Why couldn’t have it been I to impregnate Howard Hamlin? Why must God test me this way? Why must I live this fake life, working for someone else’s cents, while I’m being taunted by this grey haired angel with the voice of smooth molasses that’s gets me more wet than the state of Florida? What have I don’t to be imprisoned in this hell, to be taunted for the rest of my days? Why must I settle for a mediocre female when my precious genes could be spread into the womb of the incarnation of perfection itself? Why, god, why?