The Autodidact

Roberto was a stupid little man. He considered himself progressive, when in fact, the only thing progressive about him were the masterfully creative ways in which he showcased his ignorance.

As he drowsily awakened from his malevolently-coerced comatose, he noticed an "Anesthesia For Dummies" book nefariously residing on his night stand.

Gradually, the logic of her laughter found resonance in his feeble mind, and he began to sort out what had transpired in the sordid twist of events: she had transplanted his puffy pink areolas onto his eyelids.

He panicked. He knew that the closeted homoerotic attention from his crossfit bedfellows was now lost forever. They would never lust over him again–his new areola gaze was to be the object of their conspicuous scorn.

Her justified laughter was deafening as it reverberated off the crystal chalice she preferred to enjoy her daily horchata fix from.

She had rendered his criticisms moot with two decisive incisions. The precision of her scalpel was deliberate and resolute, and she knew it.

Let it be known, The DragnMastr enjoys the company of such autodidactic women.