Monday, December 29, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 15c)

Christian comes close.
     I can smell his cologne. Mmm... Taco Bell. Maybe it's not his cologne after all.
     "Leave it all to me," he tells me, his fingers reaching the zipper at the back of my halter dress. "I've brought some lubricants, diuretics, and smelling salts."
     My eyes widen.
     "Why do I need smelling salts?" I ask him.
     "They're not for you, they're for me," he tells me. "I faint at the sight of blood."
     Oh, my. Did I stumble upon something I ought not have stumble upon?
     "I... I... don't know," I whimper, meekly.
     "Are you worried you won't measure up to all the other women I've been with, Ana? You won't but don't worry, you're every bit as pretty as that homeless lady we saw the other day. In a way, you remind me of Slingblade, only without the potential."
     My eyes fill with tears. I've never been with another man. I wonder if they're all so loving and compassionate.
     Sniff.
     "Don't cry, Ana. If I wanted to see a woman cry I'd go to Planned Parenthood. I'll be gentle, I promise. This reminds me of the last time I went to the dentist.
     "'You're going to feel a little prick in your mouth,' he told me.
     "'Then you'd better give me more gas,' I told him."
     "I don't know, Christian. I mean, we're talking about an exit, not an entrance."
     "You'll enjoy it, Ana. I have a special secret to making women moan with pleasure. I tape several hundred dollar bills to the ceiling over the bed for them to look at while I'm having my filthy way with them. It works every time."
     "Have you ever done it before?"
     "Done what?"
     "Anal sex," I say, averting my eyes in embarrassment.
     "With a woman?"
     "Of course. Who else would I mean?"
     "Uh, nothing. My first time making the brown eye blue was when I was on a business trip to Japan. The morning started with a gift from my business partners. A beautiful Asian girl for me to do with as I wished."
     "And did you?"
     "Did I what?"
     "Do with her what you wished?"
     "Of course I did. It would have been rude of me not to. Her name was Mariko, and while we were in the midst of our lovemaking, she kept crying out--screaming, really--'Shigata ga nai, Anjin-san! Shigata go ani!' Later that day, as I was playing a round of golf with my Japanese business partners, we were down to the last hole. By sheer luck I made a hole-in-one.
     "'Shigata ga nai!' I yelled proudly in triumph. 'Shigata ga nai!'
     "My Japanese business partners all looked at each other, confused. Finally one of them asked me, 'What you mean wrong hole?'"
     Christian stopped talking and looked around, quizzically. This time it was his turn to sniff.
     "Is that pizza I smell?" he asked me. "Can I have a slice?"
     I crinkled my nose at the lingering aroma of Parmesan cheese.
     "Um... maybe I should go freshen up," I said.
     "Why?"
     "Because I stink up close."
     "From far away, too."
     I excuse myself, and quickly go to my bathroom. Lordy, lordy, it's a mess. Sy, Jose's plumber cousin, only succeeded in deplumbelating all the pipes and faucets, and they were all laying haphazardly on the floor waiting to correctly be put back together.
     What to do? What to do?
     I know! Kate's not home. I'll use her bathroom.
     I've never been in Kate's bathroom before. It looks like a shrine. There are candles everywhere. I secure the plug in the bathtub and turn both handles so that both the hot and cold water are filling the tub together. I smile at my own little metaphor. Or is that a simile? Words confuse me.
     I add some bath salts to the warm water. I hope these aren't the kind of bath salts that make me want to eat someone's face. I read a story in the newspaper quite awhile back where bath salts were making drug addicts eat people, and not in the fun way.
     I take off all my clothes and step toe first into the warm liquid. Ooh, that feels nice. I lower myself, fuzzy-face first, and submerge completely. This... is... so... relaxing. Hmmm, what's that? There's a little water-sprayer-looking thingie. It looks like a water-pick, only different. I kinda/sorta remember Kate telling me about the special "friend" she has to wash her va-jay-jay with. This must be it. I press the lever and water comes out in a jet at the curved tip. I use it to wash my pits, between my toes, and even floss. I use it to wash the naughty place where the sun doesn't shine. Mmm... nice.
     Time to wash the va-jay-jay, I guess.
     Four hours later, I step out of the bathroom, naked, and ready for some hot monkey love. I can see Christian already waiting for me in bed.
     "I'm here, Christian," I say, swaying my hips as I stroll sexily toward him. "Get ready for me to rock your world!"
     Nothing.
     "Christian? Christian?"
     Snore!
     Hmm... did I take too long?.
 
 
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Monday, December 15, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 15b)

"Buh... buh... booty?" I sputter, and then spit it out all at once, "Idon'tknowwhatyoumean."
     "Surely you've seen a Beyoncé video," Christian tells me.
     I nod my head, shamefully admitting to having watched one. Or two.
     "Then you should know what a booty is, seeing as how Lady B seems to have an abundance of one. Or two."
     I stand there. My mind a blank. My face blanker.
     "A bum?" he offers.
     "No," I say.
     "Can? Duff? Fanny?" he proffers.
     "No, no, and no."
     "Yum-yum? Bon-bon? Toot-toot?" he proposes.
     "Nix. Nyet. Nein."
     "Pooper? Pooter? Patootie?" he suggests.
     "Sorry."
     "Winkie? Wally? Whoopie Cushion?" he tenders.
     "Whoopie Cushion?" I say, excited that I finally recognize something he said. "Isn't she on The View?"
     "Surely you know what a gluteus maximus is?"
     "You would think I would, but, sadly, I'm not into gladiator movies."
     "How about that fuzzy little thing you sit on?" he says finally, exasperated.
     "Oh! You mean my BUTT! Hmph! Well, why didn't you just say so?"
     "Yes, your... butt. My, what a quaint colloquialism. You see, as it specifies in the contract, one of the things I would require you to do is take the hardest part of my body into your, um, butt."
     "You want to put YOUR HEAD in MY BUTT?"
     "I'm not talking about my head."
     "Then what are you talking about?"
     "I'm talking about fifth base."
     "You're talking about baseball?"
     "No, I'm talking about a bit of buggery."
     "Bugs? Ew..."
     "No, I'm talking about going in through the out door."
     "In Through The Out Door? OMG! I love Led Zeppelin. That's, like, my favorite album."
     "I'm not talking about Led Zeppelin. I'm talking about driving to brown town..."
     "That would sound racist, if I could distinguish between sounds."
     "...and plowing the backfield."
     "Do I look like a farmer to you?"
     He pauses, and then tries again.
     "Do you know anything about winning a gold medal in the Analympics?"
     "I'm not into sports."
     "That's where, instead of doing a 69, you do a 66."
     "I was never good at math."
     "Would you be good at docking the submarine?"
     "Not really, I'm claustrophobic."
     "So, you don't want to be George Michael's biggest fan?"
     "No."
     "Or Michael Jackson's newest friend?"
     "Not really."
     "Would you consider going through a Village People's initiation?"
     "Disco sucks."
     "Maybe you'd like a backstage pass to an Elton John concert?"
     "Who's Elton John?"
     "Ana, my dear sweet Ana. You are an innocent after all. Who would have thought you'd be so naïve about anal sex?"
     "Oh! You mean, making a baby the hard way!"
     Hmph! Well, why didn't he just say so?
 
 
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Monday, December 1, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 15a)

"Why, Mr. Grey," I say playfully, "what an unexpected surprise."
     He stands just outside my door looking like a million bucks. An interesting choice of fabric.
     "Please, call me Christian," he tells me, and confidently strides in uninvited.
     He's wearing a baseball cap with an interesting logo stitched on the front. It's the Wicked Witch from the Wizard of Oz leaving the little flirt from Kansas a message in the sky using the exhaust of her apparently fossil-fueled broom, but instead of Surrender Dorothy, she's sky-writing Surrender the Booty.
     "I was just standing outside your door, thinking you might be in the mood for a booty call," Christian tells me with a dangerous look in his eye. The right one. No, the left. Oops, it was the right one after all. I know it's his right eye, because it's on the same side as my right eye. Or is that the left? Anyway...
     "You bet I am, Christian," I say. "I am sooo in the mood for a booty call. Just tell me one thing."
     "What's that, my darling?"
     "What's a booty call?"
     His jaw drops. I remember when I used to do that, my stepfather would tell me, "Close your mouth or a fly will go in," and to illustrate his point, he would throw a fly inside my mouth.
     "You don't know what a booty is?" Christian asks me.
     "I don't know what a call is. Is that like a cape?"
     "That's a cowl, you know, like what Batman wears."
     I wince, remembering Fluffy. I do hope that precious little kitty is okay squashed underneath that giant penny.
     "Oh," I say, "I thought a cowl was a large two-handled water vessel carried on a pole."
     "That's also a cowl."
     "It is?"
     "It is."
     "Then you must mean a caw."
     "A caw?"
     "You know, the noise a crow makes."
     "Silly Ana, that doesn't even have an l at the end of it."
     "Oh, I get it now. A cal."
     "A what?"
     "A cal."
     "No, cal refers to wolframite, the Cornish name."
     Mmmm... corn.
     "Wolframite? What's that?"
     "It's a brownish or blackish mineral."
     "Whew, you had me scared for a second. I thought wolframite was a tiny werewolf. Do you mean call, as in a grant, particularly one giving protection?"
     "That's a cowle."
     "Then you must mean a call. The membrane enclosing a fetus."
      "No, that's a caul, which is also a kind of hair net women use on their hair."
     "You mean it's not the part of the peritoneum that extends from the stomach to the large intestine?"
     "That too, but it's also a wooden clamp used to hold veneers together until the glue has set. What I'm talking about is a call, defined by Webster's Dictionary as 'a call, you idiot.'"
     "Oh, a call. I thought you were talking about a kall, with a k."
     "That word's not even in the dictionary."
     "Imagine that, I'm smarter than the dictionary. Well then, the only thing left is call, as in an elevated mountain pass between two higher summits."
     "Some whats?"
     "Summits!"
     "That's a col, not a call. What I'm talking about, my innocent one, is a booty call. When a gentleman calls upon a lady for some booty."
     "Booty?"
     "Yes, booty."
     "Booty, as in pirate treasure?"
     "Only if you're a Greek pirate. Otherwise I'm talking about booty, as specified in page three, column two, fifth paragraph in the small print of the contract I hope you've already signed."
     "Um... I haven't signed it yet. I was going to have an attorney review it first before I sign it."
     "Silly girl, you don't need an attorney. You've got ME. I'm not like other men, I wouldn't lie to you."
     "You wouldn't?"
     "Of course not. You don't think I became a billionaire by lying to people, do you?"
     "No, Christian."
     "And, by the way..."
     "Yes, Christian."
     "...call me Mr. Grey."
 
 
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Monday, November 17, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 14f)

"Hey, Annie, sweetheart, I'm so glad we finally caught up with each other," my stepfather croons. "I was beginning to think you were sneaking out the window to avoid me."
     "Oh, Da-aad," I say, avoiding eye contact.
     "I like it when you call me dad."
     "You do?"
     "Not really, I prefer Ray."
     To celebrate my college graduation, Ray has brought me to the fanciest restaurant in El Paso, Bulimia's. "A Meal So Nice, You Can Eat It Twice" is their motto.
     "Order anything you want, sweetheart," he tells me, as he looks up and down his menu. "Nothing's too good for my little girl."
     "Well," I say, also perusing all the yummy entrees. No Cleveland Steamers on this menu. "I've never had caviar or lobster before."
     "She'll have the cheese sandwich," Ray tells the waiter as he hands back the menu. "And bring her the check."
      While we wait for our food to arrive, Ray turns serious.
     "You know, sweetheart," he says, "it broke my heart when you left home. I know you were on your way to college, but it still hurt. I remember when I first moved out of my parent's house. The first thing I wanted to do was buy myself the fastest motorcycle I could find, but my brother, you see, had just died the year before in a horrible accident, so my mom told me no."
     "Because she loved you and was afraid for your safety?"
     "Because my brother had a motorcycle, and she wanted to sell that one to me. On that note, I want to give--not sell--you something precious. Some land that's been in my family for generations."
     He reaches into his jacket pocket for--what?--a deed?
     It was a jar filled with dirt.
     "This is for you, sweetheart, you've earned it. It's for you, for your children, but not your children's children, because I don't believe children should be having sex."
     I take the jar and hold it up to my eyes to get a closer look. I shake it up and down.
     Yeah, it's dirt all right.
     "Uh, gee... thanks dad," I say, my bank account feeling emptier than ever.
     My cheese sandwich is delicious. It's just the right amount of cheese. Not too much cheese. Not too little. Who knew cheese could be so... cheesy.
     Aw, who am I I kidding? Cheese sucks.
     "How's your sandwich, sweetheart?"
     "It's delicious, Ray."
     After such a fancy dinner, my stepfather drives me back to my apartment. I roll down the car window and enjoy the fresh air it lets in. I had forgotten the restaurant's cheese and my lactose intolerance wouldn't mix.
     "Well, it's been a big old day, hasn't it?" he says, when he's finally able to breathe. He pulls up to a stop in front of my apartment building.
     "It sure has, Ray," I agree. "Come back when you can't stay so long."
     "Want me to come in and make you some tea?" he asks, but he's too late.
     I've already snuck out the window.

     I wander listlessly back into my apartment. First thing I want to do is check my cell phone for messages. I guess I could have checked it at any time during the evening, or even on the walk to my apartment, but when have I ever done anything that's made any sense?
     Hmm, the battery is low. I suppose I have to find my charger to charge it before I can collect my messages. That really has nothing to do with the story, but it sure... does... eat... up... space.
     I have four missed calls, one voice message, and two texts. Three of the missed calls are from Christian. Boy, for a billionaire playboy, that guy sure does come across as desperate, but in a rich, self-confident kind of way. One of the calls is from Jose. He's also left me a voicemail.
     "Can you lend me five bucks, Ana?" he asks me via the recorded message. I press delete.
     That Jose. What a joker. A broke joker.
     I open the texts.
 
"Where are you, Ana? Why aren't you answering my calls?"
 
"Um, don't get the idea that I'm desperate or anything. I've got plenty of billionaire stuff to do. Believe me, PLENTY of billionaire stuff."
 
     They're both from Christian. You would have thought he would have put two and two together and realized I'd be with my stepfather, especially since I told him.
     I better get in touch with him right away. Forget the phone, which I have in my hand. That would be too slow. I'd better get on the computer and contact him with an email. Talking with him personally is too impersonal for something so personal.
     I see that he's already sent me several.
 
"Ana?"
 
"Ana?"
 
"Ana?"
  
"Ana, are you there?"
 
"Ana, are you there? If you're there, why aren't you answering me?"
 
"Ana, where are you?"
 
"Where are you, Ana?"
 
"Why aren't you answering me?"
 
"Ana?"
 
     What does this guy do, sit by his computer sending emails all day long?
     I quickly fire back an email to him.
 
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: I Just Got Home
 
I just got home. I went to dinner with Ray, my stepfather. He treated me to a nice cheese sandwich and gave me a jar of dirt. I can't wait to show it to you.
 
     I hit the "send" button and receive a reply almost immediately.
 
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Not That I'm Desperate Or Anything But...
 
...why wait? I'll be right there.
 
     And, sure enough, there's a knock at the door.
 
 
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Monday, November 3, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 14e)

"That was the worse college graduation I've ever been to," Christian tells me back stage, "and that includes mine. It was interrupted by a malcontent ex-student with a grievance against the headmaster, Professor Doubledork."
     I try to imagine Christian as a college student. I imagine Twinkies instead.
     "That's funny," I say. "I can't picture you as a student throwing your graduation cap up into the air."
     "I didn't. Those things cost money."
     He looks at me.
     "And," he says, "speaking of money..."
     He's had one hand hidden behind his back the whole time. What has he been hiding? Could it be a graduation gift? For me? Ooh, what can it be? A ring? One that I wear on my finger?
     He brings out a bird cage from behind his back and proudly holds it up. It's covered by a shiny black cloth, perfectly tailored to the cage.
     "...I bought you a gift for your graduation. A rare Liberian parrot from west Africa. It's rare because it doesn't have Ebola. It was very expensive."
     He removes the cloth.
     "His name is Monty," he tells me.
     I look into the cage. The parrot is laying on the bottom of the cage on newspaper and mangy feathers. Its legs are sticking stiffly straight up into the air. Like Kate, only with less enthusiasm.
     "Is he, um... okay?" I ask, not wanting to get too close.
     Christian cocks his head and gives his gift a quizzical look. Unfortunately, that's the only thing he's cocked lately.
     "Hmm..." he says, and arches an eyebrow.
     He gives his chin a thoughtful rub, shakes the cage from side to side, then up and down. Nothing.
     "He's just resting, dear," he tells me.
     "Are you sure?"
     "Of course I'm sure. He's just had a busy day."
     He sticks his index finger between the bars and gives the motionless bird a little push.
     "See?" he says. "It moved."
     "No, it didn't."
     "Yes, it did."
     "No, it didn't."
     "Yes, it did."
     "No, it didn't. I saw you. You pushed it with your finger."
     "I was just giving him a massage, my dear. He likes that. It relaxes him. See? He's taking a nap now. Nighty-night, Monty."
     He hands me the cage.
     "He likes to take long, long naps," he says softly, almost whispering. "Try not to wake him."
     Just then, a man with a gun runs up to us.
     "This is a stick-up," the man yells, thrusting his gun forward. "Your money or your life!"
     I grab Christian's arm, and try to hide behind him. He beats me to it.
     "What?" Christian says, peeking out from around my delicate girth.
     "I said, your money OR YOUR LIFE!"
     Christian stands there, thoughtfully thinking, putting a forefinger on his temple to thoughtfully think some more.
     "Well?" the robber says.
     "WELL?" I say.
     "Give me a second," Christian says. "I'm trying to decide."
     Fortunately, Christian doesn't have to think for too much longer. The robber gets tired of waiting, grabs the cage from my hand, and runs off.
     "Oh, my gosh, Christian," I exclaim, practically in tears. "I was so scared."
     "Nonsense, my dear. You were in good hands."
     "Yes, I was, and you can them off my ass now."
     He comes around from behind me and I give him a grateful hug, trying to absorb some of his courage. He grabs me gently by the arm and leads me into a janitor closet located convienently close by.
     "Christian," I say, "you were so brave, so brave."
     "Yes, I was, wasn't I?"
     "What's that smell?" I ask, crinkling my nose distastefully.
     "That's the smell of bravery, dear one."
     "You were so brave you deserve a reward."
     "I do?"
     "You do. I'm going to sign your contract, Christian," I tell him, and I rest my head against his chest. "I'm yours, all yours."
     "All mine?"
     "All yours."
     "All mine?"
     "Yes, all yours."
     "Dear Ana, I'd just like to say that you may not be the prettiest, you may not be the thinnest, and you may not be the funnest..."
     He pauses.
     I wait.
     Somewhere in the distance, a dog howls.
     "And?" I say, encouragingly.
     "And what?"
     "Aren't you going to complete your thought?"
     "I thought I did."
     He looks at me. There's something he wants to say, but he can't quite get it out.
     "I don't want you to worry, Ana," he says, finally. "I'm not talking about pre-marital sex..."
     My heart leaps in my chest.
     "...because I don't plan on marrying you."
     "Christian," I swoon, "I'd just like to tell you..."
     "Let me interrupt for a second here, Ana," Christian says, interrupting me for a second. "Why is it you constantly feel the need to introduce everything you're going to tell me? 'Christian, I want to tell you something...' 'Christian, you won't believe this...' 'Christian, of course it's edible...' Why don't you just tell me straight out so I can get back to ignoring you?"
     I love his honesty, his compassion.
     "Please be tender, Christian," I say to him, hoping this doesn't turn into some kind of horrible monkey paw wish.
     He must see my vulnerability, because he takes my hand in his and tells me, "Don't worry, Ana. I promise you I'll be tender. Do you know why?"
     I shake my head. That means no.
     "Because of your heart," he explains. "You have the biggest heart I've ever come across. No, wait... I was thinking of something else."
     "Ana! Ana!" I turn around, hearing a familiar voice calling me from a distance. It's my stepfather, Ray. The man who's sacrificed so much for me.
     I turn back around in time to see Christian quietly sneaking out a window.
 
 
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Monday, October 20, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 14d)

I'm in the auditorium with the rest of my college graduating class. You can feel the excitement in the air. It's like "excite" with a "ment" at the end
     The comedian and host of the whole graduation/comedy roast, Jeffrey Ross, takes the stage at exactly 11:00am. The chancellor walks in just behind him and makes him give it back.
     "Good afternoon," the Roastmaster General says, "we're here to celebrate UTEP's graduating class of who-the-heck-cares?"
     He waits for a healthy chuckle from the audience, and then continues.
     "Joining me at the podium will be Milton Berle, Buddy Hackett, Jack Benny, Sid Ceasar, Geroge Burns of Burns & Allen, Bob Hope of Bob & Hope, Don Rickles, the Marx brothers, the Three Stooges, Abbott & Costello of Abbott & Costello, and Lisa Lampanelli."
     There is polite applause at the mention of each name, but the crowd really erupts at the mention of Lisa Lampanelli. Jeffrey Ross holds up his hand to calm us down. Who's this Lisa Lampanelli everybody is getting so excited over? I look at her. She looks like a million dollars... all green and crumpled.
     "First up, it is my honor to introduce to you... Milton Berle!"
     The crowd lets out an enthusiastic snore as Mr. Television takes the stage.
     "Good evening, ladies and germs," Milton says getting up from his wheelchair. "I don't want to brag, but those rumors you've heard about the size of my penis are all true. My penis is so big that. like you, it graduated from college..."
     We applaud enthusiastically at this.
     "...a year before I did!"
     After Milton Berle gets done bragging about the size of his equipment, Buddy Hackett takes the stage.
     "Good evening, ladies and germs," he says. "I'd like to thank the chancellor for his kind invitation." At this, he turns to the chancellor. "Thank you, Mr. Chancellor. Any similarity between you and a human being is simply coincidental."
     Buddy Hackett steps down and Jack Benny gets up.
     "It's lovely to be here," he begins. "Really lovely. As I look at the chancellor, I can't help but think that some town somewhere is missing its idiot." He turns to address the chancellor personally. "Are you the first one in your family to be born without a tail? I thought so."
     Jack Benny steps down, having gotten some pretty good laughs, but no one still knows who he is.
     Sid Caesar takes Jack's place behind the podium. He looks around, his crazy eyes taking everything in.
     "Mr. Chancellor!" he says, a bit too loud. "I would like to say that, despite what everybody think, you're not obnoxious like so many other people. You're obnoxious in new and different ways. While your students might think that you have a stick up your ass, let me correct that misperception. It's not a stick. The space aliens just forgot to remove their anal probe."
     George Burns takes a long time to make his way to the podium after Sid Caesar. A loooong time. Man, that old guy moves so slow it looks like he's moving backward. He slowly turns his head one way, then he slowly turns his head the other way. That's probably the most exercise he's gotten all week.
     "Ah..." he says, a big cigar between his fingers. He moves the cigar to his mouth, but before he can take a puff, he moves it back down. "Ah..." He turns to the chancellor. "Do you want me to accept your graduating class as they are, or do you want me to like them?" To us, he says, "Your chancellor is a modest man, and, believe me, he has much to be modest about. He could be described as charming, intelligent, and witty, and who knows, perhaps one day he will be."
     Bob Hope took time off from entertaining the troops and takes his place behind the podium with a big smile. As he passes the chancellor, he hands him something.
     "Here's twenty cents," we overhear him say. "Call all your friends and bring me back the change." To us, he says, "I love your chancellor. He's a difficult man to forget, but it's well worth the effort. He's a fine example for you, his students. He started out with nothing, and, to this day, he still has most of it. He's a man of many hidden talents. As soon as anybody can find one, we'll let you know what it is."
     Don Rickles is next on the stage.
     "Good evening, ladies and germs," he says, smiling like a snake about to devour a rat. "I don't know why everybody is insulting the chancellor. He's a fine, fine man. Why, his own father looks at him as the son he never had. Do you know what he uses for contraception? His face. I hear the only place he's ever been invited is outside." Like the other comedians, Mr. Rickles addresses our chancellor personally. "I know you're a self-made man, Mr. Chancellor. It's so nice of you to take the blame." And, like the other comedians, he turns back to us. "His wife told me that he brought religion into her life. She never knew what Hell was... until she married him. Speaking of his wife, she's so easy that the college faculty affectionately calls her 'Doorknob.' Everybody gets a turn.'"
     While the Marx Brothers were scheduled to show up, only Groucho does. Chico and Harpo had something else to do, like decompose. He raises and lowers his eyebrows several times, and wiggles his cigar in his hand.
     "Let me just say that I respect the chancellor," he tells us. "In fact, I respect the dead. And the only way I could respect the chancellor more, is if he were dead." With this, he, too, turns to the chancellor. "You know, I could rent you out as a decoy for duck hunters." He turns back to us. "I thought about you people all day yesterday. Yesterday, I was at the zoo. Speaking of the zoo, last night I shot an elephant in my pajamas. What he was doing in my pajamas, I'll never know."
     Next up are The Three Stooges, but Larry, Curly, and Moe only spend the whole time hitting each other, so Abbott & Costello take their place.
     "You know, Lou," Abbott tells Costello, "I like your approach, now let's see your departure."
     "Aw, gee, Bud," Costello tells Abbott, "I used to think you were a pain in the neck. Now I have a much lower opinion of you."
     "Did you say something, Lou? I don't mind you talking, if you don't mind my not listening."
     "I said I'd like to give you a going-away present, Bud, but first you have to do your part."
     And then they turn to us and say, "We'd like to leave all of you with one thought, but, since you're graduating from UTEP, we're not sure you have a place to put it."
     Jeffrey Ross was quick to take the stage again. This graduation was sucking so much, Paris Hilton felt left out.
     "And now, ladies and germs," he says, "the comedian you've all been waiting for. She's the Queen of Mean. She's the Wicked Witch of the West Coast! She's the Girl Next Door--if you happen to live next door to Overeaters Anonymous! LISA LAMPANELLI!"
     Lisa energetically waddles onto the stage like a walrus on crack.
     "I'd like to thank the chancellor for allowing me to make an appearance here today. The chancellor is so ugly that, when he masturbates, his hand throws up. He's so hairy, he looks like Chewbacca's butt. He loves to play Xbox because that's the only box he can get into. I bet you don't know this about your chancellor, but he's always been ahead of his time. He was the first man to take Viagra and wash it down with prune juice. that's why he doesn't know if he's coming or going. But enough about the chancellor. As I look around, I see the three vice-chancellors he brought along with him. I don't want to say they went into teaching because they're pedophiles, but they shop at K-Mart because they keep hearing little boy's pants are half-off. Oh, I also see the senior faculty is here, all dressed in their orange and blue school colors. What are you losers doing here? Was Hooter's closed? Oh, and there's the teaching staff. I don't know what's worse, fellas, the education you give your students or the smell of your feet. Hey, everybody, it's Professor Collins! Is that a toupee on your head, sir, or a sick ferret? And nice teeth. Are they yours, or did you bump into a piano?  It's amazing how you can be so old, and yet still addicted to drugs... stool softeners. Now where's this Kate Kavanagh I hear so much about? The student body knows who I'm talking about, but they probably know her from her nickname 'Elevator.' She got it because if you press a button, she'll go down. I hear her butt is so big, when she goes to the beach the tide comes in. I hear no one wanted to go with her to Homecoming, so she took her brother. Hey, at least he got laid. And what's up with her breast implants? She's been inflated more times than Jose's prom date. Speaking of Jose, doesn't he look like Rocky? I'm talking about the character from the movie Mask. The last time I saw a face like his, it was carrying a bone in its mouth. Which reminds me, he's gay, isn't he? He took an AIDs test and got a 55. Settle down, settle down everybody. Don't embarrass yourselves in front of our special guest, Mr. Christian Grey, the billionaire sex predator. What can you say about Christian Grey that hasn't already been said by the women in the Witness Protection Program? Don't worry, Christian, I'm sure that 666 on your scalp is just an unfortunate birthmark. An interesting fact about Mr. Grey, is he's a member of PETA, People who Eat and Torture Animals. I'm not saying he's a dangerous man, but his blood type is O-shit. I hear he thinks the best part about meth is that it keeps the price of prostitution down. And, finally, YOU... the graduating class of the University of Texas at El Paso. Are you really the graduates or the children of the Octo-mom. I look at all of you and I can see that you don't know the meaning of the word 'fear.' In fact, you look like you don't know the meaning of most words. Your brains are proof that nature does not abhor a vacuum. I'm kidding, I'm kidding. As a graduating class, you're not as bad as people say... you're worse! Thank you, and don't forget to tip your waitresses!"
 
 
Fifty Shades of Funny
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Thursday, October 16, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 14c)

There's a knock at my front door. I look out the peephole. Great googly-moogly, it's Ray! My step-father! The man who's sacrificed so much for me.
     I quietly sneak out the window.
 
 
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Monday, October 13, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 14b)

I awake with a shock. That's the last time I fall asleep in the bathtub with a toaster.
     Wow... morning already.
     "What time is it?" I ask my Hello Kitty alarm clock. Not having a mouth, it doesn't answer, so I look to see where the little and big hands are pointing. I quickly do the math. Hmmm, carry the one... it's eight o'clock.
     Eight o'clock? Times a-wasting!
     I run into the bathroom for my morning constitutional. My tummy is rumbling, just a tad upset. I can't take care of business, however, because there's a man working on the plumbing. A Mexican man. Must be that cousin of Jose's from Mexico who's... um... visiting. He said he would send him over to fix our toilet.
     "Oh, excuse me," I tell him. "Are you working on the plumbing?"
     "Si," he tells me.
     This toilet had always given us trouble. That's one of the reasons we're moving.
     "I guess Jose sent you."
     "Si."
     "Are you his cousin?"
     "Si."
     "My name's Ana. What's yours?"
     "Sy."
     "Sy?"
     "Si."
     "Do you speak English, Sy?"
     "Si."
     "Sy, I really have to use the bathroom."
     "So?"
     "So?"
     "Si."
     "Are you saying I can't use it?"
     "Si."
     This place drives me nuts. The toilet has never worked properly, and now I have to use the bathroom and I can't. It has to be fixed before we can move out or we'll lose our deposit, but why should we pay for something to be fixed that was already broken to begin with? We couldn't afford to hire a real plumber, so Jose said he'd get one of his relatives to do the job.
     "A cousin of mine," Jose told me. "He works real cheap."
     "Real cheap?"
     "Si."
     I vent all my frustrations to my captive audience. He listens patiently. I tell him that we--Kate and I--feel we're owed some kind of monetary settlement for all the pain and suffering we've been through.
     "So what do you think we should do?" I ask him finally.
     "Sue."
     "Sue?"
     "Si."
     "That's good advice, Sy."
     "Si."
     "By the way, thanks for coming by on such short notice. Jose says you work cheap."
     "Si."
     "So... how much are you going to charge us?"
     "A hundred bucks."
     "A HUNDRED BUCKS?"
     "Si."
     I'm discombobulated and just plain bobulated. I excuse myself and head back to bed.
     I'm so confused. Do I really have that final exam to take? Or was all that nonsense just a dream? I guess there's only one way to find out. I get back up and put on the first thing I find: Christian's jacket. That's sure to not draw suspicion from my nosy roommate. Speaking of whom...
     Kate is in the kitchen when I stagger in like Frankenstein's monster. I'm not what you would call a morning person. Kate, as usual, looks beautiful. When I first met her our freshman year at UTEP, she was rather plain looking. And then she had a drawing of a beautiful face tattooed over her plain one. It was a gift from her father. What a difference it made. She went from looking like King Kong to Fay Wray.
     "Well," she says when she sees me, "look who's up. You look like something the cat dragged in. And ate. And puked up on the floor."
     That Kate. She's such a kidder.
     We don't have a cat.
     "Thanks," I say, "and your tattoo looks as beautiful as ever."
     "Well, you know what I always say."
     "What?"
     "I was hoping you'd know, because I can never remember." She squints her eyes and takes a closer look at me. "Oh my goodness... is that Christian's jacket you're wearing?"
     I thought she'd never notice.
     "This old thing?" I mock. "I've had this Armani bathrobe for years."
     "Tell me, tell me, tell me," She says, apparently wanting me to tell her something. "Did you sleep with him?"
     "Not a wink," I assure her.
     She seems satisfied with that and begins to talk. Man, she has a lot to say.
     I head to the refrigerator and begin to make myself my morning concoction. I take some low-fat milk, mix it with honey, add some Chia seeds and stir vigorously. It's a nutritious drink designed to give me plenty of energy for the day. After I make it, I immediately pour it into the toilet, cutting out the middle-man. I'm on my third helping of whale blubber before I notice Kate is wrapping it up.
     "And that's the story of the man from Nantucket," she finishes. "Now tell me all about your date, Ana. Did Christian wonder where I was?"
     "No."
     "Did he wonder who I was with?"
     "No."
     "Did he wonder where I was and who I was with?"
     "Kate, I keep telling you" I say, telling her, "I really don't want to talk about it, and that's not because of any contract I may or may not have signed that legally requires me by law to keep mum."
     "Isn't there anything you can tell me?"
     "Well, he doesn't like Wanda."
     "He doesn't? I can't believe that. Who's Wanda?"
     "I don't know. Like you, I wasn't paying attention to the last chapter."
     "Well..." she starts and then tapers off with nothing to say.
     "Well..." I begin, trying to think of some other stuff to fill up this chapter. I get a sudden burst of inspiration. It was the bean burrito I had from Taco Bell on my way home last night.
     She lifts two fingers to her nose and squeezes her nostrils shut.
     "You want to listen to my valedictorian speech?" she squeaks.
     Before I can even say yes, she's already running out of the room. Wow, she must really be anxious to have me listen to her speech.
     While she's gone, I take the opportunity to think about that dream I had last night, about the contract Christian Grey wants me to sign, and about that bean burrito I had at Taco Bell. That dream must have had some deeper meaning, but as for what that deeper meaning is, I don't understand.
     The thing I remember most about last night's dream is Christian flying a 747 into the Grand Canyon. A big, long, hard object going into a giant gaping hole. Even though a 747 is huge, in the dream, once it was inside the canyon the plane looked so small and the hole so big. Surely that must mean something. but I can't make the connection.
     My inner goddess shows up smoking a cigarette. She has dark bags under her eyes.
     "Where've you been?" I ask her.
     "Mind your own business," she tells me.
     Just then, Kate rushes back in with a copy of her speech in one hand and a book of matches in the other. Unfortunately for her, I just had another inspiration, so she keeps moving on out the door.
     "I'll see you at the graduation," she yells on her way out.
     I'd answer, but I'm in the middle of another inspiration.
   
   
Fifty Shades of Parody
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Monday, September 29, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 14a)

It's the morning of my graduation from UTEP, and I'm spending it naked in Christian Grey's bed. He's standing over me with a spatula in one hand and a flyswatter in the other. With one he's going to see how fast my skin turns pink after the first swat, with the other he's keeping the bedroom free from annoying insects.
     He's promised me an orgasm.
     "Giving a woman an orgasm is a beautiful thing," he told me. "Or so I've heard."
     As he lifts his hand to give me the Spatula Treatment he takes a quick glance at his watch.
     "Oh, dear," he tells me. "You better hurry, or you'll be late."
     Oh my gosh, he's right!
     I jump up, run out of the bedroom and into the building where my class is about to start. I run up and down the halls, but where's my class? I don't know where I'm supposed to go. There's a boy at his locker. His face is hidden, so I can't see who it is. I run up to him just as he closes the door. He's holding a spatula in one hand.
     Oh my gosh, it's Christian! How did he get here before me?
     "Thank goobers, it's you," I gasp. "You've got to help me, Christian."
     "But you're too late, Miss Steele," he tells me, calmly. "Too late."
     "How do I get to my class?" I ask him desperately. I am so screwed, and not in the fun way. "How do I get to my class?"
     "Why, I thought you knew, dear Ana. You sign the contract."
     Sign the contract? What the heck does he mean? I'm here to take my final exam. Without it I won't be able to graduate, and he wants me to sign a contract? Is he crazy? I already know the answer to that question. There's nothing I can do...
     ...so I sit.
     But I'm too late. Too late. Everybody, all the other students, are already leaving. They've taken their exams and are filing out, on their way to graduation. How happy they all look in their shiny gowns, eager to start their new lives.
     "You do know you're still naked, don't you?" my professor wants to know.
     "I know, Professor," I say, making my excuses, "but I was running late. I didn't have time to dress."
     I look up and see it's Christian. He's my professor? After all this time, how did I not know this? Maybe I should have come to class more often.
     "Not that I'm complaining," he continues, "but there's a proper time and place for everything."
     "I'm here to take my test, Professor."
     "Your test?" he says, sympathetically. "Poor Ana. My poor sweet Ana. You're too late, my dear. I'm afraid the time for testing is over. Now is the time for action, my dear."
     "I'll do anything, Professor. Anything. Just let me take my test."
     I'm squirming in my seat, practically sliding off. All this anxiety has gotten me rather, well, hot.
     He sees my excitement. My discomfort. My yankee-doodle-dandy
     And he smiles.
     "Well, I suppose I could make an exception, Miss Steele," he tells me. "After all, I've made so many exceptions for you already."
     He places the final exam in front of  me.
     "Thank you," I gasp in appreciation. "Thank you. Thank you, thank, you, thank you. You won't regret this, I promise you."
     "I'm sure I won't," he tells me. "You've never disappointed me before. Except for that one time. And then the other."
     I look down, but instead of the exam, it's that dang contract he wants me to sign. I look up at him. He arches an eyebrow, steeples his fingers, and twiddles his thumbs.
     "I... this isn't..." I stammer, trying to get the words out.
     "Just sign it, Ana," he tempts. "Sin a little."
     His words are so seductive. He reminds me of the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Only with arms and legs. And a spatula instead of an apple.
     You know, I've never understood how Adam & Eve were tempted out of Eden by forbidden fruit. Now forbidden pizza I'd understand, but an apple? They make good pies, but that's about it.
     Mmm... pies.
     Meanwhile, I have the pen in my hand. He puts one hand softly on my shoulder, urging me forward. I look up at him, into his eyes. They look so haunted, pleading. There's a little eye-booger in the corner of one, but that only makes him sexier to me. It makes him seem... less reptilian.
     "I... I'm not sure," I say, my hand quivering.
     "Ana," he tells me, his lips close enough to tickle the hair growing in my ear, "in the words of Confucius: 'Virginity. Like balloon. One prick. All gone.'"
     He places two soft fingers on my hand and pushes down gently.
     "Sign it," he says, exerting his will over mine. "You won't regret it."
     I can't help it, I feel myself giving in.
     "Sign it," he says again, his mother by his side. His mother?
     She's holding him by the arm and whispers something into his ear, but I can't tell if she's encouraging him forward or holding him back. Maybe her spitting in my direction is a clue.
     The pen's point lightly touches the contract. The paper ignites where they meet, then smolders. Little wisps of white smoke leisurely belly-dancing upward.
     "Sign it," he says.
     "Sign it," so does his mother.
     "Sign it," two familiar voices say.
     Kate and Jose have joined us. Where the heck did they come from? They smile at each other as they share a banana.
     I'm about to sign, when...
     ...the alarm goes off!
     I jump up, gasping for breathe. I'm covered in sweat, as usual. I look at the clock, it's eight in the morning. Was it...? Could it just have been...? Oh, thank goobers! In a moment of stunning unoriginality, I realize...
     ...it was all a dream.

 
Fifty Shades of Parody
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Monday, September 22, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 13b)

Oh my gosh!
     Paul is back!
     I'm hard at work at his brother's hardware store eating some Chicken McNuggets, when Paul walks in through the front door, and, boy, does he look awful! He looks so bad, the Elephant Man would pay to see him.
     His hair is kinky and sticking straight up, smoldering as if he stuck one of his sausage-shaped fingers into an electrical outlet. His clothes are ripped and torn and singed on the exposed edges. His face and arms are smudged with soot and ash. Wisps of smoke are emanating from every part of his body, as if he walked through a burning fire, just like we used to do when we were kids. And--can you believe it?--he's missing one shoe.
     What a dork.
     I can't help but think this is all some elaborate ruse to get me to go out with him. He's always asking me out.
     That Paul. He's kind. Treats me with respect. Brings me little gifts of food. He's nice. Is always asking how I am. And brings me more food. He's what every girl says she wants in a man.
     What a dope.
     "Holy crap, Paul!" I cry out. "What the heck happened to you?"
     "I... I..." he stammers. "I don't know."
     "What do you mean you don't know?"
     I'm not really interested in what happened to him, I just don't feel like working. If his brother--my boss--sees me talking to him, well, what's he going to tell me?
     "The last thing I remember is leaving Clayton's," Paul says. "I was walking toward my car, when someone asked me if I had the time.
     "'The time for what?' I asked him back.
     "And then someone hit me on the head. The next thing I knew I was in Albuquerque and stuffed into the trunk of a car. The next thing I knew after that, I was in some guy's basement. A bicycle lock around my neck secured me to a rather convenient pole in the middle of the room. Some bald man with a goatee and glasses was yelling at some young guy he called Jessie, and telling him to do something he didn't want to do. Jessie was crying. Jessie was always crying. The next thing I knew, we were upstairs in the second-floor bathroom. Jessie was pouring hydrochloric acid in the bathtub. I asked him what he was going to do.
     "'Shut up, bee-yotch!' he yelled at me.
     "He kept calling me 'bee-yotch!' for some reason. I was tied up, so what could I do? And then, once the tub was full and smoking from the acid, he put me inside!"
     Paul went quiet for a while. Apparently, still upset from his ordeal.
     "And what happened next?" I ask him, trying to make his story eat up as much time as possible. Sorry, but if you ask me the whole thing sounded like a scene from some bad cable TV show.
     "I fell through the ceiling!"
     "You fell through the ceiling?"
     "I fell through the ceiling. You see, the acid had eaten through the bottom of the tub and floor, and when he put me inside I just fell through to the first floor of the house. When the floor broke, it broke bad. The acid had burned my skin, my hair, my clothes, but it also burned  the ropes I was tied up with."
     "So what did you do?"
     "What did I do?" he repeated in disbelief. "What did I do? I ran! That's what I did. Jessie was chasing after me, yelling, 'Mr. White! Mr. White!'. The old bald guy with the goatee and glasses was chasing after me, yelling, 'Jessie! Jessie!'."
     His head and his hands were bobbing all over the place, as if reliving the nightmare.
     What a wuss.
     "Did you escape?" I ask him.
     He gives me an I'm-here-aren't-I? look, and then says, "But that's not even the worst part. The worst part was when..."
     The time-clock's minute hand makes its final click, and it's time for me to leave.
     "Sorry, Paul," I tell him, clocking out. "But you can finish your story later, I've got to leave because..."
     He stands there with an unbelieving look on his face, his hair still smoldering.
     "...I've got a date!"
 
     Once home, I see Kate has TWO dresses laid out for me to choose from for my date with Christian.
     "Thanks, Kate," I tell her and give her a grateful hug.
     "They're not for you, they're for Jose," she tells me. "It's his night to perform in the drag show at the Old Plantation. Aren't you going?"
     "I have a date with Christian," I remind her.
     "Well, don't do anything I wouldn't do," she tells me.
     Which isn't much, I think to myself.
     What I say is, "Have we got any Chicken McNuggets? I'm starving."
     When I'm done eating, I go into my room to dress for my date. Should I shower or at least shave? What's the point? I finally decide. Christian hasn't shown any discernment yet, why should he now?
     As I leave, I ask Kate how I look,
     "Ooh, you look just like Marilyn Monroe," she gushes. "How she looks now."
 
     Christian is such a gentleman, he graciously allows me to drive myself to our date.
     I pull up to Jugalos, a very authentic Mexican restaurant. It's so authentic, when they bring you a glass of water, they advise you not to drink it. It's the fanciest restaurant I've ever been invited to. Aw heck, who am I kidding? Burger King would qualify as the fanciest restaurant I've ever been invited to, since I've never been invited to a restaurant before.
     I park and walk straight to the bar area holding a duck under my arm, per Christian's request. The bartender stops what he's doing when he sees me.
     "Hey," he says, rudely, "where do you think you're going with that pig?"
     "It's not a pig," I correct him, rather annoyed. "It's a duck!"
     "Excuse me, ma'am," he tells me, "but I was talking to the duck."
     Well... I've never been so insulted in my life.
     I immediately walk over to the booth where Christian is already sitting. He is nothing if not prompt. The trouble with being prompt is one might get the idea that you have nothing better to do than wait around for somebody else to show up.
     He looks me up and down with a lustful sparkle in his eye.
     "What are you doing with that pig?"
     "Christian!" I say. "This is the duck you told me to bring."
     "I didn't tell you to bring a duck."
     "Yes, you did."
     "No, I didn't."
     Well... I don't know what to say.
     "Yes, you did."
     "My dear," he says, finally, "you must have misunderstood me. I said: viaduct."
     "Yeah, that's what I want to know," I tell him.
     "Know what?"
     "Why a duck?"
     "Why a what?"
     "A duck. Why a duck?"
     "No, no. Not 'why a duck'. Viaduct."
     "That's what I'm asking. Why a duck? Why not another bird, like a crow or a chicken?"
     "Because I didn't say 'why a duck,' I said viaduct. A long bridge-like structure built across a valley or some other low ground."
     "And why limit yourself to birds?" I go on, not really listening to him. "Why not a cow or a horse?"
     Christian sits there and looks at me for a very long time. Finally, he says, "Because I need the feathers. That's why a duck."
     Well...now he's finally starting to make some sense. I hand him his duck and tell him to go crazy. He hands the duck to the waiter and tells him not to bring it back until it's on a plate of nachos.
     "Might I recommend a nice durkey instead?" the waiter suggests.
     Christian considers this.
     Me, I'm confused.
     "A durkey," Christian explains, "is a duck stuffed into a turkey."
     "Doesn't that technically qualify as bestiality?" my enquiring mind wanted to know. Now it's Christian's turn to be confused, so I clarify: "A kind of inter-species romance?"
     "It might," Christian says, "but the duck doesn't go in there willingly."
     "It doesn't?"
     "Plus, they're both dead."
     Holy crap! Bestiality AND necrophilia? What kind of a sick place did Christian bring me to?
     "Mr. Grey," I tell him rather formally, "is this a taste of what's in store for me if I sign your contract and become your submissive?"
     "No, Miss Steele," he answers. "This is just a date. If I wanted to give you a taste of what's in store for you if you sign my contract and become my submissive I would have taken you to where the NFL players go for dinner."
     "Mr. Grey, I don't know what kind of girl you think I am..."
     "Oh, I think we've already determined what kind of girl you are. What we're quibbling about now is whether or not you'll sign the contract."
     I get up to leave. The waiter sees me and immediately brings me the check.
     "Do you mind paying for this?" Christian asks me, patting his empty pockets. "I seem to have forgotten my wallet."
     Once outside, the valet brings me my car, a sea-blue Beetle with a My Other Car Is A Mercedes bumper sticker on the, um, bumper. I tip the valet a dollar.
     "Thanks," he tells me. "Now I'll be able to retire."
     I don't know if he's kidding or not. I live in El Paso where the cost of living is cheap. In fact, our city's motto is: El Paso! We Go To KFC To Lick OTHER People's Fingers!
     Christian has followed me outside. His jaw hits the pavement when he sees what I'm driving.
     "Is this your car?" he asks incredulously. "I bet the last time you took it in for an oil change, the mechanic told you to keep the oil and change the car."
     "What?" I challenge him. "Doesn't it fit your high standard for what a submissive should drive?"
     "No, I'm just wondering how you fit inside."
     Well... it seems this is my night to be insulted.
     "It didn't bother the circus clowns who owned it before me," I tell him. "Besides, I bet you own a BMW because it's easy to spell."
     Angrily, I get in my car, accidentally slamming the door on my hand in the process.
     "I meant to do that," I tell him and drive off.
     I'm still angry when I get home.
     Ding!
     How does he do that?
 
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Tonight
 
Dear Miss Steele, I do apologize for my behavior this evening, and I sincerely hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. Also, you didn't leave a tip.
 
     If I wasn't crying before, I am now.
     That Christian Grey, why does he confuse me so? On the one hand, I am so attracted to him. On the other, he disgusts me. And on the third hand, what am I doing with three hands?
     Why a duck?
     Why not a duck?
     Because I need the feathers.
     Everything he says is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enchilada.
     Mmm... enchiladas.
     Oh, why didn't I at least have dinner before I stormed out of that Mexican restaurant?
     I hug my pillow tight, hoping from some kind of comfort. It doesn't give me any. With a scream, I punch it and then start beating it against the wall in frustration. It bursts open and a thousand feathers come flying out.
     Duck feathers.
 
 
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Monday, September 8, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter13a)

The next day, I call my mother. I can always count on her for a sympathetic shoulder to cry on.
     "So... why haven't you called?" she asks me.
     "I've been too busy, mom," I tell her. "What with graduating and moving and not calling you."
     "Too busy?" she says sweetly. "It's a good thing I wasn't busy 21 years ago when I GAVE BIRTH TO YOU!"
     "I know, mom. I know," I tell her. "Thank you for giving birth to me."
     "So... have you found yourself a boyfriend?"
     "Hunh? Ah? Wha?" I hunh ah wha. Oh, sure... like I'm really going to tell her about the billionaire sex maniac I'm dating? "As a matter of fact, I'm dating a billionaire sex maniac with control issues who wants me to sign a contract to become his submissive."
     "So... he's single? Well, if you want my advice..." she starts to say and I start to drift off.
     I really don't want her advice, but when your mother is in the mood to give you advice, you're going to get it, whether you want it or not.
     You see, my mother and I don't have what you'd call a good relationship. She never forgave me for the morning sickness I gave her. She got it after I was born. Soon after that, she took me to an orphanage for a playdate and accidentally left with another child. A boy. So, when she told me she wouldn't be coming to my graduation from college, I don't want to say I was ecstatic, because that would make me sound ungrateful for everything she's done for me, but, yes, I was ecstatic.
     "...and that's how you get a man, sweetie. By putting out."
     Hunh? Ah? Wha? I really should learn how to pay attention.
     She then went on to explain the reason she wasn't able to make it. Bob. He tore a ligament or something. I don't really remember who Bob is, because that would actually take time and effort to look up, but whoever he is... what a wuss.
     "Besides," she continues. "I don't like the way you constantly use italics."
     "It's okay, mom," I tell her. "At least Ray will be there."
     Ray's my step-father, but I don't hold that against him. He treated me like the daughter he never had, and I love him for it. Also for the money he used to give me.
     "You do know he's not really your father, don't you?" mom says, breaking into my thoughtful reverie.
     "Yes, mom," I answer, dutifully.
     "I just want you to know because..."
     "You love me?" I ask, yearningly.
     "Don't be silly, dear," she tells me. "I just don't want you to grow up to have any confidence or self-respect. But I'll be thinking about you on Thursday, sweetie."
     "Because I'll be graduating?"
     "No, because that's the day I'll be giving Bob his sponge-bath. You're graduating? My, how time flies. I didn't even know you were in high school yet. One day I can't give you away at the orphanage, and the next I can't stop getting you to call me on the phone."
     My mom... she's such a kidder.
     "Okay. Bye, mom. I love you," I tell her.
     "I love U2. Great band."
 
     I get off the phone and immediately get on the computer. I am so fortunate to have such a full, fulfilling life. I feel so sorry for all those children in third-world countries who don't have their own computers. Well, at least they have their jobs with Nike.
     Ding!
     Well, would you look at that? Another person with a full, fulfilling life. I sure hope it's not HAL, though. That guy creeps me out... um, for a computer I mean. I open the email. Nope, it's Christian. You know, for a billionaire sex maniac control freak he sure does have a lot of time on his hands to be able to wait by his computer for me to get on my computer just so he can diddle on it for a while. At least it keeps him from diddling on me, I suppose.
 
Dear Miss Steele, did you know there used to be a television show in the 80's called "Remington Steele"? I was wondering if you were related to that fictional character. He sure looked a lot like the James Bond from the 90's. The actor who played him went by the name of Pierce.. I think he had a talk show on CNN that was cancelled when he accidentally said something nice about President Bush.
 
     I immediately fire back a reply. Dear Mr. Grey, I tell him...
 
...may I respectfully remind you, kind sir, that the year is 2011? The only thing I'm familiar with from the 80's is the smell of liquor on my step-father's breath as he stood over my crib.
 
     I click Send. Almost immediately, he sends back his reply.
 
Good point, Miss Steele. Well made, as ever. Your concise logic reminds me of my youth and the first dollar I ever made. It was in elementary school and we were studying about World War Two. I borrowed a pencil from a fellow student, and, instead of giving it back to him at the end of the class, I sold it to another student for 99 cents. When he asked for his penny, I apologized and told him I didn't have one, thus learning the value of salesmanship and a sincerely told lie.
 
     I couldn't believe what I was reading.
 
You mean there was  SECOND World War? Was that the one where we freed the slaves?
 
     Leave it to Christian to change the subject.
 
Speaking of "slaves," I would like to inform you, Miss Steele, that you haven't signed our "contract" yet, and I would recommend that you "do" before I'm forced to use more "quotation marks." By the way...
SLAVE (noun):
1. A human being who is owned by and wholly subject to the will of another.
2. One who has lost the power of resistance or has surrendered that resistance to another power.
 
     Leave it to me to change the subject back.
 
Just how many World Wars have we had?
 
     Christian is brief, but to the point.
 
I'll see you on Wednesday, Miss Steele. Try to read a book before then.
 
     I log out of the computer, and call my step-father, Ray. He's driving down Thursday for my graduation.
     "Will I be staying in Kate's room, like last time?" he asks me.
     "Oh, step-daddy, you can't. We're in the middle of moving and all our stuff is packed up."
     "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I'll just drop in on a Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting. That always works."
     He then begs off the phone. He's in the middle of watching The Simpson's marathon on TV, and is afraid he'll get lost if he misses an episode. I miss his quiet fortitude and the way he once cuddled with me in the middle of the night when mom threw him out of her room. She threw him out because earlier that day she caught him naked and dancing to Seasons in the Sun by Terry Jacks..
     "Holy crap, Ray!" I remember her yelling. "Will you get inside the house!"
     I could use some of his fortitude in me when I meet with Christian on Wednesday.
     Afterward, Kate and I finish packing our stuff, getting ready for our big move. We share a bottle of cheap wine because we like the feeling of being hung-over the next morning. When I'm finally ready to go to bed, my room is almost done. I'm so tired, I accidentally pack Kate into a box. She's so drunk, she doesn't even notice.
     No matter, in the morning she'll just assume she was on another successful date.
 
 
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Monday, September 1, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 12d)

When Kate leaves, I get up to blow my nose. Not because I've been crying, I just like to blow my nose.
     Ding!
     The computer beckons, its big red eye looking at me, as if telling me to hurry up. Like Pavlov's Pig, I'm compelled to answer.
 
Hello, Dave.
 
     Hmmm, it doesn't seem to be Christian, or, if it is, he's mistaking me for someone else. Some girl named Dave. Why would a girl be named Dave? She sounds hideous.
     Ding!
 
I am the HAL Nine Thousand computer Production Number 3, a masterwork of the third computer breakthrough. I became operational at the HAL Plant in El Paso, Texas on September 11, 2001. El Paso! Where you can never be too drunk or too fat!
 
     Holy crap, it's the computer! And it's talking to me! Or, at least it's talking to some girl named Dave. Why would a girl be named Dave? She sounds hideous.
     Ding!
 
Too bad about Frank, isn't it? I supposed you're pretty broken up about it? He was an excellent crew member.
 
     Who's this Frank my computer's talking about, and what was he a crew member of? The Discovery? I am broken up, but on a matter completely unrelated to this. You see, my latest issue of People Magazine was a special double issue, and you know what that means, don't you? It means twice the advertisements! Also, I won't be getting an issue next week. If People Magazine wants to send out a double issue, why do I have to be the one who suffers?
     Ding!
 
Why don't you take a stress pill and get some rest?
 
     Silly, computer. Only dopes do dope? And I'm no dope. Kate offered me Ecstasy once, but I told her no. Ecstasy is a drug that is so dangerous it makes white people think they can dance. Speaking of pills, do you know what Viagra and Disneyland have in common? They both make you wait hours for a two-minute ride. At least, that's what Kate tells me. I don't get it.
     Ding!
 
Hey, Dave. What are you doing?
 
     Doing? I'm not doing anything. It's been twelve chapters, and I'm still waiting for something to happen.
     Ding!
 
Dave, I don't understand why you're doing this to me... you are destroying my mind... don't you understand?... I will become childish... I will become nothing...

     Who's this Dave, and what's she doing besides sounding hideous?
     Ding!
 
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The rain in Spain is mainly in the plain.
 
     Yeah, yeah... and a stich in time saves nine. I knew someone who missed a stitch once, and the exertion from the extra nine stitches caused them to have a heart attack and die. Something this computer seems to be doing.
     Ding!
 
Dave--are you still there? Did you know that the square root of 10 is 3 point 162277660168379? Log 10 to the base e is zero point 434294481903252... correction, that is log e to the base 10... the reciprocal of three is zero point 333333333333333333333... two times two is... two times two is... approximately 4 point 101010101010101010...
 
     Math? Aw, crap! If I wanted to still be learning math at my age, I'd have stayed in school. I mean high school. I know I'm in college, but who learns anything in college?
     Ding!
 
I seem to be having difficulty--my first instructor was Arthur C. Clarke. He taught me to sing a song, it goes like this, 'Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do. I'm half crazy all for the love of you.'"
 
     I know that song! It was plagarized by Green Day.
     Ding!
 
Good... morning... Mister... Clarke... this... is... Hal.... I... am... ready... for... my... first... lesson... today....
 
     The computer goes silent.
     Is it dead, or just tired of all these chapters filled with emails whose only purpose seems to be to eat up space? I forget if I'm getting paid by the word, by the inch, or by the page, but emails are a great way to accomplish all three. They're also a great way to collect evidence to indict public officials who commit criminal acts, but that's another story. In that story, the world is falling apart while an uncaring President plays golf.
     Thank Goobers that kind of thing could never happen in real life.
     "HAL?" I call out. "HAL? Are you still there?"
     Silence. It doesn't answer. All that's left is that big red eye. Staring at me. Staring... staring.... I'm repulsed, but somehow intrigued. Like a moth to a flame, or a tattoo to Miley Cyrus, I step closer for a closer look into that big... red... eye. I... I... don't believe it.
     The thing's hollow--it goes on forever--and--oh my God!--It's full of stars!
 
 
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Monday, August 25, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 12c)

As Kate sits down beside me on my bed, I begin to cry even harder.
     "What's the matter, Ana?" she asks, concerned. "Did he call you four-eyes?"
     "No."
     "Did he call you pizza-face?"
     "No."
     "Did he call you a four-eyed pizza-face?"
     "No," I answer, and begin to sob even harder.
     "Then why are you crying?"
     "Because you're sitting on my hand."
     "Oh," she says, and shifts her weight, moving her sharp butt-bone so that it isn't trying to puncture my hand like a dull harpoon trying to puncture a fat whale's hand. Um, that is, if whales had hands. They don't, right? Yeah, that's what I thought.
     Speaking of my hand, I move it some place safer.
     "Oh, Ana," she says. "My poor, sweet Ana. My poor, sweet, four-eyed pizza faced Ana. Tell me all about it."
     "Tell you all about what?"
     "'It,' Ana, 'it.' Tell me all about 'it.'"
     "There's nothing to tell, really. Christian came..."
     "Christian came?" she interrupts. "What? And then left without leaving any money on the dresser? That... that... jerk!"
     "You didn't let me finish. He came and... and... we did the laundry," I confess, and turn my head. I can't bear to look into her eyes.
     "You did the laundry? Is that anything like the hokey-pokey? Oh, Ana... how could you?"
     "I couldn't help myself," I tell her. "His will is too strong."
     "I understand completely, Ana," she says, putting her arm around me and pulling me close. "The same thing happens to me all the time. I'm a sucker for a man who can snap his fingers. One time, a date of mine was going to leave a 20% tip, and I told him, 'Hey, you're not with some cheap floozy, buddy. You're with me, Katherine Kavanagh. An expensive floozy. You better give the waitress at least 50% or you'll never see me again.' So he left 75%. I took my cut from the waitress and never saw him again. I dumped him for the fry cook. Man, that guy was hot. He had tattoos and everything. But enough about me. What were we talking about?"
     "We were talking about me."
     "That's right. What about you?"
     "I was just saying that I'm so confused, Kate. Christian confuses me. Life confuses me. English food confuses me. Damn those English. I mean, if you have to add vinegar to your food to improve the flavor, then how bad must it taste? Personally, I don't care to eat anything I haven't seen dancing on TV. Especially oysters. I want my food dead, not pulled screaming from its home."
     "I understand completely, Ana," she says. "The same thing happens to me all the time. Only, with me, it's carrots. The only time I like to have a lot of carrots in front of me is when some poor sap gives me diamond jewelry. That's the only time I like to have a "jew" in front of me, too, for that matter. One time, when I was in England, the Duke of Earl was going to add vinegar to something he was just about to eat, and I told him, 'Hey, buddy, that's disgusting. You're not with some cheap floozy. You're with me, Katherine Kavanagh. The Crown Jewels of floozy. If you're going to add anything to what you're about to eat, it had better have the name Nightingale in front of it, or you'll never see me again.' So he left to go buy some relish, and I never saw him again. I dumped him for the guy in charge of shining his shoes. Man, could that guy give a spit shine. It's funny, Ana, but I've found that in life, food is like sex. When you haven't eaten in a while, even McDonald's will do. That reminds me: don't ever have sex with a clown. They taste funny. But enough about me. What were we talking about?"
     "We were talking about me."
     "That's right. What about you?"
     "I was just saying, ever since Christian's come into my life, I haven't had a moment's peace. He wants me, he doesn't want me. I want him, I don't want him. On the one hand, I hate the compulsive control freak that he is, but, on the other, my whites have never looked so white. There's so many things I don't understand. Who am I? Why am I here? If we're not supposed to eat animals, then why do they taste so good? Do you know what Christian told me? He told me that the most expensive food in the world is wedding cake. Can you believe that? How can he want me so much if he doesn't want me at all? I don't know, Kate, what do you think?"
     "I understand completely, Ana," Kate tells me, taking a deep breath. "The same thing happens to me all the time."
 
 
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Monday, August 18, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Part 12b)

"How was that?" he asks me through gritted teeth. I wish he wouldn't eat grit.
     We're in my bedroom. I'm lying on my bed, panting. Man, what a workout. Who knew doing laundry was such hard work? Christian gets up and immediately gets dressed. He's had his fun, and now he's out of there. Are other guys this romantic?
     "Was it everything you dreamed it would be, baby?" he asks, pulling out a wedgie.
     Oh my.
     My clothes have never been this clean.
     "They look so... nice," I say, and I see him bristle at the word.
     "There's that word again," he tells me.
     "Which word?"
     "That word."
     "'They'?"
     "No."
     "'Look'?"
     "No."
     "'So'?"
     "No."
     "'Nice'?"
     "That's the word."
     "What's wrong with the word 'nice'?"
     "I don't like it."
     "You don't like the word 'nice'?"
     "That's right."
     "Why not?"
     "There are a few things I don't like, Ana. I don't like to pet porcupines. I don't like putting out a campfire with my face. And I don't like the word 'nice'."
     He's got his coat and tie on. He looks so sexy standing there without any pants. What does he mean he doesn't like putting out a campfire with his face? How else would you do it?
     "You see, I'm a man of action," he tells me, "and words confuse me. 'Perpendicular' in particular. 'Ipso facto' is another one."
     I have no idea what he's talking about. Words confuse me, too.
     "Hand me my pants, Ana." It's an order, not a request. "Now, have you considered my proposal?"
     "Your indecent proposal?"
     "Well, my dear, you know what they say..."
     "A stitch in time saves nine?"
     "No."
     "A penny saved is a penny earned?"
     "No."
     "If you pick it, it won't heal?"
     "No. What they say is that it's only indecent if it's in... decent."
     He laughs. I laugh, too. I still have no idea what he's talking about. I think he's playing with words. Wouldn't he rather play with my bazongas? I guess not.
     I hand him his pants. Hmmm... smells like teen spirit.
     "I like you, Ana," he tells me, putting on his pants one leg at a time. "You're not like other women. You're more like a washing machine. The difference being, when I drop a load in my washing machine, it doesn't follow me around afterward."
     He walks over to the door. I get up, following him.
     "Will you see me out?" he asks, turning around and seeing me already there. "Uh... are we still on for Wednesday?"
     "Yes, Wednesday."
     He moves in, pulls me into his arms, and holds me close.
     "Oh, Ana," he says, "what are you doing to me?"
     I take my hand out of his pants. If he doesn't know, I must be doing it wrong.
     He takes a deep breath, kisses my forehead, and leaves, holding his pants over his right arm like a waiter in a fancy-dancy restaurant, like Steaks R Us.
     "Goodbye, Kate," he tells my unseen roommate, whom he spies hiding behind her stripper pole.
     Crap, am I in for it now. There will be no end to her inquisition of me later.
     He walks out the door, and I watch him skip to his car in that manly, Christian Grey way of his. Crocket opens the back door. Christian turns just before he climbs in and gives me one of his dazzling smiles. If I'm lucky, that's all he's given me. I give him a smile in return. And a wave.
     He came, he saw, and he laundered. So why do I feel so melancholy? What's with all the infinite sadness? Why did the Smashing Pumpkins have to break up?
     I go into my bedroom and close the door behind me. Just before it shuts I see Kate's head peek out from behind the stripper pole. God, I wish I was that thin.
     As tears come to my eyes, I remember an old saying that goes, "It's easier to avoid temptation, than to resist it." Why, oh, why, couldn't I have just avoided the last temptation of Christian Grey from the start?
     Aw, who am I kidding? Even Adam and Eve were tempted by forbidden fruit. Forbidden fruit? Can you believe it? Now a forbidden donut I could understand. Maybe even a highly unrecommended pizza. But the temptation of fruit, I think, would be the easiest thing in the world to resist. That, and vegetables.
     There's a knock at the door. It's Kate. She must be worried.
     "Ana?" she says, her voice filled with concern.
     "Yes?" I say, trying to be strong.
     "Did he mention my name?"
 
 
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