Top Menu

Mr. Zion Clarifies a Few Things

Calm down folks and listen to my story, OK?

You need to understand that I live with an absolutely impossible woman.  All I ever wanted was to live in peace and harmony with her.  I was willing to share and share alike.

So I let her build us a beautiful house, under my direction.  I gave her a nice big basement and I modestly took the upstairs.  You’d think she’d be happy and even a little grateful, right?  She’s got a pretty little window just above ground level, with a lovely view of a gray fence.

Once in a while I let her come upstairs and do a few chores for me.  The rest of the time she’s free to sit around her comfortable little basement and watch TV whenever it works.  It’s a dream existence, don’t you think?

All I ever wanted in exchange for my generosity was a little quickie now and then.  Not much to ask for, is it?  Forget it: nothing doing!  The woman is filled with violence and hatred.

She does nasty things out of sheer spite.  Sneaking upstairs to put marbles on my floor and thumbtacks on my toilet seat!  Is that any way to treat her benefactor in his very own house?

The woman threatens my very existence.  I am compelled to take stern measures to defend myself.  So, every now and then I go to the basement and beat the living daylights out of her.  Don’t think it’s easy!  She’s a strapping wench, and she fights back like a wildcat!

Luckily, I have a very kind and understanding Uncle who has always sympathized with me and assisted me.  Every year, Sam gives me a brand new pair of shining brass knuckles to help me control the vicious shrew.  Did I say brass knuckles?  They’re diamond knuckles, 3 billion dollars a pair!

Yes he does spoil me a bit but, oh how I love my Uncle!  This time I’m really making Uncle proud of me.  Listen: I went down to the basement to teach the damned bitch a lesson she will never forget (and perhaps to get a little in-and-out while I was at it).  Well, she just about scratched my eyes out!

So, what did I do?  What would you do?  I beat her within an inch of her life, that’s what I did.  I hit her with everything I got.  Broke maybe half of her bones, and left her a bloody mess.  The terrorist bitch richly deserved it.  I have to defend myself, don’t I?

What did you expect me to do?  Scratch her in return?  If she’s stupid enough to take on my 200 pounds of solid muscle — and my little pair of diamond knuckles (thanks, Uncle!) — she’ll damn well get what’s coming to her.  Not only did I pound the stuffing out of her, but I also smashed her kids against the wall.  (Forgot to tell you about them — the slut had a whole bunch of brats, she’s got fewer now).

OK, I hope you understand the situation better now, and realize more fully just what kind of terror I’m defending myself against on a daily basis.  What’s the solution?  I don’t know but I sure hope that if I kick her ass properly a few more times, and smack a few more of her snotty kids against the wall, she’ll finally decide to run for it next time I open the front door.

That may well be the only way for me to live in my own house in peace.  Wish me luck!  Meantime, thank you for your continued sympathy and support!  Don’t forget to give my best regards to Uncle!

Comments are closed.