A Week for Wallace

From crispyneurons

25 November 1995

It was a lovely Sunday morning. Wallace woke up with a smile on his face.

Wallace lived in a squalid tenement building. He ate nothing but Twinkies and drank nothing but gin. He was a thin as a rail, and always had unshaven stubble on his face. He owned a rusty, beat up Ford Galaxy with three blown pistons.

Wallace lied to his mother. He stole fifty dollars from his employer. Then, he went home to his squalid tenement building apartment.

On Monday, he consorted with whores. He viewed women as objects. He sang out of key. He stuck his tongue out at little girls.

On Tuesday, he ate non-kosher food, even though he wasn't a Jew, and it involved breaking his pattern of eating nothing but Twinkies and gin. But he felt that he had to. He borrowed some books from the library and burned them. He picked his nose and didn't flush the toilet.

On Thursday, though his car was barely up to it, Wallace drove above the speed limit. He disobeyed all of the other traffic laws as well. He sodomized a six-year-old for one hour, before having his traditional lunch of gin and Twinkies.

On Friday, Wallace created graven images and coveted his neighbor's wife. He shot some schoolchildren with a handgun that he stole from a retired police officer. He authored Communist propaganda, though by nature, he was uninterested in political ideology. He stole toilet paper from several public restrooms.

On Saturday, Wallace harbored, aided, and abetted known felons. He shot some heroin. He copied some rented video tapes, and then didn't return them. He left the seat up on the toilet.

As the sun descended into a lovely sunset, Wallace returned to his squalid apartment. It had been a good week. Wallace went to bed with a smile on his face.