Salty Rants

Xs and Ys (How Crazy Are You?)

"Will you, Hayden Ryder Francisco Asbestos take Samantha Mary-Sue McNaughty to be your lawfully wedded wife?" asks the priest, peering at the groom from underneath his white, bushy brows. 

With a salacious smile on his face, Hayden turns to look at his bride, whose hands he clasps in his own. Many things go through his mind at that very moment: his other family, the positive result on his HIV test, his Brazilian mistress...all of those things would have to be swept under the rug in order for him to start a new life with his beloved Samantha. 

He had been waiting for this moment ever since he first laid eyes on her—as she undressed in her bedroom on a Saturday afternoon. He had just moved in next door, and after only a few minutes of that marvelous sight had made it his mission to watch her  every single day, his hardened member in hand. Nobody would have believed Samantha had she come to find out about this disturbing secret; Hayden was handsome, rich, and could get any woman he wanted. Besides, everybody knows that women like to be visually assaulted, it makes them feel beautiful and increases their self-esteem. 

"I do," he said, running his tongue over his teeth. Samantha blushed at the innuendo. The pair had tried a new sex move only a week ago, and it made her hot just thinking about it.

The oblivious priest bowed his head and with a smile, turned to Samantha. "Will you, Samantha Mary-Sue McNaughty take Hayden Ryder Francisco Asbestos to be your lawfully wedded husband?" 

Everybody waits with bated breath as Samantha's blue orbs glisten with tears.

"I—" 

Suddenly, the church doors fly open, revealing a very pissed-looking pregnant woman. 

"Alright, I think we should call it a night," I say, switching off the TV. After my #inspirational twenty-minute talk, we decided to continue watching the shitty Romance movie, just to see where it went. 

But it's already four in the morning and the finish line is nowhere in sight, so I think it would be best to just record what's left of the movie and watch it some other day. I'm tired as hell and am supposed to wake up in a few hours—plus, I have to think about what I'm going to do with my guest.

I uncross my legs and look over at you, any shadow of a smile disappearing when I notice penny-sized tears rolling down your cheeks. Not again. I've had enough emotion-feeling for one night, I'm pooped. 

"Are...you alright?" I ask, my hand going up to scratch the back of my neck. Your melancholy seems never-ending, so, to save both of us from another sob-story, I consider picking up the machete and ending your misery. That would be the sensible thing to do, right? Right? 

You shake your head, then throw it back and release a howl. Startled, I scrambled sideways like a crab until I'm crouching on the armrest of the couch. What the hell just happened? My eyes flit to the machete on the coffee table. It's a bit of a stretch from here, but if I could just—

"I miss him!" you wail in a voice so shrill, I think I feel blood trickling out of one of my ears. Nope, just ear-wax. 

"Miss who?"I yell back, nearly falling off my perch.

"Brandon!" This has turned into some sort of fucked up shouting contest, but it immediately disbands once you burst into tears again. 

"Brandon? I thought you guys were dating?" I have a knack for remembering the most useless pieces of information about people. This is one of them.

"Yes, b-but, he broke up w-with me a-and..."—you take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut. Poor baby. I wish I could relate to your suffering, but I can't.