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Guest Post by the Ex-Wife of the Guy who Didn’t Want to Work for His Milk

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We here at Biblical Marriage believe in only using the Bible to justify sexual ideas. So we were distressed when we discovered an extrabiblical interpretation of divorce gaining momentum online, using a website called Biblical Gender Roles that is clearly a spinoff of ours. Fortunately, we tracked down the ex-wife of the Fool who authors this site, and asked her to comment on the situation. While we cannot condone all of her words, we do see her point:

Honey, honey, honey. I see you’re at it again with the lazy logic and bad punctuation.

So you divorced me because I wouldn’t have sex with you, not even after you cut up my credit card right in front of me, not even after you tried convincing me that unless I blew you every night, it was a sin against God. The Book of Azhols, Chapter 1, Verse 7: “Wives, give unto thy husbands whatsoever they shalt demand, or The Lord Jehovah shalt smite thee with divorce. Because it is a grave sin not to act with thy husband like he wants the prostitutes to act, only for free, because he has already paid for the diapers thou puttest upon his children.”

I remember the conversation clearly. You said: “God wants you to have sex with me more.” I said: “Really? Is that what you’re calling your penis now?” And you got angry. You started huffing and puffing, and when I objected, you insisted you were “rebuking” me as a good husband was supposed to. I said, “if you want more sex, try pitching in on the chores. I’m too exhausted at night to do anything but sleep. Or, better yet, lose the man boobs. They sort of kill the mood for me. I’m not a lesbian.”

Your response, all fever-pitched: “I’m going to tell on you! I’m going to tell our pastor on you! It doesn’t matter how little I take care of myself or the kids. If you don’t do what I want, it means you’re the bad one!”

What happened next? You drug me to the front of the church and told everyone that I wasn’t fulfilling my wifely duties to pleasure your manhood. I turned the tables: I stood up in front of everyone and said, fine, I’ll have sex with you right now if you want. In fact, I insist. Right this second. Right now! I want you now! What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you getting hard? And then I pointed to the baggy expanse of your pleated khakis, and I chanted, sinner! Sinner! Sinner! Sinner!

There was no going back after that. You were so outraged you had to file for divorce or you would have looked like a wimp.

At first the divorce was distressing. After all, you’d told me I shouldn’t work because I was raising your kids, so I had nothing to fall back on. But then I realized that I could get a job and pay for things myself, and since there was nobody to stay up late for, no perfectionistic micromanager breathing down my neck 24/7, no bone prodding me constantly while I tried to do the dishes and the laundry and the potty-training, I still slept more than I used to.

I also remarried and discovered what good sex is like. And let me tell you, baby, good sex is the pinnacle of existence. Do you know what it’s like to be seduced by a man who knows where a clitoris is? Who loves the taste of it in his mouth? Who is skilled with his hands and his tongue, who has the hard body and hard kiss of the laborer, the wry mind of the comedian, the ardor of the poet, the fluidity of the dancer? No. You do not know. You would never push yourself to be anything like that man, because you’re lazy. You’d rather accuse your wife of sinning because she’s not attracted to your whiny, cheeto-smelling missionary thrusting. Your hairy, sweaty grunting, the wobble of your teats above my face, oh God! The thought of it still makes my skin crawl. So let me spell it out for you: I don’t refuse sex. I refuse bad sex. I refuse anything that makes me feel like a prostitute paying her dues. But good sex? I say yes to good sex every time, no matter how tired I am. And let me enlighten you further: all women are the same way, unless they are damaged by men like you.


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