chapter 2

I once met this polish girl- her name was Plosion. She wasn’t very hot or bright or well anything really. But I dated her either ways- mostly cause I wanted an ex called Plosion. I mean think of the pun possibilities.

But why am I talking about a polish girl when there was an explosion in the distance. I mean what do the polish know about explosions- right.

Anyway- the explosion. Well that was just the fireworks for new years- remember I told you it was 31^st January. Wow- see that was so anti-climatic. I totally copped out on the one. Don’t you hate that- when they build things up and then they tell you it was nothing. You know its like those mystery movies and books- where there is this evil looking guy with the evil looking mustache w has an evil laugh and sneaks around evilly and has the motive to do the evil thing and is in the spot of the supposed evil but turns out to be innocent. Or like those game shows you know- American idol or something where- the host just builds the tension- You know- “one of you is going to be eliminated- but which one- both of you sucked equally- but one of you sucked more- and that person issssssssssssssssssssss… the person who has not made it tonight- So I am going tell you the name of the person now- any minute now- and that person is one of you two and the name of that person iiiissssssssssssssssss going to be announced after a short break.” I mean come on- talk about anti-climatic. I hate it when they build things up. Like sex- think of that- all your childhood its supposed to be this mysterious thing—they shsss it up- don’t talk about it- its everywhere but nowhere at the same time. Its this huge thing (no innuendo intended) they wont tell kids about and they build it up and up and up. And then you find it out it’s a guy putting his weewee in a girls (you know- spot). I mean talk about a let down (No innuendo intended) They don’t even tell you about the good parts- Now that’s an anti-climax (Innuendo intended)

Oh have I told you yet- I am in love with a girl. No not the one who I slept with- another one (don’t call me a bastard- I made her up- remember) Actually call me a bastard- its better than sleeping up with a made up girl.

Eitherways- I am in love with this girl- but I don’t know this yet- well by “I” I don’t mean me- I mean the character of me doesn’t know but the writer of I does know- and you as the audience know- I think its called dramatic irony. Either ways it adds some kind of drama to this otherwise flaccid story (no innuendo intended).

Actually scrap that out- scrap out the whole love thing. There are too many things done on love. Nothing new I can add to that. All the love things have already been done and I don’t want to do anything that someone has already done. I want a virgin love story.

It’s harder to write romance now. You know- people are desensitized to it. People say I am hopeless romantic- but let me assure you- I am hopeless but it has nothing to do with me being a romantic.

So this story is a murder mystery the murder of the imaginary woman I was sleeping with. But how do you kill an imaginary woman you ask. Well good question. I will think of an answer to that while I distract you with the next paragraph.

Look behind you- it’s the Pope.