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I Wish My Wife and Children Would Die in a Fiery Explosion
By: Stanley Potter

It seems you can't turn on the television or open a newspaper anymore without getting an eyful of the deathly mayhem currently unfolding in Iraq. Almost every day some bunch of lunatics is bombing a crowded market or mosque, leading to images of men digging through the flaming wreckage for their families and running down the street with their limp, blood stained corpses held up over their heads, screaming in unbridled ecstacy. The lucky bastards. I wish my wife and children would die in a fiery explosion.

Every day this woman I was dumb enough to marry and her two kids I was unfortunate to have sired make my life hell on Earth. Freedom? I have none. I work eight hours a day, five days a week to put food on the table for these ungrateful pigs, and still that isn't enough. Whenever I'm home it's always, 'Daddy, I need this', 'Daddy, I want that', and, 'Stanley, how long are you going to spend in the bathroom?'. And people say there's no peace or freedom in Iraq? Try coming over to my place. At least Habib the recently childless widower can watch an entire hockey playoff game without being bitched at to fix something or be forced onto the porch when he wants a smoke, because dead wives don't nag and ghost kids don't cough.

It's not that I don't love my wife and kids, it's just that I'd be happier if they'd be gone and leave me alone without me having to give up half of my stuff, and if that should occur by fiery explosion, then so be it, that's all. Just being honest. I'm sure I'm not the only one, which is why I've supported the war in Iraq from day one. Not because I'm one of these dumbasses who thought there was a connection between Iraq and 9-11 or because I was sappy enough to believe it would help promote freedom and democracy in their country or preserve freedom in our's, but because I knew it would destabilize the region, piss off a lot of maniacs and increase the chances of guys like me all around the world being liberated from the crushing oppression of family life through fiery explosion.

I mean, have you ever had to sit through one of these Little League baseball games played by six year olds? They take forever because none of them can catch or throw worth a shit to get any outs. Seriously, watching one of these borefests almost makes me want to die in a fiery explosion. Is it too much to ask for a little 'me' time? Like say, forty years? I think I'm entitled.

Of course, knowing my luck, my old lady would probably just get her face and arms blown off, leaving me with a wife who can't cook or clean and looks like Sam Cassell. That would suck.

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