It’s a strange moment when you look back on a failed relationship with a tinge of happiness. The bitter sweet moment when you see your ex with another. And she sees you. On one hand you feel the low grade burn of slight jealousy because you’re a controlling bastard with superficial needs. “Hey! That was my girl! Just because I don’t want her anymore doesn’t mean she is free for you to slobber on! I expect her to die in a closet while her eighteen cats slowly devour her and her self knitted poncho!” Pathetic.
But on the other hand you realize you are happy she will leave you alone. I’m not going to say some fondue dipped, “I just want happiness for her.” Because I don’t really care. I’m glad I can turn my back now and not have to worry about her finding me in a bar with four fingers in some old ladies mouth. That’s the beauty of indifference. And the beauty of mouths. Four fingers is perfect because you need your thumb to really grab that jaw.
Anyway, we slap Roundoms on the ass and point to the door. We will keep the pictures to insure she doesn’t say anything slanderous about us. Remember the donkey and the beer enema? That’s right. I have it stored in my cloud along with all the other photos your grandma took. So take it easy. I will now go partake in the joy of chunky peanut butter and a small dog. For optimal pleasure, you must first remove the teeth. That’s right, little fluffy! It’s gummy time!
For the travel log of Los Angeles’ fruits and failures, visit faarondouglas.com.