The Heavy Year
If I tell you and I know I must, it all started after an algebra test I took. I was the underdog in this, understand? I had no great expectations. But I performed above and beyond and received an A. Oh! The joy that coursed through my veins! And then it was upon me, hordes of people, some I knew, others that I laid eyes on for the first time, congratulating me for my victory. And they wanted more. Worse, they expected it! You do not understand this kind of pressure! It was then that I became hooked on the two things that destroyed me: angeldust and Russian mail order brides. Cut to three weeks later, and I was legally binded to eight women of the Russian countryside and Barnum and Bailey had set up camp in the bathroom. Thursdays were the worst. Pickled eel for dinner and those infernal clowns and their tambourines until daybreak. There was no communication between my wives and myself because I had no inclination to learn Russian and they did not care to learn English. What about the language of love, you ask? Well, I don’t know about love, but we were all no stranger to dirty, shameful sex. We were fluent. In truth, the only time the house was quiet was Sunday. That was the day the wives would go to Home Depot and the day the mimes would perform. It was the only day I could study. And the A’s just kept coming, the same with the Russian brides, fifteen at its highest point. The crawlspace and shed were packed. The worst was Natasha. 6’3 and as shapely as the Iron Curtain, she could pack a wallop. Being the house cook, she found I was taking the leftovers to feed the elephants. She didn’t believe me and sadly, our relationship was cracked in as many places as my broken jaw. And then it happened. I failed an algebra test. From there it all came fast and sudden. Over the course of a week, all my wives left, promising to write as they went. The circus was slower to leave, probably because of all the equipment and animals that needed packing up. I can say now that I am a happy man. I dropped Math, never to return to it again. I regularly receive postcards in the mail from my wives and sometimes, when I’m taking a piss, I find myself between a clown and a tiger.
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