Based on a true story. No, really.
It was just a normal, fiery, sulphurous, torturous day in the bowels of hell for Satanic Club 7. Everyone was doing their own thing (Tina prostituting herself to Satan’s minions, Bradley trying to look gangsa-y and hard, Hannah bouncing around and squealing, and Jon trying to chat up Paul. You don’t want to know what Rachael and Jo were doing.) All was well, until Jon turned his conversation with Paul from lubricants to something altogether more disturbing for Paul.
” Hey Paul sweetie,” Jon squeaked, “You’re getting a bit tubby there.” He poked Paul in the stomach teasingly.
“WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!” Paul yelled, examining his stomach, which had a tiny layer of flab over it.
“Oh, you know I don’t mind,” simpered Jon, “I like some love handles to grab hold of. But you know how it is. If you get even the teeniest bit fat and the tabloids print nasty stories about you, fans boo you, you get dropped from your record label and women no longer want to have your babies.”
”Since when have you been bothered about women?” Paul said suspiciously, “You’ve been gay since the age of-“
”SSHHHH!!!!” Jon hissed, “You wanna get me fired? I can still squeeze a few more years out of pretending to be straight, then I can announce that I’m gay to further my solo career and get the sympathy vote. Just like Steven Gately!”
”Jon.” Paul said quietly. “It’s easy to tell that you’re gay.”
WHAT??????????” Jon squealed in horror. “I thought I hid it well!”
”Yeah, whatever.” Muttered Paul. “Y’know, you could consider taking off that Pride T shirt. And if you’re gonna carry lubricant, make sure it’s fully in your pocket.”
Jon ran away sobbing, threatening to get his “friend” Lorenzo to tie him down and whip him for insulting him.
.Jon sighed and examined his stomach. Was he really that fat? In normal person’s terms he was perfectly normal, but in pop star’s terms he looked like the goodyear blimp.
”OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!!!!!!!!” Paul yelled, running towards the girls. “I’m FAT!!!!!”
Rachael and Jo looked up from making out with each other.
”You’re fine, Paul.” They said in unison. Then they turned their attentions back to each other.
”CAN I HELP?!?!?!?!?” Hannah squeaked, bouncing up to Paul as if she had a pogo stick jammed up her arse.
”Hannaaaaaaaaaaahhhh…” Paul moaned between sobs, “I’m faaaaaaaaaaat…I’m gonna diiiiiiieeee…….”
”OH. OKAY!” Hannah beamed and bounced away to annoy someone else. Paul sobbed even more. Could nobody help him?
”Sucky sucky 5 dollar!” Tinal yelled from the other side of a lake of sulphur.
”Tinaaaaaaaa….” Paul whined, “I’m FAAAAAAAAAAATT!!”
”No! You don’t understand! I’m faaaaaaaaat…”
”Oh, I see. Well in that case, it’s 45 bucks. I’m not a machine, y’know”
Paul felt hopeless. There was only one person left, and that was-
”What is going up, my homo?” Bradley said in his best gangsta voice. It sounded like Julian Clary on helium.
”Bradley,” Paul sniffed, “I’m faaaaaaaaaaaat…”
”Oh, I see.” Bradley replied. “I suggest you see Satan about this. Only he has the power to-*ahem*, I mean, word is up g-dogg, I is telling you to speak with the masta. He’ll help. Um, pimpin’ ain’t easy etcetera.” He then stuck a “joint” (grass clippings rolled up in a piece of paper) in his mouth and “smoked” it (sucked on it until he choked.) Paul dragged his bawling carcass to Satan’s headquarters.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
”Um….Mr Satan sir…?” Paul said timidly as he knocked on the huge ornate carved doors of Satan’s quarters.”
“ENTER.” Satan boomed, menacingly. Paul opened the door nervously and slipped in.
”OH, IT’S YOU.” Satan said after trying to figure out which one of the 147’7564’289 pop puppets this one was. “GOOD AFTERNOON, MRS BECKHAM.”
”My…my name’s Paul.” Paul whimpered.
”OH.” Satan said, squinting at Paul. “SO IT IS. I THOUGHT YOU WERE TOO LARDY TO BE THE POSH ONE ANYWAY…”
As soon as he heard this, Paul burst into tears.
“UMM…THERE THERE.” Satan said awkwardly, placing a huge cloven hoof on Paul’s shoulder. “WHAT’S THE MATTER?”
”I’m…*sniff*…I’m faaaaaaaaaat…”
”EASILY FIXED” Satan boomed, grabbing a tape from the shelves full of cassettes behind him “HAVE A SUBLIMINAL WEIGHT LOSS TAPE. YOU’LL LOOK LIKE POSH SPICE IN NO TIME!”
”Umm…thanks…” Paul muttered, wondering if this was a good or bad thing. “I didn’t think this kind of thing was possible…”
”WHY DO YOU THINK ALL THIS POP SHIT SELLS?” Satan grinned, “I PUT SUBLIMINALS IN ALL THE SONGS TO SELL MORE RECORDS. HOWEVER, I MADE A FEW SPECIAL ONES FOR, UM…” He scooted a copy of “Oops I did it again” with the words “Impotence Cure” On it with his foot. “PESONAL USE.” He handed Paul the tape. “IT’S THE VENGABOYS “WE LIKE TO PARTY.” YOU’LL BE THIN AGAIN IN NO TIME!”
”Wow! Thanks Mr Prince of Darkness sir!” Paul grinned as he sped out the door.
”No probs…” Satan muttered as he went in search of his impotence tape.
”Po eh-oh!” Bradley yelled retardedly at Paul when he returned.
”What the hell…?” Paul muttered as he noticed Bradley was listening to a walkman. “Gimme that!” He snatched the walkman from Bradley and examined the tape inside.
”Brad-ey!” Bradley gurgled, “Brad-ey listen tooh rap! Brad-ey talk like gangsta!”
Paul saw that Bradley must have been trying to learn Ebonics from a rap tape. However, there were two problems.
1)It was one of Satan’s, so it was full of subliminals about the Teletubbies, and
2) The tape in question was “Aaron’s party” by Aaron Carter. Even so, Aaron’s more of a homie than Bradley’ll ever be…
Paul threw the tape into a nearby lake of fire, causing Bradley to wail something about Tubby Custard. He then shoved his own tape in and slouched off to a dark corner to listen.
END PART ONE
Mail dacruncha@hotmail.com
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