Melody
Yusuke

Guess who sucks a giant monkey cock.

Madonna.

And guess what music Keiko's making me listen to right now.

Well, I guess I can't say I hate Madonna, she's pretty hot for an older lady. I should know, I spent an asscrack and a half with a pink-haired bitch who probably had better abs than I do.

And now I'm going to think of her every time I hear Madonna.

Fuck.

I guess this music sucks slightly less than that piano guy sucks a monkey cock. What was his name again? Starts like mozzarella. . . Mozart! Yeah, Mozart.

The thing is, Keiko listens to this stuff while she works out. Keiko's a really clean girl, see. Not only does she take hour-long showers every day, she's the kind of chick every parent would want their son to marry. She follows rules, likes to do chores, put like three fire extinguishers in the kitchen alone. She's safe. Clean and safe.

So I was pretty surprised when I realized she listened to this stuff. Says it's her childhood. And I guess it's mine, too—what boy hadn't snuck into a strip club by the age of 13?

I'm sure these melodies don't remind Keiko of topless women and the musk of beer and cheap cigarettes.

But as I'm sitting here on the sofa, watching my wife's womanly bits attempt to jiggle beneath that stupidly restrictive and unnecessary full-body exercise suit, I'm thinking to myself, Wow, I could really go for some mozzarella sticks right now.

Also, Keiko's got a really nice ass.

And I'm thinking, if she's got a nice ass, then whenever we have kids, they're probably going to inherit it. What if we have a daughter with Keiko's sexy ass and my rock-hard abs? And I know this is a stretch, but what if someday, somewhere, some guy is staring at my daughter's fine ass and not thinking about mozzarella sticks?

I think this will be an issue.

I don't want her to be taken for granted. I don't want her to take herself for granted. It shouldn't be about asses, or abs, or mozzarella sticks, right? It should be about liking those things because they're not all you've got. It's okay to have secrets. It's okay to be boring and safe and wear full-body exercise suits even when you've got a really nice ass, and it's okay to lay on the couch thinking about food and Madonna when you could be off in some other dimension kicking ass. Happiness isn't a physical thing. All that stuff fades away eventually. Every fucking time some asshole told me I was lazy or worthless or stupid, I swear to fuck, they had it wrong. I found the people who thought I was worth believing in, and if they're not worth my time now, then I don't know what is.

I had to fight to get here, but if everything melted away right now and all I had was the people in my life, I'd still be happy. And no kid of mine is gonna be without that. Or mozzarella sticks.

And I have no idea where I'm going with this, but I think I want some hot sauce, too.