Ever since we moved to Brooklyn, my wife has been acting awfully strange. She doesn’t get home until the middle of the night smelling of my neighbor Ted’s musky cologne, she gets late night texts from my neighbor Ted, and has strangely become better at sex after cat­sitting at my neighbor Ted’s place. I’m not quite sure what the explanation could be, but my theory is that my wife is cheating on me with actor Steve Buscemi and definitely not our neighbor Ted.

I don’t entirely know how I feel about this. I mean, I love Steve Buscemi. Reservoir Dogs is my favorite movie. And I cried when he got fed into the woodchipper in Fargo. Hell, he’s one of my idols, and I strive to be more like him every day. The only person who I think my wife would ever prefer over me would be him, because he’s everything I want to be. That’s clearly the only possible explanation.

I became suspicious one day while watching Boardwalk Empire. My wife walked into the room to ask where the pickles were when she noticed what I was watching. She took one look at his mug and froze. It could have been because she saw Ted outside the window next to the TV, but it was probably because of Steve Buscemi. He’s such an attractive man, despite his weird face. And I don’t mean Ted, I mean Steve Buscemi.

Another thing I noticed was my wife’s constant disappearances. She’ll leave for hours at a time and come home at three in the morning. Steve Buscemi lives very close by, so I’m convinced she’s sneaking off to see him. Even though I constantly hear moaning that sounds a lot like hers through the wall separating our apartment from Ted’s, but that can’t be what it is. Maybe she’s using his apartment to have sex with Steve Buscemi to throw me off. It can’t be Ted, he’s not nearly good enough for my wife.

She won’t even admit to it. I remember last weekend when I stopped by Ted’s place to pick up the hedge clippers he “borrowed”, I found my wife fucking him in his living room. I took this opportunity to ask her point­blank, “are you sleeping with Steve Buscemi?” The look of shock on her face said it all. I had finally caught her in the act.

Despite my love for Steve Buscemi, I just want the madness to stop. I just want to watch The Big Lebowski without thinking about how Donny’s weirdly­ shaped mouth could have touched my wife’s normal ­shaped mouth, kissing it with such passion reserved only for those truly, deeply in love. I should confront her, but the last time I did anything like that Ted ended up coming to my front door and guiltily admitting that he was the one my wife was cheating on me with. Ted is such a good friend to her, covering up her lies.

As much as I love Mr. Buscemi, deep down I am devastated he is stealing my wife away. Granted, if I had the opportunity to sleep with him, I would grab it. In fact, I wish I was sleeping with him. I wish my wife would at least share him. Then I would be able to watch Ghost World in peace.


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