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July 31, 2008

Clean Break

Written by Girth McDürchstein on July 31, 2008 3:58 PM
Permalink |  Colby & Perdida  | Digg It

“Margo,” I pleaded from the other side of the door, “there’s just something you have to understand about male biology. I need to get off, and sometimes my hand just isn’t enough. But you’re the one I love. You’re the one I married―baby, it’s always been you.”

I heard the locks click. Margo opened the door a crack. She looked super-hot.

“You need to prove it,” she said sternly.

“How? I’ll do anything!”

“Go to that fucking cunt Cheyenne and make a clean break. You’re to never see her again, even if I end up on The State of the Union Is Bonkers. In fact, I hope I get that part just to dangle that forbidden fruit in front of you so you can continuously prove your loyalty, you little rat son of a fuck.”

“Fine,” I said. “You want a clean break―I’l give you the cleanest break you’ve ever seen!”

I didn’t care that what I said made little sense. I just needed Margo back. I drove to Perdida’s apartment in North Hollywood and banged on her door. “Perdida!” I shouted. “We need to talk!”

Perdida yanked the door open and immediately jammed her tongue down my throat. I tried to pull her away, but she yanked me inside the apartment and slammed the door.

The next morning, I typed a polite but stern letter in her typewriter, telling her that she made me rock-hard but it was never meant to be. I took one last look at the apartment before leaving. My last thought: Pretentious.

I went back home. Margo seemed a little annoyed that it took me all night to deliver a simple goodbye, so I explained that afterward, I ran into some old friends from college and we spent the night drinking and reminiscing, after which I went back to Perdida’s place to type up that note before she woke up, so she’d understand and remember that we can never see each other again.

“That makes sense,” Margo said, eyeing me with suspicion, “but I have one other condition before I’ll accept what you say.”

“What’s that?”

“Clear your mind of everything,” she said as she slid her arms out of the spaghetti straps of her dress and slid it to the floor, “except me. You have three minutes to get hard, or you’re out of here for good. I’ll file for divorce on the grounds of impotence and make sure TMZ gets the full scoop.”

“That seems easy,” I said, terrified out of my mind. “I have to warn you, though, that undue stress has a negative effect on arousal.”

“It never used to,” Margo said, taking my hand in hers and leading me back to our queen-sized coffin bed.

The instant I flopped into those satin sheets and that heavy mattress, I felt a stirring downstairs. With a slow, concerted effort, I peeled off my leather pants and stuck Margo.

A few minutes later, Margo dragged on a cigarette and moaned, “We’re back.”

We sure are. Farewell, Perdida.