Time Is The Same In A Relative Way

I just had a sneezing fit and it's the most exercise I've gotten in about a month...unless crying is exercise, in which case I'm a fucking Adonis.

It's not that I'm out of shape; I am in shape, it's just that the shape I'm in is soft and doughy, like a jelly roll or a spoonful of curdled lard.

It's just, well, you see, I'm too busy to exercise. I've got a crazy schedule that fills my day. Let's take a look at my planner:

11:30: Wake Up
11:30-1: Play Scrabulous in Bed
1-1:30: Grab Starbucks
1:30-7: Cry
7-8: Go To Bathroom
8-3: Go To Bathroom and Cry

As you can see, it's jam packed with excitement. If I don't get my 11 1/2 solid hours of crying in a day, I don't have enough energy for my main 4 hour cry during my night terrors.

It was in writing this last paragraph when it hit him; "my wife left me", he said.

"What's the first thing I should do now?"

He took his pants off and opened up the windows. His now ex-wife was the neurotic prudish type and they couldn't keep the blinds open for fear someone might catch a glimpse of her cotton underthings. Well, she was gone, and he was strutting around, tackle out, in front of his bay windows. "FREEDOM!" he screamed loudly. "I LOVE IT!"

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. He threw a bathrobe on and went to answer the door. It was his neighbor Franny and her daughter Rachel.

"I'm sorry about your loss", she patted him on the arm and handed him a fruitcake.

He examined it, "Fruitcake? My wife left me and you're giving me fruitcake? Sweet marmalade filling is going to cool the burnt embers that are my heart? Ohhhh...Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir!"

"You know what, give me the fucking fruitcake"

"You can't take my fruitcake"

"I'm taking your fruitcake"

"First my wife leaves me and now the fruitcake? You can't just take away a present given for grief and loss...what are you, an Israel giver? Why don't you just allocate land to my people after World War II then try to take it away from me; Israel giver!"

"Well, technically, I would be the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine Giver."

Rachel began staring at his pants...eyeing them suspiciously. "There's something going on down there!" she thought to herself.

Franny noticed this. "Rachel? What's going on, sweety?"

Rachel pointed at his crotch, "do you have socks in there? Like maybe one sock?

Franny put her arm on Rachel's shoulder, "no, of course not, the man doesn't have a sock in his pocket..."

Franny then noticed what Rachel was talking about. "We need to go now!", she grabbed Rachel and ushered her out the door.

He called after, trying his best to explain the situation: "I'm sorry, I can't be near baked fruit, I've got like 12 to 18 seconds before I get a hard on. My analyst says it has something to do with Malignant narcissism, whatever that means".

He shrugged, removed his robes and noticed his still-existent erection.

10 SECONDS LATER:

"No, I will not play bagel horseshoe with your penis".

DOOR SLAM.

"Well", he thought. "If this is the way it's going to be, then let me go get some baked apples, a gallon of mayo and a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon".

Once those items were purchased, he got back to writing:

Boy, freedom sure is nice. I wish I had a spoonful of curdled lard to share it with though. Oh well, another 12 hours of crying before the night terrors start...