You own a dog, yes? A bitch named Sally... No, Sally is your wife! I see you coming home... You hear something in the bedroom... I see! Your wife has defecated on the floor! A perfect steaming curly-q of Dairy Queen proportions! You find her cowering in the hallway, her tail between her legs. You have a rolled up newspaper! Oh, damn my second sight! I see you beating her, over and over with the newspaper. It is terrible... She is whimpering and whining... She lashes out! She has bitten your hand and ran away... Out the door!
You will drive great distances looking for Sally, whistleing out of the window as you have done so many other times... Happier times... But alas, you must tend to your bleeding hand. The pursuit of your wife must wait, perhaps until you are able to make posters that bear her likeness to distribute about the neighborhood. It will be a sorrowful time, indeed.
You will go to a hospital... The doctor treats your wounds, gives you some antibiotics... You tell your tale of soiled rugs and spousal abuse... There is a needle! The doctor will give you a tetanus shot, and tells you something horrible... He recommends that if you ever find your wife you should have her put down!
Oh lord above, why have you cursed me with such unerring visions of the future? Sir, I implore you, stay far from home this evening. The pain in the fates would be too much to bear, I assure you! Heed my warning and save yourself the endless torment that is awaiting you. Now I take my leave, stranger. If ever you are in need of my gift again just meet me here. I wait tables Sunday through Thursdays, breakfast and lunch shifts.
No comments:
Post a Comment