Fifty Shades of Grey
A Twinkly Twilight Shade of Black Mixed with a Whitish Sort of Colour – Tale – Thingy – and with MERMAIDS!!!
I’ve fallen properly off the social networking wagon over the past couple of months. This hasn’t been because of laziness or lack of interest – socializing online gives me lots of jollies, so for me it’s not any sort of hardship. Life behaved so whackadoodle out there crazy for a while that apart from leaving me rather speechless in horrified awe of the very levels of nuts that life can occasionally reach, there wasn’t much time for anything other than trying to keep up with damage control in the chaos. Now I’m done with the gaga stuff, most definitely and absolutely done with that, and about to get back up on that online happy wagon. I’m going to have to do something that pains me though. There is no way I can do my usual backwards catch up of everyone’s blogs and tweets this time, so I’m going to do one mighty zoom back as far as I can go and then I’m going to have to delete all the notifications currently in my GMail social column.
I should be able to catch up with the Primary emails and everything else fairly quickly with a bit of luck and elbow grease, but if there was anything that anyone particularly wanted me to see I’d be very grateful if you would zoom a link over to my Contact Me page. Also, I’m using Edge as my browser now because Chrome crashed and now just doesn’t open at all, and it feels really weird in general. I missed sharing my really, really scary Halloween story with you on the actual day, so I’ll share it now instead, and yes, it really is very silly. Mermaids in Zimbabwe aren’t sexy half fishies by the way. They’re horrible dervish things that have a penchant for drowning people. This tale isn’t really about them at all though – that’s why it’s so particularly scary.
Fan Fic Tail
“There are mermaids in this lake,” said the driver of the tourist truck unusually covered in dayglo lime green zebra fake fur.
Even though he didn’t believe in mermaids, Edward felt a tremorlicious frisson of excitement pass through him. He bit his lip.
“Gee!” he said, biting his lip some more, and feeling a further frisson twinkle from his toes to his right elbow, and then excitingly on to his spleen, as he imagined an actual mermaid biting his lip instead. “Gosh!”
The driver looked at him in an excitingly derogatory way. Another frisson! Liver this time. Golly!
“These mermaids will KILL you!” said the vehicular operator. “African mermaids LIKE to kill soft boys like you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Edward giggled, and bit his lip.
“Oooo!” he said.
“Rubbish,” said the strangely twinkly young lady sitting beside Edward.
He turned and looked at her properly for the first time. He bit his lip. Gosh, but she was so – so SHINY! He didn’t think that he could even DEAL with another frisson today! WOW!
“You are WRONG Miss-. Miss Anastasia,” said the motor wrangling purveyor of legendary – stuff.
“I am BELLA!” gasped she. “How do you know the name of my HAMSTER?”
“Gee!” said Edward, biting his lip. Even MORE frissons!
“I know MANY things,” said the steering-wheel handler, tapping the third eyelash from the left on his right eye, and rotating his right ear. “MANY THINGS, I TELL YOU!!!!!”
“Gosh!” said Edward. He nibbled his lip. Then sucked it a bit. He bit his lip.
“SHUTTUP Christian!” said Bella, reaching over and twisting his nose while inserting her fourteen inch thumbnail into his nostril, and throwing her orange juice into his lap. Also her doughnut. And an elderly Chanel lipstick.
“OOOO!” frissoned Edward. “I’m EDWARD!!!!! NOT CHRISTIAN! Golly!!!”
He really wished he could bite his nose himself. Frisson upon frisson! He imagined Anastasia Bella biting his nose. WOWSER! He bit his lip.
“DO YOU PEOPLE EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE?!” whispered the sixteen fingered man in the back row, brandishing a toffee apple on a stick made from the seventh branch from the exact top of a particular Mopani tree which was home to exactly two thousand four hundred and one Mopani worms. And a single thousand and two year old tsetse fly incessantly plagued with insectual hives. He made the sign of the hamster, JUST IN CASE, and turned his right thigh left and right five times, and then right and left two and a half times. Precisely.
Edward bit his lip.
“STOP THAT!” intoned Bella, squirting her grapefruit into his left eyeball. “I’m really going to HURT you!”
“Ooooh!” said Edward. “Gosh!”
He bit his lip.
A piece of toffee apple and an aged tsetse fly fell scratchingly into his lap.
George Witherall had had a lucky escape when Stanley had been struck down by that vicious geriatric crone on her motorised wheelchair. But today was another day, and Stanley was determined to address the assault on his life’s work in the form of that one star stinking steamer of a review, pulsating mightily online in all of its lying filth, for all the world to see. He’d had a look at George’s Facebook page, and seen that he was very excited to be going to see the premier of Fifty Shades of Grey tonight. Well. So would Stanley. He’d bought a hugely overpriced ticket, and laid out his clothes.
Stanley regretted the fact that he’d forgotten to change his knickers before he’d got run over by that ferocious stick wielding Methuselah. Her abuse had been relentless no matter how loudly he explained that the importance of setting his reviewer straight justified his accidental elbowing of her ear. His first review for the book that had taken years of his blood, sweat, and tears to write. Not to mention that that time spent had given him a carbuncle of some size and character in his nether regions from all the sitting that writing an assured bestseller required. That carbuncle was a stayer. It pulsed, and seemed to have a life of its own, and the only way he could get his mind off it was to contain it. Your run of the mill undies couldn’t cut the mustard. Only extra large, comfy, nylon knickers did the trick. And he figured that since he had to wear knickers, why shouldn’t he wear attractive ones? He didn’t see what all the fuss was about anyway. Pants were pants after all. He wondered if it would be worth his time to discuss workplace professionalism with the nurse who had laughed out loud when she’d removed his trousers, and then again when he had informed her that his name was Stanley Wacker. No time now. Mother had been given a large dose of a little something to help her sleep, and Stanley had to get a move on.
Stanley found a seat right behind his nemesis and the painted floozy he was with. He looked around at the people surging in. He had no truck with films. The written word was all Stanley was interested in. He wondered what this Fifty Shades thing was about to attract such hordes. After hearing someone in the lobby say that it was based on a bestselling novel, his interest had been piqued. Maybe he could pick up some tips. He leaned furtively forward to check that his 38 was still snugly resting in its holster on his leg, and also to hear what George was whispering to his date as the lights went down and the movie started. Stanley’s plan to exterminate his reviewer with a well placed bullet, and then escape in the crowd was immediately forgotten, as the things that he was seeing on screen affronted his senses. What was this?
Distracted only occasionally by the lustful fumblings of the gasping and giggling couple to his right, Stanley’s jaw hung slackly, absorbing the details of the sort of story that earned a hundred million dollars. Finally Stanley saw the light. He knew now where he’d gone wrong. Pain! Readers wanted pain! They wanted to be assailed! The thing was to confound readers with dearth of plot, inanity, criminal assault, irritating sensuous pencil placements, a lot of wowing, and a surly billionaire. Vapid Stanley – think vapid! No wonder George had hated his book! He had entirely missed what readers really wanted! Yes! He could do that! Rushing home to begin again, and to emulate his new writing hero, E L James, Stanley was once again struck down. This time by a large set of handcuffs falling from a sign outside of a hardware store. Just before he passed out, he smiled, relieved that he had indeed remembered to change his knickers.