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General Choade spent the afternoon trying to weaponize his wife.

“My hindquarters are politically untenable. My kill box is target rich!” He slapped his ass and waved it in her face.

“I’m sending in the hundred and first.” His wife recited her line with what seemed to be rote detachment.

“You’re developing more advanced strategic ballistic capabilities,” he started to say, removing his wife's little strap-on and fumbling with the buckle on the big black one. But he didn’t have the heart. Or the ass. It was still bleeding from Tuesday. He wanted to cry.

“Fortunately I’ve invested in Star Wars, er, uh, strategic missile defense,” he mumbled, confused.


What was he saying? Was he was going soft in his old age? The hell with it. “I was just thinking, I mean, you might find diplomacy to be a more appropriate in this particular situation.” He hung his head and slumped down on the bed. In order to prevent a preemptive strike he curled up next to her and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.

They snuggled.

He’d let his guard down and she knew it. He didn’t stand a chance.

Date Written: March 17, 2004
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 4.1111

03/23/2004 qualcomm (4): the lerpa rates this... 4 stars!
03/23/2004 scoop (4): Life-affirming opening line.
03/23/2004 Will Disney (4): sure 4.
03/23/2004 Mr. Pony (5): Love the fumbling at Strategic Missile Defense.
03/23/2004 John Slocum (4): this short makes my kill box target-richer
03/23/2004 Moe-Ron (4):
03/23/2004 Benny Maniacs (3): Hate to be the party pooper. Just didn't see a twinkle here.
03/24/2004 Dylan Danko (4): Now do you see the twinkle?
03/25/2004 mr.coffee (5): nice...Somehow I get the feeling this was autobiographical!