True Tales of Shocking Horror: I Dated a Rocky Horror Cast Member
Stacy turned. “Oh, hey Swami!” she said.
I caught a look at Brad’s picture frame as Stacy turned.
It was a nude photo of Stacy, looking back over her shoulder. There was something else to I but I couldn't see, since Brad swiftly turned the photo side away from me.
“Uh…” I motioned to the frame. “What’s that?”
“It’s just a going-away present.” Stacy said. “Don’t freak out, it’s no big deal. You weren’t supposed to see it.”
"Can I see it?" I asked.
"No, this is private." Michael said.
"Show him the fucking picture, Mike." Stacy said.
Brad turned the photo around. Stacy wasn't just nude; she had what I assumed to be a bright red butt plug-like thing crammed into a very uncomfortable place, with the "Rocky Horror" lips on the non-anally-inserted end, facing the camera. She had signed the photo "XXX, JANET".
"Jesus fucking christ!" I said, mouth agape.
“If you tell Mark about this I’ll fucking kill you.” Brad said.
“What?” I said.
Stacy sighed. “He’s talking about Mark, my boyfriend. He’s jealous.”
“But I thought I was your boyfriend?”
“What’s so fucking funny?”
“I was going to tell you eventually!” Stacy said.
“Tell me WHAT? What the fuck is going on here?”
“I dunno, I like too many men so I usually have more than one boyfriend. Guys are always into it anyway, who even cares? What’s the big deal? I’m 22, I can’t be with just ONE guy.” she said.
“Okay, I’m gonna just walk away from this right now.”
“What a fucking prude, why do you even like this guy?” Brad said.
I stormed out the front, down the stairs. Apparently the girls in the theater had been eavesdropping and were laughing like crazy.
“Laugh it up, you skanks!” I said.
One of them stopped laughing briefly to inform me that I was one of FOUR regular boyfriends Stacy kept, like some kind of harem. The other three were cast members; Stacy was apparently some kind of Queen Bee who acted as a nuclear Drama generator, and she had several casualties among “the mundanes”, of which I was the latest, much to the delight of her many spectators.
As for me, the notion of putting Swami Jr. into a place whose sanctity had been befouled by so many obnoxious clowns made the sick feeling I had before return. I went home, downed about half a bottle of vodka, and the next morning immediately drove to the emergency room and paid for an STD test. It came up clean, something I dropped to my knees for and thanked whatever deity was clearly looking out for me.
“That’s it. I’m never dating anyone crazy ever again.”
That statement put me at #1 with a bullet on the wrong chart.
That concludes this week's Comedy Goldmine. Tune in next week, when I earn more hate mail by telling everyone just how much I despise people who are fanatically obsessed with Tori Amos. Won't that be fun?