I need to build a wall so my ex wives and girlfriends can’t get through it. Now, I just have to figure out a way for them to pay for it.
It’s either a wall or a well stocked panic room. I’m sure you thought I was going To take the political angle but I had a nightmare last night that I was confronted by them all. Yikes! I woke up with a cold sweat until I realized the only one there was my sweet wife of 19 years. Whew.
I guess I could blackmail them with a tell-all book, although I would more likely be the one who gets ratted out. Well deserved in some cases, not in others. Isn’t that the way it goes?
In my defense, I was in show business and no one’s relationship is expected to last very long. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the ticket. (Blatantly stolen from John Lovits) In showbiz, the life expectancy for a relationship is .815 years exactly. I did the research. That means none of what happened is my fault! I’m blameless!
Now, back to building the wall. I’ll first need to get permission from the homeowners association. That won’t be easy. Wait! I’ve got it. I’ll dig up dirt on enough of them to make it pass. I’ll surveil their conversations. I’ll pretend that I’m a security agency so it will be OK.
What if the tell-all book doesn’t work? I need a backup plan. I’ll rob a bank wearing a mask of one of the perpetraters. Wait, that won’t work because I would need to either wear a dress or a ladies pant suit, along with pumps. I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. My ankles would keep turning and eventually end turning into a high ankle sprain. Even NFL players can’t play with those.
I’ll bet a scam phone call pretending to be the IRS might work. Or one of those Nigerian emails promising millions of you send them thousands. That’s a great back up plan. I’m going to build that wall and they will pay for it, believe me. It’s going to be beautiful, right? I must protect my boarders.
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