Monthly Archives: March 2016

Unhappy Self-Assertion

My girlfriend’s body wanders off at night. I’m not sure where it goes. But every night it leaves our bed to go…elsewhere.

 

My girlfriend’s head always stays behind, perched on the expensive pillow my girlfriend (formidable in her wholeness) demanded I purchase.

 

Lately I’ve grown jealous. My girlfriend’s body always comes home before morning, but it’s different. When it gets back in bed, I reach for it but it recoils. It smells like exciting places we’ve never been.

 

Over breakfast, my girlfriend’s head (her eyes, really) and I exchange knowing glances. We look at my girlfriend’s body, which seems all too aware of our judgmental gaze. It fidgets in its chair. It touches my hand and I reach for its pussy. My girlfriend’s body stands and leaves the room.

 

“Sorry,” my girlfriend’s head says sympathetically.

 

I grow restless at night, after my girlfriend’s body leaves again.

 

I stroke the hair on my girlfriend’s head. My girlfriend’s head knows I want to have sex. My girlfriend’s head hates giving blowjobs.

 

I grow frustrated. So I put my girlfriend’s head in a sack and tie it tightly.

 

My girlfriend’s body doesn’t come back. So now sex is completely out of the question.


The Man Who Sees Himself as an Athiest

K designed a high rise in the likeness of his favorite girlfriend. She wasn’t actually his girlfriend, however – more of a fetish object, a “girlfriend.” In fact, he had gone out with her only once.

She had agreed to a second date and then proceeded to stand him up. He waited for two hours at the fanciest rooftop lounge in the city.

That’s when, staring absently at the skyline over a double shot of something expensive, he decided to design a building in her image. Every Tuesday at 9 pm – the day and time of the second date that never was – he ascended to the rooftop lounge to watch poorly paid workers labor over the construction of his favorite girlfriend.

But one night, after too much expensive alcohol, he got angry at her and ordered her demolition.

He watched with coldness in his eyes as the wrecking ball tore holes in her half-completed body. He thought he heard her cry out – from somewhere under all that concrete, glass, and metal.

He was sad to see her fall. He knew he would miss her. But he was also sad because he knew that, next Tuesday at 9, he would have nothing to do.