You are a married woman with two children. You would have a very normal sitcom-style life if it were not for the fact that you have a pathetic weakling husband. Because of this, your life is instead a wacky sitcom.
And those television big shots really would love to get their hands on your story.
Last week was when the real trouble started. Before that, it was mostly just his annoying habits. He whines. He mopes. He gets into "projects" and then gets frustrated, throws his toys, and calls himself stupid. You are not sure why you married him. He has a small penis. And he doesn't exactly have an abundance of testosterone.
Last week, you came home from the supermarket. You have to do the shopping on account of your pathetic weakling husband being too intimidated to approach the man behind the meat counter. He often cowers in "safe sections" of the supermarket until "trouble passes." It is a real gas having to deal with this man.
When you arrived home, you found a shirtless man sitting in the living room. His body was exceptionally hairy and sweaty. When he got up from the couch, you could see the horrible sweat stain in the shape of his body that was left behind. That's not going away anytime soon.
Your pathetic weakling husband is in the corner, shaking.
"I'm gonna be living here for a while," says the shirtless man, crumpling an empty can of beer and dropping it on the floor. "Get me another one, bitch."
"I don't know where he came from--"
"Shut up, weakling man," the shirtless man tells your husband.
You feel shame at this point. Real, legitimate shame. This guy's balls are the size of Eisenhower dimes.
There hasn't been any legitimate real to call the "Eisenhower dimes" since the early 70s.
"Take off your clothes and dance for me," the shirtless man tells your pathetic weakling husband.
Your husband takes off his clothes and begins dancing. Poorly.
"Apologize to me," the shirtless man tells your pathetic weakling husband.
"I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me."
"Oh, for fuck sake!" you scream out, pushing your pathetic weakling husband out of the way and coming face-to-face with the shirtless man. "Get out of my house!"
He rubs his sweaty, hairy, naked torso against you. In your repulsion, you stagger backwards and hit your head. The next thing you see is the ceiling of the ambulance taking you to the hospital. You can't feel your body.
You end up completely paralyzed and are sent home with your husband.
The shirtless man is still there. Your chair is put in the corner.
You watch, eating strained peas fed to you by an old woman in cat pajamas, as the shirtless man sweats all over everything, trashes your home, and orders your pathetic weakling husband around like a slave.
This is not the life you were hoping for.