Today is the day to commit the perfect crime.

I don't mean to interrupt the flow of things here, but, oh my god, have any of you tried whipped peanut butter? It sucks! Where is the pleasurable challenege?

6

Would you believe that George Foreman, with his horrible attitude, looks and personality, had had a girlfriend of late? It's not just a plot twist. It's true!

Her name is Lillibet and she is no babe (the point of which is that George, even with his fame and influence, did not use his sway to get fabulous chicks. Not that he was virtuous, just because he was lazy.) In fact, it was like she was auditioning for the role of the "before" victim in some sort of Pygmalion-esque story.

Thick-stemmed pinkish plastic glasses, she wore, beneath her unflattering, cheap boy haircut, which parted her thin hair so on her light skull as to make her look partially bald from the back. Her slimy pink lower lip stuck out substantially, and crust tended to form in the corners of her mouth. She was a mouth-breather, even while she ate. Her voice was dry and honky and when she coughed, which she did often, it sounded like forks scraping on a plate. She was skinny and pale with tiny breasts and a flat butt.

What did she have going for her?

She was just as annoying, brash, and arrogant as George. And she was just as smart. And, she was great in the sack.

George met her after his Pulitzer Prize when they were featured in some photo spread for some magazine about young (but safely, not prodigal) talents. George was getting it for his first novel, Lillibet for a book on medicine.

Unlike George, Lillibet came from a family of geniuses, so her arrogance, so unForemanlike for George, was well-ingrained. Lillibet's father had won a Nobel Prize for physics and his mother had patented some immunization that makes small children miserable to this very day. Lillibet's grandfather was one of the people to criticize Albert Einstein's work in a science journal and have Einstein change a theorem because of it.

They met at the after-party, as their hands grabbed for the same last shrimp. Lillibet snatched it forcefully from George's hand.

"Isn't this stupid?" She asked, barely intelligible through a mouthful of shrimp.

"Fighting over shrimp?"

"No," she sighed irritably. "This whole ceremony." She huffed and turned her back on George. He knew that he was in love.

George ran after her and they engaged in an animated conversation about how ridiculous the ceremony was, how meaningless the award was, and how they hadn't even put forth any serious attempt on their works. And how sad was it that everybody else had.

Afterwards, they went back to Lillibet's parents' house and Lilllibet energetically de-virginized George, mocking him all the time.

"Oh, you're the best I ever had," she said sarcastically during one particularly awkward moment.

They dated for three years, until Lillibet found somebody else who was just as arrogant, obnoxious, and talented as George, only much better-looking. His name was Dylan.

(It's not that George hadn't looked for the same over the years. It's just that each of the women that he found lacked in some other aspect. They were all beautiful, but none were arrogant, obnoxious, and talented as Lillibet.)

They kept in touch after they broke up. They wouldn't consider themselves friends exactly, but they knew that they were two of a kind.

George, still on his writers' block and just as mystified, knew that Lillibet, with her damned scientists' mind, would have some sort of input as to what was wrong with him. Even better, he knew that no matter what was happening to him, there was no new suddenly influx of talent that she would report that could possibly infuriate him like the others had.

Lillibet, like George, reacted in annoyance when she received George's phone call, especially that he was calling for help. She was very busy and self-involved, and not that she felt personally insulted that George hadn't called in several months, she still felt slighted.

"I have a problem."

"What, George?"

"I--I don't want to talk about it over the phone."

Lillibet was about to make some sort of acidic comment about George being paranoid about his phone being tapped when she realized that she had never heard him stutter before.

"Fine, when do you want to meet?"

"Whenever. Tomorrow."

"Can't. I'm teaching a seminar. Day after tomorrow."

"Fine."

Lillibet hung up, satisfied. Not because George was suffering in some way, but that his asking her for help was conceding to her intelligence.

Gasp. Is it possible that some latent romance lies between George and Lillibet?

No, it's not.