WE PITCH HE-ROTIC FICTION

11:00 PM - THE COMPOUND

David C. Garcia stared intently at the television. There was a new episode of Lockup Raw on MSNBC. He bit his fingernails, nervously watching as an inmate at Corchran State Correctional Facility was dragged bloody and battered from his cell. “Prison,” David intently reflected, “That place rules.”

The pnuematic door slid open. It was Brandon J. Carr, co-founder of TSAT and the only other person alive (or dead) allowed into the compound. David noticed Brandon was sporting a bit of a chubby. A half-rection if you will. “Um. Nice half-boner, sport.”

“Dude!” Brandon panted, trying to catch his breath, “I just finished the first part of the greatest TSAT essay ever. Fucking ever!”

“Ever?” David was surprised by such a bold proclamation. “Even better than ‘This Kid’s Birthday Party is Retarded?’ Better than “Truthbusters: Cow Tipping?”

“Absolutely! This essay will destroy those other essays’ balls. Check it.” Brandon’s chubby was almost a full-on. He began to read it aloud:

The room was lit with the soft glow of the television. From the flat, gigantic screen, Arnold looked more menacing than ever hunting his alien prey. I was leaned back on the couch gripping a Chipotle burrito in one hand and my iPhone in the other as I texted David about how great my burrito was. Also, there was a girl flossing with my boner. As she worked her magic mouth around my meat mastodon, I reflected on what an awesome movie Predator is. I had the volume turned up pretty loud to drown out the gross gagging noises. I looked down at the girl bobbing in my lap and mused on what a romantic night it was. The candle I lit in the bathroom had long since gone out, but I could still feel its seductive power at the back of the girl’s throat. “Grrmmbblletrrm” she said around my penis. I nodded because I listen when women talk.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow your roll there, Nancy boy.” David slapped Brandon across the face. “Sorry, man, but you were about to go somewhere no man ever need go.”

“What? What do you mean?” Brandon rubbed his face, not quite sure why David had pimp-slapped him.

“Listen, don’t get me wrong. That was brilliant. Your heart was all there, but you lost my interest when the girl started to talk.” David took a deep breath. “Here’s the deal. When I heard you reading that beautiful, factual prose, I knew we had something wonderful. The Google ad revenue is not where it needs to be, and TSAT is on the verge of bankruptcy. The essays just aren’t generating the kind of revenue we need. I don’t see how we are going to pay for the sliding door and the robot security guards that dispense Diet Coke.”

“What are you saying?” He looked like a bitch with David’s hand print on his face.

“What I am saying is…”

9:30 PM, TWO WEEKS LATER - National Organization for Women (NOW) Headquarters

David and Brandon had infiltrated a NOW fundraising event. Standing before several handsome-looking women, Brandon and David were sure that their huge moustaches would undoubtedly earn the respect of the ladies they were going to be pitching their idea to.

“All right, ladies,” David said stroking his ’stache. “Are you ready to hear….Dude, Brandon, these bitches aren’t listening.”

“HEY” Brandon clapped his hands “Ladies! Men talking here.”

The group of feminist organizers turned around. They looked appalled/excited to hear Brandon and David’s revolutionary pitch.

“Thank you ever so much for your attention,” David said as honestly as he could fake it. “I know you ladies have a hard time paying attention to anything for more than a few minutes, so we will make this quick.”

A few women tried to walk away, but Brandon put his arm out, blocking their exit.

“All right,” David took a deep breath and continued. “You women are always going on about rights and equality.” David did air quotes when he said “rights” and equality” as he dropped knowledge on his listeners. “But as you fight for your rights to equal wages and voting and not having to walk behind us men-folk, you fail to acknowledge that our rights are being ignored. What rights? Our rights to appealing romance novels. Like productive males, we have gone ahead and written several in the past two weeks and are prepared to even the playing field. So if you will, try and control your chatter for a moment and let us share with you a sample of our MANuscripts.”

Brandon cleared his throat and began reading from MANuscript number one, “I Teach Stupid Girls.”

“Okay, class,” the generic-looking man said to the class. The classroom was filled with teenage girls, each busting out of her partially-unbuttoned shirt. “Who wants to tell me what one plus one is?” Cheerleader, a blonde one, stood up, her breasts dancing like happy midgets in her tight shirt. She raised her hand, which made her shirt fall off. “Koala.” She giggled, making her skirt drop to the floor.

The teacher, who was wearing a tie, said “No, that’s wrong. You know what has to happen now.” Cheerleader looked scared and wet and started having lots of sex with the teacher as he continued his lesson. One by one, the girls got the answers really, really wrong. By the time the bell rang at the end of class, the teacher was buried in a writhing whoremound by the chalkboard.

“Hold up, Brandon. It looks like one of the women couldn’t control her stupid excitement and barfed all over the floor.” David procured a handkerchief, and the pukey lady reached for it. David slapped her hand away. “Not for you, babe. Brandon worked up a bit of a sweat reading that. Here you go, guy. Good job!”

“Thanks, David. I’m surprised the floor around these ladies is still dry.”

“Huge maxi-pads, dude. HUGE, GIGANTIC maxi pads. Like no moisture can get through those things. But trust me, these bitches want us real bad. Let’s read ‘em another.”

Brandon cleared his throat again and began reading from MANuscript two, “Dusk.”

The light of at least a thousand candles filled the crypt. “My name is Twilight,” said the vampire, lowering the big-breasted victim woman onto a pile of nachos. “We’re going to take turns sucking each other. Because I have fangs and drink blood and you’re going to blow me while I chow down on these nachos you’re laying on.” The victim woman moaned with delight and tore off all her clothes with one motion. She was about to say something when Twilight put his hand over her mouth. “Shhhhhh…no talky. Let’s put those lips to better use.”

“Oh my god. I just got a total boner reading that, David.” Brandon handed the full script to one of the secretaries or nurses or teachers who were listening. “Take this. Get it to your boss or something. I’m sure he’ll handle the publishing of this efficiently and without question.”

“Good job to us, Brandon,” David proclaimed. They high-fived each other.

“True, dat, David. Let’s move on to the next erotic adventure.”

Brandon once more cleared his throat and began reading from the third MANuscript, “True Romance (Not The Movie)”.

This was a special night. This was the first time I’d seen her since she left for Iraq. Now she was back in the country and I’d missed her so much. Smooth jazz was playing on the tape player as I waited for her to come home. “I wonder what she’ll think of all these rose petals everywhere,” I wondered. I had spent most of the time she was gone learning how to make her favorite dish, pasta, and was almost done making it when I heard a knock at the front door. It had to be her. She’d been gone so long, but I knew the sound of those soft knuckles on the hard wood of my door. I opened the door and there she was. She was naked, so we immediately fucked. Then she went back to Iraq. I love this relationship.

“Yeah. I know, ladies. There’s Danielle Steele, and then there’s David C. Garcia and Brandon J. Carr.” Brandon tossed the MANuscript for “True Romance (Not The Movie)” on the floor and gestured at one of the attending housekeepers/NOW members to pick it up.

“Indeed, Brandon. Men once again prove that romance is a language best served awesome.” David smacked Suzy Homemaker on the butt and winked at her. “And just to let you females know, we will be writing under the pen names of Brandon B. Boners and David D. Dongslapper.” David tossed the next masterpiece to Brandon, which he, of course, caught because he is a man.

Brandon B. Boners’ throat was already clear from last time as he moved on to MANuscript four, “BEST APARTMENT EVER.”

Danny Tanner hated work real bad, but that wasn’t the only reason he loved coming home at the end of the day. Danny Tanner had the BEST APARTMENT EVER. He got home one day after a long day of doing whatever his job is and plopped down on Lucy, the naked woman who was his easy chair. She didn’t groan under his weight, but instead moaned a little. He propped his feet up on Dorothy, the coffee table. She smiled, happy to be of use. He started watching his TV, which was always tuned to the girl-on-girl channel because his TV was Sophia and Blanche, who made out all the time on top of Rose, the TV stand. This got him really excited, so he started nailing the coffee table.

“I know you women are usually face-deep in the crotches of your respective breadwinners, asses pointed at the TV but not obstructing your owner’s…I mean provider’s view, when Nick at Nite is on. So, just to let you know, the names of all the characters in that story come from characters in older television shows. We were going to name the protagonist of that particular romance novel Corey Feldman, but we figured we’d pay poor Bob Sagat the respect he deserved after he was forced to play the role of the only productive member of a nearly all-woman household during the 80s. At least now, Danny Tanner gets to put the ladies in his home to good use.”

“Absolutely, David.” Brandon said puffing up his chest. “Us men rarely get the respect we deserve. I think these books will do a great deal for men’s rights. All right, ladies. One more and then we’ll let you get back to doing whatever it is that you do. Probably something that you think deserves respect. Whatever.” He began reading from the final MANuscript in his stack, “Sci-Fuck.”

Laser Blasterbeam walked onto the bridge of the spaceship. He surveyed his busty crew, nodding in approval. He walked over to the nacho-and-burrito dispenser and pushed the buttons that would create for him a nacho burrito. “Living in the future is awesome,” he said. A robot agreed by bleeping. Laser Blasterbeam looked down at the erection altering the shape of his spacepants. “It is a shame that boners in the future never go away.” Sextara, the helmswoman who was from the alien species Perfecta, walked over with a look in her eyes like “Oh, not THAT much of a shame.” She didn’t say this aloud because aliens of the species Perfecta don’t have mouths on their faces, just vaginas. Laser Blasterbeam took advantage of this without even taking his spacepants off. She giggled vaginally. Another crew member, Boobs, of the species Boobs bounced over. She was, as you might imagine, made of two gigantic boobs and nothing more than the connective tissue between them. She was obviously upset about something, not that Laser Blasterbeam cared, and she got up in his face. Because he knew she had a sense of humor, he spacemotorboated her for an hour. Afterwards, Laser Blasterbeam instructed his crew to fly the ship to Cumtron 12, a planet comprised of women he wanted to spacefuck. He pointed out Cumtron 12 on the huge viewscreen with his neverending erection.

“Brandon! Brandon, dude!” David gestured at two hulking women dressed in blue approaching. “Get the books back from these crazy women. It looks like one of them called security.”

“True.” Brandon snatched up the books the women had thrown into a trashcan. “These women have no idea what they have done. They are absolute man-haters.”

“No shit, man!” David ducked as the burly/furry fem-guard took a swing at his face with her beefy knuckles. “We need to get these books to Lifetime where we can pitch these things as TV movies.”