Sherry McGavin and the Sixth Reich

1987 was a big year for me. I met my Incredibly Good Looking White Supremacist Boyfriend From Kentucky, the man of my dreams, I two timed the man of my dreams with my future ex-husband and I left the man of my dreams for Patrick Fitzpatrick, the man I would one day marry.

Patrick Fitzpatrick was an Irishman who moved to the USA at the benchmark age of twenty one. On the evening of his arrival My Incredibly Good Looking White Supremacist Boyfriend From Kentucky just so happened to have taken me to a skinhead bar to loosen up before making sweet, passionate love in his car. Paddy was new to our parts and was therefore unaware of how the culture in America generally played out.

You see, Paddy was a Trojan Skinhead, a traditionalist, a follower of the old ways that spawned when a Mod girl fucked a Rude Boy. Because of this, Paddy was not particularly fond of the life choice of myself, my lover and our collegues. But Paddy wasn’t just your typical race trader, no, he was special, probably one of the best looking men I’d met in a long time...and the bulge in his pants...well, it too was something special, which is why I put the safety on My Incredibly Good Looking White Supremacist Boyfriend From Kentucky’s gun and advised Mr. Patrick Fitzpatrick to keep his mouth shut in the given company.

A few weeks after that fateful night, My Incredibly Good Looking White Supremacist Boyfriend From Kentucky learned that I’d been cheating, spending my time watching sitcoms and drinking beers with my platonic friend Paddy instead of performing oral sex...and so it ended. Of course I was sad at first, but at that point I still had Greg. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I would survive.

With My Incredibly Good Looking White Supremacist Boyfriend From Kentucky out of my life however I saw no reason to stick around. I graduated high school when I was eighteen and immediately left my father’s home to live with a former sex offender. He had money, I had genitals – we were a match made in heaven. Greg and I wound up loosing contact after graduation but Paddy and I remained close and until Greg and I reunited I had an array boyfriends, husbands, friends with benefits, one night stands, lovers and sex slaves.

In 1995, twelve years before Greg and I were subjected to the art of rekindling, I met a troubled youth named Dan at a seedy bar. He was a college student with orange hair, a fat gut and a lack of a Scottish accent.

Dan had just been expelled from a community college for reasons that were at the time unclear (due to his slurred speech) and was drowning his sorrows in corned beef and cabbage. Seeing as he was twenty one and I was twenty five, I took it upon myself to claim the right of his legal guardianship and took him under my wing.

Dan moved in with me and slept on my couch for a few years, but after a good five I got tired of him eating my food and staining my couch, not to mention I felt incredibly uncomfortable masturbating with someone so hideous in the next room. And so I kicked Dan out, though he and Paddy still came over every day to sit on the couch, watch TV and drink beers.

Our routine continued without interruption until Greg joined in 2007.

It was a sunny day in the month of December when I decided to turn in my self respect and call him after all those years. I remember it like it was yesterday...I was dressed in my semen encrusted, genuine terry cloth bathrobe, I hadn’t shaved my legs in a good long while and I was crying at the death of poor Hando in the 1992 masterpiece “Romper Stomper.” I realized then that all handsome men were destined to an unjust and untimely death and that if I ever wanted to produce offspring (which I didn’t, I just wanted to play it safe) I would need something a bit more stable. So I called Greg McGavin on his landline and left a message and he was there within the hour.

Greg and I married, but not until my father attempted to help me upgrade by featuring us on an episode of a cheaper and less exclusive nock off of “Parental Control.”

Greg proposed to me with a sauce packet from Taco Bell after a sky writer spelled my name incorrectly and I expressed to him how denying a proposal on the big screen would be a major turn on.

Our wedding was simple, a bit awkward if not completely terrible with Greg’s fat drunk dad in the front row. He'd been one of my dates on “Control that’s Parental,” we'd had amazing sex and had it not been for the show’s reputation of girls always staying with their original partners, I would have left Greg with either him or Paddy, my other date.

Unfortunately my marriage to Gref wasn't as great as my father's taste in men. Greg turned out to be sterile due to his small and ineffective penis and I was forced to go to a clinic for bulimia because of a miscomunication as a result of my weak stomach and diet consisting primarily of alcohol and fried foods.

Though originally Greg’s sterility had little of an impact on me, after watching “This is England” with Paddy I changed my mind and decided that I wanted to share with him the honorable duty of paternity over an adorable and corruptible Mini Skin. We met an impressionable young boy with daddy issues, but his mother got in the way of our relationship and I guess the courts just don’t understand the unique bond between a racist, a skinhead and their protégé.

Greg always hated Paddy, which used to confuse me seeing as I thought that he was such a fantastic guy, but now it makes a lot more sense, as I have sex with Paddy regularly while Greg is locked up and most likely being anally raped as we speak. That part comes at the end though, since we’re going chronologically - who do you think I am, Quentin Tarantino? Italians should not be allowed in Hollywood.