I think I’m going to get away with killing my bitch wife. I’ve got the same plan as always, same as with the whores under the shed. Thank god for my helper who always gets me out of these jams, a man who I never in a kajillion years would have guessed: Jeff Bezos. Yeah, big billionaire with better things to do. But Jeff gets it. Whatever I need? He’s there. Cement? Shovel? Flesh-eating acid? He delivers it right to my door. Because this isn’t my first rodeo, and Jeff has already supplied all my tools, I probably don’t even need his help for this one.
At dinner, Linda pissed me off. Meaning, this isn’t my fault. She made me do it. So she’s going on and on, bitching about her feelings again, probably PMSing. Being a real cunt, worse than usual. Slapping her never could shut her up for long—there’s no mute button in the world powerful enough—it’s like she couldn’t stay the fuck silent if her life depended on it. Well, she proved that tonight.
I like my women with bite, but that snarl is only fun for a little while, maybe the first few fucks. Soon, it fades. Then you can’t get a muzzle on these bitches fast enough and let me tell you, it’s not even worth the bed pleasures. I can pay a hooker to say what I want, but I expect a wife I won’t have to kill in a sudden rage because that mouth I love on her turns into her fatal flaw.
So I kill the stupid bitch and dig her a nice backyard bed, and now here she lies, dead as disco. My heart starts buzzing. It might be from digging though, because I’m exhausted. I trudge inside and crack open a cold one after all my hard work. Tilting the whole thing back in one glug, I slump into my chair to take a nap.
Dawn arrives, and I sleep far too long. I jump up in a panic and scramble out the back door. Thankfully, she’s undisturbed, still waiting for me.
My heart’s buzzing again. It feels wrong leaving her corpse to rest in a shallow grave in our backyard. I still haven’t mixed the bags of cement. There’s time to adjust the plan. I drag her fly-covered, filthy body back up from its final resting place, and she’s already reeking something foul, a stench wafting out of her slack-jawed gaping mouth. She’s looking so sweet, I’m tempted to kiss that nasty scowl, love her one last time. How long has it been since she even let me near that old bat cave? Oh well. Too late now. I’ll just have myself a whore when this is over. To celebrate. There’s plenty more room out here to bury another one.
But I’m still feeling sentimental and want to get this over with to start my new life. Might as well lean on Jeff again. I go on Amazon to find her a casket. Can’t just bury her raw out here like the prostitutes. After all, she’s my wife. I choose one that’s red, like a rose. She was always yammering on about wanting roses, and I sure as hell ain’t getting her roses now, so this will have to do. I add it to the cart, pick same day delivery.
A little tear forms in my eye. I wipe it away. I loved Linda. I mean, I still do. If anyone knows what true love is, it’s me. She just never wanted to see it. Thought she could threaten to leave? Well if I can’t have her, no one can. Now she’ll always be with me here at the house, dreaming from her homeland of hellfire about all the ways she never appreciated our love.
This casket costs me a cool $1300, way more than I’ve ever spent on her for anything, even her wedding ring. And she always said I was cheap. See, Linda? If you would have just opened your eyes and shut your mouth—you’d see all I do for you. Eerily, her eyes are open now, but so is her mouth, and I can tell she still doesn’t see it. I spit on her and pour a shovel full of sand on her face, just in case. So I’m not tempted to touch her.
Then it’s like a blink of time, sun’s high in the sky, the death case hasn’t arrived yet, so I still can’t bury her. Finally, the doorbell rings, but it ain’t the delivery.
I open it. Turns out, these pigs have come knocking at my door, saying some shit about my missing wife. I don’t know exactly what cause I’m not listening—something about I’m a suspect, asking me what I was doing buying a casket on amazon.com. I ask them what the hell they were doing going through my private purchases.
“Sir, Mr. Johnson,” cop says. “Your wife is missing. Your cooperation in the investigation can help lead to her whereabouts. Time is very important right now,” then I completely blank her out, this lady cop flapping her lips, and I look instead at her badge shining over her left tit, and notice how fat her ass looks in that uniform. Maybe I’ll pistol fuck her with that Glock on her belt. Unloaded? No, loaded. She’d like that. I can tell.
I’d be sweet on her if I didn’t know better. But I know that look in her eye, same bitch look Linda loved to get.
This cop is either on the rag or she’s on to me. They say women have this intuition, like their brains have psychic powers. Well, Linda’s is fucked now because I smashed a hammer into the back of her skull.
“You know, in these cases, it’s the husband usually, and they go and do something stupid. Get themselves caught. Almost like they feel too guilty, just want the weight of what they’ve done to end,” other cop says to me.
“Look, I ain’t stupid, and I ain’t the one who killed my wife,” I say.
“Killed?” Cops look at each other. “Who said she was dead?”
And now I’ve really stuck my foot up my ass.
“You know what I mean,” I say. “You’re the one saying it’s the husband. I’m saying I ain’t nothing.”
She looks at me with the bitch eyes again, same way all of these cunts look at you when they think they’re better than you. This makes me want to rip that scowl off and slice her ear to ear, put a pretty smile on that face, then slice her probably fake titties off and keep them in a shoebox under my bed. Maybe I can turn her face into a lampshade. Maybe she’ll be my next fun night. Hell, next couple nights. Yes, she deserves it.
“I’d like you to recount your whereabouts between the hours of eight p.m. to this morning at eight,” she says.
“Sitting on my ass in my recliner. Drinking a beer,” I say, proud that this isn’t even a lie. I gesture to the years-deep ass indent sunken into my chair for proof, Bud Light cans smattered all over the floor. I embellish and add, “Watching ESPN. Eating boxes of mac and cheese because Linda didn’t come home to cook nothing.”
“You didn’t bother to call and check on her? Had to wait until her employer reported her missing?”
I shrug.
Cop says nothing and writes something down. The other cop tries to get all bro with me.
“Hey man,” he says. “I get it. Women act up. We have to put them in line sometimes. Things get out of hand, and before you know it…” he tilts his head a little and raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to fill in the blank of what happens after before you know it.
The cunt cop gets tired of waiting and goes back to grilling my ass. “We’re going to have to take you down to the station, you need to answer a few more questions.”
“The fuck I will,” I say.
“If you don’t come willingly, we’ll book you for drunk and disorderly.” She snatches the Natty Light from my hands and throws it at her feet.
“I don’t know what type of law-abiding citizens you usually harass, but I can handle my booze,” I say, offended. “Disorderly? I’m calm. And you’re on my land,” I point down to the crest of the doorway where another empty beer can threatens to spill out from inside.
This cunt is not listening. She’s pissed and cuffs me with the force I want to use on her, that I’m definitely going to remember to return when I get out of these and find her home address. Right as she’s dragging me out to their patrol vehicle, the Amazon delivery guy shows up. He throws the package on the porch without even vaguely looking in our direction, like it’s a prom night dumpster baby or something diseased.
It’s just the manufacturer box, casket picture plastered on the outside and everything, with a postage label slapped on. Turns out, I’m a genius idiot. I bought a two-footer. For a kid. That was the kiddy price? Damn, Bezos, no wonder you’re rich. So I start wheezing a laugh, jutting my chin out to point at it since my hands are behind my back, and say, “Look! It’s too small. I’m an innocent man.”
The pigs are frozen for a second as this wave of confusion curveballs over their faces, and I’m shouting, “If the casket don’t fit, acquit!”
Then the bitch cop is telling me to shut up, and the bro cop starts to mirandize me, and right as I say LAWYER LAWYER LAWYER, my backyard gate swings open in some haunted act of God, and there’s Linda’s corpse right beside the piles of dirt and the rushed midnight grave I’d started digging. They both gape at it and the slut cop starts blabbering into her radio.
As they slam me into the car, I know there will be no coming back. So I don’t say another word, not a peep. I take a long look at what has been my home for twenty years, my necrotic wife in the distance for nearly half the time. In my silence, I think about what Jeff B might be doing, how many dead broads he’s probably laid to rest in his backyard or punted off his yacht somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. None of this is my fault, I realize. It’s Jeff’s. There once was a time I idolized him, imagining myself as his fellow man, bootstrapping my way to success any day now. But Jeff doesn’t have a clue what it’s like for us on planet ordinary folk—selling his cardboard baby caskets, preaching his fast shipping. Meanwhile, he’s shitting on his gold toilet, making his employees piss themselves on the clock, not caring at all how he ruined my perfect crime.
I used to cringe at all those weirdos’ threats of strapping him into a guillotine, knowing some freaks out there are just sick, irredeemable. Now I get it. Because I was almost free—no Linda, no more bitching in my ear, no more nagging. Then it all got ripped away. My dreams of living the rest of my days in peace, dreams that Bezos has taken from me. Same way he stole them from everyone else. And out of all the sinners out there, from serial killers to baby killers, to pigs on the rag, to whores like my wife, to lovesick Joe Blows like me, to even those liberals trying to decapitate him in the street, I think he’s the worst of us all. Because of him, I can’t even bury my Linda. And I can never forgive him for that, never.
