Ronald Lankster scratched his ass through his baggy boxers as he worked his way to the toilet.

'Thank God it's my day off, ' he thought to himself. Not that his wife was going to let him relax. She already mentioned several things she wanted him to do. Not that he could recall a single one of them at the moment. He found that more and more lately he had been blocking her out. Mostly because when the only time she opened her mouth, was to bitch about something. Usually about something he did, or didn't do.

He pulled the toilet seat up, and fished out his dick. He looked down at the erection he was sporting. Shit, this was going to be a problem. There was just no way he was going to be able to take a piss with 'morning wood'. Without putting his dick away he walked back to the door and thumbed the lock. The last time he had forgotten to do that, his wife had walked in. He heard for a week how big of a pervert he was, because there was no need for a married man to be wanking off in the bathroom. Well, yeah there was, when the wife in question's idea of 'an active sex life', was once a week on a Saturday night, after the eleven o'clock news.

Shit recently she didn't even want much foreplay, anymore. Just enough to get her damp, and then she wanted him on her and fucking. How romantic is that shit? There was no love making to it, anymore. It was just straight up fucking. He couldn't remember that last time they had made love.

Hell, men were the ones with the reputation of being insensitive. Not in this case, it was his wife that would roll over, and go to sleep immediately after sex.

Any attempt on his part to cuddle, and she would shout, "Would you fucking get off me? You already got what you want, now leave me the fuck alone."

Ron had been slowly stroking his dick while these thoughts ran though his mind. He shifted his feet to be a little more comfortable, and tried to focus on something that would actually allow him to achieve release. He started daydreaming of what it had been like when they had first married. How they would spend hours touching and kissing one another before any of their clothes were ever shed. Just then he moved to where the sun reflected off of something in the yard and shown a blinding his eyes.

He squinted his eyes and moved to the side to look out the window above the toilet.

"Holy fucking shit," he exclaimed, as he saw the various statues and shiny orbs that had been placed in his yard. "Last month it was fucking pink flamingoes, and this month it's someone's... whatever the fuck you call those things."

"What is it?

He heard from outside the door before the knob was turned to verify that it was locked.

"The fucking neighborhood kids stole someone's lawn ornaments and put them in our yard again," he shouted through the door.

"Is that fucking all," came back at him. "The way you were fucking going on, you would have thought the fucking Iranian terrorists were building their fucking bombs, in our fucking backyard."

Ron was taken a bit back by her language. He had noticed that it had been becoming rougher and rougher, but now... Now he wondered if a Sailor could keep up with her.

'Is my language that bad, ' he thought, 'I fucking hope it's not.'

Then he laughed over the irony of the thought.

"What the fuck are you doing in there?" came his wife's voice through the door, " are you playing with your fucking self, again."

Ron bit is tongue so that he didn't comment. He knew that to do so would just start another argument. He looked down at his johnson, which didn't seem to be interested any longer. So he relieved himself, tucked it away, and unlocked the door. Veronica pushed past him the minute the lock was released.

He knew she was looking for evidence that he had relieved his sexual frustrations. When she didn't find any, she turned to him.

"Can't you fucking aim that thing? Look at this, you pissed all over everything, and you didn't bother to put the fucking seat down, or even flush the fucking toilet."

Ron bit his tongue, again; painfully, this time. He was sure the metallic taste was that of blood. He walked back into the small room, and took some bathroom tissue from the roll. He wiped the bowl, and tossed it in. Then he lowered the seat and flushed the toilet.

His wife continued her tirade as he walked out of the room. He closed the door behind him, effectively shutting off her comments. He went into the kitchen. He washed his hands and started some coffee. Then he got dressed in a T-shirt and his work pants from the day before. It saved him from having to transfer everything out of the pockets. He stopped at the kitchen table, grabbed his pack of smokes, and shook one out. After fishing his lighter out of his pant's pocket, he lit it and took a big drag. After a couple of customary coughs, he decided he felt better.

The coffee wasn't ready yet, so he slipped his shoes on to go see if there was any way he could find any indication as to whom the lawn ornaments belonged too, though he didn't hold out much hope. He stepped out the back door, and strode off toward the ugly things. There were about a half a dozen of the things. They were placed in a perfectly circular design. Ron immediately and started scanning the neighborhood. This was just the type of thing they would pull on that 'Gotcha TV' show, that his wife insisted on watching every Wednesday night. It was a sadistic version of the old Candid Camera show. At least the old one had been funny. 'Gotcha TV' seemed totally intent on humiliating everyone they could.

When he didn't see anything, stepped ibside the circle, and took a closer look. There appeared to be several envelopes attached to the things. He took several moments to debate on what to do. Then he decided it didn't matter. If this was 'Gotcha TV', it wouldn't matter what he did. If he didn't do anything, and just went back in the house, he would get razzed on air for being a wimp. If he took the envelopes, someone was going to pop out of somewhere and bitch him out for taking something that didn't belong to him.

'Fuck it, ' he thought, 'I'm nobody's wimp.'

With that he grabbed all of the elvelopes. He expected someone to jump out right there and then, but nothing happened. Ron made his way back to the house, half expecting a surprise to come out of nowhere, with each step he took. He went to the den, and set everything next to the computer. He went to the kitchen, and got some coffee. Surprisingly enough, he didn't see his wife anywhere.

He didn't give it much thought as he returned to the den. He opened each envelope, and discovered that each contained an internet addresses. For four hours he went through the information, taking a break occasionally to get some coffee. On one trip he made a fresh pot. This was rating a 9.6, on his weird-shit-o-meter. It seemed that each address led him to a site that supported alternative lifestyles, including bestiality. In all the time he'd spent checking things out, he hadn't notice the absence of his wife. He was fascinated by what he had discovered. Suddenly a rather angry voice sounded from behind him, causing him to jump. Fortunately, he had a rather benign page on the computer.

"What the fuck do you think your doing? I told you I wanted the fucking lawn mowed today, and I want the oil changed in my car."

At that moment she must have noticed the cards he had stacked beside the computer, because with a sweeping gesture she asked, "And what the fuck is all this shit? Hmmmm? Did your fucking buddies at work get together and give you pointers, or did they recommend another of those fucking self-help programs off the internet, again? What is it you are going to try this time? Hypnosis for the lame? Maybe how to grow a bigger dick? If you ordered that one though, I might be interested helping you see if it works."

Ron reddened, but held his temper.

"No. This stuff was hanging on the lawn ornaments."

"What fucking lawn ornaments?" she shot back.

"The ones I told you that I thought the neighborhood kids had put in the backyard."

A look crossed over her face that told him she remembered him saying something about it earlier.

"So what did you fucking do, fall for some fucking childish prank. I wouldn't put it past you, you fucking wanker."

Ron wrinkled his nose. Such language coming out of such a beautiful woman, it was... Well it was just totally out of place. What was worse, was that this morning he noticed, it was rubbing off on him. Then he realized that she was waiting for him to answer her.

He sighed heavily and said, "When I went out to look at them, they were placed in a circular pattern. Once I stepped into the circle I noticed the cards on them, and I was curious. So I grabbed them, and brought them inside. When I opened them there were internet addresses on them, and I was even more curious as to where the addresses would lead."

"Yeah, right," she spat, "and I am fucking supposed to buy that bullshit?"

She grabbed one of the cards from the desk and paled considerably when she read the address, because she was familiar with it.

"Okay," she said as she tossed the card back onto the desk, "So there are fucking internet addresses on them. That doesn't mean that they came from any fucking lawn orinaments."

"Well the things are still sitting outside. All you have to do, is walk out the back door to see what I am talking about."

Well she left to do just that. Then he heard.

"What fucking lawn ornaments? There ain't anything fucking out here!"

'There ain't anything fucking out here, ' Ron thought, 'and she rubs it in all the time that at least she took a year at the community college.' Though heaven forbid he should mention that she had flunked out.

He got up and walked to the backdoor.

He pointed to where they had been setting and said, "They are right..." his words trailed off, because they weren't there. That's when the sinking feeling set in. This was it. The whole thing was leading to this moment. He was going to walk out there to where the ornaments had been, and 'someone' (his wife, probably) was going yell: 'Gotcha'.