I made a Holiday video greeting card to make sure I can do my best to remind everyone that caring, sharing, and love are the reasons for the season!  Enjoy your holiday and be super safe when traveling.  It is good to be alive and hopefully you can treat each other with kindness.

2011 Holiday Greeting!

A Look Around Occupy Dayton

A lot of exclamation points in this title for no good reason. I do remember recording this podcast and I remember having a ton of fun doing it. These guys are fun to hang out with in general, let alone when the microphones are recording.

Some highlights include me talking trash about someone who wronged me and my firm stance on the War on Pun. I do not normally talk trash about anyone, but his person (who’s name was changed for the broadcast) is a legendary sleeze-bag. If you have any comedy acumen, you will figure it out. But, enough about the negative, there was some fun moments captured I think and I believe you will enjoy it.

Thanks to Brent Terhune, Jeff Oskay, and Matt Holt (who could not be there because he was out having sex with supermodels). You guys made this obscure bastard feel pretty radical. Thanks.

Listen here ====> A lot of Ryan Singer Talking!!!

Tuesday 8/23 at Go Bananas Comedy Club!  Festival begins at 8 pm sharp and doors open at 7 pm.  This is going to be awesome, fun, and babies might be made.

THE LINEUP: (this list is subject to change)

Rent’s Due – Mike Canestaro
Various Entries – Women
Me & My Dolls (episodes) – Ryan Singer
I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant – Sketch By Number
Ned (episodes) – Mike Shelton
Lobster Boy – Left of Center
Jasper vs. the Woofman – Jasper t. Colbaire
The Adventures of Larry Bird and Michael Jordan In Space – Dean Maiorana & Brian McCabe
We Got That B-Roll – Cream
Connected – Cream
Ballet Drop Out – Left of Center
Axe Body Wash – WATBIT
High On You – The Chronic State
Gay Zombies – Vincent Holliday
Heist – Andy Gaspar
Old Diapers & Hot Soup – Wayne Memmot & Dean Maiorana
Magic 8 Ball – The Asbestos Crew
Henry’s Kitchen – Henry Phillips
The Way To Go – Nick Andrews
The Aggressive Bee – MC Mr. Napkins
Episode #1 of Web Series – Alex Stone & Mike Cronin (tentative)
Parent Teacher Night – The Suburban Housewife
Mo Money Mo Problems – Sumukh Torgalkar & Justin Golak

I’ll be peforming at Woodlands Tavern in Columbus, Ohio on Monday, then off to the Downtown Crackers Wed – Sat of next week.  I’m doing an awesome show put on my buddy Ryan Remmington at the Sinking Ship in Indianapolis, Indiana on Sunday 8/28.  Let’s us all get together and feel all right!

I miss you all very much.  Very, very, very much.  I love you all.  Very, very, very much.

Ryan

My last surviving Grandma died today.  I just have to randomly and publicly write things when death enters or happens in my life.  I am not sure why that is the case, but it seems to happen every time.  I have been fortunate to not have a lot of death until later in my life.  The last year and half is when the death-wave started swelling.  I am 35 years old, so how long could a guy reasonably expect to live before relatives from a huge Irish-Catholic family started passing?

Grandma Jesus has a special place in my heart because she was at least partly responsible for some of the crazy that I hold onto today.  I call her Grandma Jesus, along with some of my other family members because she was as close to being a living saint as you could get.  Between her and my other late Grandma, they were perfect Catholic models of loving and care.  They were exactly as they appeared and that was always comforting on many levels.  When you hear people talk about what Christians “should be” in practice, they were that living embodiment.

I would spend weeks at a time, at least in my memory it seems that way, when I was a kid out at a farm in New Carlisle, Ohio.  That is my where my Grandpa and Grandma Jesus lived.  My brother, sister, and me would do the farm work during the mornings and play around in the afternoons.  I would make chicken coup raids for the next mornings eggs, feed hay to the horses, and then some basic yard work stuff, too.  A lot of times we would go to some church function in the morning and always have Bible readings at night, followed by the rosary or stations of the cross depending on what time of year it was.

These obvious and standard Catholic practices were made all the more intense by the random fringe religious elements talked about before bed.  I heard many a tales of the end times, Jesus returning in her lifetime, great punishments, people with visitations of the Virgin Mary, and other modern day miracles.  I embraced all of these things with an open heart and a more than willing wild imagination.  I became the Peacemaker.  I called myself this.  I think I have written before, but this is the time period I became ridiculously disconnected from reality.  With the help of Grandma Jesus, I had come to believe that I was the next great chosen leader of God and his army.  It went Moses, Jesus, Ryan Singer from Dayton, Ohio.  She told me that it was likely that the Virgin Mary would visit me in my lifetime and that I needed to know what to do.

If she came to in a vision and she was wearing sandals or anything on her feet, then it was Satan pretending to be her.  This was something Satan would do to try and trick religious people into doing bad things.  He could appear as her, but not completely because his power was not limitless like God’s.  If she was barefoot, it was really Mary.  That was how you could always tell.  I have felt uncomfortable wearing sandals to this day.  I am not trying to be funny, but I really refuse to wear them because they make me feel so creepy and uneasy.

These things do not easily get eradicated from one’s brain.  I am thirty-five years old now and would by lying if I said I was free from it all.  But, today the day has come that may finally end it all.  She has died and yet the world remains.  The gates of hell have not opened up, releasing an army of demons to be battled to the eternal death.  All of my fear and some of my hope has been forever put to rest on this day.  I am not trying to trump up the profoundness of this day and what it represents, but for me it is quite monumental.  Anyone raised in a fear-based dogma can attest to the resilience of that fear.

I never did not know of hell.  To the best of my recollection, as long as I have been able to remember things, hell has been there.  It is a foundation memory and knowingness.  Trying to discard this fear could be equated to trying to stop involuntarily blinking.  It just always has and continues to happen.  Sure, there have been many times when I have been able to hold my eyes open for very long periods of time without blinking, but I always end up blinking.  Today may just be the day when I do not have to blink anymore.

I feel like I need to be really clear about something.  This is not something that I have been freed from or of in any way.  I do not feel relieved or grateful that this has happened.  I in no way now or ever have been angry at her or resented her for her beliefs that she passed along to me.  She never had anything but complete and total love for me and everyone else.  Her actions always came from that starting point.  Always.  Please do not make the mistake that have felt burdened by these things.  I do nothing but smile when I think of her.   I, like many other people wish we all could live forever.  At least the people I love.  I am saddened that I could only say good-bye over the phone and not even really commit to it fully.  I am headed to the area I grew up for work in a couple of days and told her that I would see her very soon.  I tried to make her believe that I believed I would see her.  But, it was not meant to be.

At least I will be able to make this funeral.  One downside of being a comedian who travels for work and is extremely poor is that very few gigs am I able to cancel.  So, I have missed most of the funerals and weddings of the last five years or so.  It is weird to write it, but I feel lucky that I will be able to attend this one.  I am not sure if I should feel creepy about that sentence or not.

Grandma Jesus told me about the Virgin Mary and how she was going to appear over New York City on Christmas Eve to issue a warning to all humanity.  This message was to be clear that God would soon be delivering a great punishment, not unlike the Great Flood.  The Peacemaker told everyone at school about it and warned them to repent for their sins.  We were all roughly nine or ten years old, how much sinning could most of us who had not yet discovered masturbation actually be doing.  Original sin!  Yes!  Even at our young and somewhat innocent ages, we needed to know about this need to repent before the end.  It did not happen.

She told me about the diary of an old saint that was found at an archeological site that through visitations of other saints had foretold of events that would happen in the future.  This diary had predicted many things that came to pass years later.  This diary had predicted a great earthquake that was going to shake the earth at its core and greatly reduce the world’s population.  The Peacemaker told his flock at school about this and told them to repent and get pure.  It did not happen.

She told me about the three nuns that were visited by Jesus and given secret messages about the future.  The only message they revealed to the public was that Jesus would come back to earth before the last one of them had died.  They were all in their nineties.  The Peacemaker reported this urgent message of salvation to sinners at his grade school.  It did not happen.

I have discovered a recent phenomenon that a lot of my memories are only memories to me.  What I mean by that is that huge events that I believe have shaped me forever as a person have not been confirmed by the outside people that were also involved or would know about them.  This makes it difficult for me to believe anything from my past is real.  I know these stories like the back of my own hand.  They forged my life in such a permanent and profound way.  Yet, there can be no collaboration.  I know I am not crazy.

When I was very young, me and Grandma Jesus went to a church luncheon at a cafeteria.  I still remember holding my tray and waiting in line.  Sometime after that luncheon, she showed me a miraculous photo from that day.  It was of a couple people waiting in line.  There was a relatively large gap between two of the people, almost like some other person was standing there.  But, there was no person.  However, there was a floating image.  This floating image was clearly the Virgin Mary.  It was her head and just past her neck.  I do not remember what food was being served that day and I am not going to even try to make a “she must have been hungry” or “the casserole must have been heavenly” joke here.  Even though I guess I just kind of did.  Seeing that photo changed my life.  At the time, I thought it would forever cement my belief in God.

I can remember where I was standing when I saw the photo.  I can remember all of the skin on my body trying to jump off my skeleton.  I was overcome with awe.  I was witness to a miracle.  My best guess of the year is that it was somewhere close to 1985.  As I grew older and subsequently away from God, I would go back to the picture in my mind to cling onto hope and belief.  That moment in the kitchen made me believe in God even when I was coked up or wanting to die.  That photo changed me forever.  That photo is not something anyone would forget.

Grandma Jesus did not remember the photo when I asked her about a couple years ago.  This rattled me to the core in almost the opposite way the photo had originally.  She has battled health issues for the last eight or nine years, so her memory was probably not what it used to be.  But, she could recall in great detail the beginnings of her and my Grandpa’s courtship as of ten months ago.  Her memory was not gone.  She was still a sharp mind even though her physical body was failing.  She did not remember seeing the Virgin Mary in a photo.  Would I just make this up?  Did I make it up?  Why?

Some of these things will probably haunt me until the day that I leave this earth.  The Peacemaker has long passed away and so has my memorization of the entire Catholic mass ceremony.  But, my love for Grandma Jesus will not pass.  My gratitude for her opening my mind up the unbelievable will not pass.  To this day I find myself day-dreaming about all kinds of things that most people find ridiculous.  I may not have seen 99% of the things I believe are possible, but I still believe.

Grandma Jesus gave me one lasting gift and that is the ability to have faith.  I am sure she would have wanted my faith to have been in a god or in Catholicism specifically, but I do cherish my faith.  Anyone who knows me knows that my faith is unshakable, just like hers.

I sincerely hope that my memories of the past and the memories I am yet to make will feel real.  Other than family and friends, what else do we really have?

Recently, as you may or may not be aware, I was in Chicago doing a show.  I was there with my buddies Tom Simmons and Billy Wayne Davis to do our weird and strange comedy show “Kooks.”  We did not know really anything about the podcast when we agreed and even when we went to do it as is the case with many podcasts.  You just never really know what you’re getting into and that is half the fun of doing them.

We cover all kinds of weirdness and then we get serious for about 3 seconds and then start being foolish again.  I think you will find that the topics we covered are right up your alley if you enjoy coming to this website and enjoy some of the same things I do out on the fringe of the news and the fringe of social circles.  Life is way too short to be always worrying about the normal stuff.  It is great and fun to go overboard and down the rabbit hole if you keep your sense of humor about it.

There are some commercials at the beginning and throughout the episode, but here’s a hint:  you can skip ahead!  Hooray!  Unless you enjoy listening to them, then feel free.  And my apologies to anyone old enough to be offended by a misplaced reference I used as a joke in this podcast.  Everyone knows your generation was awesome and I did not try to give some of that awesomeness to a different group of people.  My schedule is updated, too!

You should see my schedule as I have added a lot of dates opening for Marc Maron around the country at some pretty radical places that I have yet to perform.  So, I am looking forward to those dates and will be moving out west to Los Angeles in one month from now.  I am looking forward to living where I no longer need an ice scraper again, it has been way too long.  Also, will be (fingers crossed) filming a new web series in the next coming days and hope to have the episodes start going live before I leave for California.

Here’s the link to the podcast:  http://ryebreadradio.com/post/5378624629/ryebread-radio-episode-44

The Kooks are back and are alive again!  I mean, we are live again.  Tom Simmons, Billy Wayne Davis and I are bringing our bizarre and crazy comedy who to Cincinnati and Chicago the first week of May. The above is just a short promo video of some of what the show will cover. You can’t make sense of the video above? Good. We are trying to make sense of the crazy world that surrounds us and the mixed messages we receive from all of our supposedly legitimate sources.

Kooks is based on the assumption that once you lose your sense of humor about what you believe in, you no longer have the ability to effectively communicate those ideas. Don’t take yourself so seriously and then maybe, just maybe you can have a positive impact on the world and other people around you.

May 4th – Kooks Live at Go Bananas Comedy Club

May 6th – Kooks Live in Chicago

Bring your tin foil hats and your open minds to this show and you just may leave not knowing anything that you thought you once knew. The goal is to have a few laughs as we travel down the road to enlightenment.

Thanks to all the cool people I met over the past weekend in Bloomington, Indiana, when I was there doing some shows.  It was one of those comedy magic weekends that make the little kid inside of me that dreamed of doing this when I got older realize that everything has well been worth it along the way.  I am a lucky son of a bitch and I am just making sure that everybody knows that I know that fact.  It is definitely not lost on me.

Here’s the video and I hope you like it…I suspect you will.

halfwayokay – Episode 26

There has been a lot going on lately and I am not sure I can accurately recount all of the details, but I will try to give you a good, swift, accurate overview.  I would love to tell you all about some of the very fun and awesome gigs I have recently been fortunate enough to be a part of or some of the incredibly cool, unique, talented people I have recently met.  BUT, something more pressing is on my brain.

I have an operational CB radio.

You might think this is not a HUGE deal.  You would be wrong.  Dead wrong.  This CB radio is consuming my life more and more by the day.  There is something freeing and sneaky about being able to broadcast your voice out in the atmosphere to complete strangers.  You can also just listen if that is what you prefer to do.  It is allowed eaves-dropping.  You might be surprised by the blunt and honest conversations people will have when they are shrouded in secrecy.  Probably not though since we all know about the internet and chatting.

The 40 channels on the CB radio were the first internet chat rooms.  People use “handles” and divulge information that is deeply private about their darkest fears, dreams, fetishes, and even their relationships.  My handle is “Monster Hunter” and if I am in my car, you can be assured that I have my “ears on.”  That means that my radio is on, but you probably already knew that or could figure it out quite easily.  I am slowly but surely creating a whole new world in which I can exist joyfully, filled with drama, intrigue, deceit, romance, and comedy on various channels.

I feel this topic is deserving of a post dedicated to it and it alone, so I will leave you with that information at this time.  Just know that as time goes and more road trips happen, I will have a more intense, detailed and enjoyable CB radio world.  If I ever get my car equipped with cameras I will film the internet show, “The Ryan Singer Bandwidth.”

I figure I need to get this world built in time to make it real enough for my future child to inherit it.  Yes, I am going to have a baby.  My girlfriend is not pregnant at this time and we have no plans to get pregnant, but she will be pregnant at some point and we are going to have a sweet ass kid.  She lives in Baltimore and I think it is fitting that the home of John Waters will be where I found the mother of my child.

Here are some great gigs I have coming up:

Columbus Funny Bone this Wednesday night (3/2) and it should be a blast.  It is the national showcase show, so there is always a great lineup of comedians that are on their way up the comedy ladder.

The Comedy Attic this Thursday thru Saturday w/Marc Maron.  These will be some great shows and that can be guaranteed.  The last time we worked together there a drunk, crazy, sad woman left the show crying as she snapped out of her walking blackout.  It was intense and one of those comedy magic town moments that can never be duplicated – you just had to be there.

Bob & Tom radio show this Friday morning sometime after 7:20 am.  That is all the info I have right now, but it will be fun to get back on the show again.

As you could tell, there was a poster for a show in Wilmington, NC, at Nutt Street Comedy Club.  That show is April 1st weekend and it should be an absolute blast.  I have heard a lot of great stuff about that club and I am looking forward to finally getting down there and doing my thing.

After that I will be heading back to The Comedy Cabana (4/5 – 4/9) and hanging with my buddies down there will assuredly make Cooter tell me the story about Barry Dean and the epic Green Sea Monkey Boxing Match.

I am going to stop in Atlanta to hang with some buddies and crash on their couches (they don’t know it yet) before I head up to Johnson City, TN, to headline Capone’s Rock Club for some shows 4/15 & 4/16.  That should also be good times as my buddy Mike Cody is scheduled to feature those shows.

Also, I have come across some really great performers the last 6 months that I think you may really enjoy if you are reading this, so the Under the Rock series will be picking back up very soon.

The Bush That Broke My Bag – Part 1

I sat, legs crossed up like a pretzel, trying to contain the excitement that swelled in my brain and in my body.  A million different scenarios unfolded in my mind, all of them including me being given a key to Man City.  I had yet in my life experienced such a feeling of possibility.  Looking back, I can definitely see how it became a feeling I would forever begin to seek in my life because to this day it is something I am constantly on the hunt.  I have heard the phrase “chasing the ghosts of his past” before and I know this feeling, deeply.

One problem refused to be silenced in my brain:  where am I going to hide my treasure?  I had some ample hiding spots in my bedroom as it used to be the attic and was converted to a room for me and my brother.  I could crawl into the small closet space and traverse my way around the entirety of the house on the inside of the walls.

This is where I had hidden cigarettes and beer cans from my parents and where I found the gruesome kill of a jealous cat when the other one had kittens.  This seemed like the perfect place as it already had drugs, alcohol and danger associated with it, the sex was the missing ingredient.

Amidst all of this joy and wonderfulness still lurked the dark truth in the back of my mind and now it was becoming stronger and stronger, pushing its way towards my lips, desperate to escape.  I can think of at least few people who would describe me as a “Too Much Information” guy.  It is true that I have few limitations on what I believe is appropriate to be shared in public or in one on one interactions with people who are close or not so close to me.  This is something that I did not come into late in life one day.  It is a result of not having much of anyone to share the littlest thing with as a very young child outside of my brother.  Once I had people to talk to I went all the way with it.  I find there is not a lot of middle ground in my life when it comes to me deciding to do something.

The only sensation I experienced that was more strong than the visions of being the Casanova of my grade school, was the desire to be known as the Casanova.  A bit confusing, I know.  I had to tell someone.  I had to get it out of my head.  I had to be adored.  I had to be loved.  I had to be needed.  These things would not happen unless others knew of my treasure.  I had in my possession these magical magazines for only about an hour or so before I could no longer contain them to myself.  This would be my downfall and has continued to be my downfall later in life.

I cannot keep to myself things that are exciting.  It turns out I have never been able to do this.  I wish I could show more restraint, but it seems that once I was able to share with people, had people around to share with, I have never been able to stop that sharing.  Even when it goes against my best interests.  I am not the best person to tell a secret, unless that secret is so big and so serious that you would be hurt or damaged if I did tell it to anyone.  But, you don’t want to tell me things that don’t need to be out until later if they are good.  Keep that shit to yourself or my head will explode trying not share your good news.

So, it was done.  I picked up the phone and within minutes I had no less than three other young boys in my room looking at my trove.  We poured over the pages together, trying to seem like we hadn’t seen this for the first time.  We could not contain our excitement most of the time and why should we have done so.  This was to be exciting, in fact, the most exciting thing that had ever happened to any of us.  Seeing this joy on their faces and hearing it in their voices was worth the coming tragedy.  For this short moment, we were kings.  We were masters.  With great power comes great responsibility.  Absolute power corrupts absolutely and even as a child I knew that harnessing the power of these magazines was too much for my virgin mind to handle.  We would all go down together now.  We were bound through our forbidden knowledge.

Would we split up the collection?  It seemed wrong to separate them from one another.  We toyed with ideas on a rotation of the mags on a weekly basis, but even as boys we knew that was a bit too creepy.  We knew it was creepy because the thought of being the last guy to get part of the collection after the rotations would have too many unanswered questions.  What exactly had these girls been through?  A very man-driven thought process emerged as not wanting to be the last guy to get his shot at some of the women.  They would be used up by then, dirty.  Ridiculous idea?  Completely.  Real at the time?  Absolutely.

Our compromise was brilliant.  We would find one location to stash the women and had to be a place in which we all had equal access.  It could not be one of our houses and even though I had rescued these women from their previous enslavement, I could not handle the constant responsibility of granting access to them.  The creek.  In our neighborhood was a creek where we would always hang out.  We would keep beer cans in the water in an attempt to keep it cool and smoke cigarettes.  This is the place we hung out at during the day and would sneak to at night.  Other kids in the neighborhood knew about the creek and that was a problem.  No kid, regardless of his alleged friendship could control himself to not steal this treasure.  Across the street from the creek was a small wooded area that was rarely used by anyone.  It was smaller in size and had no real appeal other than cover from the outside.

We decided it was in this small wooded area we would stash the beauties.  A place so magical and so special needed a name.  We couldn’t be so nonchalant about a place that would change the course of lives.  It was perfect.  Looking back it is obvious that my love of alliteration has always been there because I named it “The Pleasure Pit.”  It was just cool enough and creepy enough sounding to foreshadow my love of the inappropriate and wonderful.  Three boys, young men, going to a place to look at pornography together in the woods, it should have had a creepy quality to its name.  The Pleasure Pit was perfect.

The Pleasure Pit was heaven on earth for a very short time.  We had made the necessary preparations to ensure that during rain the women would be protected.  Not out of chivalry or some instilled respect for women as much as our desire to keep them around for as long as possible.  Even as young boys we were acting in ways to keep women around us longer first, respectful to them second.   We would smoke, drink and discover the naked beauty of women after school and on the weekends.  We would read the articles, trying to learn about how to have sex and become the most knowledgable one the fastest.  It was the space race.  Who would plant their flag on the moon first?

These times bonded us together in a way we had not yet experienced as men.  We had done sports, cussing and even breaking the law together.  We had talked about girls and what we wanted to do with them, but we had never bonded in direct knowledge and experience over women before.  It was a wonderful time.  A short time, but very intensely wonderful.  I was our downfall.  The one who had brought this joy to our world would be the one responsible for destroying it.  I knew the whole time that it would happen this way and it almost seemed like it had to be this way.  We were not worthy of this dominion, we had done nothing to deserve these spoils.  When something is too good to last, unless it of the purest heart, it will not last.  It will always fade or be taken from you if you are using it for your own good.  I facilitated this with a quickness which I even found shocking.

My older brother.  He was blood after all.  We fought constantly and we so close in age that everything was some form of competitive battle of strength and wills.  But, he was blood.  He was my brother.  I told him about the Pleasure Pit.  He was shocked.  The story astounded him.  I would be lying if I said that I did not find extreme joy in telling the details of my discovery to a set fresh of ears.

Something about someone hearing what I say for the first time that has always brought me extreme pleasure and joy.  He was dumbfounded and silent as he listened.  I could tell he was stacking up questions in his brain for when I was finished.  I eagerly anticipated answering the unknown questions of the future.

It was no later that the last syllable of the last answer to the last question came from my mouth that he was out the door and down the street to see with his own eyes this eighth wonder of the world.  I followed as quickly as I could with eager anticipation to see his joy and wonderment and also with a deep, pervasive fear.  I knew this was the beginning of the end.  How could I expect him to keep this secret to himself?  This was too much power and knowledge for any young man to handle alone.  Even Jesus would not bear this cross (okay, probably a bit too far there).  I had hoped that sharing this information with my brother would bring us closer together and I believe it did.  I knew he would betray this knowledge to his friends, but it was okay.

No more than two days later, the women were gone.  The Pleasure Pit had been totally ransacked.  Barely anything remained worth a young boy’s attention.  Small scraps and pieces of nondescript photos were strewn about, scattered, forming jagged pieces of an impossible jigsaw puzzle. 

A puzzle that would impossible to complete and would be impossible to satisfy the curiosity of young boys who had already seen too much too soon.  No longer could we be tempted or teased by the slightest bit of cleavage or an exposed thigh.  We had been to heaven and back.  We had seen the fruits of every man’s labor and we could no longer settle for anything less than complete and total nudity.  We were now and forever more jaded by the purity and beauty of the naked woman.  There is not going back after you see that.  You can un-ring a bell or un-see a naked woman and thank god for that.

My older brother’s friends had pillaged the Pleasure Pit and taken all of the centerfolds and any other nude photo from the magazines.  What they had then done with them was the only thing that tempered my sadness and disappointment.  They had toilet papered a girl’s house and taped all the nude photos and centerfolds to the outside of the girl’s house.  These naked beauties were freed and put on display in a true act of rebellion.  I could respect that.  I had had my time with them.  They were forever gone now.  Into the world.

The most valuable lesson I learned that day is that you can never truly be at ease with or keep a woman you have stolen.  You can lock her up in the basement or even hide her in the woods to keep her existence a secret as long as possible, but she will be taken from you.  She will be taken from you as you took her from someone else and it will come as no surprise to you.  In fact, in will be a relief because you no longer have to wait for that fateful day to occur.  Her freedom from you is the same as your freedom from yourself.  You will be infinitely more happy when you find someone you can be with out in the open and you can only do that when you find your way out of the Pleasure Pit.