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

Monday, January 12, 2015

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 16a)

I... feel... so... wonderful.
     Every atom of my body, every cell... sated. I can't even begin to describe how deliciously delicious the whole experience finally was when I finally experienced it. He had me begging for more.
     "More... more... more cheese on my chili cheese fries, please."
     Since Christian was sound asleep, I decided to head out for a nosh. And a burger. Mostly, a burger. I ended up at a place called Frisco Burgers, where they advertise they make a good, old-fashion hamburger. It's on Yarborough Boulevard, and I immediately liked it because it had a quaint 50's feel to it.
     And food.
     "I'll have what they're having," I told the waiter when he brought me a menu.
     "Who?" he asked.
     Christian is always telling me not to limit myself, so I started here.
     When I got back home, Christian was still snoring away. I took off all my clothes and started to crawl into bed with him, and that brings me back to the present.
     Christian wakes up. He gives me that big billion-dollar morning-breath smile of his.
     "Was I good, or what?" he asks, stretching his arms in contentment.
     "Um... yeah."
     "Yeah what?"
     "Yeah, good."
     "Damn right, I was good!"
     He does the fist-pump, gives himself a high-five, and says, "And that, my dear, is the snap, crackle, pop of that tune. If you had half as much fun as I did, Ana, then I had twice as much fun as you. You've opened yourself to me like a flower, and I want to water that flower, fertilized that flower, re-flower that flower so I can de-flower it all over again. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
     "I'm a flower."
     "Yes, you're a flower. And I, the gardener. Gardening his garden gardeningly. I once saw a sign that advertised free pillows, but when I went inside and requested one, I discovered they weren't free, after all. You had to purchase something in order to receive the pillow as a bonus. I argued with the salesman for an hour, but he refused to see things my way, so I bought the store and fired him. You see, Ana, I consider a promise to be a very sacred thing. Jesus' promise of salvation. Jerry Jones' promise that the Dallas Cowboys will make it to the Super Bowl. If you, like that salesman, break that promise to me, you will rue the day, I tell you. Rue the day!"
     I smile and nod.
     "I understand," I say, not understanding at all. My mind is a thousand miles away. At McDonald's. I wonder when they're bringing back the McRib.
     "And on that note, my dear, this gardener must leave."
     "Leave? So soon? Can't we do it? Again, I mean?"
     "No, my sweet angel, I got mine. Besides, I don't want to overwhelm you with my superior love-making skills."
     "Not even a little?"
     "I'll call you," he says, and kisses me. "Hmm... you taste just like chili cheese fries. Is there no end to your surprises?"
     I wave at him as he opens the door and walks into my closet.
     "It's the other door." I tell him.
     "I knew that," he tells me back and leaves.
     How can I feel so good and so bad at the same time? On the one hand, my Frisco feast was delicious, but, on the other, I forgot to order dessert. Not to mention this Christian thing. How can he just wang-dang-doodle and go?
     Too bad Kate's not here, she could talk to me about it. After all, she's got a lot of experience. A LOT of experience. She's told me proudly, on more than one occasion, that in high school her nickname was Corn Chip, because she was Frito Lay.
     I once looked up the word "experience" in the dictionary and I saw a picture of Ron Jeremy. He was pointing to a picture of Kate with one hand and giving a thumbs-up sign with the other.
     But Kate's not here.
     Needing to fatten this book up, I decide to call my mother instead.
     "Hello?" she answers.
     "Hi, mom. It's Ana."
     "Oh, hi, Ana. Listen, I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to your graduation. Did you get my card?"
     "I sure did, mom," I say. "It was beautiful."
     And it was a beautiful card, wishing me a great graduation in a foreign language. I don't know what Bar Mitzvah means, but I'm sure it means something educational. Inside, she wrote, "I am SO proud of you, Alice. Enjoy this card. I was going to enclose money, but wasn't able to, as I had already sealed the envelope."
     "Is there something wrong, dear?" she asks with her usual motherly sixth sense.
     I start to cry.
     "Oh, mom, I'm glad you asked. I have so much to tell you..."
     "Sorry to cut you off, dear, but I've got to go. The cable guy just got here. Hey, he looks just like Jim Carrey!"
     "I've got to go."
     "Well... if you have to go," I tell her, "I understand. I lov..."
     "Bye!" she says chirpily, and hangs up.
     I hang up the phone just as Kate walks in. I'm happy to see her, as this will give me more minutia to thicken this book up with.
     "You certainly look well-fed," she says, giving me a suspicious eye. "Was Christian here?"
     "He just left," I say, holding the eye in my hand. How long do I have to hang onto it, before I can throw it away without hurting her feelings?
     With two fingers, Kate's holding her nose.
     "Why does it smell like chili cheese fries in here?"
Fifty Shades of Funny