Mishaps with preserved brains are not uncommon. What most people probably don’t know is how often pickled grey matter can interfere with romantic plans. My name is Willoby Walling and I am currently hiding in a steel cabinet. As I am wearing my second-best shoes, you can be assured that hiding in a cabinet, steel or otherwise, was not part of my plan when I awoke this morning.

The name of my horse was Rusty. At least that what he said it was when we first met, so I went along with it. I knew little of his early days as a colt, but the years we spent together were some of the best of my life and, I have to believe, his.

Once upon a time, there was a young gentleman named Josh. And Josh, I’m sorry to say, was a man who would never find love. He never had, and he likely never would. Because Josh was cursed.

Couple number nine. Vivian smiled at them as they walked up the cobbled path. They looked young enough, late twenties, early thirties perhaps. Something and Something Jackson. Mr Jackson pointed at the magnolia which took up most of the front yard. It was majestic, leafless branches weighed down with fat pink blossoms. A fairytale tree, someone had said. Couple number six, Vivian thought.

This is it you son of a bitch, your first walk to the ring as a professional cage fighter. I bet Gretchen’s chin is on the floor right now. When my walkout song starts playing, I might pull my hair out. This is why you trained for twenty years. Kids in school thought you were a loser for doing Jiu Jitsu instead of playing football. Yeah, well how does my Louis Vuitton cape look in HD? Listen to that rowdy packed house. They’re not ready for my song. It’s too perfect.