There’s nothing funny about domestic violence … unless it involves me getting my ass beat by a giant taco.
I’m not saying I don’t deserve all of the blame for the position I find myself at this midlife juncture but I am saying I plan to blame everyone else for my problems.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried really hard over the years to take responsibility for my mistakes, be they minor faux pas or king-size clusterfucks.
The truth is I’m tired. I just don’t have the energy for introspective. Nor do I have the stomach for reflection followed by positive action.
After all, if people who smoked all their life can sue the tobacco companies and win big fat paydays, then I should be able to squeeze the tits of Nabisco and McDonald’s for a few million each.
Granted, most of the blame for my weight belongs to me being undisciplined when it comes to Taco Bell.
I want to quit this abusive relationship but our passion keeps me crawling back, no matter how destructive our love is to one another.
Cops: “We received a complaint from the neighbors about the noise over here.”
Taco Bell: “I was just leaving.”
Cops: “Mr. Gohs, is everything alright?”
Me: “Yes. Just fine. We were having a discussion about politics … (I pause for nervous laughter) and I guess it got a little heated.”
Taco Bell: “It got heated because you’re a stupid bitch what don’t know when to shut her mouth!”
Me: “Don’t mind him, officer, TB just has a wicked sense of humor.” (more nervous laughter from me)
Cops: “Easy, Mr. Bell. You folks mind if we come in and take a look around?”
Me: “Sure. I’ll put on some coffee.”
Taco Bell: “You fuck faces got a warrant?”
Cops: “Please, Mr. Bell, just have a seat and try to remain calm.”
Taco Bell: “Nobody but nobody tells me what to do in my own home!”
Me: “TB, please! You’re just going to make things worse!”
Cops: “It looks like somebody did a number on this place.”
Taco Bell: “What number is that? A number two? You sayin’ my house looks like shit?”
Me: “I’ve been spring cleaning, officer. Please excuse the mess.”
Taco Bell: “Only thing you ever clean is crumbs from the bottom of the cookie jar, you fat pig.”
Me (sobbing now): “You didn’t seem to mind when I was eating your burrito last night.” (more sobbing)
Taco Bell: “I’ve had better.”
Cops: “Mr. Gohs, what happened to your face.”
Taco Bell: “Ugly parents. Ha!”
Me: “I-I-I fell down the stairs … and hit my face on his fist.”
(Cops grab Taco Bell, trying to restrain him from hitting me.)
Taco Bell: “You bitch! How could you do this to me?”
Cops: “Alright, Mr. Bell, you’re coming with us.”
Me: “Don’t! Please! I love him! It wouldn’t have happened if I wouldn’t have brought the wrong beer home.”
Taco Bell (hogtied and dragged from the domicile): “You did that on purpose, you bitch! You know I only drink Rolling Rock!”
Does Weight Watchers have a plan for that?