Fictionrotica's Contest Scandal

The events and characters of this story are figments of my imagination. Truly, I have no idea where I get this shit. I need help.

Should someone see themselves as characters in this story, it's either a huge coincidence on my part or guilt and shame on your part. Yet, for those who are truly shameful and guilty, don't despair, oh miserable ones. God is saving a special place for you, one that is much darker than your personality and more deeply disturbed than your thoughts.

*

Whenever I can, I promise, I'll drop you down some ice. Only, by the time it reaches the depths where your soul remains in burning eternity, the ice may turn to boiling hot steam. In that case, I'll send you extra ice...and you thought your stories were hot. Give my regards to Dante, to all the Popes of the Catholic Church, who took pennies from the poor to build the glistening gold of Vatican City, and to all of our political public servants. I'd wear sunscreen and bring marshmallows if I were you.

"Honey, where are you?"

"I'm up here in Edna's room."

Jean leaned over the banister and looked up to confirm her worst fears.

"Get out of her room. She'll know you were snooping."

"I'm being careful, Honey, don't worry. I'm wearing rubber gloves, taking digital photos, and writing down everything that I touch, just like the police do at a crime scene so that I can move everything back the way that it was before she gets home."

Jean took a step up the stairs. She had not gone this far up the stairs and this close to her daughter's room in 5 years; since her daughter bought a computer and lost her mind to the Internet and to the decorum pages of Fictionrotica.

"What if she comes home and catches you? She almost killed you with that sparking knife the last time."

"I told you before, Jean, that wasn't a sparking knife. It was an electric dildo that she uses to pleasure herself."

"If only she'd get a boyfriend," her mother said collapsing and sitting on the third step. "Surely, there is someone for everyone, even her."

"Well, part of her problem is cheese doodles."

"Cheese doodles, what do you mean, cheese doodles?"

"Come up here Jean and I'll show you."

"But, I'm afraid, John. What if she comes home? I don't want to have to call the police and have her committed again."

"Nah, I saw her take her cape. She'll be gone for hours."

"Which cape did she take the black one with I'm Fat, I'm Ugly, and I'm Angry, So Don't Fuck With Me in big, white letters on the back or the red one with our address on it incase she gets lost again and forgets where she lives, 2 Bongo Lark Lane?"

"She took the BongoLark II cape."

"Okay, then, she's out with her friends RedMadOldMaid, ReallyHateMen, Barkers, AbbraKadbrica and that new, arrogant, bossy and mean woman, Maureen Wynnde. They'll be gone for hours."

"But, I thought she was going by the name ShortFusedAndNasty."

"It appears that she goes by dozens of names, but BongoLark II is her new identity. She has 99,000 posts to this one web site alone. She must sit at this computer 24/7 to post so much. The poor thing must be so lonely and miserable, but she's become such a good typist. I can't believe she's still a virgin."

"Virgin? Of course she's a virgin. Who the Hell would fuck her? Come up here because you're not going to believe this."

Jean carefully climbed the steps one at a time, crossing herself while praying to God as she ascended the steps.

"Oh, my God, John, what's all that?" She said standing in the doorway and staring in the room.

"Cheese doodles. They're everywhere."

"But, she said she was on a diet." Her mother fell back against the doorframe to support herself and stepped on a cheese doodle. "Crunch! She said she was losing weight. She told me that she was down to 200 pounds."

"You're going to have to cleanup that squished cheese doodle, Honey, or she'll know we were up here. Also, look to see if you can still read the number."

"Number?"

"All the cheese doodles are pre-numbered with cheese flavored pen."

"This one is 42,090, I think."

"Okay, get me a fresh one from one of the open cheese doodle bags and I'll number it and toss it on the floor with all the others."

"Here," said Jean handing him the cheese doodle.

"She's been hiding food up here," John said looking at his wife with tears in his eyes. "She's still weighs 400 pounds."

"How do you know what she weighs when we haven't seen her in two years?"

"Look at the cattle scale, there's a permanent mark where the needle hits."

"Oh, my God, 401. My poor little girl," said Jean beginning to silently sob.

"Don't kid yourself, Jean. Your little girl is not so little nor is she poor."

"What do you mean, John?"

"I've been going through her e-mails. She's been rigging and winning contests on this Fictionrotica site for years with the help of her friends and has been writing to some guy called Gymsoxlicker."

"She has a boyfriend, named Jim?"

"I certainly hope this is not our future son-in-law," he said moving from the computer screen so that his wife could see the photo. "It's a photo of him licking dirty gym socks."

"Ewww! Who are these people, John?"

"They're all sickos and whackos. And I'm been reading some of her hot mail," said her father. "Listen to this one she wrote to RedMadOldMaid. I hate that Bostonfictionwriter. He's been leading the Fictionrotica's Great Divider Contest since February and I'm going to get him."

"Bostonfictionwriter," said Jean, "I remember him; he's that nice young man who was in the newspaper again recently for saving another baby from another burning building."

"Yeah, well, anyway, Jean, it appears that our daughter hates the guy and is plotting to steal the 2007 Fictionrotica Great Divider Contest from him by writing dozens of 750 word stories under the name of BongoLark II with the help of her friends."

"That's terrible and that's cheating. See, it says here that according to the rules on Fictionwrotica, you must write all the submissions yourself and not as a group activity. Now, that explains why she was able to write so many stories in 10 weeks. Why would they do that to such a nice young man? Poor Bostonfictionwriter. He's so swell."

"I think I found the reason. Listen to the hot mail that she sent to Maureen Wynnde who works at the site. Well, Freddie turned down my offers for sex again. He told me that he couldn't afford the cases of whip cream that he would need to buy to cover my fat body. I told him that I would split the cost, but he never responded."

"Yeah, I basically got the same rejection for sex from the e-mail that I sent him. He told me that he didn't do mean and nasty women. Imagine that bastard calling me mean and nasty. Who the Hell does he think he is? I'm nothing but nice and kind. If he was here now, I'd set him on fire and watch him burn. And I'd pour more gasoline on him every time he cried for mercy."

"Gees, Maureen that is a bit mean and nasty, don't you think? Anyway, I just found out that Freddie wants to build a clubhouse for all the poor children that he has saved from burning buildings, speeding cars, and ice pond drowning with the prize money from winning the contest. I don't know about you, but I hate children as much as I hate men and as much as I hate people for that matter."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I hate people, too. People suck. You can count on me. I will help you in any way that I can, BongoLark II."

To be continued...