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Christy Fantz

Twenty-eight days? You just left, writhing bitch.

Well, I guess 28 days ago.

Medusa’s head rents my uterus five days a month. It’s a cozy Airbnb: a snug studio with amenities. Since there are no frozen rodents, though, her snakes thrash and pierce its lining. She’s a little crazy, that Gorgon. The venomous snakes may make me bleed, but it’s Medusa’s head that chauffeurs my emotions. She likes to turn every irritant to stone. Emotions come untamed. Pent-up anger soars through my acid-eaten esophagus and is double-dog dared to escape through vocal chords with one wrong comment, one wry look, one sarcastic remark.

You know what, though? Sometimes I get to be a bitch. I’m the cover girl of bending over and taking the world’s bear-claw swipes as I apologize incessantly for nothing. It’s my turn to be a bitch when I have to mop up my insides with a fluffy stick. (I’m sorry.)

As mythology tells us, Medusa hates the mortal man. And while she’s occupying my pelvic region, I ask only that you bear with me for three of those days. Not just dudes. Humanity, animals, vegetables and minerals. If I can’t thrash for those days, then I will rage for 31 days with 100 percent I-don’t-give-a-fuck. You asked for it. (I’m sorry.)

I try to keep Medusa leashed. But when I see red for negligible things — like WHO TOOK THE QUARTER OFF MY DESK, I was going to buy an overpriced can of soda — you will be patient and let me yell. (I’m sorry.)

Medusa: Why the fuck is it so hard to put a new roll of toilet paper on the spool?

Fantz: I don’t know, Medusa. I shall let my emotions burn the dermis of my skin so my face gets so hot it looks like I deep-throated a bottle of Chambord.

Medusa: That fucker cut you off. Hit his car. Teach him a lesson.

Fantz: Medusa, I don’t have time to exchange insurance info with a dude in a bandana sucking on a vape pen. Plus his “Horn broke, watch for finger” bumper sticker means his cock is so big that he’ll have to sling it over his shoulder when he gets out of the car. With its sores and a lumpy head that matches Nick Nolte’s mugshot, I’ll let him drive like an idiot.

Medusa: You thought you’d order a pizza. A quick $37 later, you have burned air bubbles where the cheese should be.

Fantz: Yeah, my blood is boiling, Medusa, but I had a coupon for Domino’s.

Medusa: Does that Clyde dog have to follow you EVERYWHERE? You make one quick turn, and you’re inadvertently snorting lines of dust off the wood floor.

Fantz: Tripping over a Saint Bernard is a minor compromise for a good boy. Although I do scream on the inside. (I’m sorry, Clyde.)

Medusa: If you slam your shin one more time into that bedframe, I’m burning down the house.

Fantz: Torch it. Just toss the Midol and whiskey on the front lawn first.

(I’m sorry.)

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