Aspie Monika

Aspie Monika

>Be Anon, have your darling wife Monika come with you to Thanksgiving dinner

>You hadn't seen your family since you had eloped with her, which in retrospect hadn't been necessary but you HAD maybe knocked her up when she had materialized. She had insisted after your cuddling had grown too much for her.

>You had been prepared for this, having saved up as much money as you could get, being the greediest little kike, you could to build a comfortable nest for your bird. You had gone over having a baby several times, but you had yet to introduce your family to her because they would make fun of you for having a robot wife

>Bastards clearly never watched SpongeBob, Plankton loved his computer wife, and you were an even better husband than he was! Ahem...

>"So guys, this is Monika you've been hearing so much about." Your grandfather was excited to see her. Your grandmother was not, probably jealous or worried about the noticeable baby on board. "I love your dress, Hun! You look very good in green." She said, eyes not being taken off your poor wife.

>Your brothers were jealous as well, because they had no wives or even girlfriends. They were better off than you, but for the aforementioned reason. Sam had even congratulated you, while Wesley had just groaned a little inside, but shook her hand all the same.

>Your mom though, was the big problem. She had gotten hit by empty nest syndrome hard, and was a Hind D and Monika was a poor Afghani villager. She stood no chance against Mom's kindness, and could not get a word in edgewise against her interrogation about what color the baby room was, why wasn't her ring bigger, who were her parents.

>Dad sipped his beer and enjoyed the chaos as a true southern gentleman

"Aww, give her some space guys. She needs breathing room." Monika nods frantically as you guide her from the rest of the savages at the table, and your sister sits next to her once you seat her.

>No doubt to tell her embarrassing secrets about you

>Monika had told you that she was vegetarian, but you had convinced her to eat the turkey because it was tradition, and it would have been both rude and a pain to make some vegetarian turkey thing.

>"So, what do you like? I mean, do you have a hobby? Not that Anon doesn't keep you busy, hehe." Said your dad.
>He has no idea what he has done

>"Coffee!" Monika had perked up.

>"What, just drinking it?"

>"Yes!"

>"..."

>"And learning about coffee! They come from Africa and different soil compositions affect the taste! They are just like wine, which I have yet to try!"

>"And where does the coffee you drink come from?" Dad asked, knowing exactly what he was doing.

>"Oh, from German East Africa!" she beamed. Then fell flat at the visible looks of confusion. "Oh, T-Tanzania. Anon buys it especially for me, isn't he such a thoughtful husband? Anyway, he has begun woodworking as well. I understand that you used to do a lot of that when Anon was a little boy, riiight?"

>The train of thought switched like that scene from The Polar Express, but based dad knew exactly what was up. "If you are interested, I could make you a rocking chair. I haven't made anything in years, but I should get back into it."

>Rekindling pastimes with dad!

>Monika!
................................................
Let's ride this train until the tracks splinter and breaks and it starts pounding through orphanages.
.............................................................................................
>"Well, I'm glad you are with him now. He was such a lonely boy growing up. Very few friends." Your grandmother Mimi said (I don't really care to rename my family, it'll be extra heartwarming this way.)

>"Yeah! I could tell. He's just like me. You are now realizing that there was a last time you had gone outside with your friends and played together, and this childlike feeling of joy has never been recaptured."

>Tears start to well up in Sam's eyes while Mimi looks aghast

"Good thing I never had friends, so I wasn't left It from a final game of tag."

>Maybe this was the wrong thing to say?

"So how long did you roast the Turkey, Mimi?"

>"I didn't, Sam did, and he has been here all day. It should be done now, right Sam?"

>"Y-yes. Sorry, that hit me harder than I thought it would. Get the table cleared, move that Monopoly game to the living room. Amanda, get on that." Your sister dutifully moved the board to the other room, not before putting her piece just enough way from free parking to get all the money next turn.

>Good think Monika didn't notice, she would have started squawking at her about integrity. She should, but it wasn't the time or place for that.

>A huge turkey the size of Anatolia was hoisted to the table as an offering to the gods. Glorious cranberry sauce was around, and the turkey wasn't too dry, the skin was just crispy enough, mm mm mmm

>"Let's put our hands together in a prayer!" Said Monika.

>No one in the house was religious enough to do this. Neither was Monika, she had probably just seen one of those Chevy Chase movies, national lampoon. Your mom like those. Oh god, did you marry your mom? No... not quite.

>Everyone awkwardly held fingers together, unsure of how hands were supposed to be held

>"Uhhh"

>Monika had no idea what she was supposed to say

>She had never properly prayed before

"Thanks for the food, I guess."

>A chorus of thanks arose, and one silent one from Monika's sweet smile, the one you feel in love with.
.........................................................................................
In a totally unrelated time at the supermarket, Aspie Monika got into an argument with a cashier.

“…Why wouldn’t Germany take over Austria? They are both German speaking, and Germany was always a cultural union of the German States, so the Anschluss was totally justified on correcting a 60-year foreign policy mistake by the German Empire. It’s as if the US fell apart and then in 1000 years the culture had barely changed but you said that New Hampshire was too independent to be part of the new US.”

“Fool that you are, the Austrians deserved nothing but their suffering for having started ww1 by being idiots. Germany should have left them to be lame ducks like thee swiss. Damn Mountain Germans can’t do anything right.”

“well, it was nice seeing you again. I’ll need more of this stuff though, it’s supposed to make breastfeeding the baby better. Besides being in the tip of France, of course.”

The line was getting longer, but no one was going to disrupt the conversation of the 2 disabled people at the store. Not that your wife was disabled, at least any more than you were.  She was just… very astute.

“No, hun, just because Brest, France is named Brest doesn’t mean it makes your breastmilk any sweeter or whatever it is that you want. You are sweet enough hun.” You give her a quick peck on the forehead. You thank the other autist for helping your wife while you were in the bathroom (Cleanest in 9 counties). The car ride home was uneventful, except when you popped the question.

“Sooooo, what do you want to do for your birthday hun?” Her eyes lit up and she started blabbering about how she was going to have the baby on her birthday. “N-no… that’s a week off hun. Try again.”

“ooh! Australia. Big, open lands and you can meet that one gay guy and his Florida house slave.”

“That’s a bit too far hun, also he’s not gay, he’s just eccentric. I have an idea.”

You said nothing, letting the suspense build. She kept looking at you, her face twitching slightly. She sat on her hands. Wriggling now, she couldn’t contain herself. “WAAAAAATTTTTT IISIIIIISSSS IIIIIIIITTTTT?”

“How about a picnic on the hill by that Civil War Battlefield? You can accost- I mean educate some hapless tourists again!”
Your funny wife beamed. She loved to do stuff like that. Good think you had decided that autism like yours and hers were the next step in human evolution, or you would probably have crushed her dreams a long time ago. You loved her dearly as she rattled off production numbers for Springfields used during the war.

“You won’t try to load the cannon again with your own black powder, right?”

She grimaced. “Not again, that security guard was mean! Along with that bomb squad guy… His dog was a sweetheart though!”

Accidentally becoming a terror threat with Monika!

You drove your wife home and laid her into bed. She was getting rather big now, and shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting. Even so bedridden, she was as doting as could be, and you were very happy that you had met her that one day on the computer and then rescued her in a goosebumps style fiasco that saw you acquitted of arson charges due to the judge throwing out the case on the basis of the paranormal being too spooky for the court.

.............................................................................................................

There is no longer a coherent storyline, just take them all as oneshots by this point, connected only in the spirit of the writing.

The dim lights of the dilapidated museum continued to flicker. Museums were not doing well, especially since VR had come of age. But if there was anyone who was going to save this museum, it was your wife, and only because she had been binge-watching The Magic School bus recently.

That and she had become curator of the museum through massive voter fraud of being both the only vote and the only candidate in the curator election. “I have a winning smile!” was her only explanation for this, ignoring the fact that curator isn’t an elected position. She just started showing up one day and no one could stop her.

“That or you are a diversity hire, sweetheart. What are all these knives doing here?” you ask your wife. With a glint of 5.9% pure glee she exclaimed “For the redecoration of the museum, dummy! Everyone loves hands on approaches to things, so I started a whittling and butchery section. Kids love it!”

A Spaceballs the Poster poster fell in the distance, placed by clumsy hands with zero regard for theming by your wife. The astrology section did NOT need science fiction posters. “Hun, I don’t think we can legally hand out knives to children. Hell, they are banned by law in Britain, especially since all murders there are legally required to be done by sword nowadays. Not the point though, what if a kid chops off his own finger?”

Auburn hair turns into a gravy brown as the lights dim again, eyes strangely glowing from under her matted hair. (She had denounced hairbrushes this morning as instruments of the capitalist pig dogs and their lackeys to make her head hurt) “Duh! That’s why the butchery aspect is a part of the section. Even the lawyers need to pay admission prices to get in to sue us. It works perfectly! Just like all those rollercoasters we built!”

“Monika, being morally bankrupt in a videogame is fine, but we can’t do so in real life, at least not if we are broke as we are. It wouldn’t be right.”

“What do you think the snack machines and pay toilets are for? We need as much money as possible to fund the museum in the name of science. OH! We can start an exhibit on robots and put your friend Anon no 837389 in it. You are always calling him a robot, he even has a serial number! Only the most oppressed members of society will fit in! Gamers!"

“Isn’t that using public funds to build a concentration camp for singles to meet and… That’s not a bad idea, then we can ransom them condoms and their freedom or take their organs if they die.”

“See Anon, you may be just an anon, but you definitely are my number 1! Best Henchman ever!”

She is proud and must be reminded of her terrible follies before she falls. “I’m your husband, remember?”

She is blindsided by that; having forgotten just how much she loves you. She curls up into a ball for easy transport home, mewling your name cutely while kissing your neck and face. You take her home before she commits more war crimes. All sense has long since left your life, but all you can be sure of is that you love the woman in your arms.