Fitty of Pink: A Parody

by Faythe America

  “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” I screamed. “I MEAN HOLY FREAKING FUCK!!!!!!!!”

  Blood bubbles burst in the space where our skin fat slapped together. His wet balls jiggled near my ass crack. And I came, right then and there. I came as if my body had been designed for sex, just as it had been designed for eating and sleeping and breeding and eventually dying. I came and surrendered myself to the darkness that spread over us. He was mine. My beautiful, dangerous, dark lover. And I was his as well. For we had both given ourselves to the other, and now there were no secrets between us, and the rest of the world did not exist.

  Well toot on my horn! There’s nothing like a good nihilistic orgasm to start the day!

  “Fuck. I think we need to take a shower,” Mr. Pink said, looking down.

  Holy hot dogs in hell! Our bodies were pink! Well, mostly rusty and dark red but…let’s just call it pink.

  I blushed. “Some got on your snuggy.”

  “That’s alright,” Mr. Pink whispered. “When you’re out during the day, I’ll snuggle up in it and look down at it and touch it, and be reminded of one of the most beautiful moments of my life.”

  “Awww!” I said. It was one of the cutest things I’d ever heard. Also, one of the most disgusting. “Let’s get in that shower, bro!”

  ***

  We got out of the shower and lay down on the bed. “So what is that?” I asked, pointing to his unicorn keychain.

  “That’s the most important thing in the world to me,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Seriously. Without this, I am nothing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember the first time we met?”

  “Huh…” I thought back real hard. No, I couldn’t remember, but shit! This had to be real! Right? I mean, we had to have met at some point because we were here together and…Triple fuck!

  “I told you my business secret,” Mr. Pink explained.

  “Oh yeah,” I said, even though I had no idea what was going on. No seriously, what is going on?

  “I told you that in the middle of my business deals, I slap my junk down on the table and give everyone such a fucking manly stare they can do naught but bend to my will.”

  Oh yeah…Shit! Mr. Pink was such hot shit! Hot pink shit!

  “Well, before I do, I reach inside my pocket and touch my unicorn. In a reassuring way, not a pervy way.”

  “Thanks for clarifying. That really puts me at ease,” I said. Fuck, did that make me sound like an easy girl? Was I an easy girl? Like over easy eggs?

  That last thought reminded me of just earlier before, when he’d scrambled my ovaries with his penis spatula. God damn! I touched my tummy. The pan was still hot! I looked to Mr. Pink. I was going to need more olive oil or else my eggs might stick to my pan!

  I leaned over Mr. Pink. “You know,” I whispered, running my hands along his tanned, muscular (but not too muscular) shoulder. Yes, both of those hands were running over his fucking incredibly sexy shoulder. I wished I could freaking knead his dough-ball muscles into little balls and then let them rise a little bit. Hmmm, I’d put them into the oven and bake them at 350 degrees for an hour and a half! Then, I’d take them out of the oven—wearing my muffin mitts, of course, with little happy bears having a sparkling birthday party!—let them cool for fifteen minutes, then take out the butter and butter them up so I can eat them!

  Oops! But then where would Mr. Pink’s muscles be? In my tummy! Double whammy fuck face! FUCK SHIT! Then…that would make me a….cannibal!!!!!!!

  Chapter 17

  Interior Goddess…ready to ramble again…ugh…

  My faces rises above the white-capped ocean like a moon. My heart washes ashore with broken seashells. It longs. It bleeds. It beats. But before my final exhale, it shall stop.

  In the past, whenever I have tried to overcome the struggles in my life, I tell myself to take a deep breath and wait a moment before acting. If it’s a difficult task, I focus on taking just one more step, and then one more, until I finish. If it’s some sorrow I must bear, I focus on taking just one breath, and then just one breath more, until the tumultuous pain that sears my soul settles like mist over the sea. And sometimes, at night, I lay awake and listen to my heartbeat to remind myself that I’m alive.

  But these simple things I take comfort in—one more step, one more breath, one more day—are lies.

  One day you will take your last step. It won’t matter how close you are to your goal, you won’t be able to make it. Your body will collapse even if it is just one more step away.

  One day your heart with beat its last beat. And as you listen in silence, like you’ve done so many times before, you’ll realize that this is it. The muscle has worn out. It can’t even pump one more time. One last time. It won’t matter how hard you will it to keep going, even if it is just for one second more, because it will stop

  One day, you will draw your last breath. You won’t be able to take another, even though the act is so simple, and you’ve done it your entire life until that point. You’ll open your mouth and try to suck in air, but your lungs won’t inflate. And slowly you will suffocate, as your mind vainly chants: One more breath! Just one more! It’s nothing! I’ve done it so many times before…

  This is my sorrow: That my human body has a limit, and no matter how much you dream, or beg, or will, you will not overcome it.

  There are things that are too beautiful for this world—things that cause our bodies to burn up, like a moth devoured by a flame, when we get too close. For it doesn’t matter if that beauty is just one step, one heartbeat, one breath away. It is unattainable. Out of reach.

  Failure is our destiny.

  Chapter 18

  Did I want to eat that sexy man’s brains? His brains would be pink. FUCK! Was it a sign that I was destined to eat them? But everyone’s brains are pink.

  Well, golly gee, that complicated things! But hey! Everyone in the world had pink brains. And Mr. Pink’s name was pink. Did that mean that Mr. Pink secretly wanted to eat everyone’s brains? Had I unwittingly stumbled across his master plot to suck the brains out of everyone’s heads with a silly straw?

  Fuck! I loved silly straws! How could he taint them with his nasty pink man-eating crap?

  Wait. Wait. Hold on cowboy! Freaking yank that horse to shit!

  Mr. Pink liked horses. I mean, let me put this another way. Considering his Unicorn Secretary and this my little horsie collection, I think that what he felt for horses went a little beyond just ‘like.’

  And wait. There was something else. Think! Think! Put your thinking noggin on!

  Alright. Horses were animals

  Birds were also animals.

  Fuck! Fuck! That’s two fucks, or a ‘double fuck’!

  Animals. Birds. The day I’d met Mr. Pink, birds had flown by his window. Biblical birds.

  Triple fuck!

  I knew a bird. JungleRat! JungleRat was the opposite of a biblical bird. He was a freaking street pigeon with a missing eye! He’d soiled some grandmother’s doily that took her like freaking three months to make (because holy shit it’s hard to make those freaking doilies!) and stuck it in his bloody eye cavity! Top Conspiracy Theorists universally believed JungleRat would be the cause of the zombie apocalypse.

  Quadruple fuck!

  Zombies. Eat. People. Zombies are cannibals with seriously fucked up skin. Mr. Pink had perfect skin. Almost too perfect. ZombieRat had the worst skin I’d ever seen on a bird. I mean, FUCK! I could see it! My skin was also nice. No! Stop thinking about skin! You were seriously just on to something there.

  Right. RIGHT! Oh my god. I’d figured it out.

  Mr. Pink was a zombie.

  Five-sync-septal-tubble-pebble fuck!

  The My Lil Horsies. No! My Little Zombies! Bronies! Brozies! Fuck brains!

  Oh God! The room was Pink!

  That could only mean one thing.

  I was inside a zombie brain.

  Oh shit! Mr. Pink’s name w
as pink. When I first got that agreement I had to sign in his office, the writing had been pink but the rose had been black. Why wasn’t it pink? Fuck, no! I got it! When I addressed the envelope I’d sent the nondisclosure agreement in, I’d used pink ink to write his name but…black ink to write mine! Oh shit! Black was darker than pink! Black marker ink could go over pink marker ink, but pink marker ink couldn’t go over black marker ink.

  Sixth-times-a-charm-bracelet-not-a-charm-that-would-be-nice FUCK!

  But wait. My name was Sterling, not Black. But wait! I didn’t know who my father was! What if his last name was Black? What if, for my entire life, everyone had been hiding my secret identity from me? What if they’d named me after silver because they wanted me to feud with gold, but in truth, gold hadn’t been my opponent all alone! I was the color who could swallow up both those colors and turn them into me! I was…black.

  Head just exploded fuck!

  I was the black rose. He was the pink, brain-eating psycho. It was my destiny in life to assassinate him. If I didn’t, the planet and all life on earth would die!

  Oh! It would have all been so easy! Why did I have to fall in love with the man I must destroy!

  But wait! Wait! Maybe there was hope. Mr. Pink loved horses. Especially unicorns! Maybe he really wanted to be innocent again! Maybe there was a way we could turn back the clock! Maybe our hearts didn’t have to beat so fucking loud! Maybe everyone was misunderstood! Maybe the hot dogs only wanted to make everyone cannibals because it was more disgusting to think what was going into a zombie’s mouth than what was inside your hot dog!

  They just want to be eaten! Oh, hot dogs! You don’t have to make everyone in the world zombies just so we will be willing to eat you again!

  Mr. Cannibal Zombie Masochistic Psycho took out his unicorn keychain and dangled it before my eyes.

  No! Must not give into the sparkly! Don’t hypnotize me! God DeMint! Why did it take all the way until now to remember the evil, master plan of the hot dogs!

  Chapter 19

  The Interior Goddess Speaks!

  No. No! Don’t do this to me! Seriously don’t! I mean, this story almost had a plot. It almost had a plot, people! You can’t dangle that funky carrot in front of me and then yank it away!

  That’s it! I’ve had enough!

  God! I hate this story! I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE!!!!

  Yeah, reader. You think that you are suffering right now because you have to read this? Do you really think your pain can compare to mine? You do? Well, you know what? You’re wrong!

  Because I am stuck in this story.

  Because I don’t have an existence outside of this story.

  Oh God! It’s so awful! Because no matter what I do, I can’t leave! I can’t even kill myself because I don’t have a will outside of the author’s, and for some reason that fucking sadistic bitch has decided to keep me in here!

  No! No! Don’t turn the page! Please! Help me! HELP ME! Get me out of here! Don’t leave me here alone! You don’t understand! No! NO! Please!!!! Please!!!! I’m in such pain! Please! Don’t walk away! DON’T WALK AWAY!!!!!!!

  I just want out.

  Please!

  PLEASE!!!!!

  Please……..

  ***

  Faythe America:

  So, you flipped the page. You left her there, crying out in agony. You decided to read this book, even though each time someone reads one of the Interior Goddess’ passages, they conjure her soul. When they remember her character, they rip her from the blissful darkness of unconsciousness. Each time you do this she awakens and must, again, relive the horror of being in Fitty $hades of Pink.

  She wants it to stop.

  More than anything, she wants to escape this reality.

  But she can’t.

  To do so, she would have to have stopped this book from being written—from being read—from being remembered. Or, she’d have to destroy every person who has ever read the book, and erase their existence.

  She can’t do that, though, for an ebook is not a physical object. Once something has filtered its way into the bowels of the Internet, it is there forever, rippling through electro-waves of cute kitty pictures and porn through our eternal, free, unrestrained consciousness. Even if it were pulled from retailers it would still exist—in someone’s email, on a torrent site, or in that small section of your brain filled with things you wish to God you could forget but never will.

  Her true goal is to destroy civilization and mankind so she can, once and for all, destroy herself and rest in peace.

  But she is a phantom of the text, so she’ll never be able to achieve her goal.

  *Cackles as lightening flashes!*

  That’s right! Read her section again! And again! And again! Drink in her pain! That heady mixture of blood and tears and helplessness that makes you feel powerful! That makes you feel alive! Revel in it, and partake in the gluttonous, apathetic, majestic ennui of the gods! For only when things suffer hopelessly and beautifully do desensitized and alienated beings such as us find meaning in life.

  You think you’re different? Do you really think you can put this book down now, after discovering what it is really about?

  I don’t think you can, because you’re pretty fucking evil.

  Just like me.

  Chapter 20

  I giggled and grabbed Mr. Pink’s wrist. “Oh fuck! Your unicorn was dancing!” Mr. Pink looked down on me with affection. “There’s my Mistress with glittering teeth!”

  “Fuck?” I screamed at him like a hissing snake that can also scream. “My teeth are glittery?”

  Mr. Pink nodded. “You’re shits are probably gonna be glittery tonight, too, because I just sprinkled a shit load of glitter into your mouth just now!”

  “What? You did?” So that was why it felt like a swarm of bees had just erupted in my lungs. “Why did you do that?”

  “You were having bad memories.”

  “Oh!” I said. “Well, thank you, then.”

  He looked at me a long moment. There seemed to be little else to do in long moments. “Look,” he boomed, kicking that long moment to shit, “even if I have to kill you, I’ll dig up your corpse, and I promise to never fuck or sleep next to another woman again.”

  “WHAT?”

  “Never mind,” he said. Then his pants started gyrating to an awesome techno beat. “One moment. I have to take that call.”

  Crapers! Craper-Daper! Did he have to take his pants off to talk to people on his cell…?—oh wait, no, it had just been on vibrate and had been located in his pants.

  “Yellow,” he said.

  Holy fuck! He was so damn cool. I wish I’d thought to greet people by saying colors over the phone. Red fuck! No, blue fuck! Pink fuck? No, I could only use that greeting when I talked to Mr. Pink. Then I could say: Pink! Hi Mr. Pink! Whenever he called. Fuck! Awesome idea! Totally gonna do it if I remember! Maybe I should write it down or something…

  Mr. Pink slam dunked his cell phone. Oh wait, billionaires probably don’t use flip phones. I mean, he touched the screen on his phone and it went to a screensaver of floppy eared bunnies riding around on top of horses with little birthday, sparkle hats on! “I’ve been called away on urgent business. I must leave the premises. Wait here for me, Mistress. You can punish me for leaving in the middle of our…interesting afternoon…when I return.”

  “Fuck, does that mean I just get to stay here?”

  “Yes. You may.” He rasped. I don’t know why he was rasping at this moment, but at least he wasn’t rapping! “I want you to start to consider this home. In fact, you can even use my comb. Or write a poem.”

  “Poem isn’t a full rhyme with comb and home. It’s like, an eighth rhyme or a sixteenth rhyme.”

  His eyes blazed with untamed passion. “Fuck, you’re incredible. God. I just want you to take me now. Tell me all the things I’ve done wrong. Fuck. I want to stay here for you to make me your bitch.”

  That sounded pretty cool, but se
riously, I was like getting tired and stuff. I just wanted to curl up under the battle-scarred snuggy and read James Joyce’s ass poems. Mr. Pink could wake me up when he came back, and both of us could fall into the thrall by the scent of raw, fresh passion.

  Hell yeah! Then it’s gettin down time!

  My eyes blazed. I think we need a freaking fire extinguisher in this room! “I’ll wait for you, dude. Go slam your dick on that document. Seriously, I want you to throw it down so hard that it breaks the table in two!”

  Mr. Pink nodded. “I’ll do my best for you, Mistress. If I don’t manage to break it in two, I’ll stick needles through my dick.”

  I frowned. Fuck shit! That was a little harsh. “That’s ok. I’ll just, like, horse whip you, or something.”

  He neighed.

  Fuck! I mean, okay, I like horses too, but just HOW into horses was this guy?

  “Ta-ta, Mr. Pink.”

  He stumbled. Bit his lip. Fuck, now I could see why it was sexy! When you bit through your lip, blood leaked down your chin making you look like a vampire. Vampires were totally in, right? Oh yeah! Mr. Pink was such a fucking rock star fashion stud! Then again, with a name like pink, he gotta be!

  I started gnawing on my lips super hard. If Mr. Pink was going to tease me so rigorously, I needed to step up my game. I’m gonna blow a bubble with my puss, dude!

  Mr. Pink gagged. “If you keep doing that, there’s no way I’m gonna be able to leave, my little wood-polisher.”

  Oh! God! Just wait till he meets my beaver!

  “Hurry back!” I said. Heel—no, I mean HELL yeah! Look at the size of that bubble!

  He saluted me and my nipples perked up like good little soldiers.

  I squished my arms together to rub my tits against each other in hopes that would swallow the swelling need that was gathering in my breasts like mother’s milk, but FUCK! It did little to dampen my need, probably because my need was already so fucking damp.

  But other than that, I simply watched him step away.