Fitty of Pink: A Parody

by Faythe America

  “Hump him doggy style! You know, woof woof!” The photographer whimpered, curling his hands up like little paws at his chest and sniffing the air like it was another dog’s ass.

  “Woof! Woof!” He continued, wagging his butt in Jonas’ face.

  “Oh, that’s rank man!” Jonas barfed his words.

  No seriously, he yacked all over the floor.

  Looks like Old Faithful is gonna blow!

  “Don’t clean it. It’s raw. Edgy.” The photographer declared.

  “Alright, what’s really going on here?” Mr. Pink bellowed. “There is no way this is for your thesis!”

  Just then, some lady brought out a syringe and a twenty inch tube. “Ready for insertion.”

  Choke while gargling pineapple! That’s the longest straw I’d ever freaking seen! What were they drinking in this freaking yaoi fanfic?

  Mr. Pink kicked Jonas over and grabbed a cape from the floor. His eyes shot daggers at Faythe and me as he fastened it around his neck and spun around like Dracula. The daggers bounced off me like I was wearing a freaking force field, yo. Or maybe they weren’t really daggers at all, but those little primary colored, plastic pirate swords you get in your alcoholic beverages at really classy tiki huts.

  “You!” Mr. Pink bellowed, pointing a finger at me.

  I wish he’d point something else at me!

  No! Wait? Fucking Lord of Shit! What else could he possibly point at me? What was going on with my membrane! (That’s another word for brain, right? I mean, those rappers in that one song they sang that one time seemed to use it interchangeably.)

  Anyways, I didn’t know what to do. I glanced over at Faythe. She bit her lip. Then, a little light bulb went off over her head. Literally. And she grabbed a pen, a conveniently located cardboard sign, and began writing.

  “Yeah…” I began. “I…organized…this…photo…shoot…for…myself…not…for…the…paper.”

  Wait, did I just say that? It was a lie! Freaking oh no freaky freaky!

  He stepped back, eyes wide. “You did?” He whispered.

  Golly Gee! He sounded freaking pained. Had that knowledge made his head explode?

  No, his head was still there. Still looking at me.

  Wowza! It was so freaking hot in here! That head of his was making me smoke it was so smokin! And not like I had a cigarette, but like my body was so hot that it was steaming, but in a sexy way not in a nasty, moldy fruit way. Not that my nasty, moldy fruit has ever steamed, and by that I mean an actual fruit from the grocery store and not my muffin. Fuck! TMI, right? CRISIS FUCK!!! But the ‘big point’ was if I started to strip, everyone would think I was weird! Better keep reading off cue cards to confuse them!

  “Yes…” I read as Faythe held up another sign. “I…wanted…to…see…you…sexy…because…I…want…you…so…bad…it…hurts.”

  Mr. Pink’s eyes blazed. “You what?”

  I frowned. I actually didn’t know what yet. I had to re-read the cue-card before knowing what I’d said because I couldn’t remember anything that I ever said when I read out loud.

  “What do you want?” Jonas leaped up and body slammed the wall. Ouch! He spun around and stuck out his tongue. Yuck! Boy cooties! “Why don’t you just stomp on my dick, yo?” Jonas asked in a battle cry voice.

  “Quick! Stick out your finger, Faythe! I need a cootie immunity shot!”

  Jonas and Mr. Pink looked at me like I was a fifty thousand pound bunny rabbit in the chicken coop. Better than a fox, but fuck! What the fuck is that enormous bunny doing there? How does it even exist, man? I don’t know whether I should get the gun, get the camera, or get a listing next to the world’s largest ball of yarn!

  Just then, a tumbleweed blew across the picture set, in between Jonas and Mr. Pink. It kind of looked like a ball of yarn.

  Oh man, this battle was about to get fucking epic! Extra butter on the popcorn, Papa G!

  Ungodly apocalypse fuck! I needed some mind fuel, and fast, because I was runnin on empty and the cops were blasting their flashing blue and yellow or white or whatever color behind me!

  “I want…” I glanced over at Faythe. She scribbled something else on a sign, and then held it up to me. I had to squint to read it. Freaking alphabet soup tastes like learning without the rainbow because THE RAINBOW IS A LIE! Her handwriting was so bad! “To…see…you…wrapped…in…nothing…but…me…”

  “Oh, come on babe!” Jonas wailed, kicking the air. He really showed the air who was boss, too. That was one feisty kick. Rawr!

  Mr. Pink stepped closer to me. Then closer. Almost as if he was walking towards me…

  Oh yeah. Right. He totally was. My bad.

  Anyways, when he reached me, he raised his hand as if he were about to touch an irreplaceable ink painting on tissue paper. And really, it was weird. I mean, why would you touch an irreplaceable work of art? Especially one as fragile as ink on tissue paper?

  “Look at what you do to me, beautiful girl,” he whispered, bringing his hand to his lips. He hadn’t touched me. He hadn’t even looked like he could stand to look at me, even though it seemed like he couldn’t look away.

  Oh my goodness gracious!

  Before I could say “Oh my goodness gracious” or something even better, he walked out of the room. The last thing I saw before the door closed was his sparkling back disappearing into the perfect darkness of a hallway with no windows and no working lights apparently (someone should really fix that).

  Chapter 5

  Ugh, history class. It sucked. I mean, all that stuff happened so long ago. Who cared? It was old, like those Chinese leftovers Faythe had left in the fridge for six months. Both of us were too afraid to touch it because it had started throttling light green ooze, but at some point we knew we had to clean out the fridge, and in case you didn’t get my analogy, this institution of freaking “higher learning” needed to clean out its fridge too. I mean, why were they asking questions about Cesar? That salad had been out way too long, and was starting to look freaky, dude.

  I slammed my locker on the bright, pink F on my paper. Maybe I could pretend it stood for ‘Fabulous’?

  “Hi.”

  I shrieked and fell back. Mr. Pink’s face was right next to my locker! Wait, it wasn’t just his face! It was actually Mr. Pink! “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you,” he said.

  “Oh, well, that’s cool. Hey, do you want to go get coffee later—”

  “You need to stay away from me, Maggie,” he interrupted coolly.

  I shook my head. “You came here to tell me to stay away?”

  “Yes. I’m bad for you,” he whispered. He stepped closer. I bit my bottom lip. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  He looked off down the hallway pensively. “I’m leaving. I can’t stay. It would have been better if we’d never met.”

  “Oh, alright,” I whispered. Bummer. Like double bum damn. But, Lordy, I had the worst caffeine headache ever. I reached down to grab my backpack and looked up to see Mr. Pink running down the hall back at me.

  “I can’t stay away,” he said.

  “Okay?”

  “But I must. I’m no good for you.”

  “You mentioned that.”

  “You have no idea what I’m like,” he whispered, pushing me forward in between the edge of the lockers and the drinking fountain. Someone had stuck a wad of gum in the fountain. The pressure built up for a few seconds, and then the gum catapulted off the faucet onto the floor.

  At that moment, something exploded inside Mr. Pink too, and he grabbed my arms and slammed me against the wall.

  Oh goodness gracious! My stomach swirled. My legs felt weak. Passion bubbled up inside me like a shaken can of soda that bursts everywhere after being opened. Sticky sugary goodness coated my skin like a layer of…spilled soda.

  His eyes were smoldering, holding me hostage, binding me to him with the blindingly hot chains of seductive fire. A
t that moment, I would have gladly jumped to be ravaged on his funeral pyre. My core felt like a shred of ripped silk being caught in his black fist of desire. I whimpered, pressing my soft, tantalizing breasts against his steel chest, wondering if there was a way he could possibly make me feel higher. And yes, I really did feel such things, I am not a liar.

  “I’m dangerous, Maggie,” he rasped.

  “But you just said—”

  “I know what I said, and I can’t.”

  He pinned my wrists above my head. “If I was a good man, I’d stay away, but I’m not a good man, Maggie.”

  His thigh slipped in between my legs, to my lady parts. Oooh, that feels nice. My stomach felt as if it were being stretched with agonizing slowness, as if he had a gigantic wad of bubble gum stuck to each hand and was slowly drawing them apart as if playing an accordion.

  “Hold on one sec,” I said. “If you’re this close, I’m gonna pop a mint.” Freaking double wham! I did not want to hot box him with my garlic breath! I reached into my pocket, popped open the tin, and threw it on my tongue. Ugh, brain freeze! So strong and fresh. “Alright, continue. Wait, you need one too.” Didn’t want to get hot boxed by his garlic breath, either!

  His lips parted. I slipped in the winter frost goodness. He bit down, hard, because a man like him doesn’t chew, doesn’t ever chew, but bites down, hard.

  “I’m a bad, bad, man,” he hissed. “I’ve done horrible things. I want to do horrible, horrible things to you. I want to make you mine.”

  Holy Macaroni! He wanted to make me his? What did that mean?

  “You shouldn’t be around me.”

  Huh? Guess I wouldn’t learn what he meant, then. “Okay, well, I guess you’re leaving?”

  He thrust a pile of papers into my hand. “Here.”

  “What the hell is this?”

  “A nondisclosure agreement. I will need you to sign it before I can see you again.”

  “I thought you just said you can’t see me.”

  He kissed my hand. “That will depend on you.”

  Chapter 6

  So I signed the nondisclosure agreement. Yeah, I know. Everyone thinks it’s dumb. Or at least everyone would if I told them. But I didn’t, because I’m double dumb? Double crap!

  Anyways, I’d already put it in the mail. Wrote out his address in everything. And I wrote it all out in pink! Figured he’d like that. But I’d used black ink on my own name to show him that I was my own woman.

  Just then, the mailman rang the doorbell and personally handed me a letter from Mr. Pink. But ungodly shit man! I was in a dorm room and this was totally out of his way. That’s what I call service!

  Anyways, I opened it.

  Inside was a note that said: “See you at six,” and the keys to the most expensive and luxurious car in the world: a Merabies.

  ***

  “What the hell is this?” I screamed when I saw Mr. Pink.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What. The. Fuck.” I yelled, hurling the keys at him. “These are for a Merabies! A Mer-Ray-Bees! All those fancy-pants cars have all these super expensive custom parts that you have to order specially and are freaking impossible to find!”

  Mr. Pink’s jaw quirked (God that sounds painful). “You drive around a piece of trash!”

  “It’s not a piece of trash!” I told him. Then, a much more puzzling thought popped into my brain. “Wait, you’ve never seen my car. How do you know what it looks like?”

  “Of course I’ve seen your car,” Mr. Pink told me. “I have you under 24-hour satellite surveillance.”

  “Um, what?”

  “And I have hidden webcams in your room.”

  “What?”

  “And a tracker implanted into you cell phone!”

  “WHAT?”

  “And one in your brain.”

  “WHAT THE FUCK?”

  “Anyways, your car is unsafe and unacceptable. I bought one that was safer and more suitable for a lady of your stature.”

  “No! This is where I put my foot down!” I yelled, putting my foot down. “I am a car mechanic. I know it seems unlikely, especially if you asked me really specific, or even really general, questions about cars, because I wouldn’t be able to answer them, but that ‘unsafe and unacceptable’ car just happens to be my body and soul!”

  Mr. Pink flinched.

  “Look, a car isn’t just a car to me! It is a baby. My baby! Like, it came out from my mind womb. My mind womb! That car you hate so much? I made that from scratch. I found it part by part and put it together with a hammer and duct tape. Some welding equipment too, but you’d be surprised what you can make with duct tape. I have a friend who made a really cool wallet out of duct tape. But that doesn’t matter!” I put my hand on his shoulder. “That car is a part of me, and if you can’t learn to accept it, then there is no way you could ever accept me.”

  “Does that piece of junk really mean that much to you?” He asked.

  “I don’t know. Does your ‘piece of junk’ mean that much to you?”

  “Touché, Miss Sterling,” he whispered with a smile. “I’m sorry you found my gift unsatisfactory.”

  “It’s okay. Not every gift can be a winner. Besides, aren’t you gonna take me out to dinner?”

  His lips quirked up. “How presumptuous of you.”

  “Well, it’s six and I’m fucking hungry. If you’re not taking me out, I’m ordering pizza.”

  “No. No. I want you. All of you. Tonight. Let’s go eat.”

  Damn! He sometimes talked with a ton of pauses! And they were really freaking awkward too! But that would be mean to bring up, right? Yeah, it would be. “Okay, we can go, but we’re taking my car.”

  “Alright,” he smiled.

  “You don’t mind riding shotgun, do you?” I asked.

  “Not if you’re the one behind the wheel.”

  ***

  “I can’t believe you drive a freaking Volva!” Mr. Pink said.

  “Volvas are great cars. They rarely break down. Besides, they’re what all the super hunks in teenage romance novels drive.” For some reason, even though I said that, I thought that he did, so I responded to myself, but I thought it was him. “You’re not a teenage romance—wait, how do you know what guys in those books drive?”

  He smiled. “All that I’m saying is that I trust your judgment.”

  I nodded. “Good.” I trusted my judgment too!

  “If you think this hunk of junk is better than that Merabies in the parking lot, then I trust your judgment.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.

  Those were really touching words, but they didn’t really mean much when the car broke down fifteen minutes later on the highway.

  I threw my head onto the steering wheel. The horn blared out my “Shit!” (I’ll just let you think about that totally unintended image for a second.)

  I glanced over at Mr. Pink. “Don’t you dare say anything!”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Yes. I trust your tastes, remember?”

  “Oh, now you’re just making fun of me.”

  “No I’m not. If this is the car you chose, and this is the one you really like, well, there isn’t much I can say about it, is there? I trust your tastes, Maggie.” He put his hands under my chin, tilting up my head. His face was outlined in moonlight. That strong, severe jaw, the high angle of his cheekbones, those eyes that smoldered, were all focused on me as if I were the only thing in this world that existed to him.

  “Alright. So I destroyed dinner.” I moaned.

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “What do you mean? There is no way we are gonna get there in time.”

  “I can call my driver—”

  “No, I can’t leave my baby out here all alone and vulnerable!”

  He glanced at the car, as if he thought it was a hunk of junk. “What?”

  “Someone might steal it! Someone might hit it! I ca
n’t leave it out here. I’m sorry. You can go. You should go.”

  He paused. “You actually think someone is going to try to steal this thing?”

  “You don’t understand how much she means to me!” I shrieked.

  He sighed. “Do you really think I’m the kind of guy who would just leave you out here, alone, by the side of the road?”

  “Well…”

  “Stop,” he whispered. “If that’s really your answer, I don’t want to hear it.”

  Sweet Mary and Joseph and Abraham and Isaiah! He was so freaking romantic! “It’s just that it’s your favorite restaurant. You were looking forward to going,” I told him.

  “Were you looking forward to it, too?”

  “Well, duh.”

  “Duh,” his lips curled up. “It is too bad that we can’t go, but that doesn’t mean our dinner is ruined.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ll just have to bring them to us.”

  “What?”

  He took out his mePhone and started dialing.

  “Wait, what are you doing?”

  “Bringing dinner,” he whispered, and then placed one of his fingers over my lips. “Don? Yes. Bring our food in.” He glanced over at me. “What would you like?”

  “Um, I don’t know. I guess whatever.”

  “Really? Adventurous girl,” he whispered admirably. I didn’t like the way he said ‘adventurous,’ but I couldn’t really take it back since he seemed to like it.

  “I’d like to order the menu.”

  Ooohhh, classy pants! Which are so much classier than fancy pants!

  He hung up. “It should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Yay. So hungry I could eat a horse!”

  He began to pout. I suddenly remembered the unicorn headed secretary. “I mean…a house. Or a hose. I mean, you could just stick a house through a wood chopper and I’d suck it out of a hose.” There. That sounded tasty.

  Not.

  But in the end it didn’t matter, because his expression lightened.

  Then it darkened again. From sexy hotness, not anger. “So Maggie,” he rasped. “What do you think of a man that orders the menu?”