Homewrecking Tales: Error’s wife is a disgusting pig

So Error sent Me one of his many monthly installments. Last week it was to cover My cell phone bill. But I’m glad he popped up on My radar because it reminded Me that I have to tell you maggots about the latest, filthy truth concerning that gross pig he calls a wife. If you don’t have the background on Error already as a result of having checked out how I ruined his wife’s chance for a baby and how I made his wife cry on Easter, or generally having followed our misdeeds on Twitter, you’ll probably want to catch up. Error is the original #wifetears and inspiration for My deep love of Homewrecking! But what he told Me last week made My stomach churn and reminded Me why I hate that bitch so much in the first place …

Every fucking time I start feeling sorry for that sad cow he’s married to, Error manages to drop a bomb that renews My zeal to be The Homewrecking Bitch that levels her pathetic, useless, lie of a life. Over the years, I’ve made him jerk off into her shampoo and face cream, and in her purse and wallet, and all over her shoe collection. Naturally, he’s developed a healthy, little cocaine habit along the way and he and I go together like peas and carrots. His home is, by far, at the top of My list for intended wreckage – and I love the thrill of making his wife cry. Error and I are inseparable. By now, his wife knows it. And we usually sit together laughing while she’s drowning her sorrows with her chubby, little fingers wrapped around a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

Anyways, last week I was interrogating him about whether or not he was still sticking his dick in that hog and the general sadness of their marriage, which is quickly buckling under the weight of her infertility. And what he told Me was revolting, even for someone with his wife’s low standards of fashion, personal hygiene, diet and femininity. (Remind Me to tell you about what she wore to the office Christmas Party! Ugh!)

Mind you, I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse for her. She has hair growing on her upper-lip that she refuses to get waxed. Her hair and general appearance are about as fashionable as a Half-Priced Books tote bag. She doesn’t believe in pedicures or waxing, or even proper perfume and makeup. She has no friends and no hobbies and no real life to speak of – save her tragic co-dependence on Error and her desperate pleas for him to stay. With all the money he makes, she can’t get her shit together enough to hire a housekeeper or keep the fridge stocked with anything other than oreos and ice cream. Consequently, the very large, expensive home he’s purchased looks like something off of Hoarders. (AND THE BITCH HAS 3 MONTHS OFF OF WORK A YEAR!) Most damning is her inability to understand his career and the professional gauntlet he endures daily. He’s competing at the highest level in his chosen profession and he works tirelessly. Instead of being either helpful or appreciative, or even generally supportive, she whines about every. fucking. thing. She’s definitely the worst decision he ever made. And she’s lucky that she guilted him into marriage when he was young, dumb, and totally lacking in his own sense of self-worth or any perspective about the world.

So last week he lays it on Me … he quietly mumbled, “she only wants me to fuck her from behind so I can’t see her body and there’s kind of an odor problem back there.”

“WHAT?”

“Ummm … she doesn’t really wipe all that well.”

OHMYFUCKINGGOD! I almost threw up in My own fucking mouth at that very moment. And then I recovered and insisted that he was lying and that this was definitely some made up bullshit. I argued extensively with him and told him that there was no fucking way on God’s green earth that his wife did not clean her ass. I mean, she’s definitely a busted bitch, but what kind of woman doesn’t wipe her own fucking ass? HOLY FUCKING SHIT! And he knows how completely beyond disgusted I am by lax personal hygiene, particularly in the ass region. Anything involving any kind of excrement or odor just sends Me running for the nearest bleach bath. But he insisted that it’s true. He even told me that she has those weird sub-dermal, pilonidal cysts back there that are usually punishment for being born with a hairy ass! I believe him because he was about a case of beer and an 8-ball of blow into the evening and he’s not very good at keeping up a lie under those conditions, (unless he’s lying to his wife.) And the fact that he came up with the proper name and symptoms for a pilonidal cyst under those circumstances is a strong indicator of truthfulness and previous life experience.

Needless to say, hearing a horror story about a grown woman that doesn’t wipe her own ass has prompted Me to fortify My stock of premium, wet toilet paper. Of course I always keep a steady supply of it on hand, but this past week I’ve doubled My stockpile. I definitely do not fuck around with My own personal hygiene. And now when I walk past the wet toilet paper at the store I feel like I have to buy more of it just to ward off any remote possibility or cruel joke of circumstance that I could possibly be stuck with an unclean ass. I mean, obviously I’d TAKE A FUCKING SHOWER. But knowing that there are adult women in the world with … ugh … I just can’t talk about it anymore. Honestly, the whole thing is just so revolting. That bitch is going down. She can move her filthy ass into an apartment that she can afford on her school teacher’s salary. I’m done with her and so is Error.

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