The Revenginator or My Wife's a Slut
I guess I should have seen it coming. I should have seen it in the knowing look in Sandy's eyes when we got into an argument. The look said "I know something you don't know" and "That something is that I'm cheating on you."
I finally got proof when she slipped up half a dozen or so times, each time sloppier than the last. First, when I was doing the laundry, I found a number in her pants pocket. It just said "Rick 555-0187," but the "i" in "Rick" was drawn as an erect penis. "Maybe it's just a friend," I thought to myself.
A few days later I was watching the evening news and drinking a root beer when I heard a strange sound coming from the laundry closet. Kind of a low wail. I opened the door to the laundry closet and found Sandy sitting spread-eagle on top of the running dryer, masturbating while talking on the phone.
"Oh, Rick--" she moaned. Then she noticed me. "What the fuck are you doing? I'm on a phone call with my friend Rick!"
"Sorry, sweetie," I said, embarrassed. I shut the doors and the moans continued. "Hope she's not sick." At the time I didn't put it all together, but now I can see that there was something going on even then.
Then there was the time a week later when I got home from work and found Sandy and this sweaty shirtless guy with a mustache sitting on the couch smoking cigarettes.
"And who is this?" I demanded.
"Honey, this is my friend . . . Dick." The two laughed.
"Nice to meet you Dick!" I shook his hand. It was sticky.
Finally I found the piece of evidence that brought her little game down once and for all. I was at work at the time. I had just returned from lunch, when I decided to check my e-mail.
"Maybe it was just a past indiscretion," I legitimized. "We've all made mistakes. I'm sure this was years ago." But then I noticed that Sandy was holding a newspaper with today's date on it. "BDR Corp lays heavy pipe in unwelcome area" the headline read. Kind of ironic, now that I think about it.
My next thought was "Hell, this kind of thing can be faked." That's when I noticed the seal of a notary public in the bottom-right corner.
"There's only one explanation for this," I realized. "My wife has hypnotized and forced to scream and moan with pleasure against her will."
When I got home there was a note on the kitchen table.
I showed the video to my friend Bob, and told him of my plan to kill the hypnotists. He shook his head mournfully. "John, they're not hypnotists. Your wife's just a slut." He pulled a magazine out of his pocket. It was the newest issue of Sandy Johnson is a Slut, and No, She's Not Hypnotized and World Reports Weekly.
I flipped through the magazine, and Bob detailed the long journey of sluthood my wife had been a part of. It took some convincing, but he was right. I didn't want revenge on hypnotists. I wanted revenge on my wife. And that's just what I would get.
To be continued . . .
I finally got proof when she slipped up half a dozen or so times, each time sloppier than the last. First, when I was doing the laundry, I found a number in her pants pocket. It just said "Rick 555-0187," but the "i" in "Rick" was drawn as an erect penis. "Maybe it's just a friend," I thought to myself.
A few days later I was watching the evening news and drinking a root beer when I heard a strange sound coming from the laundry closet. Kind of a low wail. I opened the door to the laundry closet and found Sandy sitting spread-eagle on top of the running dryer, masturbating while talking on the phone.
"Oh, Rick--" she moaned. Then she noticed me. "What the fuck are you doing? I'm on a phone call with my friend Rick!"
"Sorry, sweetie," I said, embarrassed. I shut the doors and the moans continued. "Hope she's not sick." At the time I didn't put it all together, but now I can see that there was something going on even then.
Then there was the time a week later when I got home from work and found Sandy and this sweaty shirtless guy with a mustache sitting on the couch smoking cigarettes.
"And who is this?" I demanded.
"Honey, this is my friend . . . Dick." The two laughed.
"Nice to meet you Dick!" I shook his hand. It was sticky.
Finally I found the piece of evidence that brought her little game down once and for all. I was at work at the time. I had just returned from lunch, when I decided to check my e-mail.
From: bigdickrick@yahoo.comEmbedded in the e-mail was a video. Someone who appeared to be my wife was riding a guy who appeared to be the guy "Dick" who I had met at my house weeks before in the reverse cowgirl position. They must have just come from some kind of convention or something because they both had name tags attached to their naked bodies. Sandy's said "Sandy Johnson." Dick's said "Rick Michaels."
Subject: im fucking youre wife
hey asshole im fucking youre wife hahahahahha!!!1
"Maybe it was just a past indiscretion," I legitimized. "We've all made mistakes. I'm sure this was years ago." But then I noticed that Sandy was holding a newspaper with today's date on it. "BDR Corp lays heavy pipe in unwelcome area" the headline read. Kind of ironic, now that I think about it.
My next thought was "Hell, this kind of thing can be faked." That's when I noticed the seal of a notary public in the bottom-right corner.
"There's only one explanation for this," I realized. "My wife has hypnotized and forced to scream and moan with pleasure against her will."
When I got home there was a note on the kitchen table.
Dear John,My fists clenched, and I swore to find the hypnotists who did this to my Sandy and kill them.
As I'm sure you know by now, I've been cheating on you. I'm leaving you forever.
Best wishes,
Sandy
I showed the video to my friend Bob, and told him of my plan to kill the hypnotists. He shook his head mournfully. "John, they're not hypnotists. Your wife's just a slut." He pulled a magazine out of his pocket. It was the newest issue of Sandy Johnson is a Slut, and No, She's Not Hypnotized and World Reports Weekly.
I flipped through the magazine, and Bob detailed the long journey of sluthood my wife had been a part of. It took some convincing, but he was right. I didn't want revenge on hypnotists. I wanted revenge on my wife. And that's just what I would get.
To be continued . . .
posted by Chris Cusack at 5:18 PM
9 Comments:
This is gonna be good...
Maybe it's just her brother and the were catching up on ...
I definitely know that chick...
I used to go by the name Rick!
Hate to sound naive, but is this serious? Very good (er bad) either way.
chill mo!, it's just a big wind-up...
Haha!
I want to find out what they're going to do to the hipnotologists.
Dude are you going to finish this post or is me and Cib going to have to remix this biatch?
Maybe they were just checking each other for tumors and things got out of hand.
ah well, it's my turn now, so Zane'll have to wait.
wait, Zane, wait!
Post a Comment
<< Home