Supermassive black hole

There is a super massive black hole in my house. It is dimensionless and it is bigger than a sexy hot-Jupiter. Its favourite pastime is swallowing my keys when I'm running late for a meeting I cannot miss. I can feel its conscious intelligence observing every moment of my hysterical panic as I tear the house apart. Without my keys I can't drive through one hour of traffic and sit through that seven hour meeting where time loses all meaning. I check my empty pockets every 30 seconds in case my finger tips were paralysed the last time I checked. I sense the super massive black hole's penetrating pleasure as I get more depraved by the second in my frantic search. My wife help me out by berating me for my carelessness. The dog runs circles around me while I try to understand how my keys could have disappeared from my pockets. How?
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They say that nothing escapes a black hole. I know this is not true. Because eventually, my keys always end up back in my pockets, the ones I checked a thousand times. The black hole slipped them back into my pocket when I wasn't looking. What a bitchy mind-game playing troll. My wife and the black hole laughs at the same time. Not with me but at me. I see the look of shame on my wife's face...the one that says "I married him for his super hot body and amazing performance in bed...not for his brain or dependability". That's what she thinks...but this is what she says: "So when are you going to clean up this mess?". I tell her I can't clean it now because I'm already late for work. But she doesn't hear this. The words go straight out of my mouth and deep into the massive black hole. This black hole loves to plays dirty games. Its darkest sexual pleasure is watching me be emasculated in front of my wife. There is only one conclusion I can draw. The super massive black hole is a woman too.
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My house is the epicentre of the black hole. Walking through the door is passing the event horizon. Once I put the down payment on the house I could never truly leave it, because no matter where I go...the super massive black hole pulls on my strings. And there is a string connected to every part of my body. But I hold on tight to some of those strings because some parts of me will never be controlled. I am building a rocket-ship in my back yard so that one day I can overcome the gravity of this cosmic monstrosity. I know I will never reach escape velocity. But working on the space ship is the only thing I can do to keep her from destroying me. It is also where I store my dirty secrets. I smoke in the spaceship. I have poker nights in the space ship. I make love to my imaginary mistress in my space ship. My space ship is a beautiful craft with a sleek curvy design and a soft polished finish. When I'm feeling my most down, I make love to the spaceship itself. This makes the super-massive black hole angry, perhaps out of jealousy. I am an amazing lover you see.
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There is a misconception that black holes have a fixed location and a limited reach...where everything within a radius like energy, light and even time are gobbled up like a North Korean in a prison camp stumbling upon a dying rat. Not true. There's one in my house but it doesn't suck in everything like my in-laws when they visit or the douche-bag neighbour's obnoxiously loud Harley. Just me and my things...especially when I need them. And I can be anywhere in the universe and it will find me. It is also a misconception that black holes are the vacuum cleaners of the galaxy. That they suck in everything they can and grow and grow munching on star by star until one day nothing is left. Black holes simply don't work that way. They selectively make things disappear whenever they feel like it. And they put things back...as though you're supposed to say thank you. They also have personalities. Cunning, devious, brilliant personalities.
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The black hole didn't steal those missing left socks. My son says it was the sock monster. My wife says it's the washing-machine. But no one wants to steal socks. No leprechaun or appliance or demented criminal. Socks just go missing by their own free will. They hide at the bottom of a pile of clothes or jump into the garbage with the dryer lint. No...the super massive black hole prefers more selective things, like my soul, my confidence, my hope, my masculinity...but I won't let her. She's not the boss of me. 
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Any super massive black hole was once a bright fierce incredible star burning off ferocious quantities of scentless gas. It's hunger for hydrogen was more massive than Michael Moore's thirst for empty calories. Eventually it collapsed under its own weight (the star that is). The greedier they were the more massive the black hole it became. And the result is a singularity where time and matter and thought and energy become one great karmic reality of peace and love and baby smell and table legs. It takes the energy of ten red-dwarfs a year to feed this bliss. This is why peace on Earth isn't possible. There aren't enough red-dwarfs around. The greed these black holes have is the kind that only an obese Michael Moore could understand...while waiting in line at a Kentucky Fried Chicken licking his lips dreaming of extra thick gravy. Moore will once day collapse under the giant weight of his dog fat and attention seeking whoredom and Kentucky Fried Chicken gravy. He will become a black hole so grand it will be a Super Mega Uber Extra Hyper Early-Career Oprah Winfrey Ginormous Smelly Massive Black Monstrosity. And he will suck on fatty saucy gravy at the speed of light until the great crunch.
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It is Sunday and I am thinking about playing play station all day long. My "Grand Theft Auto 23" has disappeared. My son probably used the disc as a frisbee or my wife destroyed it. More likely it exists now in null-space where its plastic casing and digital grooves are all compacted into a point of space smaller than my spermatozoa. It doesn't bother me as I have "Grand Theft Auto 22" with slightly less interesting graphics but I can still beat the shit out of a street thug with a bat until I feel sweet release. One thing my children, my wife and the super massive black hole have taught me is that sweet release is rare and valuable. All family men who realise they aren't the king of the castle know this. They can take everything away from me but there will be a steak on the table on Sundays with extra crispy potatoes and a mushroom sauce. All of my loss and pain will be made up for by the sweet sensation of slightly cooked meat and salt rolling around in my mouth. They can hide my poker chips but they can't take away the rare an beautiful rush of winning the pot. They can hide my games but I'll play some other and after hours and hours of brutally hard work I will know the surging ecstasy of video game victory. They can take my carbs but they won't take my savoury Sunday mushroom sauce. No black hole would get away with it. And so the black hole is always one step ahead of me but I win in the end. Whether it's at the dinner table, lying next to my rocket ship or holding a plastic game controller, I'll always find a way for sweet release and relief and it will be all the more sweeter knowing I struggled for it and beat them at their own game. Suckers.
Category:Space
Category:Articles written in the first person