Lazy Blogging - cut and paste job

I wrote this bit of nonsense several years ago, and post it every once and awhile. Today seems as good a day as any to dust it off. (I haven't made any attempts to cleaned it up this time round, so excuse the typos/roughness).

Cross my heart

Once upon a time, there was a fair maiden named Jackie (as 18% of all fair maiden’s are named according to recent government polls.) Jackie had just started working for Egg Carpets Company as a sales rep, but wasn’t having much success.

One day at the office, the suave Lothario—-in name and in deed—-who also happened to be Egg Carpet’s top sales man, thought to impress the fair Jackie, by taking her on a few sales calls with him. Show her the ropes, his technique, the tiny mole on his upper thigh—-waay up.

How better to impress the fair Jackie? Whose lips--the colour and succulence of ripe berries--hid two tiny rows of teeth that were so white and perfectly matched they put the pearls found in a Tiffany’s necklace to shame. (ta shame, I tell ya). Whose sapphire shaded eyes sparkled like the rarest of gems. Whose hair was like spun gold and swung in a rippling cascade of silk down her posture perfect spine. (Marsha Brady eat yer heart out.) Whose skin was as smooth and pale as the petals of the most exquisite camellia. Whose—

You get the general idea, I believe? Now where was I? Oh, yes....

Cross my heart...saggy middle.

How better to impress the fair Jackie than to make that big elusive sale to Mr. Gregory Ignatius Ant who live up—-waay up-—on Beanstalk Hill in a six hundred and sixty-nine roomed mansion. So off they went, the fair Jackie and scheming Lothario, up to Mr. Ant’s manse.

On their way there these two crazy kids get into all sorts of wacky situations, but I haven’t worked out the details yet. Quite frankly this is the saggy middle of the story. It needs work, so I think I’ll skip it. And so….

...and so they finally reached the door of 123 Beanstalk Hill, thankful that they had finally been able to lose the band of renegade flying ninja back in the magic forest. Lothario suggested that Jackie—who wasn’t looking quite so fair after falling into the pit of the Marsh creature—hide behind some nearby bushes and learn from a master sales man about lying…er…carpets down.

That was just fine by Jackie. She didn’t particularly want to stand anywhere near Lothario—not after the stunt he pulled with the submarine. So the not-so-fair-at-the-moment Jackie hid, and Lothario rang the bell.

Cross my heart... the gory part.

“Fee, Fi, Foe, Fep. I smell the blood of a sales rep. Bugger off.” Came a terrible voice from within the castle.

Lothario rang the bell again. After all you didn’t get to be a Lothario, or Egg Carpet’s top Sale Rep (and thereby win the coveted Golden Egg Award five years running), by taking the first ‘no’ for an answer.

The door swung open and a giant, huge, humongous, very large Ogre of titanic proportions filled the threshold. He stood 3 leagues tall, his legs were the size of California redwoods, and his hands the size of something really, really big. He had three eyes, two ears, one nose, but really nice teeth. Gregory Ignatius Ant was a firm believer in good dental hygiene.

Lothario started his pitch. “I represent Egg Carpets—”

“See these?” Gregory leaned forward, his foul breath fouling the air, and bared his big beautiful white teeth in a fearsome grimace. “They can open any child-proof bottle, and I’ll use them to grind your bones to make my bread,” he growled. “Now f*ck off.”

(That was ‘No’ number two by the way, but who's counting?)

Not to be deterred, Lothario spied—-with his keen Lothario eye (honed to spot a shapely derriere at 20 paces)—-the marble tile in foyer. “I bet you find that marble cold on the feet,” he began, then looked down at the feet in question: two vaguely feet-shaped objects cover in peeling scales the colour of putrid green cheese, and smelling just as bad. Lothario pressed on. “Now if you laid an Egg Carpet down—”

Poor Lothario got no further, for big, mean old Mr. G.I. Ant, pounced on him and—-with a great gnashing of (Lothario’s), and grinding with (Gregory’s), teeth—-did rend Lothario limb from limb, in a frenzy of eating not seen since Fat Albert and Homer Simpson showed up at the All-you-can-eat restaurant on the same night. Blood was splattered everywhere! Gucci loafer chewed down to their wafer thin soles! Silk boxers? Garnish! And a $30,000.00 Armani suit shredded—-Oh, the humanity!

So nauseating was the sight that our poor fair Jackie gasped, giving away her presence to Gregory I. Ant, Esquire.

Cross my heart...the conclusion

“Who goes there?” the ogre demanded. “Fee, Fi, Foe, Faloma. I smell a female wearing Paloma.” Gregory swooped down on Jackie (the fair) and easily plucked her out of the bushes with hands the size of something really, really big. He looked her over three times, once for each eye. “I’ll grind your bones to warm my bed. My pretty.”

And with that he took our poor, screaming and terrified heroine deep into his lair/castle/manse, where he ground her with his big... uhm... cough, cough, bone, cough.... And she warmed his bed happily ever after, because fair Jackie found she liked the way he used his ...er...bone...for grinding and, uhm... other purposes. They exchanged hearts, vows and bodily fluids. Gregory pledged his throth, Jackie Windex’d hers.

And to make this a really happy ending Jackie was able to close the sale for enough carpet to cover every room at 123 Beanstalk Hill, and got a promotion as a result. (She also won the coveted Golden Egg that year.)

The End.