My Wife, The Bitch

My Wife, The Bitch

I slept naked last night in the hallway.
The bitch banished me from the bedroom when I came home drunk.
She knew I was too drunk to make it to the couch down stairs.
I urinated on the carpet, on myself, and threw up burning acid from my
mouth and nose.
I would have been fine if she had let me sleep with her in My warm
bed.
I choked on a fur ball and threw up some more.
I was laughing and drooling, and I remember masturbating at one point,
just because I wasn't getting any from the wife, you know how it
is.
Cum stuck to her precious carpet that her father bought in Egypt a week
before he died.
I was pist off, and a little crazy. She was being a real bitch you
know, these days, she was rarely anything other than a whining old
slag.
So I grabbed a weapon, I forget what it was, a lamp or statue or
something.
I remember I picked it up off of the tiny ornamental table outside the
kid's room.
I crawled toward the bedroom where the whore and I usually slept
together.
My scrotum was glued to my pubic hair and penis with semen.
My sticky hand gripped the neck of the lamp or whatever.
My grip tightened as the rage began brimming in my meaty heart.
Then I remember my eyes rolled in my skull.
The weapon fell away from my grasp and tumbled down the stairs.
I collapsed on the Egyptian rug and didn't wake up till morning.