Dear Guests, Patrons and Those People Who Are Not as Funny as They Think They Are When Drinking,
Thank you for joining us on this third night of Bonnywood’s Annual Cultural Arts Festival and Bacchanalia. Before we get started with this evening’s presentation, I feel compelled to remind the audience that just because you decide to go al fresco in the Serenity Pool does not mean that you should expect everyone to follow suit with a lack of suit. Serenity means different things to different people. Let’s all play nice.
And while we’re on the subject of proper behavior, let me also remind you that “complimentary hors d’oeuvres” does not mean “back up your SUV to the Taco Bar and start hurling vats of guacamole through the hatchback”. Along the same lines, “carpe diem” does not mean “make a complete ass of yourself”. Let’s show some restraint, shall we?
Moral housekeeping aside, our next presentation in the 3-Word Challenge has been queued up by our audio-visual department. Please be sure to tip them on your way out, even if you have no idea what they actually do.
Artiste: Aubrey at “Her Mourning Coffee”
Three Words: urgent, ripcord, wetness
Medium: Micro Fiction
And here we go…
A voice suddenly rang out from the back of the audience. “You are not going anywhere, Mr. Bonnywood. Unless you’re interested in going to jail.”
Me, breaking character because the change in font gave me the literary freedom to do so: “What an interesting observation. Who the hell are you?”
Voice stood up and began marching toward the stage, allowing us to further delineate her character as Pinch-Faced Woman with a Really Bad Perm. “I have obtained a copy of tonight’s presentation, via the Freedom of Information Act, and I cannot allow such wretched pornography to be shared in a public setting.” She and her chemically-altered hair suddenly clamored on the stage with a startling grunt and improper dismount. “Especially when there are children in the audience.”
Me: “But there are no children here. Well, at least not in a chronological sense. Minors are not allowed on the property. Nor do we allow non-members. How did you get past security?”
Pinch: “Don’t try to distract me with fake news. Pornography is a sin against God!” She tottered closer and glared malevolently, a move that did nothing to enhance the misfortune of her hair, a sad combination that one often encounters when stupidly traversing the backroads of Oklahoma. “I will bring this demonic temple down!”
Me: “You’re quite the colorful character, aren’t you? Now, before we go any further down this path of ridiculousness, do you have any actual authority for temple downing?”
Pinch smiled triumphantly. “I have been appointed by President Trump as the Official Spokesperson for the Oppression of Culture and Whatnot.”
The entire audience gasped, not so much at the idiocy of the title or the subterfuge behind it, more so at the well-known fact that anyone Trump appoints isn’t the least bit qualified for whatever the appointment might be.
Me, standing my ground. “Again, what actual authority do you and your delusions have?”
Pinch: “I can have your blog classified as adults-only, thereby forcing anyone who visits to confirm their age, occupation, and general mental state.”
Me, suddenly not so firmly standing: “I’m not really fond of that option. What exactly do you propose?”
Suddenly, someone was firmly standing in the front row of the audience. “Excuse me, but is this the actual story submission or are we still banging our way through the intro?”
Me: “No, we’re still trying to get there. We’d already be done if Pinch wasn’t so pinched.”
“Thanks.” Kim Kardashian sat down and posted a status update to her 46 million followers, thus allowing the cultural significance of America to continue declining.
Pinch: “Well, my proposal is rather simple. Despite my general dissatisfaction with the entire story, I think we can come to a mutual agreement if you simply change this one word.” She held up her Freedom of Information Act copy of the manuscript and pointed with a vindictive finger.
Me: “I see. Well, that could be considered a word that might offend certain people. At the same time, I have a problem with inhibiting freedom of speech. Perhaps we could reach a compromise.”
Pinch: “Compromise? That’s not a word that’s in my party’s platform.”
Me: “Still, perhaps we can get there. What if I just change one letter in that word? The writer will not be really appreciative, but there might be some understanding.”
Pinch: “I’m intrigued. Show me what you mean?”
I plucked a pen out of my vintage pocket protector, crossed out a letter, and wrote a new one above it.
Pinch: “Hmm. I suppose that could work. And it’s a double win. You still get to share the story and I get to tell Donald that his administration successfully jacked with something that didn’t need jacking.”
Me: “Excellent. Now, can I have someone escort you to your car so you can never come back here again?”
Pinch: “No need. My SUV is parked right over there, backed up to the Taco Bar.”
Me, turning to the audience: “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your patience. And now that I have been schooled by someone who doesn’t support public education, I should probably mention that the following micro story is rather adult in nature. This is the point where you should stop reading if you are not interested in graphic carnality. No sarcasm, really mean it.
And here we go…
He conquered her into whimpering submission. She dropped quickly to her knees and unzipped his pants, hungrily engulfed his urgent rock. He grabbed her hair in both hands, tugging and teasing making her choke and moan. She swallowed his arousal then sprung to her feet. He was ready to pull the ripcord and plunge into her wetness. She gave him a peck on the cheek and said, “How about some wine and popcorn, Scandal’s on in five.”
Pinch, rushing back onstage despite our fervent hope that her guacamole-stealing ass had left the building: “I forgot to mention that this story is demeaning to women.”
Kim Kardashian, standing up once again, mainly because her high-end couture was restricting certain important arteries in her body: “Girl, please. Did you not grasp the fact that the woman in this story is actually controlling the situation? Have you never read any Anne Rice erotica?”
Pinch: “How can you possibly say that this is decent, with the obvious misogyny and dominance and unregulated testosterone?”
Kim: “And yet you’re perfectly fine working for Donald Trump?”
Pinch: “That’s different. I can put up with a lot as long as I get a decent dental plan. Do you have any idea how much implants cost these days?”
Stormy Daniels, porn actress who has accused Trump of cheating on her with his wife: “I know a thing or two about how much they cost.”
Michael Cohen, porn lawyer who made a certain payment: “130,000 dollars!”
Trump: “Fake news! I have never slept with any woman, ever!”
Melania: “Well, there was that one time at band camp, which eventually led to your fifth tax credit. I can’t really speak to how you got the other four..”
Me: “I’ve lost control again and I really need to just stop typing…”
This piece has been nominated in the following categories:
The Mark Zuckerberg Award for allowing things to happen on your site that maybe shouldn’t have happened.
The Stormy Daniels Award for What Goes In Will Eventually Come Out.
The Dr. Ruth Award for Everybody Should Just Relax When It Comes to Sex. There are far greater troubles in the world.
Gratitude Award from the founder of Bonnywood Manor.
You can review more of Aubrey’s portfolio by clicking here. It’s probably redundant for me to mention it at this point, but the site is often adult in nature. And so it goes…
And yes, I did struggle with sharing this entry, as I knew it might offend some readers. But I’m the one who said, repeatedly, “do whatever you want with the three words”. And, to be fair, the three words I doled out were not necessarily puritan in nature, trying to find the right words that I thought might appeal to the writer, as I’ve done with everyone who volunteered. I sparked the fire, and Aubrey blew on the flames. At the end of the day, it’s more about letting the writer find a voice and not expecting that writer to use a voice that sounds like mine.
Categories: 3-Word Challenge