“They’re all the same fucking show.” She pushed a few remote buttons. “See, Flinstones, Honeymooners, King of Queens…all these blue collar idiot guys with hot wives. Do you like these shows, Angus?”
Angus shook his head. His blue eyes locked onto her.
“No, and Wendy doesn’t like it either.” She sighed and her long brunette curls shifted audibly on the beige leather couch as she shook her head. “Then again, I don’t know why I refer to myself in the third person. Do you?”
He shook his head again.
“You do have gorgeous blue eyes,” she whispered and ran her fingers through his buzzed brown stubble-hair. Her own brown eyes returned to the television where Wilma was using some tiny dinosaur as a vacuum cleaner. “Wilma isn’t tall enough, anyway. It is all about the male fantasy for the average blob of a guy to have a gorgeous woman on his arm. You guys all figure that we’ll forgive your little flaws and fat bellies just so we can live in the home that is your castle.”
Angus grunted his agreement.
Wendy brushed a stray hair off of her bare shoulder. “All you bastards want is some good looking dame to fawn over you. To cook and clean for you and then blow and fuck you on command.”
A passing vehicle briefly lit the room as it passed on the street one floor below the apartment. The pathetic table lamp took over, again, once the car-light escaped.
“You need a better apartment. This place sucks!” Wendy glanced around the dark bachelor apartment. “Next time you’ll have to come back to my place. Much bigger and more comfortable.”
He ignored her words.
“Yeah, like you fucking care. You’re a not only a glutton for punishment, but you deserve it. How many ex-wives?”
Again, he ignored.
“Three? No, four? Kids with three of them. How the fuck do you afford me? You must be screwing one, if not all of the ex’s on child support.” She picked her drink off the side table and allowed a slight sigh before sipping her drink. “I should beat you, shouldn’t I? Leave bruises for that girlfriend to see.”
“Mind you, then you’d stop paying me. You really are pathetic.” Another sip and Wendy’s eyes returned to the flickering tube. “How old is that TV? Twenty years? How do you even get fucking reception anymore?”
Two more cars passed and briefly over ruled the table lamp.
She flipped channels again. On the screen Neil Patrick Harris ran up to the ear of the much taller Nathan Fillion while singing, “It’s a brand new day and the sun is high. All the birds are singing that you’re gonna die!”
Wendy squealed, “Ohhhh…I love this show. Doc Horrible is fucking awesome with his budy Moist and The Thoroughbred of Sin!”
A quick slap across the top of his head. “SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU IMBECILE! You are pathetic you piece of trash!”
The chuckle stopped.
“No fucking wonder you can’t keep a wife. You are truly the scum of the male gender.” She pulled a nacho from the bowl and dipped it in the open jar of cheese before crunching on it. “I could do more in my pinkie finger than you can in your entire being you low life.”
“But I thought this was an argument?” Angus’ deep voice said quickly and quietly.
“SHUT THE…oh, wait. That was Monty Python, wasn’t it?”
“Well done, you sniveling turd. I can accept Python jokes.” She sipped her drink again. “You shouldn’t go to work tomorrow. In fact, why do you bother at all? Not like you have much to live for.”
Angus returned to just listening and not responding.
“You know what it was about The Honeymooners? Do you?”
“All men knew…still know that they do not deserve women. They know that they are so fucking pathetic. Were it not for propagation of the species, we would be done with you.”
Angus finally answered in a question, “Who would mow the lawn?”
She tugged on his collar to get him back to work. One fist in the air, she mocked, “To the Moon, Angus, to the Moon.”
His lips slipped back between the leather of her thigh high black boots
She allowed another sigh to show her appreciation of his oral work…but not too much appreciation. “I should fucking flog you…just for shits and giggles.”