People ask me, “Herbert, is there a formula for a lasting and happy marriage?” I say, “Yes, there is, and for a limited time only I am going to share with you exactly what you need to do to make your marriage 110% awesome.” The two questions I’m most commonly asked is why I am on the sex offenders list (clerical error, by the way) and what makes me such an expert on being in a happy marriage. Well, the answer is simple: experience, experience, experience, experience and experience. That’s right, I have been married five times and each of those marriages was a 100% success, in the sense that I came out alive and often with more money than I came in with.
I took each of my five vows as a sacred pact between me, my wife, God and Lord Jesus Christ, and the six-course all-you-can-eat buffet we hired for each of the weddings. Each wife was special in her own way, and having so many marriages means I have five times the experience of what works and what doesn’t, but mainly what doesn’t. See, for marriage to work you have to answer a basic question: How do I get the most out of this marriage for doing the least? It’s a law of nature, like gravity or something along those lines.
My first marriage was to Stacy, and I was kind of naive. I had read an article in Penthouse that a wife is kind of like a pet poodle, though hopefully not as hairy (LOL). I earnestly tried to follow that method to make my marriage work. Between you and your poodle, you need to wash them, care for them, rub their tummy and feed them treats, but let’s not forget you also have to discipline them and train them to serve your needs. At first, I thought this was a winning method, as my wife would run to the window every time I came home. Initially, my orders were obeyed, like fetching me the paper and giving me a handshake. Yet soon I realised, unlike an actual poodle, Stacy had these things called “thoughts,” which I thought was just a guy thing. She started criticising me for saying, “Who’s a good little girl?” My sweet terms of endearment got twisted into somehow being nasty, demeaning remarks. Her feminist sister Carol didn’t help, saying that Stacy wasn’t a dog, to which I would respond, “Prove it, Carol. Go on, I dare you.” Eventually, let’s just say Stacy ended up more like a poodle with rabies, and was more bite than the playful but docile companion in life I was looking for. I learned the man/man, women/poodle perspective didn’t work.
Next, I met Veronica. She was feisty and fiery and not just when she had her period. I loved her brains, and we just hit it off. Like anyone starting a new relationship, I tried to impress her by telling her I was an admiral in the Navy and a silent partner in Apple, and that I had invented the dishwasher. We had a humble wedding, as I told her I didn’t like to flaunt my wealth. When she eventually found out I worked at a car wash, she filed for divorce. Yet I learned that getting married can mean acquiring money you didn’t even earn. I called it easy money. I also learned that admitting to your lies is a big mistake.
Next was Wendy. Ah, sweet Wendy. On the rebound from Vixen Veronica, Wendy found me
looking for a meal in a dumpster and took pity on me. I never knew people feeling sorry for me would feel so good. She took me into her home and cared for me, and we got married. Seeing as it looked like I was getting better, I didn’t want that gravy train to run out, so I faked brain cancer. The pity party had just started and it was raining down on me. This blissful union lasted 10 years, until Wendy’s nosey younger brother saw me in the background of a Girls Gone Wild party and my game was up…. or so I thought. She questioned why, if she had re-mortgaged her home for me to go to Florida for brain cancer treatment, was I in the background at a Girls Gone Wild party? Why did I come back with such a lush tan and a tattoo on my butt saying “Partee Hartee?” I wasn’t going to do what I did with Veronica, so instead of admitting the truth, I doubled down on my lies. I told her I had an evil twin who was trying to ruin my life, who worked for an evil secret agency called Control and I worked for the CIA. That lie bought me another few years, but eventually Wendy ended up broke and she had put on some weight, and she just couldn’t love me the way I needed. So I told her it was over. The lesson I learned from this marriage was to never admit you’re wrong and never admit your lies.
Then came Sandra. She was the first person I married without actually meeting. We fell in love online. Using a picture of a hot male model, she fell in love with a person I wasn’t, which kind of insured its success. We spoke everyday, but I told her I was allergic to web cams, so I could only send pictures. Sweet Sandra believed me. With her it felt different; we had a soul connection. Yet, like all soul connections, it needed to be nourished. So we got married online and Sandra put in the seed capital for a business idea I had. It was selling two-week holidays to Thailand for middle-aged, fat white people. Business boomed, but Sandra started to insist on meeting her husband in person. Eventually, it happened. We met on Jerry Springer, and my secret was exposed on national TV. I was shocked and utterly gobsmacked. I could not believe that you really do put on 5kg when you’re on television.
After Sandra, my last wife was Te, a sweet women I met while getting a stress-relieving massage in Thailand. We married there and I brought her out to live in my five-star mobile home in Grimsby. She was one tough cookie and turned out to be pretty bossy. My easygoing attitude toward life seemed to bug her. Eventually, I found out she was poisoning me, and I told the police. They seemed sympathetic to her, saying it was a shame it didn’t work, and even gave her tips to do it more effectively. Talk about jealousy.
So with five marriages under my belt and a plan to find a sixth, I know all the ins and outs of what makes a marriage work for yourself. I have been told by many women that guys like me are just few and far between, and they are right. They may have used the metaphor in terms of me being the most disgusting turd ever to grace this earth, but I think what they really meant is I am like a rare diamond. Too many men see marriage as about loving a person, when in fact it’s about a person loving me. Some may say I am selfish, but I say me being happy makes you happy, so if you want to be happy, do everything in your power to make me happy. It’s win/win.
I have a new seminar I will be running called “Meeting the person you are meant to marry, and how it could be me.” It’s for women only, and they need evidence of an income over $100,000 per year or life insurance of equal value. It’s an exclusive event built for high-class ladies looking for a kind of low-class guy who is kind of pretending to be high-class, which they deep down kind of know, but feel insecure enough to pretend they don’t. So if your mum, grandmother or sister meets that criteria, please send them along. Good luck, and remember a marriage is a bond based on love, and love is about you getting whatever you want, at any cost, with no care for others, and being able to rationalise and justify it by feeling that you are, in fact, the victim. That is what’s called a 100% awesome marriage, and yes, you’re welcome.
Love and Light
Hebert J Hudson