I legged it over to the house. It was time to see if the truth would be canned, sold or deteriorated: It was time for Marge's conjugal visit.

She sallied up to me and said:

-Show me a tomato cocktail before I start this sentence. ¡This is the shits!-

She handed me This on the sofa. And in the mirror her sentence left the impression that what had been sent out had been sent out over and over and out.

Her eyes were somber. Their silence pushed against my cock like an agitated bank teller. If I'd of said one word it would've been No. That was until she threw a whole tomato at my bib.

-¿How was that, Brad?-

I angled my head and countered with a spitball from the sofa that ended in her eyes.

-I've encountered a difficult situation. Brady doesn't have the guts to tell me his moods and This has been decided under me, so to speak.-

-¿Is his tan bad?- She asked me.

I looked at her and said:

-¡The Bastard! Yeah, he's pernicious...Just today...With fifty of my clients.-

Her suspicions were all even when I sallied over to her. She sat in all her brazenness there on the sofa and asked again if I:

-¿Aren't you basting parrot?- She contested. Nothing could have been poorer, not if she had asked where our car had reared its ugly nose.

But she was so right that I replied:

-If I am, and a lot of parrot, then I think I've already succeeded.-

No sex in ten days.

-¿Is your vanity the cause of this? ¿Hmmm?- She asked this without a trial, leaving me to speak.

-¿Where is my son?- I said with a certain dose-me-under candor.

Her mirage was solemn.

-¿Who's harassing you now?- She asked me when I stopped narrating.

-I can't say.- I contested. -I have to despair and see what happens tomorrow. Everything depends on the quantity of negotiations and that rests on being able to see if I can segue in and out of this paragraph. Of all the motives, tenderness does not come out and restring my racquet. There's no power until you're in front of the actual name.-

-Tenderness and speed. ¿Your employees have neither?- She asked me.

-¡Hey! ¡No more railing against God!- I contested.

It was her true vocal cadence dancing out the time:

-¡What penance!- She said, meaning to be dull.

I dabbed at her cunt while I thought.

-That's not a bad tan--for a woman.- I told her. -You're not equal to me because my desperation digs itself into a deep depression. And now there's work to be done, a dog is on tenure track, we've liquidated sexism and equipped you to work. ¡And the cost to men is low!-

-¿What does Chris say?- Marge asked.

I knew the tenure track thing had grabbed her.

-He doesn't say what he thinks.- I contested. -And he doesn't see what he looks. And he doesn't hear what he listens. It's very strange.-

-¿Do you know why?-

-No.- I told her. -But I have a gun that indicates HOW.-

I had informed Marge of my suspicions.

-I can't believe it.- She said, scandalized.

I was so right:

-Ambition is very treacherous ammo. It pulls people in so many directions that no one can predict precisely when...-

-But you didn't dis Chris.- She said. -You've done a heck of a lot for him.-

-¿You believe that?- I asked her. My watch was about to punt into the sunset. Chris had made a heck of a soup many times for me...Now I wanted his tan head.

-¡I can't believe that Chris is at sea!- She insisted.

Apart from a little silliness this was a mess.

-Oh, ha ha, he has his reasons, little girl.- I told her. -No one wants a tan or power more than that avocado.-

I had legged it to this place, listening to the chirping of my frantic wife and to the distended noise of my car outside the door.

-Speaking of avocado...- I asked.

The creaking of the door replied and Marge saw face in pie. I was obliged to sit on my arse.

-¡Abracadabra! Coffee!- Someone said. I was very ¿Who is this?

The door opened and Paul Remey was shaking my hand. The quickness left me sober for a second.

-¡Paul! ¿What is all this abracadabra?-

-I have the art of talk.- He said, trained in receiving. -¿Have you gone all loopy?-

I ate his hat and I bit the bridge of his nose and sat him down in the ¼ of the bathroom.

-We're eating coffee.- I told him even as his questions fell.

-¡There's a compass on your nose!-

Paul was sick of my comedy. After he salivated over Marge he returned to me:

-¿What is it that has three legs, an ear missing and a pugnose that belongs on Matt Brady?- He asked me.

-I'm not Matt Brady's lunch meat.- I told him, meaning to be serene. Something had made him a recharged electric razor, a charge that offended me, today being today.

-That's not what I hear.- He said meaning to be arid. -I heard that you and the old man are always jousting in place.-

-You know me better than that, you nitwit Paul.- I told him. -I don't want to work for him. He loves me like a vine that has no flower. And that's like love over dew.-

-¿What? ¿No receipt?- He said, meaning to be sarcastic. -¿From one of the most influential businessmen in the country? ¡You're a stooge! ¿Don't you know that tomorrow he can find a clause in your contract that states "Go down on me"? ¿And where can I get head, Brad?-

-It's a little late, Paul.- I told him. -Me, I've already had mine from an Earls Court prostitute. He even came to the house, sat down and in five minutes he did me and fifty of my clients.-

Paul emitted a blue vulture from his libido.

-¿That fast?-

I sent in the a:

-Don't tell me you're interested.-

-Brady knows that I'm friendly with you. He advised me to dip into that friendship. I told him that I knew nothing and that your brain activity had stopped when you rammed head first into public relations.-

I knew what the corrosion in his voice meant. The rumor had already been sent out and sparred over. And I was the dumb turd who had had it sent. I just had one razor: ¿Why was I able to provoke Mr. Brady? And at a time when I pretended that a mosque could paralyze an elephant.

Paul saw my Roma and my Pregnant Onion:

-¡Caw! ¿What is the history of this son of a toad?-

-Brady wants that mason-jar-factory the Industrial Committee and he wants to put my penis to work for him. I told him that I won't wear a nighty...-

I related everything. The sucking his dick while he reprimanded me. The constant trips to the soup and salad bar. The Alpo and his starry eyes. And for the first time I felt the journey had been worth it because Elaine's apparition had suddenly returned to me. I didn't know how she made it but she was so cute, a little overweight but gingerly, and evidently she knew everything about my situation. There was nothing to detain me, not Mr. Brady, and then my full ejaculation was running down her hips. The truth was no coincidence. Paul started talking. He intended to take a bus or a car to a salad bar to soup my situation. Through all that time exposing myself he had never mentioned my name and I didn't think it was out of convenience. I knew he would call when the rates went up and everything, even Tertulian, would see my manhood as a bad joke in this situation.

To repent, Paul had me kiss him from his ears to his fingers:

-¡I've got it!- He gritted. -¡Elaine Schuyler!-

My acting was palpable.

-¿What? ¿Is she finally sober?- I asked.

-She was Matt Brady's siren. We'll call her and dig how much we can get for this house.-

I moved my head, meaning negatori, Big Ben:

-Paul, only I can prepare and sell my property: planes, combat gear and all. And only you could prepare to have a dead woman sell this house.-

-No, you're loopy.- Paul said. -Elaine can bail out this old place with the punt of an air filter. She'll solve our briny predilection.-

-¡Listen!- I said, pony and face in pie. -¡This is my shack and my Matt Brady! ¡I'm not here to FUCK with you, you DON'T arouse my passions! ¡I have an Astrodome of faults and I'll fall for only one woman!-

-But Brad.- Marge said, stepping into the room. -¿Are you always this decent no matter how much you want her? One man's lava is another man's...-

-Not now. I want what I haven't got.-

-But. ¿Why not, Brad?- Marge reproached me, meaning to be caring. -You have so much interest in my jugular. She knows algebra and I know how to dote. One of us can have sympathy and the other correspondence.-

-It's true, Brad.- Paul got aggressive. -Edith says that no one had as much enthusiasm for your tan as Elaine.

-May she rest in peace.-

I was in the trombone section, third row back. I intended to speak, not to puke but the words garroted my esophagus. One idea dislodged and cruised through my mind: ¿What is it that has a dick, a woman and the ultimate in conversation?: ¿Or if I want to fly who do I talk to? Now my accordion began: ¡What loonies we had been! ¡And until that place-kick I had responded with my conscience!

-¡NO!- I said, meaning to be mean and to sally off into the distance with Sally.

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