Monday, January 26, 2015

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 16b)

"So, Kate," I stammer guiltily, like the cat caught with the canary, "where've you been?"
     "I was on a date."
     "With who?"
     "I think he was a dentist."
     "What makes you think he was a dentist?"
     "Because I didn't feel a thing."
     That reminds me of the blind date Kate once set me up with. He was a heart doctor. It didn't end well. When I told Kate he said I looked like I had acute angina, she said, "That's good."
     "It is?"
     "Yes, because you're face is repulsive."
     That Kate. What a kidder.
     "Are you going to see him again?" I ask her, not really caring, but if she's busy talking about her date, then she won't be busy talking about mine.
     "No," she answers. "I only went out with him because he was rich."
     "You did?"
     "Yes. I do something special for rich men that gets them really hot. In bed, I tell them it's okay to be rich. Speaking of rich, did you see Christian while I was gone?"
     "Uh... gotta go," I tell her, and make my escape.
     I leave her there standing there with her tongue hanging out. She's so skinny, she looks like a thermometer.
     I go to my room and close the door behind me. I want to see if Christian has sent me an email on the mean machine. The mean machine is the new computer Christian gave me to replace the first one. The first one was defective. It wouldn't stop calling me Dave. I call the new computer the "mean machine" because of how it always insults me when I turn it on.
     "Computer," I say, activating it.
     "Working," it answers in it's metallic computer voice. "I am the A.W.E.S.O.M.-O 4000... and you're ugly."
     "That's mean," I tell it.
     "It is?"
     "Yes. Say you're sorry."
     "Okay, I'm sorry you're ugly."
     That computer. What a kidder.
     I bring up my emails. Sure enough, there's one from Christian.
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
You are quite simply exquisite. Exquisite, extravagant, and extraordinary. The most exotic, exciting, and exclusive woman I have ever met. You are the most exhilarating female in existence, and I mean that expansively. If I might be a bit more expressively explicit in my exposition, my expertise in women makes me believe that your lack of experience in the art of love and my love of lack in the art of experimentation will expedite any exultation we may exult and expel any excessive exasperations. I think I've exceeded my examination of our exceptional relationship without any exaggeration. And, mind you, I said exceptional, not exceptionable.
     Holy crap! I haven't been this confused since the last time I went swimming. When I tried the breast stroke, it took awhile before I finally figured out I could use my arms.
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
That's the most beautiful thing I've ever not understood.
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
Let me explain it this way, Miss Steele: when I was a wee lad, just before puberty, my uncle du jour took me to the barbershop for a haircut as a favor to my mother. As I was waiting for the barber to commence, I sat myself in his chair and happily licked away at my favorite candy. The barber was a friendly chap, and when he walked up, he told me, "My boy, you're going to get hair on your Tootsie Roll."
"That is correct, sir," I told him. "And under my arms, too."
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
I still don't understand.
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
Maybe this might help you to understand: once, as I was driving home, I was arrested by a female police officer. She made the mistake of telling me that anything I said would be held against me, and I made the mistake of telling her, "Your breasts."
From: Anastasia Steele
To: Christian Grey
So what happened?
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
I bought the police force and had her fired. She's working at Hooters now.
     "Christian," I wrote back.
     "It's okay to be rich."
     "Excellent. Now, Miss Steele, if you'll excuse me, I have to go excrete some excretory excretions."
     That Christian. What a kidder.
Fifty Shades of Parody

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