Message-ID: <44093asstr$1061809805@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: bookgirl Reply-to: bonkgirl@NO-SPAMyahoo.com X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-MIME-Autoconverted: from quoted-printable to 8bit by sara.asstr-mirror.org id h7P5tmYN027467 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 25 Aug 2003 15:53:37 +1000 Subject: {ASSM} A Fundamental Lesson On The Jerry Springer Show (M/F, parody, humor, kooky) Date: Mon, 25 Aug 2003 07:10:05 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, newsman (At just under 700 words, I forget whether or not this qualifies as flash fiction but that was my intention in writng this piece. Enjoy :) A Fundamental Lesson On The Jerry Springer Show (C) Copyright 2003, bookgirl, All rights reserved. Comments to bookgirl-mail@yahoogroups.com There was no mistaking where I was: Jerry Springer's name was stamped on everything from the doors in front of me to the clipboard of the young woman who had been marshalling the guests from the Green Room. A young woman, her demanding, forthright tone and urgent manner incongruous for a person who appeared to weigh less than a bag of sugar, concentrated on a voice in her headphones. Then, like Daniel being thrust into the lion's den, she slapped my bottom and with a "good luck, hon!" propelled me towards the stage. I must have looked like a startled rabbit, stumbling up the stairs onto the stage and then suddenly frozen by the glare of a hundred or more sets of eyes. Crazy eyes of depravity hungry voyeurs all hooting lewd remarks at the sight of me. My dress, conservative and unrevealing, suddenly felt gossamer thin and useless to deflect the mental undressing of me I sensed was occurring. "Hello Adrianna. Welcome." "Hello Jerry." My ears and neck burned with a hot flush of embarrassment. "So, what's this about butt plugs?" The question was asked with that typical Springer nonchalance. He couldn't have sounded more indifferent if he was asking about light bulbs or tennis racquets. I blushed more deeply and waited for the audience to stop chanting. "Butt plug! Butt plug!" "I don't know, Jerry." "You don't know?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "No, you must have me confused with somebody else." The lie made me acutely aware of the finger sized, plastic anal invader I was sitting on. "It says here..." he referred to his palm cards. "I'm a good girl!" "Butt plug! Butt plug!" The audience hooted hysterically. Springer squinted behind his glasses and grinned broadly, encouraging the crowd into a concerted chant. "Really? Then you're on the wrong show!" "Jer-ry! Jer-ry! Jer-ry!" The audience again bellowed between gales of laughter. "What are you doing here then?" Jerry instantly lapsed into his Father Confessor mode. The question seemed reasonable, especially considering the company I was with on stage. Beside me, a woman the size of a wheat silo groaned and grimaced before unleashing a thunderous fart. Her spindley-limbed male companion, oblivious to the uproar caused by the explosion from her fundamental orifice, dived head-first between her mammoth thighs and sniffed deeply like a connoisseur fine aromas savoring the smell of coffee beans. The audience responded with staccato sounds of dry retching. "I'm in love with Steve!" I declared. "Steve! Steve! Steve!" The audience honked. I looked at the handsome security man standing off to one side of the stage. I'm not sure which of us was blushing more: him or me. At that moment Miss Flatulence, like a half set jello decanting itself from a bowl, rose from her seat and waddled towards me. She seemed unaware of the flailing arms of Bean-Pole man, whose head was still wedged solidly between her thighs. "He's mine! Steve is mine!" She roared with such angry conviction the sound reverberated visibly through her body, stirring yet another tempest of rumbling farts. Steve immediately rushed to the stage but was too late to stop her puffy fingers grabbing hold of my dress. With a force proportional to her diesel locomotive size, she ripped the garment clean from my body as easily as a magician might pull a table cloth from under a vase of paper flowers. I leapt nakedly to my feet and hid behind Steve. Miss Bombay Bottom continued trying to thump me with her clubbed fists until Steve gave her a gentle push after which gravity sucked her hulking, boulder-sized body to the floor. Somewhere beneath the disheveled mound of alabaster flesh colored Buddha was Mr Fart Sniffer but nobody seemed concerned for his whereabouts. "I love you Steve!" I cooed, wrapping my arms around the muscled abdomen of my savior. I was momentarily lost in a sea of bliss. "I'm gay." Did I feel disappointed? Cheated? Yes. My fifteen minutes of fame vanished in the blink of an eye; an ignominous pixilated image of my butt plugged bum the only thing the viewers at home would have seen as I rushed off stage. -- ser-en-dip-i-ty (n) The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident. "You don't reach Serendip by plotting a course for it. You have to set out in good faith for elsewhere and lose your bearings serendipitously." - The Last Voyage Of Somebody The Sailor (The Sindbad Saga) http://profiles.yahoo.com/bonkgirl http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/bookgirl/www -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+