As always, a tip o' the fedora to the charmers at MRP, who are an eternal source of inspiration: https://www.reddit.com/r/marriedredpill/comments/5613we/repost_and_update_the_death_of_your_sos_father/ You are truly the wind beneath my bingo wings.

Good evening, my lovely Bloopsters! It's a beautiful day in the Habitrail, is it not? I wanted to take about an hour and a half if your life, which you can never get back, to tell you in exhaustive detail about how awesome I am. There's a lot of wonderful info here; you might want to print it out, chew it up, and store it in your cheek pouches for later referral!

Recently, my male dog-slave (MDS) had his mother die in a tragic time-traveling accident in which she managed to cuck MDS's dad with his own grandpa. (AWADW! All Women Are Dr. Who) I quickly realized that this was a golden opportunity to smash some shit tests, get some of that sweet grief cunnilingus, and feed my insatiable narcissism.

First, as the MDS put the phone down, sobbing as if his heart were being rent in two, I realized that due to the sexual dynamics of the mother-son relationship, I was now going to have to fill the hole left in his life now that she is gone because everything is about sex. And that hole will be filled, fellow hamsters!

So, quick like a bunny (well, like a lumbering, Sherman-tank-like bunny), I waddled my saddlebags into my Misandarium to retrieve my favorite fire-hydrant-sized strap-on. (Black, natch!) Because I am a Woman, and therefore superior and forward-thinking, I also remembered to grab a tearbag to collect some male tears to sweeten my Starby's Pumpkin Spice Jeroboam later. Gotta replenish those calories from the pegging! It's quite a workout, but I've already noticed a real difference in my sagging, pendulous panniculus.

"So when does your mom's life insurance pay out?" I demanded with Amused Mastery as I slammed the massive dildo home in my MDS' squeak-hole.

You see, as the Master and Commander, it's my moral and biological imperative to get my sweaty, stubby mitts on any money my MDS has "earned" or "inherited." This proves my superiority as well as ensuring the MDS doesn't get any funny ideas about gnawing his way free of the leather straps. It's especially important in this tragic time that I reinforce our gender roles; knowing that I still expect to be provided for lavishly helps keep my MDS feeling secure and needed.

My lower back finally started to tire from the merciless pegging, so I pulled out of MDS only to discover...a shit test! That's right, the little scamp Jack Hornered me. Normally, daring to have biological functions at a time when my vagina needs attention is cause for swift punishment at Chez Charlie, but it's important to remember mercy when a loved one is grieving. I decided magnanimously to only wipe the massive dild on MDS' pants and not his favorite concert t-shirt.

However, I still need to smash this fun new shit test, because every possible life event is all about me and my vagina. So I wiped it right on the seat of the pants and then ran around the neighborhood waving the soiled Dockers like it was a French flag and I was on the barricades. "LOOK AT MDS' HERSHEY SQUIRTS," I crowed to all and sundry. "MDS IS A POOPYPANTS!" Why "Poopypants"? Because males are the biggest toddlers in the house, so it's paramount to connect with them on their level.

Later, at the funeral, I realized that this was a great chance to AWOG (alpha woman of the group) MDS' whole family and all his co-workers. So I decided to just ignore all the BS and have fun with it. First, I removed the corpse and hid in the Tardis coffin. While inside, I decided to down a few beers to keep myself entertained and hydrated. Gotta have those carbs for my SMV!

When I popped out if that coffin like a Nosferatu Chanty Binx, you could tell by the thunderstruck silence that everyone was in awe of my amused mastery and that they were paralyzed by the tingles I'd given them. MDS' elderly uncle actually fainted from his orgasm! Gods, I am so awesome.

Later MDS was all gerbiling and feisty, so I knew his Peeny Hardles were at maximum. I stuck out my foot as he was walking towards the door with an armful of his clothes, tripping him. Then I sat on his face and played Candy Crush, knowing that sooner or later he'd run out of oxygen and settle down.

And that, dearest Bloopers, is how to make the death of your loved one's SO all about you! Buy my t-shirts.