Eustathia (yoos-tay’-thi-a): Promising constancy in purpose and affection.
I had bought her on a trip to Japan, where her “sisters” were on display in the window and inside “For Your Pleasure” in Tokyo.
I was chronically lonely, and extremely awkward. I couldn’t do small talk and I was obsessed with my toy electric trains.
The salesperson assured me that if I kept her clean and didn’t abuse her, she would be my partner for as long a fifty years. Plus, I could name her and dress her however I liked. I named her Bettina after my 7th grade art teacher.
She was made of some kind of space-age rubber that was used for skin grafts on burn victims. By programming different parts of her body, I could make her moan, squeal, or say “yes, yes, yes” when I touched them.
She had a beautiful voice. I wished that she cold say more than “Yes.” Then, one night we were having our weekly “slut night” at a broken-down motel at the edge of town. It was frequented by hookers and drug addicts. It was a perfect place for me to play out my fantasy. I dressed Bettina as a female version of the scarecrow in Wizard of Oz. I would pull out pieces of straw and tickled her crotchless overalls, I would say “This isn’t Tokyo any more baby,” playing a lecherous Wizard of Oz. I would then jump on her yelling “I’m ridin’ the yellow brick road baby!”
Suddenly, Bettina said “I love you Mr. William Bowyan.” I stopped yelling and jumped off her. All could say was “What?”
She said, “I love you Mr. William Bowyan. I want to be with you forever. You are my dream come true—ride the yellow brick road all the way to my heart. I am all yours, until death do we part. “Yes, yes, yes! Faster, faster! Ride!”
I can’t even say how I felt. I jumped back on and went wild. After my ride was over, I asked Bettina if she still loved me. Silence. I packed her in her canvas zipper bag and drove home feeling totally crazy.
When we got home I put her in her room. After about 15 minutes, I heard her bag unzip and there she was, standing at the foot of my bed in a sexy nightgown. She asked if she could get in bed with me. I said “Of course.”
When I woke up in the morning the bed was stained with blood and Bettina’s head was missing. It was found in my trash can and a bloody hacksaw was found on my garage workbench. I told police that Bettina was a rubber sex doll that I had purchased in Tokyo. They laughed and arrested me. Nevertheless, they investigated and found there was no such place as “For Your Pleasure.” Further, they found valid I.D. in Bettina’s purse, and finally, they had verified her employment as an art teacher at Fudd Middle School.
I’ve been convicted of first degree murder. I’ve exhausted all my appeals. I’m awaiting my lethal injection.
When the jury found me guilty and the judge sentenced me to death, I could hear Bettina softly saying “Yes, yes, yes.”
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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