Why, you ask? Just take your pick. For starters, a week had passed since his mom’s brownie ambush, and she’d been so far up his ass the whole time that Trey could stunt double for the Asian guy in Human Centipede. It hadn’t taken long for Mom to find out about Sex in the Sticks, and the nag-a-thon he’d endured over the past several days had left him with the overpowering urge to drive a butter knife through his temple. But every time he’d dropped hints about Mom returning home, she’d go all wide-eyed and sniffle and start bitching about his dad. If that weren’t enough to drive him to drink—well, drink more—the new building inspector wanted his palm greased, and one of the yahoos on the crew had accidentally cut the power line while planting a cedar tree behind the community center. It was a miracle the idiot hadn’t electrocuted himself. Sultry Electric posted those “call before you dig” signs for a reason. But those annoyances seemed like trifling mosquito bites compared to the real problem eating him up inside, and that was Bobbi.
