Serena Avery was a hell of a wife for all the sixty or so hours that we were married. There was incredible sex of course, even I mildly enjoyed it. There were profound discussions about the wonders of the universe and the Annunaki. We would hold one another close as we slept each night, no matter how sweaty and disgusted and uncomfortable we would wake up feeling the next morning. We would share our Airbuds so we could simultaneously listen to Infowars at mealtime. Everything was grand until I discovered that Serena didn’t love Aphex Twin. Okay, bitch. Let’s end this shit-show before it is too late. Life is short.
