Monday, April 14, 2014

Fifty Shades of Satire (Chapter 7b)

The Do's & Don'ts? The Rules? What's this control freak narcicist going to call them next? The Ten Commandments?
     "I also call them the Ten Commandments," he says handing me several sheets of paper and a potato.
     "What's with the potato?" I ask him.
     "What potato?"
     Hmm... the Ten Commandments.
     Unlike Moses, he's oblivious to the burning bush. I can't believe it, over a hundred pages in, and I still haven't seen any action.
     I look at the cover sheet. At the top is Christian's company's logo. A cross. But instead of a crucified Overlord Xenu in Galactic Prison, the one being crucified is a winking Christian Grey himself. And with one loose hand, he's offering--not salvation--but a shiny new penny.
     Underneath are two words written in a foreign language. Latin perhaps?
 
iamsam samiam
 
     I don't understand the significance. Or the symbolism. But I do understand I'm hungry.
     "Before I go through this..." he says, indicating the contract, "...with you, I just want you to know that you don't have to do this. You're free to leave at any time, no hard feelings."
     No hard feelings? So what else is new?
     He goes on: "I'll call Crockett. He'll be more than happy to take you home and put a bullet in your head."
     Just as I eye the potato for immediate ingestion, he casually takes it from my hand.
     Dang that Christian Grey! How does he know?
     He places the raw root in the front pocket of his pants, giving him a nice bulging effect that Kate likes to call the "nice bulging effect."
     My thoughts are swirling in my head like flies around an unwashed chimichanga. I have butterflies in my stomach. I hope Christian doesn't notice them missing from his collection. I'm so confused.
     "Can I have that potato back?" I ask him.
     "What potato?"
     That Christian Grey! That Christian Grey! Oh, how I hate that Christian Grey. He wants to talk, I want to play. Oh, how I hate that Christian Grey.
     He removes the cover sheet and we go through the contract line by line.
     He asks me, "Will you do it on that bed..." and he points to the bed in question, as if there are any other beds. What does he take me for? An idiot? "...you idiot?"
     I answer him, "I will do it on that bed."
     "Will you do it on your head?"
     "I will do it on that bed. I will do it on my head. I will do it all, you'll see. And I will do it all for free."
     "Will you do it in this room? Will you do it very soon?"
     "I will do it in this room, and I will do it very soon, and I will do it on that bed, and I will do it on my head. I will do it all, I swear. And I will do it all with flair."
     "Will you surrender yourself to me? Will you surrender willingly?"
     "I will surrender myself to you. Willingly? That's what I do. And I will do it in this room, and I will do it very soon. And I will do it on that bed, and I will do it on my head. There is nothing that I won't do, as long as I do it all for you."
     "Will you do it and beg me please? Will you beg me, 'Please, with cheese'?"
     "I will do it and beg you please. I'll even beg you 'please, with cheese.' I will surrender myself to you. Thrillingly, fillingly, willingly, too. In this room, and very soon. In this bed, and on my head. All these things, I swear I'll do. All these things, and others, too."
     "Will you promise not to tell? Will you promise not to smell?"
     "I wouldn't, couldn't ever smell. My hygiene's good. I wash with gel. And I will keep my lips closed tight. Unless, of course, they're nudged just right. I'll egg and beg you 'please, with cheese,' and sweet surrender willingly."
     "Like a brain-washed Limbaugh manatee?"
     "Like a mind-numbed robot chimpanzee. And I will do it on that bed. And I will do it on my head. And I will do it in this roomie, with an itchie hitchie gitchie goomie. Just, please, let's do it very soonie. Let's bip and bop and bang and boomie. Yes, I will do all that you say. And I'll do YOU, my Christian Grey."
     Christian eyes me intently.
     "I think we're ready to take this to the next level," he finally says, reaches into his pant pocket and pulls something out and offers it to me.
     OMG! What can it be? A ring? So soon?
     "Here," he says. "Have a potato."
 
 
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