I call her Khimydia because of a tale of woe she once unfurled during a bong session. Bongs are an important subject through line in this story but I will relay that later. She mentioned how she didn't think she could have children, even though she desperately wanted to be Betty Crocker. Vacant facial expression and all. High goals that. Feigning interest I asked; what for can you not spawn?

Alright. Apparently Khimydia only has about twelve percent of her cervix remaining. Due to the fact that she contracted a raging case of, here comes the drumroll, CHLAMYDIA!!! Tell the studio audience what our contestant wins for letting the germs rage unchecked Wink Martindale.

Well Spanky, a vagina sawbones will dive on in there and remove whatever nasty bits are about! She also recieves a lifetime supply of having her insides be all wrong, and a rocky place where men's seed can find no purchase.

All pardons to the Coen Brothers for the Raising Arizona snatch.

Contracting an STD is in no way an indication of smarts. However my favorite quote from my own life has got to be..... Phone rings. "Hello Khimydia." "Who is this?" "This is Dan." "Are you the one that gave me chlamydia?"

See, cause she could never deduce exactly who the outbreak monkey was that inserted their diseased cock all up in her. I approve of coochieness, but you gotta at least keep a running tab of the bones in the boneyard.

I was intimately privy to her retardation since we shared a crib for two years. Soldified my tenet of never allowing spanky jr. to ride on the short yellow bus. Stupidity will make me flaccid in a heartbeat.

Hottest day of the summer, middle of July. Skeleton rubbery from the heat. Walk inside the apartment and it is exponentially more fevered in there. Actually throw up my arms as a makeshift blast shield, as I was sure the place was on fire. Stumble, gasping for air, into the kitchen. The tard was making batches of Tollhouse cookies for her boyfriend.

No air conditioning. Not much shade to be had in the hood. She's sitting inches away from the oven doodling in her checkbook. So stupid that her body doesn't even register dangerous heat levels. I erupt into incoherent explitives. "What?"

That was her favorite phrase too. "Whaaaaaaa???" To the point my bodily functions would arrest for a second every time it escaped her lips within my earshot.

Hey Khimydia, you think it might not be so great of an idea to grow vegetables in soil that was a dumping ground for a pack of pitbulls and the landlord's smelting business for half a decade? Whaaaaaaa???

Hey Khimydia, maybe we should put the ketchup bottle in the fridge instead of the cupboard after we open it. Whaaaaa???

She would converse with the television. I don't mean little outbursts of reacting to some unbelievable sequence. She would have full on discourses with the characters from Melrose Place. Telling them that they were lying or that they really didn't love someone. Fox programming had found the perfect audience member embodied in one pile of tard.

She couldn't close her eyes in the shower. Since she saw the movie Psycho and was always convinced that by closing her eyes while rinsing out shampoo that it left her vulnerable to a knife attack.

She told me she didn't understand oral sex. Receiving head confused her. Squirming on her back not knowing what to do but go over shoe patterns. She basically didn't comprehend orgasms in general. She told me she never came, but liked getting fucked anyway. Mostly I think it gave her some value being a semen weigh station. Honestly, I just think she was so stupid that she couldn't figure out how her clitoris worked.

She had worked on getting a Masters degree. Had been working on it since the day I met her. Stretch of seven years I saw her compile books on fashion. Yes fashion theory. Couldn't finish a Masters on fashion theory. And all the fashion knowledge had edged out basic common sense.

Her tastebuds were also stupid. Food ignorance pisses me off to no end. Said she couldn't tell the difference between fat free cheese food and actual cheese. Arrrrrrrrgh. Her lasagnas were a tongue nightmare of simplicity. She didn't understand that salt heightened flavors.

She once had conniptions since I didn't follow recipes to the letter. Or use measuring instruments. "It says only use a teaspoon of dried oregano!!! You can't just put it in there like that!!!" Had no abstract reasoning. She shit her diapers when she saw me use butter to make Rice Krispies squares instead of margarine. Dumbass cooks gets no respect. Actually wanting margarine over butter.

She also got herself hooked on grass. It takes a special mind to become dependent on a substance that has no addictive chemicals in it whatsoever. To let the anti-drug commericals convince you. But there she would be, scraping the resin out of her bong bowl. Drying out the black sludge on paper towels so she could smoke it. Hands trembling when no pot was around.

Also that meant that she portioned out her pot to a daily schedule. And was extremely stingy with her weed. Tight wads in the herb department are just sad. She would wait until everyone else's smoke was cashed at a party before even hinting that she had any. She based all her friendships soley on whether they were a good pot connection or not.

She will not be allowed into the halls of the Green Lantern Corps.

I resented the fact she used up valuable resources like oxygen and water. Her metabolism should have just shut down after noticing the low levels of brain tissue.

The stupid do not deserve justice.