TOMMY: F*** no. Do I look like I’d do well in prison? I plead down, man. Sexual assault one, no jail time. I’ve been unemployed for eight years because I have to write “Sexual Offender” on every job application. I’m on a neighborhood watch list because I have to register as a predator wherever I go. I haven’t had a date in almost a decade because if a girl googles me? Bye-bye. Life’s a joy.
I meet Amy at this party-2004. We CLICK. She’s perfect. Like, if I could make up a girl, this would be the f****** girl. I think: what’s the catch? Few months and it hits me: She was just playing at being Indie Rock Dream Girl. Apply yourself! Hustle for those gigs! Play this venue and meet that executive. She bought me ties. I mean, girls like a fixer—upper, but… She invaded me. She made me her business. And she wanted me to do the same for her. It was too much. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be the guy she wanted me to be.
So I break—up with her, back away, whatever. . . It was no big deal. Or so I think. Then Amy shows up one night. She’s got a bottle of bourbon and this bootleg of a band I love, and—f*** she’s all over me—and when this girl gets all over you—sorry, she’s your wife. But pretty soon- Consensual! Nothing funky. Next thing I know, the cops are at my door. Amy has wounds that are “consistent with rape.” Marks on her wrists as if I tied her up. Me. I tied her to my bed and raped her. (whispering) And guess what they find? Headboard of my bed, one on each side.
You date, you get your heart broken, you date someone new. Circle of life, right? Wrong. I don’t think she’d ever been rejected. Like, ever. Can you imagine being almost 30 years old and never having had anything go wrong for you? I may have to relocate to Kazakhstan. I’m serious, man, I will not say a word against that girl. She f***** me up. And I just dated her a few months. I can’t imagine what she’s got in store for you.