“Shut the fuck up!” I told her, “You can totally eat a pine cone!”
My girlfriend laughed, mistaking my genuine anger for kidding, as was her custom. We had been walking home after lunch when I had expressed my wish to just go live in the woods.
“But what would you eat?” she said in that annoying, sing-songy voice she thought was so cute that made me want to kill her.
“I don’t know, I’ll eat some fucking pine cones!” I almost added that I could just murder her and dine on her internal organs, but I’m really trying to work on my rage “problem”.
“You can’t eat pine cones, silly billy!”
Well, 4 hours of driving later, we were in the woods outside of the city, scouring the forest for pine cones. It was pretty dark and she was cold. She wanted to go home and as I was turning around to tell her to shut up, I saw it.
Laying there, under what I assume was a pine tree, was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I would eat the shit out of that pine cone and shut her up once and for all.
I started breaking off pieces and shoving them in my mouth.
“Can’t we do this in the car baby? I’m freezing!” she pouted. Ugh.
“Shuff uh mell ufff!” I screamed back at her. The pine cone pieces were really hard to chew and tasted like shit.
I got about 3 of them down before I started feeling violently ill. I tried to hold back my gag reflex, but it was no use. Maybe it was the sap or the bark or whatever, but I guess she was right: people just weren’t meant to eat pine cones.
As I threw up and she rubbed my back, I stewed in my anger and humiliation.
“Awww, my poor baby!” she kissed me on the cheek as I tried to push her away. I couldn’t even look at her. As we drove back home, I let her think my silence was due to my recent stomach problems. I didn’t want her to get suspicious as I hatched my big plan.
Later, as I watched her to make sure she was really asleep, I had second thoughts. If there’s one thing I learned in my fancy boarding school for rich kids, it’s that sodium pentathol isn’t like taking some Flintstones vitamins. I knew there were side effects and real risks involved, but I figured it was worth it.
I plunged the needle into her thigh and though she gasped, she didn’t wake up. I gave her a few minutes then dragged her out to the living room. My friend Mike was waiting with his kit.
Mike is a special effects make-up artist. He works on all these big Hollywood movies, making stars look ugly or fat or, to the point, old.
He set about gluing the prosthetics to her as I sat and watched him transform my attractive 23 year old girlfriend into a hideous old woman of 75. All that was left to do was stick her in the wheelchair and roll her over to the old folks home.
That’s the last I ever heard of my girlfriend. I’m assuming they took her in and cared for her, thinking she was just another old homeless woman. Maybe she’s dead. I don’t know, but before you judge me, I hope you consider the fact that my parents weren’t around to teach me right from wrong. I didn’t grow up in a loving home where everything was provided for. I had to fend for myself.
I remember being so poor, we had to rummage through the woods for pine cones, which actually taste pretty good with a little peanut butter, but you can eat them plain, too.