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I have never really had a problem with psycho girlfriends or ex-girlfriends. Living with your parents and rubbing your dick between a mattress and a box spring for sexual release pretty well guarantees that the term “girlfriend” never really enters into your vocabulary. However, I have a few friends who have both touched and kissed girls before, so I rely on them for anecdotal evidence of the malevolent insanity of the fairer sex.

Last week, one of them told me a story about a particularly disturbed girl that he had been dating a few years back. My friend (let’s call him “Haggis”) had just gotten out of a long-term relationship that had an incredibly rocky ending (I believe it involved defeating Ivan Drago in Russia). He was in no mood for another serious relationship and just wanted to date girls for a while (read: bang and ignore). He ended up meeting this new girl, who was attractive, fun and, at first blush, normal. Haggis set out the terms of the relationship: hanging out and sex — no long-term prospects. The girl seemed fine with this, or at least did not openly protest. Haggis thought everything was going swimmingly. One Saturday morning, the two of them went for a run. After they came back to her house, the girl went to go take a shower and he went outside on the patio for a cigarette. He stood outside, finished the smoke, and then came in to see if she was done with the shower. He listened at the door and still heard it running. He sat down and watched TV for a few minutes. She stayed in the shower. He picked up a magazine and flipped through it. She stayed in the shower. He started to get worried. What is something had happened to her? It had been about 25 minutes and still no sign of her. Maybe she had slipped and fallen while he was out smoking. She could be unconcious and bleeding and he was just sitting there! He went to the bathroom door, knocked and poked his head in. “Are you okay? You’ve been in here for a long time.” She was in fact okay — in the physical sense. The girl was sitting in the foetal position at the back of the shower, rocking back and forth while the shower sprayed her. She turned to him with that special form of gargoyle face girls make when they are crying and sobbed, “WHY—DON’T—YOU—LOVE—ME?” and then continued to rock back and forth and cry. They had only been going out for a couple of weeks. Haggis backed out the door and just kept on running.

Oh, and another friend of mine had a girlfriend that used to spice up arguments by cutting herself with a kitchen knife. She also cut him when he tried to take the knife away from her. Good times.

Readers, if you have any anecdotes or tales about the mentally deranged ladies in your life, throw ‘em up in the comments section. If you are a female reader, seriously, what the hell are you thinking? You can do better than this. However, you are also welcome to tell that story about the boyfriend who used to masturbate while smelling clumps of your hair he had pulled from your brush. 

Enjoy! If we don’t get any comments, then you are all dead to me.