Lindsay

I was in a shitty place when I stumbled across one of her stories.

My wife had left me for her Gynecologist a few months before, and I couldn't help but think, “That prick had all the pussy in town but still had to steal mine.” What a piece of shit.

I guess I was kind of a moron because I never questioned her need to see him once a week. What woman needs to see her Gynecologist once a week, for fuck sake; as far as I know, she only has one pussy.

My ego took a massive hit as this guy wasn't some Brad Pitt look-alike or something. He was twenty years older than her and looked like he just crawled out of a coffin. His skin colour was close to green, and I would say he looked almost reptilian except for his head, which was shaped like a tree stump.

On the day she left, I asked her, "Why him?" Of all the men in our small town, why, the fuck, would she chose him over me? She said he made her feel needed, and he touched her deep inside.

For a long time after she left, I thought about those words every time I closed my eyes.

In my dreams, I would see her, at his office, spread out on his buffet table with him touching her deep inside.

For a couple of months, I wallowed in my misery, never going anywhere or talking to anybody. All of my so-called friends stopped calling or visiting. I guess they were more her friends than mine. Even my dog avoided me like the plague. She would only come around at feeding time and then go hide somewhere else in the house. I think she sensed my neediness, and as she was old and weak, she had enough of her own problems and didn't need my shit piled on top of hers. This was kind of ironic as I was the one that cleaned up her shit.

I started drinking and watching porn every day while playing with the only friend I had left.

My breakthrough finally came when I joined an online writing site called Vocal Media. I started spending my days reading and writing instead of scouring porn sites with a box of tissues at the ready.

That’s when I stumbled across her, my hero, “The queen of cringe.”

Her name was Lindsay Rae Brown, but because of her fame, people just called her Lindsay.

The first time I read one of her stories, I laughed so hard it scared the shit out of my dog. She came running to my desk to see what the fuck was going on. I guess she hadn’t heard me laugh in so long that the sound shocked her.

Over the next few days, I searched out and read all of this crazy-ass girl's stories. She wrote about herself and the absurdities of life with such over-the-top; shoot from the hip, go fuck yourself humour, that I would find myself in tears with laughter with each new story. I was becoming her biggest fan. Her wit pulled me out of my despair and made me feel alive again. Even my dog started hanging around me again as she sensed my return.

With joy, I discovered a few days ago that she was coming to my small town. There she was in my local paper. It was a full-page ad with a headshot of Lindsay announcing her upcoming show.

“One Night, One Woman, One million Laughs.

Come see Superstar comedian

Lindsay Rae Brown

Up close and personnel

In a one-woman tour de force

Laugh fest.”

The show was happening in a few days, so I bolted out the door and rushed to the box office. When I got my ticket, I was elated to find out that I would have a reserved spot on the red carpet before the show because I was one of the early ticket buyers.

Giddy with anticipation over the next two days, I started writing down things I wanted to say to her. Hoping to be one of the lucky ones that she stopped and talked to, I had a T-shirt made that said, "Lindsay, you saved my life." Not that I would kill myself, I still valued my life, whatever that may be.

But, I thought, if I kept doing what I was doing before I found her, I probably would have masturbated myself to death.

The big night arrived, and I stood at my spot, beside the red carpet, smiling with glee as the limo pulled up. The driver opened the rear door and out stepped a Goddess, waving at her screaming fans. She slowly walked the carpet, occasionally stopping to touch a hand or sign an autograph, as her fans yelled, "Lindsay, Lindsay."

Just as she got within a few feet of me, disaster struck. Some gorilla with no neck pushed me aside to take my spot. The guy was much taller than me and had a chest the size of a VW, so I couldn’t see a fucking thing as Lindsay stopped right in front of us. A wave of anger I never knew I possessed travelled down my body to my feet until I released it into this man monkey’s leg with my foot.

He fell to his knees as I reached over his head, grabbing Lindsay by the arm as I screamed, "Lindsay, I love you. You saved my life. You're my hero."

She yanked her arm away in fear as I said, "Lindsay, please, you're my muse, you brought me back to life," while handing her a copy of one of her stories to sign.

She stared at me for a few seconds before giving me her trademark grin and quickly scribbling something on the paper before walking away.

That's when I felt the strong hands of her bodyguards grab my shoulders and drag me away.

I tried to fight them off, but I guess that's when the cops got involved, and I made the mistake of accidentally punching one of them in the nuts.

Now I can hear the two cops in the front seat saying, “Man, this guy is really fucked up,” as I sit in the back of the patrol car, howling with laughter at the two words Lindsay had scribbled. “Fuck Off.”