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I Just Want a Woman Who Cooks, Cleans, and Will Kill Me

It’s a bizarre fact of the human condition that we crave things that are bad for us – drinking booze, driving fast cars, smoking cigarettes, listening to Sublime. We can’t help it.

But my most self-destructive impulse? Well, it’s a little specific. I want a woman who will serve me a home-cooked meal, dust the living room, and help me shuffle off this mortal coil by putting Anthrax in my retainer.

I guess you could say this whole sick fantasy is my kink. I’m just looking for a lady willing to put up with 6 to 9 months of domestic servitude before she takes me out and inherits my savings. It’s kind of like a sugar daddy situation, except I’m 34 and only have $460 in my bank account.

Look, I’m not proud of my old-fashioned urges. It’s not like I want to be re-affirming traditional gender roles and conserative family values. But the only way I can ever see myself settling down is with a charming young woman with conventional ideas about romance and a very open-minded stance towards bludgeoning me with a fire poker.

This probably all traces back to growing up in a very stifling, conformist household. Dad broke his back all day at the doorknob factory and when he got home, he expected to be welcomed by his wife and kids with a hot dinner on the table. It may not work for every family, but it sure worked for us. Well, at least it did until dad was mysteriously found face-down in the swimming pool on the same night mom booked a bus ticket to Mexico and was never heard from again. That sure was weird.

So basically, I’m looking to recreate that magic. The good news is I’m not looking for any big commitments – I get the chills just thinking about long-term relationships! Yikes, lol.

No, I’m willing to settle for a few weeks of marital bliss before we go our separate ways. You, $460 richer (minus expenses) and free to go where you please. Me, fed through a woodchipper Fargo-style. And they said romance was dead!