Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #279

SR 1279

Cherub on the Left: “What the hell is she doing?”

Cherub on the Right: “By the looks of it, orgasming.”

Left: “From just a spritz? We should all be so lucky. I wonder what’s in the bottle?”

Right: “Whatever it is, I’m sure it doesn’t smell like her husband. She never looks like that when he’s around.”

Left: “He’s such a beastly little man, bellowing and throwing things and using us to light his cigars. I always have ash in my sash.”

Right: “I don’t know why she doesn’t just leave him.”

Left: “She’s staying for the cash flow, of course. She didn’t have a carved vanity table with that other husband of hers, the one that accidentally got run over by his own plow mule. Once you get off the farm, you don’t wanna go back.”

Right: “This house is just full of misery and deceit and bad wallpaper.”

Left: “You got that right. I don’t know how much more I can take. What do you say we wait for Orgasma over there to finish up and totter off to her princess bed. Then we can grab that bottle of gin off the vanity and make a break for Atlantic City. I gotta guy who can hook us up.”

Right: “Although that sounds poorly-planned and we’ll probably end up in a ditch somewhere, it could be fun. And I’ve always wanted to try that saltwater taffy the butler keeps babbling about. But there’s just one problem.”

Left: “What? You chicken?”

Right: “No. We can’t actually move, Einstein. We’re made out of gold.”

Left: “Oh, right. There’s that. Well, I hope Orgasma has some new movies in her Netflix queue tonight. I don’t think I can take any more Charlie Chaplin.”

 

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