when the time comes, cut the red wire. Fortunately, my ex was gullible. Now she's extra crispy. Much the way I like my chicken, actually.
Wife # 29
After killing Crispy Chicken wife, checked into a hotel for the night to treat myself. Have discovered that doormen are extremely sexy. Especially the female ones. Have married the delectable little morsel who saved me after a very embarrassing episode. Let's just say she managed to extricate me from a situation involving a revolving door, a misplaced chandelier and body butter. Lots of body butter. As a bonus, she was persuaded to try the chandelier/body butter experiment in a much more conduciveand privatelocale.
To start with, she did NOT do justice to the chandelier and body butter fantasy. Completely ruined the dream that I've cherished since I was four. (I always was a precocious child...) So, in retaliation, stuck new wife in revolving door and gave it a spin. After a few hours, she passed out from dizziness. Door kept swinging. Can't decide if it's better that she actually DID know what hit her or not.
Wife # 30
OH MY GOD!!! The Past Participles are in town! The greatest pseudo-French folk/country/grunge hybrid band is in my very own St. Sourira du Lac. This is so awesome. In preparation for the big event, I picked up a new wife. She's the roadie for the band and makes red leather and purple polka-dotted velvet look sexier than anything. Classy too. The leopard print pumps complete the one-of-a-kind style of the gorgeous red-head. Wait a minute. She's wearing pink! With HER hair? Ugh.
Okay, so since marital bliss was so unforthcoming due to wife's putrid fashion sense, I was forced to come up with a solution to my problem that didn't interfere with my enjoyment of the Past Participles' one and only performance. Since I enjoy a good murder to get the endorphins flowing, I figured I might as well get rid of her at the concert. Arranged a most-pit mishap and enjoyed the show immensely.
Wife # 31
The Past Participles' performance gave me a new appreciation for the arts. Have taken up painting by the (frozen) lake to gain inspiration. So far, have produced three epic works: "White Snow, "Slightly Brown Snow and "Snow I made Yellow by Peeing on it. No buyers as of yet. Although I do have a critic. Some snobby bitch from Artists are Us calls my paintings too "one-dimensional. Unfortunately, said snotty bitch, by some cruel twist of fate, is also my new wife. I am very lovable after eight pia coladas. Apparently, she is, too. Woke up naked next to her in a bed with palm trees for posts and coconuts on the headboard. At least she has some taste.
I was wrong. She has no taste. After reducing my newest painting, "Snow Under Sky to "a blue line over a white one, I decided that enough is enough. Force-fed her a bottle of turpentine and felt immeasurably better. In fact, I fell so good, I just might have to cook a celebratory dinner.
Wife # 32
Eggs
Milk
Cheese
Canadian Prime Veal
Bread
Artichokes
Went grocery shopping to buy all the fixings for dinner. The veal is simply divine. Melts in your mouth. Speaking of which, I found a new lover. Works at the meat counter at the Great Canadian Superstore. Married her as soon as I found out she had a meat cleaver. That's so sexy. Well, gotta go take care of a hunk of meat, if you know what I mean. Wife has started calling me "beefcake and I've been horny ever since.
That woman's got meat on the brain. She won't stop calling me meat-head in a peevish tone of voice. If she's trying to be endearing, it's not working. Anyway, after hearing "pork chop for the ten billionth time, I lost my cool and shipped her off to the processing plant. She's on her way to becoming Canadian Prive Veal. (NOTE TO SELF: avoid meat for a while.)
Wife # 33
Figured out why I've been so unlucky in love. Never went on a true honeymoon. Decided to find my wife on the honeymoon to save time, so I went over to Niagara Falls and bagged myself a wife. She works in the hospitality industry, and I've got to say, she was VERY hospitable. It's really nice to have such a police, well-mannered person around the house. Although it is a little annoying to have someone who's always asking if you'd like a fresh towel.
I blew it. Just couldn't take it anymore. If I never hear someone ask if I need an extra bar of soap and a wake-up call again, it will be too soon. I had to do something about Hotel Barbie before I killed myself. So, I set up a romantic date and, for her, barreling over the falls. Judging by the shape of the barrel after the trip, I think I'll pass on that one. Getting dashed to pieces on razor-sharp rock isn't exactly my idea of fun. Watching someone else do it is.
Wife # 34
I confess after seeing the awesome power of the falls up close, I decided to tap into the whole "Wonder of the World thing and buy a hot tub. Not exactly the same thing, but you KNOW what happens to a man in cold water. Completely unacceptable. Plus, Discount Donna gave me a great price. Decided to marry the woman who sold me the thing on account of she's hot and I was in the mood. I'm just having a bit of a problem with her in a string bikini. I mean, the string has been lost in the folds of her voluminous buttocks a number of times. OH GOD NO! DON'T BEND OVER!!!
Well. That was unpleasant. No one should have to see that. No one. I guess I wasn't cut out to be a chubby chaserjust not my thing. Based on this new discovery, I had to get rid of the Chubette and start over. Stuck her in the hot tub for a bit and waited until she caught some of her flab in the drain. (Hapless woman, really.) By the time I got there, she had gnawed off her own limbs due to extreme hunger. There was really nothing I could doat least, that's what I told the police.
Wife # 35
Have finally been accepted into space camp! Since I was a tiny, diabolical child, I've always held a fascination for the stars and the planets of our beautiful galaxy. Unfortunately, the narrow-minded camp counselors though I was a health risk, so I never got the chance to have the full experience. Oh, but now! The awesome sights! Granted, I'm a little older than my group mates. 30 years older, actually, but there's a really hot counselorhonest-to-goodness astronautwho has taken me under her wing. And her sheets, consequently. Luckily I had tons of little boys to be ring-bearers at out wedding.
Space food sucks. But apparently, Astronaut Chick lives on the stuff. When I come in for dinner, I want a fresh, steaming, home-cooked mealfailing that, a fresh, steaming pizzanot space rations left over from the Apollo shuttle. Before I fell ill with pre-packaged, dehydrated, genetically modified, artificially fortified food poisoning, sent her up on a space probe meant to crash on Pluto. If she ever gets there, that is.
Wife # 36
Went shopping for a new wife today. Sheer luck was to thank for bringing me my latest lady love. I was browsing the local office supply warehouse drooling over the paperclips when I came across a delicious little number gazing with rapt attention at the rubber elastics. It was love at first sight, brought together by our mutual appreciation for office supplies. I bought 5 000 paperclips in celebration. Also 25 reams of paper to clip them to. Now, where to put them...
I succumbed to sheer boredom. There is nothing to do in our paperclip-crammed house at all. Resorted to murdering wife to break up the monotony. It took quite a while to watch her die, so I guess that's a plus. I mean, bleeding to death due to numerous paper cuts is rather inspired, I must day. Although very tedious.
Wife # 37
After dumping the latest body in the woods outside my house, I came across a busy campground where I found Wife # 37. The tent in my pants has nothing to do with the amazing flora and fauna, let me tell you. She's very knowledgeable about nature. I figured this bodes well for our love life. Because... You and me baby ain't nothing but mammals so let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel...
Life stinks, and then you die. After I discovered "au naturel has its drawbacks, had to kill new wife. Her hairy gorilla legs were starting to gross me outit always seemed like there were spiders in my bed. So, I took her camping and planted her half a metre away from a skunk. Apparently getting sprayed from a distance of 0.5 metres is hazardous to your health. Who knew?
Wife # 38
Fell into a depression after killing last wife. I need to be needed. I'm also needy. These needs just cannot be ignored. I can't satisfy these needs by myself! Well, sometimes... Anyway, in keeping, downed four vats of ice cream, six chocolate cakes and five varieties of pie. After spending a few days retching in front of the toilet, got right back on the horse and ordered 100 pounds of baklava. The woman who took my order recognized my need for comfort and succor and took me home in a motherly fashion to nurse me back to health. Married her and she helped my with my needs in a decidedly un-motherly way. Waitis that a grey hair?!
I was blinded by my depression. There's no other explanation for it. I mean, come on, I married a woman old enough to be my mother. If she had a child at four, that is. Anyway, had to get rid of her post-haste. Fed her the hundred pounds of baklava with my own special additiverat poison. Yummy. Eat Up!
Wife # 39
I feel so violated! I've been robbed. Well, not exactly robbed, but my house WAS broken into. There was nothing of value for the little hoodlums to take, but still. It's the principle of the thing. Hired top-notch security firm and slept with the sales manager to ensure free service. Well, more than one service, actually. Married her as soon as I could. They're trying out a prototype and I wanted it on my house. How exciting!
The bitch ripped me off! She charged me for the crappy security system even though we're married! I obviously couldn't stay married to a woman who betrayed me in such a way. So, I locked her out of the house and waited until she tried to get back in to trip the poorly-implemented jigsaw burglar alarm. Oh, the irony. Considering she installed it.
Wife # 40
After the jigsaw burglar alarm fiasco, I unfortunately cut myself on the blades. Had to call for help. The EMTs were not impressed that I required an ambulance for a cut, bu7t the cute young woman took a liking to me, I think. Had hot monkey sex in the back of the ambulance (if this ambulance is a rockin', don't come a knockin') and got married by an Elvis impersonator who had the bed next to mine at the hospital. Great thing is, she has absolutely no problem playing doctor. Excuse me, Nurse
Playing doctor isn't all it's cracked up top be. Wife actually wore RUBBER GLOVES! And she was obsessed with sterilizing her hands. Had to get rid of her before her hand sanitizer cleaned away the healthy layer of bacteria I'm building up. (I'm told it's the only culture I have.) She's trying to kill all of my natural defenses. So, during one of her CPR presentations, I decided to attend and toss an unswallowable objecta pool palldown her throat. She choked while the onlookers watched with rapt attention. On the way out, they commented on how realistic her demonstration was. A few of them had tears in their eyesalthough they did say her "playing dead routine was a bit overkill, considering she'd been doing it for an hour. An Oscar-worthy performance. Too bad she'll never collect.
Wife # 41
Had to hp on over to city had today to rectify a few outstanding tickets for various infractions. After torching the filing cabinets, I decided a nice elevator ride would be in order, so I propositioned a good-looking clerk and showed her what elevators were really made for. Married her in hopes of a repeat performance. (I do so love to give a standing ovation) Plus, it's always an advantage to have someone on the inside to clear up those pesky little illegal details.
After refusing to clear my permanent record on the grounds that it was illegal or unethical or some such rot, got rid of wife in a hurry. Killer her at her work to get my point across and because I had to set fire to another filing cabinet or ten. Thus killed two birds with one stone. Trapped her in a falling elevator shaft and waited for the squish.