Back in late 2007 my wife and I moved into a 120 year old brownstone; our first home.
Now, I'll tell you the truth. I never wanted to be a home owner. I liked renting. It was fucking convenient. The landlord was responsible for painting, the water bill, property taxes, throwing out the garbage, shoveling the snow and fixing shit when it broke.
But noooo... My wife insisted we would be fools not to become homeowners, and what with all the no money down mortgage shenanigans, and everyone becoming paper millionaires off their clapboard rat traps it was buy the house or get divorced. In retrospect, I should've taken the zero. But sometimes the only way to shut a bitch's yap is to acquiesce. So I did.
We moved into our new 4 story brownstone and went deeper into debt furnishing that fucker with nothing but the best. Then we spent more on painters, plumbers, carpenters, a new kitchen and well, you get the idea.
Finally, we had taken residence. My wife, myself and my golden retriever, Mr. Bubble. Well my wife was on Cloud 9, singing her happy song, while I poured over a stack of bills and wondered how I was gonna pay them and avoid eating macaroni and cheese for the next 20 years.
"This house will double in a year. You'll see. You'll thank me."
"Yeah? And if you're wrong...? I read all this shit online about the bubble bursting any day and causing a fucking depression."
"I told you that the internet is a conspiracy theory cesspool. Do you really think with a republican administration the economy could go anywhere but up, up and away?"
"Uh, fuck yeah."
"Okay, I'll tell you what. If this our home equity doesn't rise by at least 20% in the next twelve months I'll let you fuck me in the ass on demand for a whole year."
Now, while my wife had alot of irritating qualities her lack of enthusiasm for butt fuckery was at the top of my list.
"No. Stop. It's so dirty."
"That's what makes it so good, dammit!"
And my wife did have a fine ass. Sometimes I think that was her main selling point because it certainly wasn't her incessant nagging and bag of opinions that she never went anywhere without.
It was about a month later. I was sound asleep in our new bed after having smoked a blunt of the chronic. I remember dreaming about Mr. Bubble wanting to play Herbee and then running away with my stash in Central Park. I remember chasing him up this really big snow covered hill. Mr. Bubble would pause just long enough for me to get within arm's length and then with a demented canine grin he would haul ass eluding me and my reefer jones yet again.
I was dreaming how I'd get even when suddenly I was started awake by.....
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!
In case you missed it, that was an ear splitting shriek delivered courtesy of my wife, to me, at what, according to my clock, was 3:33 AM.
This banshee shriek was punctuated with a punch in the shoulder that fucking hurt.
"What the fuck, woman?!!?!?"
The lights went on and the covers were flung too the floor. My wife stood up and showed me her ass. Now while normally the sight of it just makes we want to stuff it full of me in this case it led to peals of stoned laughter.
The wifey's panties had somehow been yanked so far up her butt crack that I thought I glimpsed droplets of blood.
"You think this is funny? I told you no butt sex so what? You just thought you'd give me a wedgie?"
"It wasn't me!"
"What? Mr. Bubble? It's not like he has opposable thumbs. Did I wedgie myself? That just leaves the usual suspect," she said, poking me several times.
"For the last fucking time I didn't give you no bloody wedgie, woman."
"I swear if you ever, ever, ever..., do this again I will kick you right in the nuts."
"It wasn't me. Now why don't you unencumber your crack so we can get some sleep.Somebody has to go into work extra early so we can keep paying for this fucking house."
"What? I pay too."
"Sorry, woman. Non-profit work won't cut the mustard with a ginsu. I'm footing 80% of these crazy ass bills, so I say, 'turn out the fucking light and let's get some shuteye.'"
A short while later, Mr. Bubble had crawled into bed with me even though the wife was always complaining she was gonna find dog hairs in her cooch, but I like having him next to me. It made me feel safe, sorta like having a hit man for a teddy bear. I was dreaming about butt sex when.....
(Instant replay of the mysterious wedgie from 3:33 AM)
"Goddammit, woman! It wasn't me!"
"You are so dead!"
"This is fuckin' bullshit. You can sleep alone. I gotta be up in two hours."
And with that I took my pillow, and Mr. Bubble, and stormed off to go sleep on the couch. I did another bong and curled up next to my dog. I was just drifting off to slumberland yet again when the wifey screamed loud enough to wake the dead.
"Piss, shit and corruption. Looks like there'll be no sleeping here tonight!"
The wife ran out to the living room.
"How did you do that?!?!?!?"
"Do what?"
"Sneak up on me and give me a fucking wedgie, that's what! How the fuck did you get back downstairs so fast?"
"Goddammit woman, I never left the fucking couch!"
"Bullshit!"
Well, I never got back to sleep and this went on for two more days. My back was fucked from the couch and I was sleep deprived. Necessity being the mother of invention, I came home that Friday night with a web cam and set it up in the bedroom.
"Okay, here's the deal baby cakes. This camera is going to film you sleeping. I'm sleeping over my brother's house. Here's my key. Lock the windows. Let me know how it goes."
"Fine!"
"Good!"
And with that I stormed off fantasizing about a full night's uninterrupted sleep.
It was at 3:35 AM when the phone rang. My brother, Dave called my name.
"It's Donna. She's freakin' out, dude."
I put my ear to the phone and said, "Yeah?"
"You turned your cell off."
"Yeah. I need fucking sleep."
"It happened again. Come home now!"
"Can't it wai-"
"NOW!!!!!!!!"
I would've gone back to bed but I knew she would have just kept calling back and it wasn't my brother's fault my wife was losing her shit. I put on my coat and got Mr. Bubble and his leash and drove home. My wife opened the front door brandishing a butcher knife.
"Okay sweet cheeks. Let's not get crazy here," I said gently relieving her of the big knife.
"I can't take this!"
"How's your ass feel?"
"It hurts." She started to cry and I hugged her. "I guess it's time to go to the instant replay."
I set up the lap top and scrolled to 3:32 AM and waited. My wife was sound asleep talking about home equity in her sleep when all of a sudden the covers rippled. It started at her feet and worked it's way to her posterior. And then she was instantly bolt upright and screaming like a banshee.
"Well, the covers kinda moved funny but that could've been restless leg syndrome or some shit."
"The fucking house is haunted."
"Real estate agent never said anything about that," I said just to be saying something.
"It's fucking haunted. I want to sell."
I was staring at my computer screen watching Fannie Mae's stock crash.
My cell phone rang and I answered.
"Have you spoken to the agent?"
"Uh, have you seen the markets?"
"No. Why?"
"I'm gonna send you an email. Fannie Mae and Ginnie Mae are crashing."
"Oh, stocks always fluctuate."
"I'm emailing you the chart. You call the agent. I gotta get back to work. But, I seriously think you should get busy on this."
Well, within a few days Fannie and Ginnie went from the rarefied air to six feet under and that was the beginning of the end. Our house bled equity like a Chicago gangster until we found ourselves hundreds of thousands of dollars below water in what seemed like no time flat.
"You know what this means, right?" my wife asked as she was digging her panties out of her ass crack at 3:35 AM.
"Yep. I'm gonna fuck you in the ass on Saturday. Woooh!"
Well, I'd like to say I actually got to fuck her in the ass that Saturday or even Wednesday orever for that matter, but, after a couple of weeks of my wife spending what little money we had left on clairvoyants,wiccans, shamans, ghost whisperers and other various and sundry spiritual freaks, in a futile effort to exorcise the house of the dreaded wedgie ghost; we were pretty much done; chapter and verse.
No matter what she tried every morning at 3:33 and 4:44 I was awoken to her bloody wedgies. After a final sleep deprived week my wife moved in with her sister Esther, and one thing led to another, and we got divorced.
"I want us to part amicably," she said. "You can even keep the house. I just want alimony."
I couldn't afford a good lawyer so it looked like I was the one getting fucked up the ass after all. So now whenever I think of the great recession I visualize my ex-wife's panties so far up her ass you'd need a team of Navy Seals to extricate them.
Things are better in 2015 praise be the wedgie ghost. I didn't go bankrupt but instead got involved with an internet startup and kept my head above water. I found a new wife and for some reason her panties stayed out of her ass crack unless of course we were having kinky sex. Yeah, my new wife is strictly giggity giggity. If I ever see that ghost I'm gonna buy him a cold one.
I guess what I'm trying to say is broken hearts for assholes.
From Crucifiction by Krafto Matix.
