Honey-Money by Tingting Wei

HONEY-MONEY fucked his own people.

I was wife #1.

One day, I was talking to wife #2. She cried when I told her that HONEY-MONEY drew pictures of her in his diary. Two watermelons and a little V. Underneath the picture HONEY-MONEY had written: “I fucked this slut.” The date was prehistoric.

Wife #2 gave me a hug and told me I was a true friend. “Thank you for letting me know,” she said, and then she went back to masturbating in her room, setting the dial to second place. I could hear the escalating shouts of “HONEY-MONEY!” as his name dissolved into high-pitched hiccups.

In HONEY-MONEY’s diary, I also found pictures of my face, underneath which said: “I want to dick-slap her face.” It was insulting, but please, HONEY-MONEY, whip my face with your dick. I want to follow you around going bahhhhhh.

Bahhhhhhh, bahhhhhh.

HONEY-MONEY’s diary also contained pictures of wife #3, who had a row of sharp teeth. Outside on the stoop, I bumped into wife #3. We shared a cigarette. She looked deep into my eyes and told me she was HONEY-MONEY’s favorite. Maybe that was true. Underneath a careful rendition of her teeth, HONEY-MONEY had written: “My dick belongs in her.”

For a long time wife #2 and wife #3 were not on speaking terms.

HONEY-MONEY fucked his own people.

Fucking his own people is literal, not metaphorical. HONEY-MONEY stuck his own dick up his own ass and somehow it accommodated.

Wife #3 had a nasty habit of making HONEY-MONEY’s heart go badump-badump. For the longest time, we couldn’t be sure he was alive. Until Wife #3 came into the picture, we’d had the pleasure of picturing HONEY-MONEY dead, which made us feel good because we were among the dying. But once Wife #3 came into the picture, HONEY-MONEY seemed to reanimate like a beaten corpse, a Nietzschean horse, rasping the rasp of an animatronic zombie.

Wife #2 was not pleased.

It was a sunny day when Wife #2 took an axe to HONEY-MONEY’s handsome face. His Grecian jaw took the blow and shattered in two. Wife #2 picked up half of his jawbone from the ground and chucked it through the window, shouting, “How’s that for convenient!” Wife #3, heartbroken, wailed in her room like a coyote. I gingerly picked up HONEY-MONEY’s famous wandering eye and put it in a grocery bag, which I stuffed in my freezer. I believe the dogs got the rest of him.

© Tingting Wei

Tingting Wei is an artist/writer/fabricator/cashier/babysitter living in NYC.

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