How busy am I? This busy!

Author’s Note: This is short and fictional because I am currently writing a piece about Terry Pratchett waging a secret war with shag carpets and am pressed for time. Also, while I did in fact have a drawing up in my apartment that I jokingly referred to as my imaginary wife, I never went this crazy with it.

One time in college when I was living with my imaginary wife, who was a picture of a woman I drew and put up on the wall, she started talking about how hot she found Marshall Mathers. That pretty much stopped me dead cold while I was taking a crap. I couldn’t even choke off the turd I was so mad.

I was like “You fucking bitch, you get off that picture and say that to me!” And she just sat there and gave me the most insolent smile I’ve ever seen so I slapped her. Bitch didn’t even flinch.

So you know what she said then? She said “I’m imaginary! I can’t even have thoughts of my own! I’m just an external outlet for your own voice! You think Marshall Mathers is attractive!” I started screaming and launched myself off the toilet at her. No way I was taking that shit from an anthropomorphized drawing.

So then we started wrestling all over the ground, me with my shitty ass, and her with that stupid smile. And I started screaming “Bitch! I’ll show you gay I am!” Then I just shoved my dick right through the paper, and emulated her screaming.

Man do I have problems with jealousy.