Most of my posts are laced with sarcasm and dry detachment, but this morning I feel very vulnerable. I’m writing perhaps for the first time with complete earnestness.

I’m a very lonely man. My public persona concerning my love life is a complicated dichotomy between overt cockiness, and a more subversive darker side. I strut around town with beautiful women, subscribing, ironically, to the same masculine paradigm I critique. The truth is—and I know my PR manager is going to have a fit—I’ve been monogamous for the past decade with a fragmented ‘person’ I call Thora, who is comprised entirely of prosthetic parts.

Last night, Thora and I got into one of our usual arguments. It all started when, as a joke, I said, “I want some putang tonight baby. Dinner cost me an arm and a leg.” She starts crying and we get into a physical altercation. I don’t remember the details, but apparently I had my way with her, because I wake up to find her in pieces. Worst of all, I can’t find my screwdriver.

Thora come back baby! I need you! I promise, no more ultimate fighter moves. No more ‘screw you’ puns. I promise to be a good boy. Please come back!