“I think we should see a couple’s therapist,” my girlfriend said. “I want to try to save our relationship because I love you.” I took a second to think of a sarcastic remark, and when my wit finally kicked in, I replied, “You going to a therapist isn’t a good idea. You’re so ugly, he’d probably make you lay face down on the couch.”  As I silently giggled to myself, she stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door so hard that a picture fell off of the wall. It was her ugly picture, so I didn’t really care. I was just relieved to be out of that conversation. My solution to every relationship complication is referring to my girlfriend as ugly. We both know she’s not, but it definitely informs her that I don’t want any part of the conversation. Plus, it’s much more fun than just saying, “Let’s not talk about that.”

That has nothing to do with the greatest break-up story ever told. That literally just happened minutes before writing this blog. The greatest break-up ever happened with my last girlfriend and occurred about three years ago. This particular girlfriend was absolutely nuts. She was also very gullible.  We lived in the same apartment complex, and when I got tired of her bitching at me for no reason what-so-ever, I would tell her I was going to work out. Instead, I would go to my apartment and masturbate. I weighed almost 300lbs and she actually believed I was going to “work out.” That’s like Hitler saying he’s going to a Bar Mitzvah. That relationship never had a chance to succeed, and I knew that from the beginning. Why did I stay in it? Why does Tajikistan send athletes to the Olympics every four years even though they will never win a gold medal? They do it to represent their country. Somebody has to take last place. I did it for men everywhere.  Somebody has to take the crazy ones off of the radar. It allows other men to succeed. It’s called ‘taking one for the team’. Men like me go very unrecognized and unappreciated, but sometimes you have to embrace the enemy to win the war. You’re welcome, men.

Our break-up may go down as the greatest break-up story ever told. It’s one of those break-ups that my friends will be telling their grandkids about 60 years from now. For liability reasons, I can’t tell you her real name. So for now, let’s just call her Satan. This entire relationship ran its course during my senior year of college. At the time, I was working as a producer and show host for a local ESPN radio station. It was Super Bowl Sunday, and I was in at the station setting up interviews with former NFL players for the week to come. Instead of going back to my place, I went to Satan’s apartment because the game had already started and I didn’t want to watch it alone. I mean, who wants to watch the Super Bowl alone? That’s like Stevie Wonder going outside to watch a meteor shower. It’s just sad and doesn’t make sense. I get to her apartment and she immediately starts getting frisky. I had never seen her so horny! And of all nights, she chooses the one night when the biggest football game of the year is on. If I blew her off, I’d be a dick who doesn’t meet her needs. If I gave her my full attention, I would miss about 30 seconds of the Super Bowl. Being the man I am, I adjusted to the situation. I took her hand, ran back to her bedroom, and threw her on the bed. All of a sudden, I went from radio producer to secret agent. First, I ripped off her pants like they were bursting into flames and her life depended on it. Second, I started to take off her shirt. This is where things got tricky. I purposely screwed up taking her shirt off. I got it stuck over her head to completely cover her face. This gave me just enough time to grab the remote, turn on the Super Bowl, and mute it. Her back was to the television, so she had no idea. I got her shirt off and immediately went down on her. I ate her out like I was a prisoner on death row and it was my last meal. A few seconds into it, her eyes were closed and she was laying back and moaning like God was tickling her vagina with some kind of magical orgasm feather. I was in the clear. I opened my eyes and started watching the game. It took everything in my power not to react to the plays, and at one point I almost bit down in frustration. I was so proud of myself. I had succeeded in doing what every man thinks about while giving a girl oral sex. Everything was going smoothly until she opened her eyes. She peered down at me with glossy eyes of pleasure. From her point of view, I must’ve looked like a shark coming out of the water to attack my victim. Unfortunately for me, my victim tasted like stale bread and rotten eggs. It smelled like a rat had died in her vagina. It made a dead skunk smell like a Glade plug-in. If I was a shark, I would’ve spit it out and swam into a propeller. But I am a man, and I had manly duties. It was my job to make her orgasm as fast as possible so I could watch the game in peace. Little did I know she was on to my scheme. My eyes were glued to the television, while my tongue was glued to what could have been interpreted as a dead fish that had just been raped by a homeless man who hadn’t showered in eight years. Right at this time, the first touchdown was scored. I stopped with my mouth for a brief second to watch the replay, and she caught me. She looked back, saw the TV, and then gave me the dreaded death stare. It was at this moment that I became scared for my life. She ripped her vagina out of my face, slapped me in my mouth, and stormed out of the room. I was sure she was going to get a gun or a knife. If you knew how crazy this girl was, you would have been just as scared. She made girls with PMS look like small children on Christmas morning. I quickly followed her into the other room as to prevent the impending murder. As soon as I walked into the room where she was, I received another slap to the face. That was the final call for me. I knew I had to end that relationship. And I knew I had to end that relationship quick… or else I would miss more of the game. She immediately starts yelling and cursing at me. Within a ten second time period, I was called every name in the book. And on top of that, my phone would not stop ringing. This, of course, led her to accusing me of not answering the phone because it was probably my other girlfriend. Unfortunately, I didn’t have another girlfriend, so I reached in my pocket and without looking, pressed the ignore button. The screaming match then continued. We were both yelling at each other, pointing out every flaw we could possibly find in the other person. Tears were everywhere, crying ensued, and bodies were trembling. Don’t get me wrong, I think she was pretty upset too. Finally 15 minutes later, the relationship was over. During those 15 minutes, I was told how ugly, fat, and disgusting I was. I left that relationship believing I was the most disgusting man to ever grace this beautiful planet. It was definitely the nastiest break-up I have ever been through, and hopefully ever will.

Later that night, I remembered that during the break-up between the Dark Lord and I, I had missed a few calls. I pulled out my phone and went to the missed call screen. It was empty. I had to ask myself if I had checked them during Hell’s Rising (the break-up), but my mind was blank. I went to my recent calls to call my roommate to see if he had called me, and that’s when I noticed something odd. It said I had recently taken a call. Remember how I had been contacting former NFL stars to set up interviews? As it turns out, the NFL’s all-time leading scorer (at the time) had decided to call me back. He had called me right in the middle of me and my girlfriend’s nasty break-up. My phone said that the conversation with this former NFL star had lasted for 16 minutes. Then it hit me harder than AIDS hit Africa – when I had reached my hand in my pocket to turn off my phone, I accidentally answered the call instead. Not only did I answer his call, but he had listened to the entire break-up. I had never felt so embarrassed and awkward in my entire life. I felt like a Jew sitting on Santa’s lap. How could things possibly get any worse?

The next day, I knew I had to call him back. I couldn’t just avoid the situation because I believe in taking responsibility for my actions, and I needed that interview. When I finally made the call, nothing was mentioned. He was completely cool and incredibly nice. I was in the clear. Maybe he didn’t listen to my break-up. Perhaps my phone had simply made an error. I was so relieved. Guys, you know that feeling you get right after you ejaculate? That’s exactly how I felt. Except I felt like I had just ejaculated all over life’s face, and didn’t give her a cloth to clean it up. My co-hosts arrived in the studio, I played the intro, and we went live on-air. It was a popular show and had an estimated two thousand listeners on a daily basis. Without wasting time, we went immediately to the interview. My co-host introduced him and he acted thrilled to be on our show. He was a class act and very down to Earth. Right after the introduction, there was a brief moment of silence on his side of the phone line. After about five seconds, in a very calm, yet excited voice, he took a deep breath, sighed, and said, “Do you guys want to hear a funny story?”

To make a long story short, my break-up quickly became known as, “The Break-Up Heard Around The World.” As always, feel free to comment or email your remarks and thoughts to me at coffeepenis@gmail.com. Click HERE to follow me on Twitter!