We lost count

Jerry found him­self think­ing, ‘not again.’ Being a Sleestack, and see­ing the uni­verse as a puz­zle in which sim­i­lar events are grouped together, Jerry could not help but notice the irony of once again being caught between two pow­er­ful women.

The last time the two women were his mother and his now ex-girlfriend. While Spar­ti­cus and Spar­ta­ma­trix con­tin­ued their ver­bal spar­ring, Jerry did what he often did when torn between two demand­ing women, he checked out and started daydreaming.

He thought of the time in col­lege when his ther­a­pist had said, ‘Jerry, you are obsessed with ‘why.’ We could spend 40 years in analy­sis only to dis­cover that the rea­son you are afraid to talk to women is that your mother’s hair was so black it looked blue, but armed with this knowl­edge, you will still have to get up the courage to ask some­one out.’

He did find a girl­friend, but it was short lived. After she dumped him, she said, “Your unre­solved issues with your mother are why we did not work out.” As his mind drifted, he won­dered how much he had in fact resolved con­sid­er­ing he was too shy to ask the barista out.…

A shout from Spar­ta­ma­trix dis­tracted him from his reverie. He thought, ‘given that I have not got­ten laid in a while, there are worse fates than being a sex-slave to an Amazon-esque dom­i­na­trix.’ But then he thought, ‘fuck that, I just want the girl, not the super­hero.’ He was rather pleased with this and took it as a sign that maybe all the ther­apy had yielded some­thing after all.

He started singing, “Blam­ing it all on the nights on Broad­way, Singing them love songs, Singing them straight to the heart songs…” When Spar­ti­cus turned to see who was singing her favorite song, he pulled the small vial of space dust out of his pocket, threw it in her eyes, blind­ing her, and remem­ber­ing Iriv­ing Finklebaum’s admo­ni­tion, yanked the zip­per on her head, peal­ing her open.

She was hol­low inside… Jerry jumped in, think­ing, ‘this is just like jump­ing into my favorite bunny paja­mas with feet, as a child…’ He felt the curve of his bosoms with his hands, then exclaimed, “Now I am my mother, I AM Spar­ti­cus. Back off bitch, you are not going to play God, you are not going to dec­i­mate the male population.…”

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