Tuesday, November 30, 2010

In Honor of Excess and Prurience

Flipping the channels and made the mistake of catching a bit of the horror movie Hostel last night. Stupid movie in the "wanna see a dead body" vein we're caught up in (I'm looking at you, CSI). So here's a little ditty in honor of excess and prurience. It's a quick shot I did on another website some time ago that I like to call...


He hated being called ‘Magic Johnson’ but Johnson Wafers loved the way the ratings rolled in. Have I No Shame premiered Monday with a guaranteed two season run likely to stretch into even more. “Regurgitainment at its finest!” he’d pitched to the Advertisers Guild, whose left eyes, to a man and woman, all twitched due to Starbucks poisoning. “We’re taking people off the street, asking what they’d do for large sums of money, then a month later secretly placing them in those exact same positions.”

“Sounds like Punk’d.”

“No, no, this shit’s real. Guy says he’d suck off a retard for a million, guess what? Short bus and helmets right around the corner. Hey, I put money in the right hands I can get the Pope to double dip a nun.”

“You’re not going to kill anymore hobos are you?”

“Baby, that was last season.” Johnson covered his forehead as though he had amnesia. “Last season doesn’t exist…but don’t tell me Death of a Hobo didn’t make each and every one of you come. Vanessa? You came. I know you. Admit it, you came, didn’t you?”

She smiled. “A little bit.”

“A little bit. America loves me.” He dazzled the room. “And when I kill a hobo, America hates the hobo. Christian Right objected once only because editing didn’t take him out pleading ‘Dear God!’—and I fired the entire production team—but get this, I’m rehiring them as the cast of a new reality show of production fuck ups who fuck up major productions, real movies too, like that shit with the kid, the one showed her titty before she was seventeen.”

Pederast,” someone offered.

“Yeah, fucking movie earned two billion worldwide. Pederast Too is slated for production. My secret fuckups will be there. Let me ask a question now: I know Vanessa’s silks are wet, but is anybody going to tell me Monday night ratings of 68 percent didn’t provide the jumping off point for the most satisfying sex of your lives? Your wives aren’t limber anymore but don’t tell me that the hookers were closed! Davis? Is Agricult in? Norbeane, commitment? Stuck & White is the biggest producer of shit we don’t need. I’m practically delivering a third world country to you with money they have no idea what to do with. I need commitments from everybody in this room or I will shoot every last one of you gangsta style with the gun held sideways and everything.” He produced the gun from his blazer pocket. The smiles on the faces reinforced his love of theatrics. “Two to the fucking head, I’m not playing,” he said smiling. “And we’re gonna do something completely new with advertising for this. Each show, only your brand. Ok? Means one week S & W gets to showcase every piece of shit they’ve got for a solid hour, every little subsidiary that nobody knows you own. Vanessa, I give you the Spring slot to hawk No Fat Chickz. Perfect time to get that diet shit out there. Yesterday’s premiere was commercial free except for the subliminal shit. Imagine what that would have translated to,” he told the room, training the gun on each as a pointer. “Did I not prove myself to you?”

“It’s why we call you ‘Magic Johnson’,” cooed Vanessa.

“It’s why my magic Johnson fits perfectly in every one of your holes.” He made as if to unzip. “Who here wants to see me fuck Vanessa on the spot?”

Fernando Elliphon’s hand went up.

“Fernando, you freaky bastard. Put your hand down. Pens, ladies and gentlemen: pick ‘em up and write something down.” There were cameras filming the entire pitch, hidden but capturing everything in perfect HD. Vanessa Del Rio (she got teased about that all the time) had the kind of body and fashion sense that tended to get blurred on TV. But not on Magic’s new secret show. Johnson affected a crafty look. “Ok, we’ll loosen things up a bit.” He nodded Fernando’s way. “You hold Vanessa down while I fuck her and you commit to two as yet unproduced series. Sole sponsor.” He proposed something equally outrageous to the other seven, coming around to something of a consensus on what they’d do to see that these deals got sealed. “Vanessa, apparently everybody wants to see you get fucked.”

She just smiled at him. Vanessa Del Rio had eaten more men in her life that a protein cookbook was in the works.

She stood and shimmied her thong loose.

First up was Magic, then Gordon, then Elliphon and Epstein in tandem, then-—after a bit more cajoling—-Ms. Riggs from FreeMart. By the time Mailer and Pratchett hit it, Vanessa was more than just a shadow of her porn actress’ namesake. She epitomized the dirtiest fuck in the world, full of sex and lust and hunger and teeth, with sweat, semen and labial juices across her forehead, cheeks and hair. Her diet company had every food manufacturer in the world by the balls. Del Rio said don’t eat it, it didn’t get ate. True power is the ability to fuck in a boardroom without a care about the world. Cameras captured her holding a dick in each hand and throwing her head back like a warrior princess before the final battle.

Ye gods, the season finale was going to be a helluva show.

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