Story Breakfast With My Loving Wife - Part One: EXCELCIUS

[t.v.o.d.]

I.



Needless to say, though I'll go ahead and start by saying it, but anime women are absolutely nothing like the women you see in daily life. Groundbreaking, right? But it's a little more complicated than that. You see, it's not just that on the surface they're immediately distinct from one another, but it's actual honest-to-god biological differences. Where as the human body, and by extension the female body, is composed of oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, etc., anime women are comprised, surprisingly (though not really), of 70% cream and 30% unicorn dust. Allow me to elaborate further. The cream isn't like anything you'll find in pastry shops or behind or over the counter of pharmacies. It's responsible for congealing at certain pre-designated points that create organs that only have a passing resemblance to the organs that are inside of us. The cream is actually very dynamic, especially when you consider all the possible properties it can manifest into. It ticks off all three forms of matter with varying density and size for each. Of course, as to be expected, the cream also is responsible for anime women's characteristically smooth skin almost 100% of the time free of blemishes or freckles anything that could possibly cause any sort of repulsion or split-second feeling of “maybe I shouldn't be associating with this person on any level beyond superficial.” It also explains some other things, like buoyancy, lack of cellulite, the jiggly and curvaceous nature of their bodies, their naturally pearly white fingernails, the instinctive lack of need for makeup, etc.

What's even more interesting is where the unicorn dust comes into play. It's what forms the incredibly resilient vertebrae, which is why you will never see any anime women complaining about back pain, no matter how absurdly proportioned their mammary glands are. It's not uncommon for a 16 year old anime girl to be sporting a chest that's about 20 pounds a tit with not even so much as a twinge back there. It's also not uncommon for the hips to be able to sort of swivel in a 360° pivot to more effectively show off their more-often-than-not shapely posteriors.

Now the thing you have to understand about this is that I actually don't have any first-hand experience with this, but my partner in crime, my amigo, my one best friend in the whole world I would thoughtlessly take a bullet for should the situation ever arise does have this kind of experience, and because we've hung out so much over the years and especially then, I've picked up a lot of his insights and advice. You may not think this part is interesting, you may think it's droll or absurd or trying really hard to be edgy but trust me, it will make a lot more sense when I finally get to the part where everything crescendos into a complete fucking disaster and you'll understand why I just made you sit through a little over five hundred words. I promise you that after all of this is over, this will seem like the clearest part of all this.

 

[t.v.o.d.]

II.



There's a certain point where the “No Child Left Behind” act came to jack shit. Just like mutually assured destruction! There are some students in the educational system that really should be left behind. Students that just will not put in the effort, due to any number of socioeconomic factors or psychological trauma as a result of less than favorable domestic circumstances. I mean, I wasn't really one of those kids but the point is I rarely ever gave a fuck about school. Around the time I started slapping the salami, grades and academia just didn't come as naturally to me as it did when I was a mindless drone of a child. It's arguable as to whether or not I'm still a child, but I'd argue not, since one of the hallmarks of maturity is finding something you're passionate about. For me, that was Beyblading. In some small town in Kansas that I can't be arsed to remember the name of, it wasn't uncommon for me to be what I liked to call “walking a bebop” or “bebopping around town” getting into various matches with Bladers around town but was feeling totally unfulfilled because most of the time it was mainly just little kids and I wanted to take my game to the next level. I wanted to absolutely immerse myself in the culture and not just face the world but the world inside. Again, this is not very possible to do in the middle of Literally-Where?, Kansas. It sucked, too, because my best friend in the world had moved away due to a number of complicated circumstances and this in tandem with the unfulfillment caused me to sort of feel very lost and alone. That was until one day I got a call from someone who sounded very, very foreign. I still remember the conversation to this very day.

The reciever clicked in the midst of white noise. I let out the common question of 'hello'.

“Yes, am I speaking to Shark?”

“Um...Yes, yes, you are. What can I do for you?”, I said as I was examining my launcher.

“We're calling you on behalf of a recommendation from Johnny Ripcord. Do you have a few minutes to chat?” (Johnny Ripcord is the name of my best friend)

I'll spare you the entire conversation because most of it gets mudnane but the gist of it is that I was cordially invited on behalf of the CHAA headmaster, Dr. Spira, to fulfill a fully paid scholarship in Beyblade studies. They'd even pay for my plane ticket to Wales, Sheffield in the UK, including my passport, just to get my desperate ass over there. I wouldn't have much of a story to tell you if I had said no, despite how fucking absurd and how much of an almost imagination-powered wish fulfillment trap this sounded, so without any delay, one July afternoon, I had packed up all of my clothing which mainly consisted of Hawaiian Shirts, (quick aside: the town in Kansas had a bitchin' Hawaiian underground scene. You have not felt true suffering until you have sat through a Hawaiian black metal band's 20 minute song about sacrificing an angel by beheading it with a sharpened coconut rind. I liked it, personally, but that basically never gets mentioned in the story again so, moving on...) cargo shorts which were mostly plaid-patterened, 3 different colored slip-on shoes, my entire gym bag of Beyblades and launchers, plus 2 arenas, one plastic and one polished polybutylene resin, 3 different pairs of socks to be alternated in the wash, and various toiletries that would be used whenever I felt like using it. I had to walk to the airport with all of is, it being about a five mile walk, which sucks, but it's not too bad because I was obviously able to catch a later flight and I've walked way longer distances. Before I left the town, however, I found this one little 8-year-old rat-faced pizza shit that had been stealing my Metal Fusions and so I did that hockey thing where you lift their shirts over their head and punched him hard in the gut. I think I may have snapped one of his ribs, because there was a very audible SNAP but from my understanding the cops around the area hated his fucking guts, too, so nobody gave a shit as he was writhing on the floor, doing that back-throat cry that you hear most newborns scream. Constantly. Without any relent. Bored, I continued forward to the local airport.

When I passed through the next town on the way, I was flagged down by someone, because I heard a loud “Shark!” from somewhere a couple yards behind me. My heart started thudding in my chest, not because I was scared news of little Sammy Fuckface spread already, but because I recognized the timbre and tone of the voice. It was this fat cow that I had once let give me a hummer one time behind one of those giant power windmills you see in the long stretches of fuck-all in Kansas. I wanted to fuck her ass, but she started whining the minute I even hinted at sticking so much as my pinky in there. Wasn't a huge loss, because she was one of those fat pigs that didn't know how to properly wipe in both areas where that's kind of a hygenic necessity. Anyway, she thought that the really weak blowjob would somehow make it okay for her to hover around me (which got really irritating at various matches where I'm actually trying to focus, for fuck's sake) so by the time she was wheezing and breathing really heavy after the few steps it took to get into my general vicinity, I instantly told her to fuck off, and her lip started quivering like it did when I was trying to get my dick shitty. She then tottered off and after listening some Linkin Park on my iPod Shuffle, before I knew it I was at the airport, and I didn't even have to wait that long to board!