It seems these days that we are constantly being inundated with content, whether it’s from the Internet, television, or movies. As such, the lines between media and reality are becoming increasingly blurred. Case in point, right now I’m unsure whether I’m living out Thomas Hutter’s story from the 2024 Gothic horror film “Nosferatu”, because some guy just fucked my wife.
Granted, I’m not employed as a real estate agent in a quaint little German town in the early 1800s, but I did recently get cucked by Derek, the assistant manager at our local Bob Evans, so I’m hard-pressed to think of a notable difference between us. I can’t even prove that my wife Cara didn’t have some sort of profound psychic connection with the guy. I mean, we eat at his restaurant fairly regularly, so he’s been at least tangentially aware of us for some years at this point. He may not be a wealthy Transylvanian count, but the similarities here are too big to ignore.
And get this! Much like Thomas getting stricken ill from Nosferatu’s bite and being cared for by a group of Eastern Orthodox nuns, I came down with a nasty case of food poisoning from the Farmer’s Choice Breakfast last month, and as the assistant manager, Derek was ultimately responsible. Also, the lady who took my blood pressure at the MedExpress definitely had Slavic features, so the parallels between my situation and Robert Eggers’ masterpiece just keep showing themselves.
Who’s to say my wife’s recent tryst with this guy wasn’t done as a way of warding off some invasive, deadly plague, just like in the movie? I’d like to think so, especially because I’m desperate for a way to excuse this most recent slip-up of Cara’s for the sake of my marriage. I mean, the world completely shut down from the COVID-19 pandemic just a few short years ago. It seems completely feasible to me that the only reason we’re not currently dealing with its next iteration is that Cara let this dude raw-dog her behind the dumpsters while I was using the ATM in the Speedway down the street.
Oh well, maybe I’m over-thinking this whole situation, and this guy really isn’t the next Nosferatu. Or maybe I’m not, in which case I’d like to pat myself on the back for my comprehension skills. Only time will tell. In the meantime, some guy at the bus station just offered me $12 to jack off in front of him, so I may be reliving the film “Indecent Proposal”. I’ll get back to you on that one.
