Long Island Railroad Marriage Counseling
First in a series of conversations I had with Tom da Lung Eyelund Carpenta as we waited for our early morning commute into Manhattan…
“Youse got divorced? Seperated? Congratufuckenlations! Why? She didn wanna fuck or work?
Sometimes it’s jus dat simple.
My wife dried up at one point, too. I says ta her I says: ‘Dis is not how I roll,’ cause last I checked I still had a peninsula, two balls, an stubble on my chinny-chin-chin.
So I’s huffed, an I’s puffed, an I’s blew dat house down — at least she finally did, which is why I still put up wid dis whole fucken catastrophe dey call da American Dream.
Women are jus nuts. You gotta get used ta it, or jump out a window, or even worser, work corporate.
A buddy a mine’s has alarms all set on his smartphone, timers ta alert him before, durin, an afta his wife starts ta flow.
Dat way he gets da heads up dat his wife is gonna be totally out of her fucken mind fer a week, an he’s prepped an doesn’t have ta kill da whole family in response.
Afta a while, we become inured ta it, like bein crazy is as normal as apple pie an guns.
Jus da odder day, my wife ‘finds’ eight hunnert dollas she stashed in an envelope six monts ago, all da while tellin me dat I hide money.
So she decides ta buy herself a new phone, compooter, an fancy hand creams, no problemo.
Would be nice if she instead offas ta help pay da mortgage or take me ta dinna, but no, she’s got it all worked out: what’s hers is hers, what’s mine is hers, and whatever is left over is… hers.
But I probly don’ need ta remind you a dat, since now youse divorced an pay so much in child support an alimony I’ll be seein youse livin on dis train platform, in da little train house here.
The advantages are significant, able to roll right ova off youse prison cot an gettin inta da five-turdy-tree train, anudder day, anudder twenty bucks.
Youse already workin hard so she can sit aroun all day an not work, instead spendin all youse money an not haveta fuck youse, jus like she did when youse were married.
Eidder way youse not getting laid or paid, but at least now youse don’ haveta set youse alarm every mont.
Da simple pleasures, Son. Livin da dream.
Speakin a which, here’s da train!
Let’s get ta work before dey cash our next pay check! Survival a da pussy whipped!
We do it fer da kids, dats what priests an politicians sez.
Who knew what would happen when we say ‘I do’s!’? See youse tomorra, since neider of us got anyting better ta do.
Good God, yawl! I’s on fire! On fy-yuh! On fy-yuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
Enjoying Tom? Lucky you, there’s more…