This morning I used the last of the milk, leaving Belinda with nothing to put on her cereal. She was pretty upset, but I told her to shut her speech hole. "Listen, toots," I said, "ninety people died in Iraq today, most of them kids. Compared to that, this is a minor matter."
Later when I was bringing in the bins, I noticed that our recycling bin had somehow ended up in the middle of the road and, what is more, caused a three car pile-up. "Is that your bin?" shouted some guy who was lying on the nature strip trying to untangle his intestines. I told him it was. An ambulance dude butted in: "You realise that three people have died because of your negligence?" "Seen the papers today, chump?" I said. "Iraq. Ninety people dead. Mostly kids. This?" I waved a contemptuous hand at the roadside carnage. "This is a minor matter."
After lunch I caused a bit of a ruckus by chasing the neighbour's dog up a tree. "Phisbie is terrified of heights!" the dog's owner told me. I offered to climb up and beat the dog into submission, but the owner wouldn't have it, so I punched him to the ground. "Your behaviour is unconscionable!" he shrieked. "You know what's fuckin' unconscionable?" I said. "Ninety dead kids in Iraq. Most of them kids. What's one dog up a tree compared to all those dead kids?"
The shit really hit the fan when Belinda got home from work. She'd found out about my affair with the maid, and she'd also found out that the maid was not a maid but a prostitute, and not a woman but a seven foot transvestite named Craig. Even worse, she'd unearthed my stash of bestiality porn, my amphetamines lab, and the illegal casino I've been running out of our laundry. "What do you have to say for yourself?" she asked, applying electrodes to my man bits. "Um," I said, "ever heard of a little place called - Iraq?" She said she had. "Well, ninety kids died there today. Ninety. Kids. Wouldn't you say that compared to that - compared to the deaths of ninety kids in Iraq - that this petty domestic dispute is really just a minor matter?" She agreed, then she turned on the juice. "Jesus, woman," I said, fanning my smoking sack. "This is assault!" "Maybe," she said, "but you do know that ninety kids died today in Iraq. This," she sent another burst of electricity through my body, "this is just a minor matter."