I shouldn’t have written about my wife’s court case last week. She claims she doesn’t even remember it. I brought up repressed memories, and she threw a table at me. I’m writing this one-clawed, a bit hammered and bruised around my eyes. Can’t say I blame her—that was a rough time for everyone, but especially for Monica. I’ve been falsely accused of plenty of crimes, and so has Monica. But this was so petty. The woman didn’t have to—okay, I’m being told I’m “doing it again,” and need to change topics immediately or risk being “comprised to a permanent end.” Uh… I think I’ll talk about the moon. You hear about this solar eclipse? Yeah? Path of totality? I’ll show you a path of totality… da-
I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. The dusty old bird of my father’s brother has finally been buried. I locked him in a safe I got at Rite Aid and put him in a latrine over at the summer camp a few miles down the road from the barn. Monica will finally be mine. I have been a covetous creature for too long, and now I will consummate that undying burning passion for the lovely Misses Monica, my long wished mistress forever out of my reach, impossible to maneuver or guide myself into. I knew in the back of my mind I would one day have to get rid of him, the peasant pissant pest, purely as a means to an end. I love her, and that is my right. I wanted the one I couldn’t have, and yes oh yes did it drive me mad. But I never let it show. Unlike the others, oh all the others, their emotions so plain and honest and adorning their sleeves. Please. I was always a steel trap, indefatigable in every respect, a beast that could not be tamed, a bird that flew so high he was once never seen in the presence of-
🏏🏏🏏💨💨💨⛓ ⛓ ⛓
What an asshole. I heard everything Bennington said. He’s one of those types that still has to mouth the words along whenever he’s reading or writing. Except Bennington yells due to his cauliflower ear. Roo and I didn’t understand what was going on at first, but then he went outside and saw Bennington banging away like a maniac at one my old manual typewriters. I cleaned up his “manifesto of love” up there. Speaking only for myself, I had no idea about any of this nonsense of Bennington’s unrequited love for me. Bennington has always acted like a right cunt in my presence, but then again I guess they say boys do that: they bully girls as a way of telling them they’re in love. So fucked up. Rooster never did anything like that—he just said he liked my shoes and loved my eyes. What a sweetie. My Roo. I should go check on that chicken Bennington threw into the latrine—I think it was rubber.
—Follow Rooster Quibbits on Twitter: @RoosterQuibbits