My wife, whose love and devotion means more to me than anything else in the world, is due to have our first child in August. Today I found out I’m sterile.
She sat on the side of the road, staring at the body, flattened and bloodied by her oversized SUV, wondering if she should call someone or just leave and try to get the smell of the creature off of her. She felt bad in a way, because after all, every creature has it’s redeeming qualities, but he had cheated on her with her own sister, so of course, he had to die.
Furious, she found her big brown handsome man, the finest pumpernickel she’d ever seen, snuggled against that plain piece of white bread, both now somehow occupying the same bread wrapper.
His infidelity enraged her so that she grabbed them both, shoved them into the death machine, one in each slot and while depressing the lever, screamed “You’re toast!”
Alfredo hurried home earlier than usual, to report to his wife about his situation at work, and how he was laid off along with fifteen hundred others.
Panting for air in between sobbing and breathing, he opened the master bedroom, only to find his spouse naked in bed with another man.
Her love for him was as strong as an ocean current, like a riptide pulling her farther away from him and then bouncing her back, only to have him break her heart again with all his infidelities, until she could no longer take it and in a sudden burst of clarity knew what she had to do to inflict an equal, if not greater, amount of pain on her beloved.
So on October 15th, she married him!
Uninhibited by staring faces and oblivious to the infidelity in her voice, Mr. Large beamed a smile that chased both ears. His wife could never really tell if he believed her or was simply preoccupied with the accessibility of beer (probably the latter she supposed quietly, economizing on breath).