- Incredibly Suitable For Work
A neighbor who was outside walking her shihtzu named Bianca looked in the window and saw the men embracing. She heard the screams and thought they were having sex. The wife happened to be pulling into the driveway in her beige Subaru Outback, and the neighbor told her that her husband was having a raging affair with a man.
Barnabas had packed up his things, leaving the rubbers in a bucket as per the husbandâs request. He passed the wife in the kitchen on his way out making no eye contact, but she did look at the big tear stain on the front of his flannel. The wife walked upstairs to the bathroom where her husband was still writhing and wailing and said, âAre you having an affair with that large man downstairs?â
As soon as she finished the question, the condom bucket started vibrating, and the wrinkled condoms rose up, levitating, and spinning in a geometric aerial pattern. Then sounds of musket rifles could be heard cracking off, and horses charging and neighing, and soldiers at war. There was a snare drum and a flute. Someone far away shouted commands. Barnabas had unknowingly roused the spirit of a dead Union Civil War soldier when he unclogged the rubbers from the toilet. The house was built next to an old cemetery, and a soldier from the Union Army was buried there. His name was Jed Marcellus and he died in the Battle of Bull Run in William County, Virginia on July 21st, 1861. After the war, Jedâs brother moved to the Seattle area to run a lumber mill, and he relocated Jedâs gravesite so he could be close to him.
Barnabasâs snaking and clamoring and suctioning the rubbers out of the pipes had woken Jedâs ghost. Something about the snaking popped a bubble into the the next dimension. Jed was twenty when he died at Bull Run. He was running across an open field. He never fired his gun. Jedâs ghost face floated in the bathroom mirror plain as day, swathed in a blood-soaked bandage, and he said to the wife, âYour husband ainât fuckinâ anyone one other than you, maâam. But as long as weâre all here, why donât we tell your husband about how youâre fuckinâ your daughterâs soccer coach? He really shouldnât flush his condoms down the commode, they just stay in there forever, you know.â
THE END