By Car Johnson
It’s hard having a girlfriend who thinks she’s a butterfly. Don’t get me wrong, it’s always fun to have a limber girl in a winged leotard lick you like a lollipop, while getting all the pollen from your piston, but when you end up wrapped in a cocoon made of mosquito net and are forced to eat nothing but leaves, it starts to lose its charm.
It didn’t start out that way. At first, she was the second most wonderful crazy girlfriend I ever had. She didn’t try to burn me alive, tattoo my forehead and suggest I join a cult, or amputate my limbs because she thought they were possessed. Let me backtrack a bit.
I have a long history of crazy girlfriends. The first one was way back in elementary school. Her name was Jeanette and she adored me. She would save all her black M&M’s and give them to me at the end of the week (I don’t know why, since the red ones were my favorite.) She also let me carry her books and kiss her on the cheek. Oh, and she loved to set fire to my shoelaces every chance that she got. At first I thought it was just some sort of cute little joke between us. I didn’t think anything was odd until she cornered me in the playground after school with an armload of gasoline soaked rags.
She told me I was the ancient spirit of Captain Kangaroo trapped Inside the body of an ugly eight year old, and only fire would set me free. Good thing a teacher overheard her and rushed over. She ended up in some mental institution after that. I decided she really wasn’t the right girl for me. Not only did she try and burn me, but she called me ugly! My young heart was broken. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the last insane girl I ended up with.
When I was in college (I didn’t actually enroll, I just showed up for classes to try and recruit people for my monkey farm venture) I met a girl named Angela with the most interesting tattoo on her face. Well, it wasn’t so much interesting as it was incredibly disturbing. Who in their right mind would want a vampire baby plastered all over their forehead? I only went out with her because she was hot… and the only person in campus who didn’t laugh when I talked about my monkey farm idea. She thought that monkey burgers would be a big hit and even offered to help me get together enough money to get started.
Things went well for a couple of weeks, but then she started to talk about a great club she belonged to and that we couldn’t be together unless I joined too. Of course, I jumped at the chance and told her to take me to the next meeting. She answered by hitting me over the head with a decorative soap dish and tying my hands and feet with phone cord. By the time I could think clearly again, I was in a warehouse made out to look like one of those meeting rooms business people used. Everyone around me had a vampire baby tattooed on their forehead and kept chanting nursery rhymes in Pig Latin.
Angela untied the cords and told me that this was the Church of the Angry Infant and she was their prophet. She explained that everyone in the room had a ravenous inner child that could only be appeased by doing stupid stunts like setting up monkey farms, plus eating the flesh of strangers. I stormed right out and never looked back. My monkey farm was NOT stupid! (Too bad no one else thought so. I didn’t have the resources back then to go it alone.)
The next girlfriend was wonderful (or so I thought). Fran didn’t mind me seeing other girls and would even invite her friends over for wild orgies. The only problem was that she started claiming random inanimate objects held the souls of her exes. She’d smash plates, cup up newspapers, and she even tried to stick a box of screws in the garbage disposal. I was willing to live with the destruction of my things if it meant having an orgy planner in my house, but then she decided her ex boyfriends had moved into my arms and legs.
She chased me around with a chainsaw until the gas ran out. I was able to tackle her and force her outside. When I told her I wanted to break up, she said she didn’t want to bother with an ex boyfriend’s possessed limbs and marched away. I was happy to see her go. I was willing to give up a lot for wild orgies, but not my limbs!
So, after the long line of crazies I’ve been involved with, butterfly lady seemed almost sane. She kept calling me her little buttercup and made me jars of pollen scented massage oil. She showed me how much fun it was to be a flower. It started going downhill when she said it was time for me to join her in butterfly bliss. She threw away my flower suits and made me put on a caterpillar costume. Then she forced me to eat nothing buy leaves for three whole weeks.
THEN she forced me into a cocoon made out of some mosquito nets my mother had given me for Christmas. First she wasn’t going to give me any food, but I convinced her I was a rare type of butterfly that needed to eat during his metamorphosis. After six weeks of hanging in nets and eating even more leaves, she finally let me down and put me in a butterfly suit just like hers. (I was too weak from lack of non leaf food to even try to resist.)
We finally had sex again, but this time it was fluttering butterfly sex. Even if I had my strength, I wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as pollen sex. Despite the dancing around, it was just sex standing up. How boring! (And dancing around in a leotard isn’t worth it if it‘s just normal sex.) After we were finished, she said she was one of those butterflies that died after mating and fell into a catatonic state. (I wasn’t sure there were butterflies that died after mating, but I didn’t tell her that.) Now I could go out and find a girl would make me feel excited without forcing me to eat leaves and dance in a sparkly winged leotard. But first I decided to have another go at that monkey farm.
Join the Car Johnson Rocks Facebook group!
Wanna talk to Car? Email him at: Car_Johnson_Rocks@hotmail.com
