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as we all know, lloyd is a peach and a half: i love him the way lobsters love butter.  but the other day he really got my goat, and not in a good way: i happen to love my goat.

yknow what he did?  you know what he did.  men.  they're all the same.

no, he did not just hire crystal meadows as his secretary, nor did he just check into fawn hall; he did not buy a midlife-red porsche, nor even suck down the last bud in the fridge the moment before i arrived home from a very trying day in the box factory.  even more emphatically no, he did not stretch out my bestest laciest teddy over his sweaty hairy pulsing pectoral prominences: oh no.  worse, far worse.

this morning lloyd put ketchup on my double-boiled eggs morgan-stanley.  with a sideways devil-may-care glance he tremulously squeezed spasmodic ejaculations of sugary red glop onto the orange orbs of my farmfresh ovarian originality.  next he planted his face into the gory mess and sucked it up like some kind of soviet-style wet-dry vacuum cleaner.  i will not describe the sound here out of deference to whatever delicate sensibilities may yet remain in this fallen world of greed, gluttony and guilelessness.

i am sexual young woman, i live in new york city: nobody has to tell me to click the heels of my ruby slippers.  you guessed it, you've sussed out my next move: your bakerina is going to go find herself a lowdown dirty revenge-oriented rendez-vous.  internet-dating be damned: i'm going to find an italian stud on the street, some dark hunk shoving folded pizza into his mouth, some boy who dreams of dancing his way out off the mean streets of brooklyn straight into the astoria-storied life of a gal like me.  no, scratch that, i want some pale internet-surfing bronx-dwelling cretin who just googled onto this site in search of the strange semantic intersection of ketchup eggs and pizza.

no, i want better!  i want a rakishly handsome jethro-lookalike serving a life sentence on riker's island: i want a desperate man who will beg for me cuisine, one morsel at a time!  eat from my hand, you cowering dog: beg!