Features

Kulturkampf · #1

Here are all parts of the story I am writing with some initial commentary.:

I sat in my apartment with my legs on the coffee table watching some news report on the shitty economy; a half empty bottle of wodka precariously propped against a pillow and a mutilated national geographic with a pair of scissors were at my side.

I was drunkenly constructing a mural of nude tribal women and young boys filled with sexual tension holding rifles in menacing fashions -- it seemed to fit together well, like both parties were trying to convey a naive sense of third world innocence but coming off about it all wrong. I approved of it -- I approved of everything about it: nudity mixed with the threat of violence. I was mildly aroused.

My phone began playing the Village People's YMCA; I smiled. It was Yolanta and I shifted slightly so my cock would have room to grow upon hearing her voice.

"Yaaaa.... Dobra Suka." I heard her giggling and the noise of heavy traffic.

"Yaaa... Tempy chuju you fucking idiot. Your Polish is getting better..." The stress was on 'idiot' and it came off in a way that reminded me of a Russian scientist (a Russian scientist that sounded like they might be able to suck testicles through a urethra).

"Ohh, yeah... I was just studying some when you called, actually..." Lying is my way of life.

"Oh yeah, that's great... That's great... So who is coming over, again?"

"Oh I do not know..." I looked at my watch and realized I had not invited anyone else over and that Cliff was still taking a nap on the other couch. "I guess, like, everyone is coming over..."

"Oh yeah..."

"Like... All our friends. Every one of them. And they're bringing their friends. And Kamyar is coming all the way from merry, old England."

"Oh, wow..."

"Yeah, it's going to be a very important night. Kamyar will perhaps bring some treats. I was just so excited to hear about this present giving that I even got you a present." I quickly grabbed the abnormally sharp scissors and begain scratching away the top surface of my flesh on the webbing of my left hand. I bit my tongue for a second as the blood came to the surface and started trickling down the back of my hand.

Yolanta laughed: "Well I'll be there in like 30 minutes..."

"Good! And oh yes... Buy five wodkas and five liters of orange juice and a lot of turkey bologna, pepper jack cheese, Jewish rye bread and gray poupon. I will pay you when you get here." She laughed and called me crazy and we bid each other goodbye. I began to lick my fingers and spread my blood over the nipples of the various women in the collage while CNN International reported millions of jobs lost in the Chinese manufacturing industries.

I was hoping for more news of dead babies and tainted milk and hopefully something about Japanese businessmen taking advantage ofChinese prostitute's hard times to make more WWII reminiscent sex tours, but it didn't come and the lack of sex and death killed the high of speaking with Yolanta on the phone. My favorite story, though, was the one about the Chinese boy who became mentally retarded from toxic tooth paste and whose mother kept crying and wailing about it. It was so emotional and tragic and wrong that I almost shed a tear looking at the both sticking his tongue out and trying to bite his ear.

I realized that I never masturbated with blood on my hands and wondered if it was anything like vaginal copulation with a woman while she was on her period. The nude native girls with my blood on their tits almost cut the mustard but not quite so I quickly channel surfed to Black Entertainment Television certain their daytime music videos would be dripping with fat bottomed girls doing dances worthy of stuffing kilbasa into their buns.

I doubted Cliff would be awakened by the wet slapping and if he was I would say it was a practical joke and he would call me dude and roll over on the couch. I was extra sloppy on the shaft hoping to wake him but in the end he barely budged.

20 minutes later I was cleaning blood and seminal fluids out of my pubic hair with my right hand while I speed dialed everyone I knew. I took a few pictures of my blood soaked member in the mirror moments before and intended to leave these on my camera so later, when folks were asking about the cuts on my hand and I was saying it was a "shaving accident" they would understand the joke... I pictured them hitting the 'review' button on my camera and being surprised. I guessed I would have a decent rise out of half and... A less decent rise out of the other half. But that was the half that could go home early, anyways.

Most people would arrive in the next hour or two or three and Chris was having a birthday party somewhere else and Kara was broke so I'd pay for her taxi and Jon and both Richards and several people with two syllable names I frequently confused for one another due to their Asiatic features responded with cryptic smiley faces and "be there later."

Yolanta knocked on the door shortly after I applied the after shave to my unshaven testicles and was doing some last minute eyebrow trimming. Cliff had to hold the door open and in spite of the group effort Yolanta managed to drop a bottle of vodka in the entryway which immediately shattered on its side, giving off a fume that made me smile with anticipation for the nights antics.

"Oh shit... Sorry... Shit..." She awkwardly danced around the broken bottle trying not to step on the shag carpet with her shoes nor to rub in the glass; it was an usuccessful dance that culminated in me grabbing her and throwing her over my shoulder. She protested at first but no protest laced with laughter was really a protest. I enjoyed the feeling of her small waist on my shoulder so I kept her up there while Cliff and I herded the shards of glass into a small pile with our feet.

Cliff swept them up along with a small pile of dust on our lineleom entryway while I carried Yolanta to the fridge, directing her to place our supplies in the feezer and keep two out and to grab some ice. For another five minutes or so I kept her in the fireman position while I prepared drinks and chatted about the economy and the Chinese. After a spell I put her down in a chair and pulled off her Chuck Taylor punk rock shoes in such a fashion that would allow me to catch a glimpse of her panties under her leopard print skirt. I nodded in my mind... Also leopard print. This was the sort of news I needed when there were no deaths to report on television.

Life got depressing after Barack Obama victories.

Cliff sat down on the couch and began lighting up a joint; I left the door ajar so the neighbors could fulfill their voyeur pleasures and brought the drinks to the television.

For three hours Yolanta and I fucked our brains on wodka while Cliff baked his; slowly people filtered in with their own booze and joints and raunchy jokes and it was a perfect blend of lowlife metalheads, punks, skinheads and... Foreign students who had neither a sense of fashion nor a sense of right or wrong and were merely excited to fuckers.

Someone was playing the shittiest albums in my collection on my computer in the corner while Cliff prepped a bong; Yolanta and I spoke at length about President Obama and Communists and Polish history and different ways to say obscene things in Polish. She became less awkawrd as she drank and by the time nine PM struck Kimczak and Bialy were already long gone on their way to pick up Kamyar from the airport. In spite of the open seats now on the couch I insisted Yolanta sit in my lap so Jason and some Korean named Gyeongbo could enjoy Leni Riefenstahl's Triumph Of The Will with us.

I felt like a bad host but when a shriek of half-joy and terror went up from a small corner in the room I realized the camera had been discovered and I smiled to myself as the photos were being slowly shown to everyone by Jon Dunbar. He had a savvy way of introducing them. I kept hearing him speak in his loud, drunk voice,

"Hey, you ever see a breadstick with tomato sauce in a pile of cat hair? I do not know why Verv doesn't use the garbage can..." or
"Hey, you ever wonder what a night with Verv would be like?" or
"Hey, I just found Pornotarium's new album cover..."

Jon did not show Yolanta the pictures which was both relieving and disappointing. A very drunk Nellka hit me on the back of the head and was about to say something when Walony simply gave me a high five and said 'Very nice, very nice...'

I looked at my watch and knew that within the hour my friend Kamyar would finally arrive.

Kulturkampf · #2

It was 10 PM when I got the phone call from Kimczak.

"What is it?" I was in a particularly good mood and did not want to be interrupted. I was listening to Jon Dunbar speaking drunk about how I am his best friend on the Korean peninsula which never gets old because it strikes home as both true and profound. Of course, because Jon was drunk the conversation flipped back and forth from the fact that we were best friends and the fact that it was so strange that we had uncovered the Slavic community but both of these seemed to tie in together somehow.

"I don't know what is wrong but we are at the Airport and I do not see your friend. He is gone or something." I sighed. As a man who served in the Army I realized that the likelihood of Kamyar actually not arriving there or having randomly wandered off was nonexistent. He would have called and he would have had enough common sense, even for an alcoholic Anglo-Iranian, to wait at the airport. However, I imagined he may indeed be passed out drunkenly at some location in the airport that may theoretically require effort to find.

"Kimczak... Stay there... I will be there soon." I hung up the phone before he could protest. I know he did not want to wait at Incheon airport while I drove 45 minutes but he had no choice in the matter.

I began pushing Yolanta off of me and stated quite simply that we were driving to Incheon.

"I'm... Drunk."

"That's OK," I said. "I'll drive." Naturally the slightly less inebriated people at the party protested but these fell on my deaf ears. I then told the blatant lie that instead I would take a taxi right as I reached for my keys. None realized that I would have no purpose for these keys as I would not be locking the door on a room full of 15 people.

I felt aggravated and upset and Yolanta was still in a good mood and talkative but being in a substance induced state of mind I did not have the common courtesy to accommodate her conversation. I took on a very cold tone and barely acknowledged her as we drove until she finally became quiet and got a slightly hurt look on her face. She was not used to the brooding, irritated Verv and I was too drunk to put on a mask to hide this part of me.

I began smiling in a very sadistic manner as I realized the silence was absolutely killing her -- she had tried to work my car radio but it simply had no antenna because I did not need one. I never listened to the radio, only to my own MP3s. She did not feel like she had the right to turn on my iPod to listen to music and though she noticed me noticing her fiddling with nobs I had decided I would not turn on my iPod and we would simply take this ride in complete silence.

She was drunk and she liked me and we were passing a beautiful evening together and now she was hurt and confused by my behavior and she brought her knees to her chest and folded her arms around them assuming one of those teenage fetal positions. My inner smile grew. I've never been able to explain it but I have always loved pushing the buttons of women in my life. I think because my mother set no standards for me it was always a relief when she was irritated because it seemed like someone cared. I guess I liked shitting on these women because I loved seeing them care.

Yolanta looked out the window for a while and then sighed.

"What's wrong, Verv? Why are you acting this way?"

"Oh... I am just concentrating... On driving. I am drunk... You know..." She audibly sighed, continued looking out the window into darkness.

When we arrived at the Incheon airport 20 minutes later she looked at me the whole time I was finding parking places, trying to look for some sort of reaction. I did not return the look even for a moment and exited the car and closed my door. I was so intent on not looking at her I wondered if she would follow and was delighted that she did not.

I guess I was delighted because I figured there would be a good chance she would be crying or on the verge of tears when I returned. I'd seen Yolanta cry while drunk before and I knew she was the type to mask her sensitive feelings in a punk rock image. I thought the best 'welcome to Korea, enjoy your stay' gift I could give Kamyar was one of Yolanta's tears.

Soon I saw Kimczak and Bialy standing about outside the airport with confused expressions. Kimczak went into the same spiel about not being able to find him and then expressed concern at my drunkenness and my driving. I just laughed.

"Follow me... I'm in the Infantry!" I said simply to them. Kimczak annoying corrected me by pointing out that I was just a driver and a MI guy when I was in the Army. I said 'same difference.'

After 10 minutes of looking around I came to the bus stops and saw an odd figure in a suitcase rack. I knew immediately it was Kamyar who was fast asleep. After a few pokes he looked up and smiled drunkenly. Only Kamyar would do this.

"Wah wah wee wow..." I simply said, with a smile, and Bialy did the same and soon we were all saying 'wah wah wee wow' and the first moments Kamyar and I ever spent with one another were spent doing Borat impressions and shaking hands. I was delighted that Kamyar was already drunk.

The banter continued and when we got to the car Yolanta was red faced and nursing a screwdriver I did not even know she had brought with. She tried to look tight lipped and mad.

"Oh shit, Yolanta is fucking mad... What did you do, Verv?" Kimczak said this with the same hilarity he always said everything. The world could be ending and he would still say it in the same voice. I do not think the man had any other emotion besides a general jovial commentary on the worst of situations. It was like he was separate from everything.

"I don't know, man... I'll cheer her up." I smiled. Everyone could tell from my smile that I would do anything but. Kamyar was not sure how to act so he just half-grinned, split between Kimczak's general amusement at life situations, my sadistic alcohol induced mood and Bialy's withdrawal into himself in these rough times.

Everybody entered the car which became a tomb of silence. Yolanta's skin had turned pink and she kept pushing her blond hair back, looking at the ground. Kimczak politely made conversation about nothing with Kamyar in very hushed tones while Bialy looked on in concern. I wore an eerily happy smile while looking at Kamyar and asking him lewd questions about the flight attendants. Somehow Kamyar had the common decency even while intoxicated to not play into these.

As this died out I decided I wanted to see fireworks just like any human being does and now that we were on the highway it was a good opportunity.

"Why the long face, pussycat? Give me a smile!" I said to Yolanta. The silence somehow grew even thicker. She looked away and didn't respond. Kimczak laughed under his breath and I heard him whisper 'oh, fuck' to Kamyar. At least someone enjoyed a continuation of our Borat references.

"Come on, pussycat... It is a long road back to Hweegyeongdong..." She hunched over a little and looked straight forward. I looked closely and I could see only sadness on her face. I was shitting on her day and shitting on the build up we've had for the last few weeks and I was laughing on the inside in the way only mad men understood -- I was like the man setting his own car on fire or kicking his dog just to hear it yelp.

A small tear rolled down her cheek which she quickly wiped. The whole situation was such pure madness to her -- intelligent conversation and total bonding over punk rock and Leni Riefenstahl and weeks of perfect friendship that hinted at something more being reduced to this senseless act of cruelty. My drunken self ate this up like a Lioness eating a gazelle.

"Pussycat, do you want to listen to some Kaki Buchae? 'Bong, bing, bong bong bing bing bing?'" I knew somehow I had fucked up the reference but it really did not matter at this point. Joking about Borat was just the perfect hell I could create in the moment and she began weeping softly and openly.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?" She wiped her eyes and at that moment my whole body shot forward with some inexplicable burst of emotion; half of me was about to burst into laughter and another part of me wanted to put a gun to my head and blow out my brains, wondering why I always did this; wondering why I got a kick out of any of this.

"Oh fuck, Verv... Why do you have to be such an asshole?" Kimczak mumbled. It made me smile a little wider on the inside and come that much closer to wanting to theoretically blow my brains out.

"What did I do... Why are you doing this?" Yolanta had waited a few more painful moments and suddenly I began feeling sad about the whole situation and I wanted to cry and I was hoping for something to happen that would make everything better. I had slightly sobered and realized the state that I was in...

I guess I always liked shitting on something beautiful because once I had anything beautiful it quickly began feeling like a nice shirt that I am too afraid to wear to dinner because it might get stains on it. I had only had one of those shirts before and I had decided to never buy one like it again. I hated the color white.

I hated that Yolanta was 20 and pretty if not a little country-ish and naive in her appearances. I hated that she listened to good skinhead and punk music and was impressed by my stories and paid me such large honors, speaking of me in high regard and treating me like some sort of idol. Once in a blue moon I can find a woman who worships the ground I walk on and the last thing I needed in my life was another figure to unconditionally love me and laugh at my jokes and slowly evolve into my emotional punching bag.

I hated the fact that if I told her things it might actually influence in some way the way she thought. I hated that she respected me as a human being. I hated her for liking me and giving me this opportunity to turn my back on Yongjugol whores and actually have a relationship with someone.

The only women I could ever like were the ones who didn't like me.

My plan to give Kamyar Yolanta's tears as a gift seemed like it had generally failed as I realized that some stranger's sadness actually was not really quite a gift.

I was not sure what I was about to say but I was determined that whatever came out next would fix the situation.

"Yolanta..."

"What?"

"I was just trying to drive... And I was drunk... And I was so angry because... No one could find Kamyar. And I was worried. And I couldn't concentrate. And Kamyar is such a good friend. So I didn't know what to do and I didn't want to talk. And... I didn't know what to say... And... I was worried that Kamyar would be... Offended... That we were so late... I'm just really stressed, Yola. And I never do anything right. And I am so worried that my neighbors are going to ruin our party and... We even got marijuana in there. We're gonna die. I do not know what to do. I do not even know why I am driving this car drunk." My voice got more emotional as I spoke.

Kimczak was the first to respond with an "Oh, fuck..." I am not sure what he meant to convey with it but it seemed accurate either way.

"Really?" Yolanta sniffled. We were quiet again. "I'm sorry... I... Didn't understand..."

"Yeah you know I was just stressed and I didn't know how to respond and I am drunk so..."

"OK..."

Everything slowly got better over the next 15 minutes and the situation was diffused. We saw one of those Korean vans that sells porn on the side of the road and I made a joke and Kamyar laughed and conversation started back up as I introduced everyone to him.

The atmosphere in the party had improved even more and when we entered we saw Mihao laying on top of Walony wrestling over a bottle of tequila and everyone was laughing and Nellka the gypsy came up with a happy face and suggested we go to a Noraebang.

Everyone was happy. So we were happy.

I do not remember much else from the evening other than Kamyar singing 'Piano Man' and both he and Yolanta and Cliff trying to get my legs into a taxi cab while I held a half-used Ramyoen container beneath my mouth in case I barfed.

The next day I woke up in my underwear and a t-shirt with a fully clothed Yolanta sleeping on my floor. I could still taste vomit in my mouth.

I remember nothing else but later Kamyar told me we had a really nice conversation about his flight over at the Noraebang and that at some point I knocked over a table full of soju bottles that smashed on the floor creating a small sea of alcohol within the karaoke room; Walony, Kamyar and myself urinated on the already wet floor of the Noraebang and that was about 6 AM and we all went home.

I guess I regret not staying sober enough to remember much of my first night with Kam.

Kulturkampf · #3

CHAPTER II: I SAY GOODBYE TO MY FAVORITE PROSTITUTE & EAT A DELICIOUS OMELET FOR BREAKFAST

I came into full consciousness and looked down at Yolanta sleeping on the floor and I felt a sense of regret. I also felt still far too caught between drunk and sober. I needed to get drunk.

I also needed to repent for my actions last night. I realized in my heart of hearts that this was no way to live my life and in this drunken nature I had essentially jeopardized what could be the last woman I pursue in my life. Of course, it was too soon to think of her as 'the last woman I would pursue in my life' but this didn't matter. I was a man that was into extremes.

I am not happy unless something seems hopelessly important and melodramatic.

I would never take any half measures in my life and would not start by minimizing the importance now. Somehow, if I could make everything seem important it would be. Right.

I tiptoed over Yola and searched for a clean pair of pants to put my dirty ass in. Yola woke up for a second and I looked at her and quickly came up with a lie:

"I am going to go to the gym. I need to work out." I figured this was a great lie. I look good in this lie... I am young and aspiring and I might not be overweight someday or something like that. She nodded and went back to bed. It was 10 AM. I guess I had only slept for a few hours.I put on the pants. My legs felt dirty against the clean Levi 501s. I pealed off my old shirt and walked out of the room holding the new under my armpit. I liked the way my barrel chest looked in the mirror in the hall and I thought the beer belly didn't look so bad.

I thought about my uncle Brian. I looked similar to him. When I was a boy I looked up to him and knew he was a real man because he drank a lot, chewed tobacco, had a giant chest and arms and a beer belly. I thought this was a great image to pursue -- a man who looked like Bluto from Popeye and spoke in a gravelly voice and was a carpenter by trade, just like Jesus and my dad.

Outside the room I saw Katarzyna and Jan were sleeping in front of my TV with a copy of Lord of the Rings II on. I was tempted to watch but I figured I would be back before the Battle of Helmsdeep. They looked nice and pleasant and I think they were a good example to have in my life. Cliff and Kamyar were sleeping near Cliff's bong. It looked like they fell asleep while smoking it.

I pulled a half consumed bottle of Wodka from the fridge and plugged my nose so I could swig a sizable amount to push me back over into the land of intoxication. I decided to do this twice to be sure. Then a third time for good measure.

I realized I had grabbed one of my favorite shirts to wear and I had intended to wear it on a special day. For a moment I thought about putting my "Better Dead Than Red" shirt away but I knew today was special. So I wore it anyways. It shouldn't get too dirty. It would be off in 30 minutes. Then on again. Then I'd be back. I'd watch the battle of Helmsdeep and wake up Kamyar and everyone else by noisily preparing ramyeon.

I walked calmly and quietly. It was Saturday morning and the only people who were out at 10 AM were lamers who didn't party the night before so I disrespected them by putting on my most arrogant and aloof expression. I gave a beggar all my change and listened to Burzum on my iPod.

A really old looking woman gave me an evil eye when I walked into the prostitution district and I smiled at her and bowed. She remained motionless for a few seconds and gave me the slightest bow in return.

It must suck living next to the prostitution district.

I walked quickly.

I was drawn there like a magnet and I saw her delicate face behind the glass window. Her name is Bora and she is 22 and I fuck her for $60 at a time.

She smiled and laughed and said something about how she was waiting for me but I didn't catch it all because she always spoke in a shitty Choella accent. Whenever she spoke fast I only caught half of it.

As I went to the other room and undressed and as I waited for her to return in only a bra and panties I wondered how much money I would save in the coming months not fucking prostitutes anymore. I wondered if I could give all this money to poor people and be a saint. I could help people. Change their lives. Make things easier for them. I wondered if I could invest all this money in Yolanta and be an overly kind and excited boyfriend -- the sort that sweeps a woman off of her feet and convinces her that she is the man for him.

Maybe I could buy more CDs or just watch my bank account get fatter. I could get a five string bass guitar. I wasn't sure why I needed this. I always played in drop C and only used the top two strings.

When Bora entered the room I started consciously blocking out everything that was happening because I suddenly regretted coming here in the first place and I wanted to start crying and for a moment I was about to get up and leave. I wanted to cry because this was wrong and I was a bad Christian and had always been a bad Christian and I didn't want to be a bad Christian and Jesus was talking to me.

I started to get an erection from Bora's supple lips. And "Jesus wept." John 11:35. The shortest verse in the Bible. And Jesus wept like Yolanta and as I became fully erect Jesus asked me why I was doing this to him and then I ignored Jesus for the next 10 minutes of my life and concentrated on getting off so I could say to Jesus,

"You know... I was just... Having a rough morning... And... I..." but then I realized I couldn't really lie to Jesus because he is omniscent and so I just started to say in my mind while I had Bora in the doggy style position, sorry, Jesus, I just do not understand why you love me at all. It is so naive. It is like loving the snake that is about to bite you. It is like loving the Lioness that is clamping down on your gazelle neck and crushing the life out of you.

Jesus, it is wrong for you to love me because I am only going to hurt you.

I stopped thinking about Jesus and I licked my finger and began stimulating Bora's rectal cavity with it, sucking on it several times and tasting some rusty substance that I guess was Bora's anus, until I finally put it in and she bucked back against me harder and I did my best to finish quickly.

Jesus, it's OK. You can love me again. I feel like I am born anew and I won't have to do this ever again.

We've made our peace.

Now weep no more and go forth and Love the rest of the world and forget me to my woman, my alcohol and my working class job. I will give my soul to you each time I pray before meals and I will give you all of my children's souls and I will argue for you on the internet debate forums. Goodbye for now, Jesus. Love, Verv.

I thought about the video I saw of a Nepalese man getting his head cut off and the weird, hollow scream-gurgle he made as he died. I wondered if Jesus made this sound when I ejaculate inside of prostitutes.

I thought of the woman who wrote the book When The Rabbit Screams or something like that. Rabbits have no vocal chords and make the strangest bellowing noise. The woman who wrote this book heard two women in Germany make this sound when they were recounting the times they used to be raped by their fathers.

Did Jesus make this sound when I ejaculated? This strange... Weird... Exhale of air... I figured it sounded like the Nepalese man who got his head cut off in the video I saw.

The Nepalese man was a Communist rebel or something so I guess he might have theoretically deserved it. Jesus wasn't into politics that much so I guess He doesn't deserve this.

Bora looked back at me and laughed and before she could say anything I spoke.

"This is the last time, Bora. I am going to give you a tip." She looked at me suspiciously and she didn't believe me because I had said this before. I jumped off the bed and never looked back at her. She said something about how I should wear a scarf because it is December and cold and I agreed and I wished her a nice Saturday.

"Go to Church tomorrow. And if you ever need anything, just call me. Have a good life." I didn't know what else to say and she laughed at my words and I laughed back, I wasn't sure if it was with her or at her or at myself.

I bundled up and went home and I got back just in time to watch the Battle of Helmsdeep. Everyone was asleep and I was excited and wide awake and I love the part when the guy is standing in front of the castle's entrance and says,

"Whatever comes through that door... Stand your ground!"

Mentally, I said the same and I looked over at the door to my room and Yolanta came out quietly and offered me a smile and proceeded through the hall delicately.

She asked me how my work out was and I said it was so good I even ejaculated. She laughed. I laughed. Donia taught me the word for ejaculation in Polish a few weeks earlier and I somehow remembered only the medical term for it it so I guess it made me sound sophisticated and like I wasn't fucking a whore 25 minutes ago.

Yolanta even laughed a little more a few minutes after the joke and told me how smart I was in my Polish studies.

She asked me where the eggs were and made me an omelet. She used some Swiss cheese. I really like Swiss cheese in my omelets.

I think I even like omelets more than I like sex. But you can't eat an omelet all day. Especially not on the weekends.

The omelet was better than the sex and I felt really a whole lot better about the whole situation and took out Lord Of The Rings II and put in the film Quarantine because it was scary and I wanted to see Yolanta scared.

She screamed out and grabbed my arm several times and during the final 10 minutes of the film she intermittently watched the film and buried her head in my chest. She was very scared. I liked it a lot. I think I might have fallen in love or something.

Other people were waking up when she screamed during the final 7 seconds of the film and she looked cute and flushed and she made them delicious omelets, too.