The Secret Love of La'Dementia Bezos

Most scrumptious Jeffrey is mad

"WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT," shouted dearest Jeffrey. I trembled in the seat of the private helicopter, quivering as Jeff's cruel words echoed through the large first class back seat chamber. Jeffrey was muttering something, but was soon cut off as I slurped caviar from a golden plate. This made him even more angry and he slapped the caviar to the ground, splattering food all over the floor.

"You do nothing but eat, sleep, and CHEAT ON ME WITH OTHER MEN," screamed Jeff.

"I did not cheat on you!!" I screeched back. "Boris Johnson was trying to protect me from the paparazzi and we had a moment until... you came and ruined it!! I hate you and your stupid bald head!! You look like a turkey shat out an ostrich egg."

"Shut up," Jeffrey responded. "I don't want to hear another word from your fat, bloated, caviar-stuffed, intumescent lips... FUCKING BITCH!!!!"

I started to cry. My scarlet orbs darkened and turned a deep shade of crimson-black flecked with depressed blue and charcoal. Mascara dripped down my perfect porcelain cheeks.

Jeff put his arm on the shoulder of my black blouse. I shivered.

"I'm sorry bb," he said in a calmer voice. Under all of his anger, I could hear a kind-hearted person yearning to break forth like a rooster begetting an egg into the world. "Are you cold... you seem cold."

I shook my head up and down, my long gothic black raven hair bobbing gently in the helicopter wind. Sweetest Jeffrey placed an authentic snow leopard fur coat around my thin, dainty, pale body. When the fur touched my skin I let a soft moan depart from my  deep wine-colored pointed lips. It was so soft and warm.

"Thank you most scrumptious Jeffrey, dearest husband," I quivered. "I will cherish this coat forever... I'm sorry for betraying you for that filthy Boris Johnson. Plus, he's not even as rich as you." I dry heaved at the thought of being poor.

"I know, i know bb," said Jeffrey. He's so dreamy. I run my fingers along his egg head, imagining my lips coating his body like amniotic fluid coats a newborn chick.

Boris Johnson could never be as effortlessly effervescent as my most coveted, delicious Jeffrey... but why was it that my mind kept returning to him? The same image flashed in my brain every time I heard the letter "b"; Boris Johnson standing there, shirtless, his hair rippling in the wind.

Would I ever think of my husband the same way?