His wife got all mad and she went to bed sad, so he threw up his arms and said fuck it.
Tuesday, Apr. 19, 2016 - 20:26

I don't know what's going on anymore, not with myself or with the world in general. Everything's weird and things that are supposed to be either aren't being or are being different. (I had that written using different tense and aspect which may or may not have made more sense.) I suppose in times like this I retreat into ridiculous fiction.

There once was a man from Nantucket who got fed up one day and said, "Fuck it." Then he threw out his lunch and went out for some brunch, then he went home and pissed in a bucket.

His wife got home from work that evening and found the bucket in the kitchen.

"Charlie? What is this?"

The man got up from the couch and went into the kitchen. He looked down at the bucket.

"Huh," he said. His wife began to reach for the bucket.

"No, no, honey," the man said. "Leave that alone. I'll take care of it."

"What is it?" she said. "Rusty water? Did the pipes break?"

"No. Just don't worry about it, I'll clean it up later."

"Charlie," she said. She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. "What was it this time? What did you do?"

"Honey, I said don't worry about it."

"My mother told me not to marry a man from Nantucket. Every single goddamn day it's something. What was it today? You tell me that. I deserve to know. What was it, Charlie?"

"Well," he said. "I just got fed up, okay?"

"You got fed up today and said fuck it, right? And then what?"

"Well, you know I don't like lunch meat, Suzanne. So I was sitting there eating lunch, or trying to eat it at least, and then I just decided to go to that diner up the road for brunch instead."

"Their brunch is 10 dollars, Charlie! And that lunch meat is not cheap. We're on a budget, remember? We're saving our money! You can't keep doing this."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"And we've only got my income now, since that day you got fed up with your job and said fuck it. You can't be throwing away money like this, Charlie."

"I know, honey," he said. "I'm sorry, I just really don't like lunch meat."

"Okay, so you got fed up, you said fuck it, something about lunch and something about brunch, and..."

Charlie looked down at the floor. His wife gasped.

"Charlie, no!" she said. "You came home and pissed in the bucket?"

Charlie nodded his head in shame. "I can't help myself sometimes, Suzanne!" he said, his voice cracking. "I don't know why I'm always doing this stuff. It's some kind of sick compulsion."

"Every single goddamn day," she said. "At first it was funny, it was bawdy and lewd and I fell in love with you. But now... sometimes it doesn't even make any sense anymore. Why did you pee in the bucket?"

"A bucket is just an easy thing to use," he said. "And I have so few options - bucket, fuck it, suck it, what else is there?"

"People talk, Charlie. I have to hear these things all over town. People laugh, they think you're hilarious, but they don't understand what it's like. And they talk about me, Charlie. They know our intimate details. It's so humiliating sometimes. I don't know how much longer I can bear it."

She went into the bedroom and shut the door. Charlie stood in the kitchen looking at the bucket of piss. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Hey, Spence," he said.

"Charlie! My man from Nantucket! Tell me, what did you do today?"

"Aww, I don't know if I should tell you. Suzanne's having a hard time."

"Suzanne is? Why? What did you do to her today, buddy? Ehhh?"

"Nothing, man. And she doesn't want these things getting out anymore, so even if it had involved her, I couldn't tell you."

"Was it something with a bucket?"

"Yeah. Yeah it was."

"Did you put all your nails in a bucket?"

"Nope. Look Spence, I gotta go. Suzanne's all mad."

"Okay buddy, you go do what you need to do. I'll talk to you later."

"Hey Spence -"

"Yeah?"

"I peed in the bucket."

"Ahhh. Okay, that sounds like a new one. Then what?"

The end.