My girlfriend was the most beautiful woman in history. So when she was blown up by insurgents, the world’s museums went to extremes to collect her parts, divvy them up, and house them behind expensive glass in expansive rooms.

I didn’t realize this at first. “You know,” said K, recently returned from abroad, “I saw your girlfriend’s torso at a museum in Paris.” He handed me a replica, a souvenir he purchased in the gift shop. I had read of her death – “Most Beautiful Woman in History Killed by Terrorists” – and lamented. But my thoughts shifted as soon as K handed me her mini torso. I punched him in the face and stole it.

I traveled the word, collecting her replica body parts from museum gift shops throughout the world. In Tokyo I acquired her tongue; in Tel Aviv I acquired her womb. And so on.

After a year of travel I had all of her body parts, inside and out. Standing a mere four inches, she was as exquisite as I remembered. I carried her to my bed and we had sex. Unfortunately my erect penis broke her in half. I lamented my girlfriend’s death for the second time.