She was going to break up with him this time.

She was going to break up with him this time. He didn't call, he didn't come home. He was with that tramp Tracy. She ran outside and there he was, passed out on the porch, a bottle

of jack daniel's with also a passed out hicupping girl in a short skirt on the floor by his feet. She kicked both of them and waited for them....

To spank her because she got off on all the pain.

After defecating, the formerly constipated woman thanked the good Samaritan for his ingenuity, and made her way down Main Street to the Cotton Club. Where Miss

Southern Hospitality was could only be known by one person, and he was under the Christmas float with one of the elves & two fifths of Jack Daniels. Her husband would pay of course

- he always did. Ever since she caught him with the pool boy - he was all to eager to pay her off to ensure his closet door stayed permanently shut. She didn't mind being married

to a penniless loser, as long as the love was there. Or at least, that's what she kept telling herself as she strode slowly down the carpet, ephemeral lacy fabric trailing behind.

They looked into each others eyes as they lit the unity candle in the apse. A ceiling fan kept blowing it out. Was this a sign from God? They had borrow a zippo from Uncle Zeek.

Uncle Zeek had mistakenly refilled the Zippo with kerosene. The explosion blew the nearby statue of Barbara, Patron Saint of Bombs, to smithereens. Yep, this was a sign. The couple