By Luca Penne
The monster’s back, looking a little perturbed as if he hadn’t been fed properly, his forehead a gravel pit, his mouth full of pruning shears, his eyes dark as cattle prods, his hooks polished and pointy. Sharon has again turned him down for a date because of his bad breath.
It’s been a rough night all around: Suzie lost her head in the shower; Mack ran into a spike; Ken fell into the well; John was sucked through the toilet; and Sylvia fried herself with the hair dryer, knocking out the power supply.
As a monster, he’s not really that scary—but what scares me is how he keeps following Sharon even though she has insulted him in a thousand different ways and how Sharon’s alliances keep shifting. First she was in love with Mack, then Peter and now me. I’m pointing a shotgun at him, but he hardly seems to notice.
We shot him twice, threw him in a well, ran him over on a rough rainy stretch of highway even hung him with his own noose. He’s a klutz, hopelessly gullible and frankly it’s a little freaky how he keeps getting defeated, but give the guy credit: he’s a survivor—and Sharon’s running out of lovers.
Clutching at Straws 