Serious note
: This story is 100% FICTION, you'll find out. All characters are 18+. Also I refrained from trying to transcribe Sofía Vergara's accent, but feel free to do it in your head.
=================================
Blown up blowup dolls.
Blown up condoms and their mystery stains from carpet to ceiling.
From ceiling down to the carpet, mists of glitter that smelled like sweat.
And cold fumes of ashtrays resting on hills of crushed sushi and absurd food and an infinity of red plastic cups as more makeshift ashtrays.
Junk.
More junk.
Then property damage from people they knew.
Then some hopeless scripts left here by aspiring writers they didn't.
Given this not-even-subtle sum-up of Los Angeles her living-room was right now, it's clear seriousness was never the theme of the 'M-F-ing parties' Ariel Winter had been throwing since
Modern Family
ended.
So as Sarah Hyland looked around, sprawled and hazed in this ravaged landscape, she realized her question ("So you really serious about it?") was quite the irony.
She had sent it toward another couch, most likely where Ariel was, hazed and sprawled, hidden behind a beeramid abandoned before it could be bowled down. Because yes, they had thrown everybody out early. That's how serious it was. They needed the talk. They needed a:
"Yes."
What Sarah was afraid to hear.
But she went along, ready to play the straight man although she was neither, propping up on an elbow and asking her friend over the beer cans: "Did you try it?"
"Not yet. I was waiting for you," Ariel said then rolled off and scrambled out of view, not waiting anymore.
Solely by ear, Sarah guessed she had managed to reach her office after many obstacles and traps. There, there were some rifling sounds, a few fumbling noises, then finally she heard a huge, long, loud crash of cardboard boxes, shelves, stacks of folders, souvenirs, breaking glass, cutlery and crockery, a cat running in fear and cursing suggesting regular intercourse with your mother.
But after this noisy demonstration of the laws of gravity, Ariel was quick to return to the living-room, now holding a small package like the Holy Grail.
"Three months of roaming the dark web; shady transactions; outrageous custom fees; and biting my fake nails waiting, but here it is, at last," she declaimed, flipping open a butterfly knife. She gutted the box in a fierce struggle with packing peanuts, plastic wrap and static electricity, and then brandished its content like Excalibur:
The Ronald Raygun 3000™.
They both chortled at the cheesy thing. Small, compact, intricately embroidered, laser-red and army-green; a prop straight out from 50's sci-fi. But it was way more than that. She inspected it, hefted it and, in a dash, pointed it at Sarah uttering a customary
Pew-Pew-Pew!
, which gave some more contrast to the seriousness of the evening.
Sarah sat up, serious. "Toss the manual."
She caught the booklet flying over the beeramid and began reading, leaving Ariel hopping and bouncing and
pew-pew-pew
ing around at imaginary UFOs.
"It's not FCC-approved," she pointed out, first and foremost.
"After tonight, my boobs won't be FCC-approved."
"You don't even know if it really works."
"It worked for Taylor Swift."
"Ari, for the last time, they're fake."
"Nuh-uh..."
Sarah sighed. "Can't you just let it go?"
"No! I want Sofía to pay! Now read the damn manual!"
"Alright... '
Thank you for buying the Ronald Raygun 3000™
'—what a fucking stupid name!"
"Skip to the bigger boobs instructions!"
"Calm your tits, there's no skipping, you need to '
Download the app available on
—'"
"Aw goddammit..." Ariel squatted on her hunkers and opened every pizza box around until she found her phone inside one of them. She wiped a slice of pepperoni and a cigarette butt off the screen and fired up the App Store.
After not reading the ToS, she read: "'
Enter desired bra-size.
' Let's say 32F for a start."
"That's what you used to be?"
She nodded, bitterly, then spoke in Sofía Vergara's accent:
"
Cut your boobs, honey! It'll change your life!
" She grunted and took back her real voice: "Not one audition in a year. Such a life-changing experience. Meanwhile she's the richest woman ever."
"I thought that was Taylor Swift."
"What's your deal with Taylor Swift?"
"But it's you who—"
"You have a crush on her or what?"
"Um... No... Mayb—"
"So, what do I do next?"
Sarah, who was studying the warranty guide, went back to page 4: "'
Remove all clothing from the body part you wish to enhance.
'"
And that's when the two girls eyeballed each other.
Despite her taste for skimpy clothes, Ariel had never shown herself to Sarah without any. Or vice versa.
But she shrugged, "Well... I made my bed..." and with a suspicious lack of hesitation, peeled off her halter top, which she wore braless, no surprise there, and soon was proudly and unsteadily standing in the middle of the ruins of the living-room.
"Ff-uck
meee
..." Sarah gasped, eyes as round as the double-Ds she was gawking at. "They're... You look like a Japanese cartoon! Why the hell you want to change them?"
"
Justice!
" she growled, this time imitating Batman (the 1997 version, the one with the nipples on the costume). "Now keep reading! Hurry up, it's cold in here, I can see your pokies."
"'
Aim the Ronald
blah-blah-blah
and pull the trigger until the beam shuts off by itself.
' The illustrations are so cute."
"Here!"
Sarah caught the raygun flying over the beeramid.
It was heavier than she would have thought, much like a real gun. Shit had gotten real serious.
"You sure you don't wanna try it on something before?" she said raising the piece toward Gustav the canary, joyfully flapping around in its cage by the window.
"Don't even think about it," Ariel said.
"Fine. Why is he so small though?"
"Well... he's been sick. Try it on...I dunno, try it on the jello shots."
Sarah got up and switched on the device. It whirred, a red laser beam appeared from the boresighter and a synthetic female voice announced "
All systems ready
," with a strange accent.
"It talks!"
She aimed the menacing red dot at a tray of (apparently) untouched jello shots, took a deep breath...and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Besides the jello flabbering in the cups, nothing happened.
And the explanation immediately came from the raygun itself, robochick saying: "
The Ronald Raygun 3000™ doesn't work on breast implants. Thank you for your purchase.
"
They shrugged then.
