The Space Between Us

Wife number four. Ewww.


My favorite ex-wife, number two.


Number three, my second favorite.

The end of every relationship begins with the words “I need some space.” That line indicates that the distance between you and your one time beloved has become polluted like the lake near a toxic dump. Whether it is your farts or armpit, the stink has made the distance between the both of you rancid and unliveable. The clarity of “we have to separate” clearly reflects the inability to rehabilitate your relationship. The stench of your testicals, buttocks and general anatomy drives your girlfriend to nausea and vomiting fits.

Greta Garbo used to say, “I vant to be alone.” Your girlfriends declaration that she wants space, has the clarity of Tom Cruise boasting about scientology and simply means your presence in her life is vile, untenable, unacceptable and must cease.

Lonni, my first wife wanted to be alone because she saw in my eyes her reflection of a fat, big-breasted jewess. Her pussy tasted like vinegar and smelled like formaldehyde. When we fucked flagpole style her gargantuan tits would swing around and pummel my face. My eyes were black and blue and I looked like I was in a fight with Mike Tyson. We got married because her parents were rich and hated me and she rebelled. We met on the Pace College debate team. I wasn’t even in porno at the time, which would have justified the hatred, I was just a press photographer.

My second wife was Mary Philips, a Pan Am flight attendant, who was frankly too good for me. She smelled good, tasted good and was going to Columbia for her master’s. I was too immature to appreciate her and I blew it by cheating on her. I was on welfare when we got married. She was uncomfortable with the success of Screw and liked me better on welfare. Also when we got divorced she didn’t take any money and Screw was in her name. She could have taken it all! She was a dream and why I cheated on her is beyond me. I was a disgrace and she deserved her space.

My third wife I met on a blind date. Her name was Gena and she was a schoolteacher. She was the longest lasting of my wives and the mother of my son. I did love her but as a typical Jewish wife she was passive aggressive. Whatever I did, she found fault in. One day while I was in the back of my stretch limo, and owned four homes at the time, I wondered to myself: If I am so rich, why am I so unhappy? She was a castrator and always involved in power plays. If she wanted space, then I wanted another country. She got $3 million and a house on Fire Island. And I paid all Jordan’s child and school support, which was over a million dollars!

My fourth wife was Irish. I married Patty because she was obedient and docile. It turned out that she was quiet because she was a lesbian and she hated cock and men. She got a million.

My last wife who I divorced six months ago was named Christine. I married her because she had great legs and was 40 years younger than me. Christine was not just from India but was more like an alien from another galaxy. She was the worst cocksucker I had ever been with and hated the way I licked her quin. She admitted that she was stealing my food allowances and social security checks for six years. She would have stayed with me if Screw had not gone bankrupt. But since I lost my money, we were worlds apart. She was from a thieving gypsy family intent on robbing white people and I was an injured deer that got too close to their lion’s den.

As you can see, as difficult as I am I wasn’t to blame for all of these divorces and all of this space. The worst thing about space is the loneliness and sadness that goes along with it. As defective as these women were I probably should have stayed with wives two and three.