So there I was, lying horizontally on my front door, which itself laid at an acute angle on the concrete sidewalk and the bottom step of my stoop. Sherri had thrown me through said door and completely tore the hinges from the house. Only moments earlier, I had smashed a vase over the bulbous and painfully stinky folds of her back. I’m not saying I wasn’t in the wrong, but know two things: (1) that bitch had it coming, and (2) I just had a very enlightening conversation with the sub-letter who lived with Charlie four blocks down the street.

This acquaintance of mine had just admitted that the rash – the one that looked like a third nipple on her arm – was in fact, a staph infection. For the previous twelve hours, I had been curiously prodding the bump behind my ear in hopes that it was just a massive bug bite. Now, it was clear what was responsible for my ill-timed blemish.

Of course, this would have never been a problem had I not been forced to take a shower at Charlie’s house, though I don’t blame Charlie because he’s a good old boy. I blame Sherri. That useless, cunt-smelling, ignoramus. She broke the showerhead, but refused to tell me how, much like a poltroon. And then, that bitch decided to fill the bathtub to the brim with soggy water that is encrusted with a gelatin-like puss crust, which she deems necessary to wash her hair in every morning. On top of this, her room is a landfill scented with the smell of a juicy vagina right before ovulation, a smell that stains one’s mouth with a pungent taste that will never leave you ever! I hate that idiotic, thoughtless crab, with her huge sloppy tits. She cries like she’s laughing because she’s the devil, and she poops out ice cream because that’s all she eats!

Sherri marched from the house, picked me up by the back of my neck, and began to shake me like some sort of incompetent infant. Soon, however, she came to her extremely rare senses and began to kiss me with those wormy, crustaceous lips. She told me she loved me.

Fuck that cow, I still hate every odorous inch of her, and I said that to her oversized, furless squirrel face.

          by Jay Burnham, based on a conversation with Samantha Milich