Cover Girl

Carl and Kate met on one of those game shows. You know the kind, the one where a pretty girl sits behind a curtain and chooses one of three men based on questions that don’t actually matter, such as, “What is your favorite ice cream?” It was his love for Rocky Road that won her over.

Carl wasn’t a very attractive man. He was short, pale, balding, and had too much hair in all the wrong places. He was thirty-three and still living with his parents, which is probably why he had a tendency to be extremely awkward around the opposite sex. In fact, he had never even been on an actual date. The only reason he got chosen to go on the show in the first place was because one of the contestants got the stomach flu five minutes before the show started. He ran off the set excreting from both ends.

Being the first person he saw, Carl was approached on 5th Avenue by a panicky producer. He reluctantly agreed to participate. Carl was promised a hundred dollars, some coupons from the sponsors, along with the possibility of a date and a free meal if he was the lucky bachelor that got chosen.

Kate on the other hand was in it solely for the notoriety. She had done a couple of dating shows like this in the past, in her futile attempt to get herself recognized. Physically, Kate was manufactured from head to toe. She was a twenty-six year old who didn’t look a day older than fourty-two. Her hair, skin, and eyes were no longer their natural color. Why should they be? Pale brunettes don’t get the magazine covers. She was now a bleach blonde with orange skin and blue eyes. This was all necessary, of course, to fulfilling her dream. She was hoping by going on this game show that someone would discover her “beauty” and she would skyrocket to superstardom.

After Carl was chosen and revealed to Kate, it took all of her artistic prowess to fake being excited. The other two contestants were tall, dashing, and chiseled. The type of guys you see in underwear and cologne ads. Either one of them would have been the perfect accessory to completing Kate’s look. However, one of them chose chocolate (too bland and unoriginal) while the other said the flavor didn’t matter as long as he was licking it off her stomach (no, I’m not kidding). After the show they were immediately whisked off to Epicerie Charbon, a fancy French bistro on the lower east side.

Carl was extremely anxious but determined not to screw things up. He did everything the movies tell you to: he made sure to walk a little bit faster than her so he could always open the door for her and he made sure to pull the chair out for her when they were seated in the main dining room. The room in which they were seated was filled with luxurious oil paintings depicting the French landscape. They were outlined by bright red walls, while a statue of Jean le Ron D’Alembert in the far right corner completed the ambience.

Carl wished he had known anything about Jean le Ron D’Alembert, as that would have led to some sort of conversation. You see, being on his first real date, Carl had no idea what to say or do. So, instead of saying anything, he just sat there, shoveling food into his mouth. First it was the intoxicatingly fresh whole-grain baguettes, followed by a lobster smothered in warm butter sauce. Kate ordered a salad. Although what she ordered didn’t really matter; she’d be throwing it up shortly thereafter. How else could she keep her figure?

Since the tab was covered by the production company, Kate and Carl decided to order the most expensive wine available, a 1943 Red Romanee Conti. Perhaps it was due to a bit too many glasses of complimentary wine, or Kate somehow found Carl’s timidity alluring, but after they left the restaurant, Kate invited Carl back to her place. After a short taxi ride that consisted mainly of Carl trying to figure out how this was even happening as Kate reapplied more eye shadow (you can never wear too much), they managed to find their way to her apartment door.

After stumbling inside, they locked their glazed eyes and discovered each other’s loneliness and desires. He wanted to reach out, to tuck her hair behind her ear. He wanted to cup the side of her face into the palm of his hand while meeting his lips with hers. He wanted to taste her. Unfortunately, a sharp pain in his stomach brought him back to reality. He figured it was just due to anxiety. He was paralyzed.

Luckily for Carl, Kate did find his timidity alluring. She stepped in closer, keeping her eyes locked onto his. At that moment, the outside world seemed to slip away as they synchronized their drunken breaths. She pulled him close, gently sliding her tongue over his chapped lips before pressing her warm lips against his. Kate began pulling off her shirt and Carl took this as a cue to do the same. Their pants came off next and before Carl knew it, he was flailing about on top of her, his hairy stomach pulsating with each thrust.  He had no idea what he was doing; all he knew was that it felt great.

Sweat dripped from his oily pores as his pale white silhouette became one with her fake bronzed figure. This is when the pain in Carl’s stomach returned, much worse than before. However, at this point his anxiety had already subsided, meaning there was only one reasonable explanation: the lobster.

It must have been strange for Carl, experiencing the most euphoric feeling known to man at the same moment bacteria from rancid bits of undigested lobster tore apart his insides. He could only manage a few more thrusts through the immense pain but that was all he needed to release the quick burst of cloudy white fluid. The miniature seizure of pleasure that followed was just enough to relax his abdominals and sphincter. As he tried to pull out and turn towards the door, there was no way to prevent the sewage from spilling out of his intestines. The white undigested bits of lobster escaped their living prison, all over the woman beneath him. She opened her mouth to scream as she was showered with the brown, murky, intestinal juices.

The only thing worse than the horrific stench was the taste.

Had you not known it had just come from a grown man’s insides, it would have looked rather delicious. It looked as though someone had melted chocolate ice cream all over her fake-bronzed flesh and sprinkled white marshmallow goodness on top.

The last image Kate had of Carl was of him running out of her apartment door naked, covering his lobster-spewing anus with both hands. She never found out how he made it home that night.  All that remains of that night are a few brown stains that still won’t come out of her (unfortunately) white carpet and the gag reflex that automatically triggers whenever she thinks about Rocky Road ice cream.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment