After my ex-wife mounted broom and flew off with her new, soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, with all she thought valuable. I wrongly believed that she was actually gone. I thought I had found the ultimate painkiller, her absence. So I bought myself another motorcycle, a new BMW R 1250RT, reveled in all the excess disposable income, and proceeded to split my free time between blasting around the country roads of Southern Ohio and Northern Kentucky, honing my feeble skills at the now open shooting ranges within that riding area, and meeting and disappointing new women.
Well, one dark and stormy night (actually last week) I heard a howling that I thought only the undead can make. I was wrong yet again. It was a succubus, a soul eater. It was her! My ex-wife! She was back and she had a weapon....a suitcase! No, wait! Two suitcases! I remember something about the curse of the vampire, that you had to invite them in before they could cross your threshold. Well, that's bull$hit 'cause she pushed right past me, cursing me while she did..."get my bags, she hissed".
To make a long story short, I had learned. She was a magnificent teacher. I was absolutely immune to her pilate'd butt. I reached for the coffee table, not for the Ruger 57 that I had just finished putting a Tandemkross trigger in, although I do believe that would have been justified. Instead, I went for the jugular. I went for my cell phone and called 911. The look on her face...priceless....The suitcases remained on the porch until the nice man with the badge and then his backup, insisted she put them in her car and go away. I waived but I know ding dong, the witch is not dead.
Well, one dark and stormy night (actually last week) I heard a howling that I thought only the undead can make. I was wrong yet again. It was a succubus, a soul eater. It was her! My ex-wife! She was back and she had a weapon....a suitcase! No, wait! Two suitcases! I remember something about the curse of the vampire, that you had to invite them in before they could cross your threshold. Well, that's bull$hit 'cause she pushed right past me, cursing me while she did..."get my bags, she hissed".
To make a long story short, I had learned. She was a magnificent teacher. I was absolutely immune to her pilate'd butt. I reached for the coffee table, not for the Ruger 57 that I had just finished putting a Tandemkross trigger in, although I do believe that would have been justified. Instead, I went for the jugular. I went for my cell phone and called 911. The look on her face...priceless....The suitcases remained on the porch until the nice man with the badge and then his backup, insisted she put them in her car and go away. I waived but I know ding dong, the witch is not dead.