Limpidity

Title: Boo-Fucking-Hoo

Author: Kendra
Pairing: Elijah/Orlando, Sean B./Viggo
Rating: R
Contact: kendravision@yahoo.com
Second chapter of “Limpidity.”

Author’s Notes: This is badfic. But in a good way ™.

“Shiny Happy People” is by R.E.M. I love R.E.M. Just not that song.

Feedback: Send it! Send it!

BOO-FUCKING-HOO

“YOU SLUT!” A voice wailed, reverberatinrougrough the house that Orlando Bloom, Elijah Wood, Sean Bean, and Viggo Mortensen all shared--for no other reason than it’s convenient for the author.

A boyish figure sat in the darkened living room, moping in front of a computer screen. “Who the fuck is that boyish figure??” Elijah said. “Oh yeah, I guess it’s supposed to be me. God, I’m reallck ock of being a boyish figure. It’s getting old.” He sighed, and went back to staring, and scowling at the screen.

“Look at him. Look at him,” he muttered in disgust. But even disgusted, he still managed to look like an impish sprite.

“Shut up. I’m sick of all this boyish impish sprite woodland creature crap.”

As another in a series of photos appeared on the screen, Elijah’s eyes widened in shock, taking up his whole face and swallowing up his nose and mouth. . His nose and mouth weren’t even visible anymore. That’s how much his eyes widened.

“Look at him, dry-humping Liam Neeson ! He looks like he’s shimmying up an oak tree!

“God!” the moppet moaned. “It just goes on and on! I had no idea……” with each click of the mouse, picture after scandalous picture appeared. “You trollop!! You harlot!! you hussy!! you slattern!! You……you…..person of loose morals!!” Elijahs’ tiny nostrils would have been seriously flaring, if you could see his nose and mouth.

There it all was, graphically displayed. Orlando, petting ponies, canoodling with cats, dalliancing with dogs. Orlando, embracing Eric Bana, hugging Heath Ledger, bandying with Brad Pitt, cooing at Colin Farrell, cuddling Colin Firth. Orlando, chewing on Charlize Theron, jumping Johnny Depp, jacking off Jeremy Irons, groping Garry Shandling, fondling Farrah Fawcett, pleasuring Peter ‘O Toole, heating up Hugh Jackman……..

Orlando, thumb-wrestling Chuck Norris…..

Chuck Norris??

“The final insult! Slut! Slut! Slut! Slut!” Elijah shouted at the screen. He hung his tousled head wearily. Well, as weary as a tousled, boyish, impish sprite can look.

“Stop calling me that. It’s old,” he muttered, then sighed heavily.

“I guess the rose is off the Bloom.”

As if on cue, a key turned in the lock and a startlingly beautiful but equally startlingly badly-dressed young man came through the door, carrying groceries in an all-natural fiber tote bag. Elijah whirled in his chair and glared at him, his huge eyes shooting fiery arrows at him. Arrows that did not miss their mark.

“Ouch!” Orlando winced. “What are you shooting fiery arrows at me this time for?? Christ, they’ve even penetrated my ill-fitting double knit polyester plaid jacket! And where did your nose and mouth go?”

“Oh, they’re here, all right, you…you… dirty, low down………plaid wearing…thumb-wrestler!!” Elijah spat.

“What on earth are you on about, Lijy?” the silky-lashed, luxurious-haired, taut and toned man asked. Then he caught sight of the computer screen, and jumped a little.

“All I see is a startlingly beautiful, raven-haired man,” Orli remarked. “With the cutest, daintiest lips. And the biggest, brownest eyes. And the creamiest olive skin….almost guacamole-ean…who is he?? How can I meet him??’

“Orlando, you cunt, that’s YOU! Stop looking at your own goddamn reflection in the screen, and look at that picture right there, in front of you!!”

“Oh. Oh, that.” He blinked his long lashes rapidly.

Peering closely at the damning thumb-wrestling evidence, Orli laughed nervously

“Now come on, Lij! that is so obviously a photo manipulation. Look, look at my elbow in the picture. MY elbow is a lot sharper and pointier than that. And look at the nipples. MY nipples are the size of dinner plates. You could serve a whole cunting Cornish game hen on one of my nipples. Remember? Remember that night we tried?”

“Orli, stop talking about Cornish game hens and listen to me: Are you cheating on me or not?? And if you’re cheating on me with cunting ‘Walker, Texas Ranger,’ then I swear there’s a special circle of hell reserved for you!!”

“I am NOT cheating on you! Just because I dry-hump, canoodle, cavort, squeeze, fondle, snog, pet, climb on, nuzzle and thumb-wrestle with everyone I meet, doesn’t mean anything!”

Then Orlando’s eyes misted, as he appeared lost in a fond memory.

“There was that puppy in Malta, though….now she was something else……”

Elijah slumped back into his chair miserably. Tears began to spout from his enormous azure eyes. So many, they could irrigate a field. His tiny nose began to run. It couldn’t irrigate a field though. Because that’s just disgusting. How could you even think of that?? Stop it!!

“Boo-hoo…..boo-hoooo……boo-hooo-hooooooooooooo,” He cried, small shoulders quaking. “You’re leaving me for a…for…a…..Maltese mongrel! Boo-hoo-o!” o!”

Orlando came over and squeezed the small quaking shoulder. “Lij,” he said softly. “Now, I thought we had broken you of your hideous, cartoon-character crying. Remember that man who came over? And gave you crying lessons? We paid him a right pretty penny, if I remember.”

“You MADE me take crying lessons…” Elijah sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I was perfectly happy with the way I—I---oh, boo-hoo-hoo-hooo!”

“Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!” Orli winced, covering his beautiful ears. Even Orlando’s ear lobes were sublime. Not that you could see them now, because his hands were squashed over them. “God, stop that Loony-Toons boo-hooing! It’s shameful!”

“BOO!! HOO!!” Lij shouted in his face.

Sniffling, he got up and trudged to the kitchen table, where Orli had set the natural-fiber bag.

Elijah dug through the bag, dropping items on the table in disgust. Vegan nut loaf.. Seaweed Helper. Wheat-free, flour-free, bread-free bread……..

“How the FUCK can they make cheese without any dairy products??” Elijah said, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, “ Orlando said eagerly,
“It’s texturized vegetable protein! With a healthy dash of guar gum.”

“YUCKO.” Elijah pronounced. “I can’t eat anything that has to have texture added to it!”

“I HATE you! AND your vegan nut loaf!! Booo-hooo-hooo-hooooooo!” Elijah bawled, uncaring that his crying lessons had all been for naught.

Orlando reached a tentative hand to his shoulder, but the surly sprite pulled back.

“ I’m not a sprite, and I DON’T TOUCH CHEATERS!!!”

************************************************************************


Sean Bean came inside (I mean, he entered the house, you pervs!!!)

from an invigorating spot of gardening. Ploughing, moistening, sticking things in holes. And sweating. Sweat beaded on his tanned brow, ran down his ruggece, ce, and into his absolutely stunning naso-labial folds. Stripping off and chucking his teensy (but never small enough) black shorts, he stepped into the shower, letting the water cascade over his spun-gold hair, caress his sun-kissed, brick-hard form, …….and being extra-careful to shampoo his golden pubes. He wanted those pubes sparkling clean, and smelling of chamomile. Because Sean Bean had an objective. And this time, he wasn’t taking “no” for an answer. He was getting himself some Mortensen meat. TODAY.

The squirrely, slippery Scandinavian had avoided him long enough.

“Always some excuse,” Sean muttered.

“’Oh, I can’t right now, Sean, I’m scribbling furiously in my tattered journal.’ “Sean, I’m really behind on my thank-you notes,’ ‘Oh Sean, I wish I could, but there’s a big sale on highlighter pens. And they’ve even introduced a new color! Lilac!’

‘Oh Sean, really I would, but the sale ran out of the new Lilac pens, and I really must go to another branch and get them.’ “

Sean grew more and more angry as he began imitating Viggo’s gravelly American slur . “’Come onnnnn, Sean, caaaaantcha see I’m busy?” he exaggerated Viggo’s flattened vowels. “I’m writin’ th-a-a-a-a-nk-you notes. An’ these new lila-a-a-ac pens are fa-a-a-a-nt-a-a-stic. They rea-a-a-a-a-lly help me project my gra-a-a-a--a-t-itoood.”

Fuming, Sean shoved his arms roughly through the sleeves of his robe.

A fuming, sex-deprived Bean on the rampage is an intimidating thing. Hot as all fucking get-out, but still intimidating.

“Fookin’ lilac pens!!” he snarled, yanking the sash around his waist violently.

“’Looooook, Sean, they’re liiiilaaaaaaaaaaaac!!’” He falsetto’ed, pirhouetting around the bedroom like a big, hot, demented ballerina. “They’re ohhhhhhhh- so spe-shul!!

“Spe-Shul! Spe-Shul! Spe-Shul!!” He screeched.

Completely caught up in his pirhouetting and angry mockery, Sean didn’t even notice that a languorous form had appeared in the doorway. Slouching against the frame, hands jammed in his jeans pockets, was a not -thrilled-looking Viggo.

“So. Is that what you think of me and my lilac pens, Sean?” Viggo regarded him coolly, chin raised. His tantalizing lower lip gave just the slightest quiver.

“I suppose you hate my paste-on stars, too—a bunch of which I got on sale today at Staples, for the astoundingly low price of 49 cents a dozen.”

Sean looked at him sheepishly, a deep blush creeping up his neck, flushing his manly, granite jaw, and blooming onto his golden cheeks (Not THOSE golden cheeks!! What is wrong with you??)

“Uh, Vig, really, I can explain—“

“And you’re probably just seething with loathing over my silver glitter,” Viggo cut him off, each vowel becoming less and less languid.

“And why not admit it, Sean?? You detest THE GOLD GLITTER TOO!!” Vig shouted. Trembling with anger, he sat on the bed, every muscle corded, every vein popping. He was coiled with rage and anguish. The anguish of a man whose stationery products have been viciously mocked.

Alarmed, Sean quickly went to him, barely noticing that the sash had conveniently fallen off his robe, leaving it gaping open. Yeah, OK. That sash was on there pretty tight. But it’s high time it came off.

“Vig,” he comforted, “You know I didn’t mean all that,” His large, manly, yet sensitively formed hands rubbed soothing circles on Viggo’s back. “ I was just…frustrated. Because, well……you’re spe-shul, uh, I mean special to me, mate. And I’d like to get closer to you. A lot closer.”

He brought his lips to Viggo’s ear, and breathed into it suggestively, in a silky purr. “Is that OK?”

“Ahem,” Viggo closed his eyes and released a long breath, letting some of the tension flow out……and immediately migrate to his nether regions.

“You already ARE close to me, Sean. I can smell your chamomile pubes”.

“Let me give you a backrub…..” Sean murmured, gently turning Viggo around. “I know you’re afraid that we will blow our friendship. But Vig, the only thing I want to blow right now is….”

“Sean, sex brings an entirely different energy and nuance to a relationship. Not only can it upset the balance of power, it can………….

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”……he put his finger to Vig’s mouth, and then slid his hand down to caress the man who grew up some of the time in Argentina’s jaw.

“We won’t ruin our friendship, Vig, we’ll deepen it.”

“God, I think I said that to a girl in 9th grade!” Viggo abruptly broke the mood. “Yeah. I remember now. I borrowed my dad’s car, hoping to get some action. You know, I wasn’t nearly as evolved as I am now. I was still operating on base instincts. Now, of course, I consider the implications of each action, and in particular, what kind of………”

“I said, shush!!” Sean was getting frustrated.

“……….And I actually used that line on her! ‘it’ll deepen our friendship’. God, Sean, I can’t believe you dug out that old junior high school line, just to get into my pants. This is just not the way that two spiritual beings should interact. I don’t understand, why we can’t just enter into a completely honest exchange of…”

“Bodily fluids??”

“Sean, our bodily fluids are sacred. There can be nothing casual about such an exchange. Some holy men believe the spirit’s life force is contained within the fluids of the body. Let them out, and you release a powerful tide of…..”

“Cum??” Sean grinned, running his large, manly, yet sensitively formed hand up Viggo’s inner thigh.

“Uh……er, where was I? Oh yeah…sacred….life force….uh………” Viggo’s mouth was actually beginning to have trouble forming words. Which would normally have been cause for great concern, because it was so fucking unusual. But Sean was not concerned. He was ecstatic.

“Sean, uhhhhhhhhhh, Prince Siddartha, more widely known as Buddha, once said, said….uh….”

“….That wanting to get thoroughly fucked is a perfectly natural and healthy desire?”

Viggo’s eyelids fluttered closed, as a high-pitched little sigh escaped him.

“Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm, nooo, on the subject of carnal love he said uh, he said ummmmmmmm……..”

His hips began to undulate, rising up to meet Sean’s roaming hand.

The brazen blond smiled, and gently squeezed the hardening package.

“What did he say, Vig?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh………….who?”

************************************************************************

Orlando yanked Elijah around to face him, indignation turning his guacamolean hued skin a muddy green. Kind of like spoiled guacamoleat sat sat out in the sun too long. Not good. Gross. Really gross.
Elijah’s small fists pummeled Orlando’s chest.

“I told you I don’t touch cheaters!!”

“You’re pummeling me, Lij. I believe that counts as touching.”

His lips set in determination, Orli firmly pushed Elijah down onto the bed. On to the 3500 thread-count Egyptian cotton ecru sheets.

“Now, watch those 3500 thread-count Egyptian cotton ecru sheets,” Orlando warned. “Don’t be fisting them. Those sheets never did anything to you.”

“I don’t fist the sheets, Orli. You’ve been reading too many bad, clichéd stories. And if anyone should know about fisting, it’s you.”

“All right, all right, that’s enough of that. Let’s see if we can’t recapture some magic. And put those nasty thumb-wrestling rumors to rest. Permanently. My pointy elven cock has not visited any talans other than yours. This I swear to you. And technically, it hasn’t even visited yours yet. Because awful plot devices keep conspiring to keep us from getting laid. But this time…..this time……”

His lips descended ravenously upon Elijah’s neck. Orlando was like a starving Doberman released from a cage and let at a juicy, rare slab of roast beef. Kind of a petite roast beef, but juicy nonetheless. And hell, this dog was starving. He wasn’t really thinking about the size of the roast beef.

Elijah keened.

Orlando stopped cold. “What is that sound you’re making?”

“I’m keening. Can’t you tell? Now get on with it!”

“’Keening’?—what the hell is that?” Orli asked, baffled.

“Look—I’m just really, really excited OK? And I feel like keening. So just GET ON WITH IT!”

“No, no. Something’s not right. I have to check this out.” Orlando’s brow furrowed. With his usual annoying, boundless energy he leapt out of bed, leaving a hugely frustrated hobbit behind. Or, not leaving his behind, I mean, leaving the whole hobbit there. And not that his behind was hugely frustrated, the whole hobbit was. But, then again, his behind would be frustrated too, wouldn’t it? In fact his behind would probably be even more frustrated, because it wasn’t being fucked through the mattress. So you could, in essence say, he really was leaving a hugely frustrated hobbit behind.

Orlando bounded back, holding a thick book that looked like a dictionary.

“Oh, for God’s sake….” Elijah groaned, slapping his hand across his forehead.

“Hmmmmm. Says here, ‘keen’ is sharp, or intellectually acute. Or intense and piercing. Or, acrid and pungent…..” He looked up quizzically.

“Acrid and pungent?”

“Orlando, look under the NOUN definition, you dill hole.”

“Oh, yes, yes. Right. Here we go: ‘A loud wailing lament for the dead.’ Good, God, Lij! I’m trying to screw you through the mattress, and you’re lamenting the dead?!”

“No, you cunt, I’m lamenting the fact that you’re looking at the cunting dictionary instead of screwing me through the mattress! Now get your ass back in bed!”

“Lij, “ Orlando paled, ignoring him. “Are you trying to tell me………. you’re a necrophiliac??”

“What are you TALKING about??”

But Orlando wasn’t listening. He was backing away. “God, Lij……I never knew. How long has it been this way? All this time we’ve known each other, worked beside each other, unsuccessfully tried to lay each other, stopped by awful plot devices. All the texturized vegetable protein we’ve shared. And all that time………..you were fantasizing about corpses. About digging them up, and having your sweaty, vile way with them. Or maybe even, making furtive, nocturnal excursions to the morgue. Breaking in, and leering at the…”

“ORLI!!” Elijah yelled, ”That is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!! Look, you’re starting to freak me out! you really are.”

As Orli backed away even further, Elijah did too. Which was quite a feat, considering he was still in bed.

“God, you’re limber,” Orli noticed, ”But it doesn’t matter. I simply cannot have a necrophiliac in my life, limber or not, sharing my nut loaf. Or any food! I mean, who knows where those hands have been??…………”

“All this……..over a little keening,” Elijah said miserably. “As God is my witness, I will never, ever keen again.”

“Boo-hoo. Booooo-hooooo. Booooooooooo-hooooooooo,” He boo-hooed softly. He just didn’t have the energy to do any major boo-hooing.

“I don’t do things furtively, Orlando Bloom,” he snuffled. “I thought you knew that. If I truly was a necro—necro—necro-philiac,” he stammered, “I would be proud. I’d march in the streets and hold the rainbow flag high.”

“Elijah,” Orlando said in irritation, “The rainbow flag represents the GAY community!”

“Well—well, I’m sure necrophiliacs have their own flag too,” Elijah whimpered. “Maybe it’s –it’s like, gray or something. Booooooooooooooo---hoooooooooooooooo. Everybody deserves a flag! Everybody!”

“OK, OK,” Orlando said, “ Right. Please, let’s go for a drive or something. Get out of here for awhile. Get some fresh air, out of this stale, morgue-like air…..”

“ORLI!!”

"Oops, sorry Lij, Didn’t mean that.”

*******************************************************************************


“Finally….finally….” Sean growled. “I have got to get a piece of this…NOW….” He fumbled with Viggo’s jeans snap, hands shaking with lust. Like lust-crazed Jell-O. If they made lust-crazed Jell-O. Which would really be weird! What would you do with lust-crazed Jell-O??

“Waited so long for this…” he salivated. “Had to drink so much fookin’ herbal tea, and listen to so much pie-in-the-sky shite.
Finally…………finally………..”

Viggo, flushed and obviously fighting his own arousal, pushed Sean’s hands away.

“Look, you’re flushed. Why are you obviously fighting your own arousal?? “ Sean asked, mouth open, breathing hard. (Have you noticed how he does that?? It’s HOT!!)

“Don’t you want me, Vig?” Sean’s stunning naso-labial folds quivered, just a little.

“ I do want you ……I’m just not that kind of girl!”

Momentarily stunned out of his randiness, Sean looked up. “WHAT??”

“What I mean to say is………….you know. Every man has a feminine side. Just as every woman has a masculine one. So when I say ‘I’m not that kind of girl’, I am merely expressing my feminine side. Which is very healthy, and more men should do it. Including you, Sean! When was the last time you picked out a tablecloth? Or attractive draperies? When was the last time you treated yourself to a permanent, or bought a nice pair of nylons? We are all androgynous souls, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Gender is merely an incidental………….”

“OK. OK. I get the point!” Sean snapped.. He rubbed at his temples and muttered under his breath,
“ Shit, how did he know about those nylons…….”

And then, to Sean’s great delight, suddenly Viggo’s jeans magically disappeared, because this is a slash story.

This fact did not even register with Viggo .He was still contemplating the nature of androgyny, and how wonderful yet mysterious it all was.

“Wow,” he said softly, reverently. “What a piece of work is man. And the woman inside him. And the man inside her. And the woman inside the man inside her. And I don’t mean that in a sexual way. I mean it in the purely cosmic sense. You know, it is really sad how everything is interpreted as sexual in our culture. Why can’t we just….”

“VIGGO!” Sean waved his hand in front of Vig’s face. “Snap out of it, mate. Please! I don’t know what aches more, my head or my fookin’ bollocks! and by the way, have you noticed that you’re naked now? You know what that means, right??” Hope dawned on Sean’s handsome face.

“That this was all meant to be!! That it’s destiny! I mean, there’s no such thing as coincidence, right? You always say everything happens for a reason.
Right Vig? Right?” He looked at him pleadingly, like a puppy desperate for a treat. A long-limbed blue-eyed treat, with a sexy, lazy drawl.

Viggo glanced down at his own lean, muscled, surprisingly fuzzy frame and shrugged. Apparently, it wasn’t that odd for him to find himself suddenly, magically nude.

“I –I wish I could, Sean….but, you see, I’m celibate,” he said solemnly.

“Celibate!” Sean snorted. “Come on! If I’m to believe all the things I’ve read about you, you’ve been molesting, fisting and raping your way through cyberspace for years now. Why, just the other day I read one where you charged into Orli’s hospital room, as he lay dying from a horrible flesh-eating bacteria, knocked out his IV, tossed aside his colostomy bag, and…”

“Sean, “ Viggo sighed impatiently. “Those are STORIES. I’m talking about my real life.

I haven’t told this to many people, but………”

He paused, looking at the floor. “I have never had sexual relations.”

“Viggo,” Sean rolled his eyes. “Do I need to remind you that you have a SON?”

“Sean,” Viggo began earnestly. “That was the old me. Don’t you know about cellular renewal?? Every three months our bodies become new again, as all the old cells are replaced by new ones. In effect, we are new people every three months. I have not had sexual relations in three months, so what I am telling you is true: the me I am now has never had sex. You see, we are ever changing, ever evolving. It’s a constant, wonderful process of rejuvenation—“

“I’ll rejuvenate ya, all right.” Sean lunged at Viggo, sealing his lips with his own. Sean’s tongue was like the battering ram at Helms Deep. Or maybe it was more like the Trojan Horse in “Troy”?……anyway, it was like some huge thing out of the movies busting in to gain entrance. I think it would be more like the battering ram, myself. Because otherwise, his tongue would be shaped like a big ‘ol horse with people inside, and well….that would just be weird.

As the Sheffieldian ‘s hungry lips descended upon Viggo’s throat like a starving Golden Retriever from Sheffield, Viggo keened.

Sean stopped cold. “Stop lamenting the dead. I’m trying to get it on, here.”

“Sean, I would never lament the dead. Why? The dead are not truly dead, they have simply departed our physical plane, In fact, one could say they’re more alive than we are. Death is an illusion. For we are all in various stages of life, and the dead are nearer to us than we think, separated by nothing more than a thin veil of—“

“All right, all right, you silly sot……I don’t want a dissertation on the afterlife, I want to FOOKIN’ GET LAID. Now just be quiet for one—“

“Plus, “ Viggo interrupted, “ What’s REALLY cool is, you’re dead, right?? But you can float anywhere you want! That means you can spy on anyone! You can just float right in their houses and see what they’re doing! Think of the possibilities! No one would even know you’re there. AND—you can go through walls! Think of it, Sean! you could read any script you want before anyone else. All you’d have to do is…”

“Viggo, what good would reading a script do if you’re dead??”

“Oh yeah, right.”

Once again, Sean’s large, manly, yet sensitively formed hand began roaming over Viggo’s chest, as his tongue probed Viggo’s mouth, until…

“Plus!” Viggo tore his mouth from Sean’s with an audible smack, “You could go anywhere in the world. And anywhere OUTSIDE the world, Shit, you could visit distant galaxies, limited only by your imagination. In fact, some say we continue our spiritual growth on other planets….”

“Viggo, you already ARE on another planet. And if you don’t shut yer gob, I swear I am going to spank you.”

“Sean, “ Viggo chuckled. “Come on. You know I hate violence. Fuck, I’m one of the most easygoing guys around. I even hate doing violent things in movies. In fact, I—“

Suddenly there was another audible smack, as Sean’s large, manly, yet sensitively formed hand connected with the side of Viggo’s ass.

“OW!” Viggo cried out, shocked. “I can’t believe you just did that! Sorry Sean, but I’m outta here. Hand me my jeans, will you? I just can’t—“

Smack! The built-like-a-brick-shithouse blond grinned rakishly, and gave him another playful slap.

n, In, I am a pacifist! I voted for Nader! I recycle! I separate my glass from my plastic! I read ‘Jonathon Livingston Seagull’ in college! I’ven don done macramé! I use biodegradable trash bags! This type of activity is just not consistent with my world views! Now, hand me my jeans, and……..Oh.” Viggo gasped, as another smack hit its target.

The chiseled-cheekboned, provocatively scarred-lipped man of Danish ancestry’s eyes glazed over.

“You don’t seem so pacifist now, mate, do ya? Suddenly, you seem to be enjoying a bit of rough, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah….” Viggo groaned. “Oh. Yeah.”

************************************************************************


“Why don’t you drive this time, Lij? I’m tired of doing all the driving.”

“Orli, you know I’m not old enough to drive.”

“The fuck are you talking about?? You’re 23!” Orlando remarked.
“You are 23, right? Fuck, don’t tell me I’ve been messing around with necrophiliac jailbait.”

“I am NOT a necrophiliac, you cunt!! And OK, I am old enough to drive, but….but…..my feet don’t reach the pedals.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that before, Lijy?? No secrets between us, right? Well, except for that dry-humping-Liam Neeson thing. And that necrophilia thing. God, I’m just glad Liam Neeson isn’t dead……because then YOU would be dry-humping him.”

“Where are we, anyway?” Elijah squinted through the window.

”I mean…there’s some palm trees, and there’s the Brown Derby. But over there is the Parliament Building. And Big Ben seems to be on Sunset Boulevard! Am I going nuts or something??”

“Lij,” Orlando snapped impatiently, “For the last time: We live in a strange amalgam of L.A. and London, OK? For no other reason than it’s convenient for the author. Just get used to it. Think of it as……Losondon.”

“Losondon. O-o-o-Kay…….” Elijah muttered, staring at the odd views.

“I think you’ll enjoy the sights of Losondon,” Orli chirped, as if being in a strange amalgam of London and LA was the most natural thing in the world.
“It’s really quite fascinating! For example, look: over here, it’s smoggy! While over there, it’s foggy!

“And look, Lij, people drive on both the left AND the right sides of the street!……
OH-H-H SHIT!!” Orli swerved, as a double decker bus careened toward them, narrowly missing them. “Whew! Isn’t this FUN?? That was a close one! This is exciting, eh?” Orli glanced over, beaming .“I have to say, I love the danger and excitement of Losondon!”

Elijah was cringing in his seat, clutching his stomach. He wasn’t finding himself to be very fond of Losondon at all.

“Let’s stop at Tower records. I need to add a third CD to my collection,” Orlando said,

“About cunting time…” Lij grumbled. “And no Creed. NO CREED.” He frowned.

“Man, this looks so much like the Tower Records I went to in England.”

“I keep telling you….IT IS. But actually, you know what? I’m starving. That texturized vegetable protein doesn’t stick with you very long. As much as I love Guar gum, it just isn’t filling. Do you mind if we stop and eat first? Look, there’s a Johnny Rockets. Right there, next to Ann Boleyn’s chopping block.”

SCREEEEEEEEEEECH! Orlando barely missed slamming into a Mini Cooper that barreled toward them.

“God, I LOVE driving in this town! Er, I mean, strange amalgam of LA and London.”

As they sat in the cheesy faux 50s diner, after a third-rate Marilyn Monroe had served them, Elijah gazed out the window. It didn’t do much for his appetite, watching the ravens circling the Tower of London.

“Orli…?” He asked a little frightfully, “Didn’t they starve and torture people in there? Like, a lot of people?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Orlando waved him away, mouth half full of garden burger. “Why can’t Americans just get used to centuries of torture, forced starvation, drawing and quartering, and beheadings? it’s not like it’s any big deal. I mean, shit happens. All in a day’s work and all that lot,” Orli stuffed some fries in his mouth and continued chattering.

“So some people’s bodies were ripped limb from limb. So some people got their heads whacked off. Some with dull blades, so the executioner bloke had to keep chopping and chopping. So some people got stretched on the rack until……….”

“COUGH!” Elijah had turned a sickly shade of green. A little like Sean’s eyes, but a lot more sickly, and a lot less sparkly.

“Orli….?” He said in a very small, quivery voice. “Can we, like, go now? I’m scared.”

“Awwwwww, Lij. Sure we can,” Orlando ruffled his hair affectionately. Suddenly Elijah didn’t mind being a boyish impish spritely woodland creature. It was a lot better than being drawn and quartered, and having your body parts sent all over the city and left on people’s doorsteps, to shock them. Heck, a LOT better!

As they drove around the sunny side of the city (the other side was raining), Elijah found he could finally relax a little.

“Wow. Look at those guys surfing the Thames,” he remarked. “Fuckin’ awwwwweeeeesome! You know, I’m beginning to dig this place. It’s alright.

“Hey, dudes!” he shouted down at the surfers, “watch out for that raw sewage!

So……is the airport a strange amalgam of LAX and Heathrow?”

“Yes, LAXrow,” Orlando shuddered. “It’s an awe-inspiring fusion of two of the most godawful places on earth. A limbo for travelers. I’ve heard that no one ever actually goes in or comes out of there. They’re just herded around for all eternity.”

“Now that might be the circle of hell I’m talking about. The one reserved for the lowest of the low: those who cheat by thumb-wrestling Chuck Norris.” Lij shot him a nasty look.

“Look, we’ve passed Trashy Lingerie on Melrose and Downing St. three times. We’ve seen Buckingham Studios and Paramount Palace about six times. We’ve seen all those Mexicans hanging out in Trafalgar Square. We’ve seen the crack whores feeding the ducks in Hyde Park. Why do we keep driving around and around?”

“Well, I’m looking for something. The plot.”

“The plot is, you’re a slut because, among others, you dry-humped Liam Neeson and rubbed thumbs with Walker, Texas Ranger. And I hate your slatternly ways and your vegan nut loaf. I’m a necrophiliac, because I keen. Sean is angrily pirhouetting around and acting like a big, demented but incredibly hot fairy, because he despises Viggo’s lilac highlighter pens. Viggo won’t shut up long enough for Sean to screw him, because he’s ‘not that kind of girl.’ So he gets spanked, in spite of his love for macramé. Meanwhile, we’re hanging out in Losondon eating burgers and talking about torture and dismemberment. Jeez, what’s so difficult about that? Man, Orli, I’m surprised at you. It’s pretty much your typical plot. It’s not rocket science.”

Orlando furrowed his elegant brow as he considered this. Then he swerved sharply, to avoid an oncoming Lorry.

“I suppose you’re right, Lij. It all is pretty run-of-the-mill.”

“And next,” Elijah continued, “Viggo vanishes, and……”

************************************************************************


Viggo had suddenly vanished! For no other reason than it’s convenient for the author.

Sean looked around, massively confused.

The Shakespearean--Yorkshirean contemplated this strange event, which wasn’t all that strange, considering this story. In fact, it was sort of business as usual. But still he was disturbed. Not in a psychotic way, you understand. Just disturbed in a plain old way. You know, an everyday, mundane kind of disturbed. Well, maybe a little worse.

Yes, Viggo was gone. Leaving only his biodegradable trash bags behind. So to speak.

Sean’s spring glade green but not quite forest green, but maybe with a touch of hunter green, eyes scanned the room. They weren’t sparkling as usual. First they looked like flat 7-UP. But now, they darkened to a dull, drab olive green, not unlike Orlando’s skin on a bad day. Because Sean was upset. What had he done wrong?? His now army-issue colored eyes caught sight of an envelope on the pillow. His large, manly yet sensitively formed hands trembled as they opened it and pulled a letter out….

“Look, it’s even on his rainbow stationery,” Sean sniffled. Then he caught an ominous sign: Stuck on the letter were several black adhesive stars.

“Cor. I’ve seen red and gold and blue and silver and green adhesive stars, but never black ones,” Sean thought to himself. Because really, who else would he think to?

“Black stars. It can’t be good.”

“Dear Sean, as you can see from the black stars, I cannot believe the depths of depravity to which I have sunk. Sank? Sunken? Whatever. I used to just be in the shallow water of depravity, sort of standing up to my ankles, skipping rocks across the surface. But now, it’s up to my head, getting my hair wet and even getting up my nose .In fact, just now I had to hawk a huge snot-chunk of depravity right out my nose. But that’s what you have brought out in me, Sean. Not even my nose is safe from your depravity. Have a nice day. Love, Viggo.”

And suddenly, as if out of nowhere, Viggo reappeared.

It’s all about convenience.

There he stood, shaking and distraught, but sadly, not nude, shaved and sweaty as in “The Indian Runner.”

Sean’s eyes, now the color of canned petite peas (why? Because I like ‘em) took in the sad, sorry, semi-suicidal sight. Because Viggo was holding out his wrists, in a Glenn Close-from-“Fatal Attraction”-fashion. And unlike Glenn, he wasn’t even carrying Sean’s child.
(Well, she was carrying Michael Douglas’s child. But you get the gist).

“Viggo, what have you done to yourself!” The “Woman’s Guide to Adultery” star (and he was really the only bright spot in it) gasped. Taking Vig’s wrists in his hands, he looked closely. On each one was a tiny cut, nearly invisible to the naked eye.

But though Sean’s eyes weren’t wearing clothes, he could see them.

“Sean, I was so ashamed that I let you lead me into a realm of violence, that I-I tried to depart this plane of existence. This cellular renewal thing is a big bucket of suck. I’m not waiting three goddamn months to become the new me and forget all about that--that--uh, non-pacifist thing we did.

“And to think, I once did macramé…” he muttered under his breath.

“Is that what this is all about?” Sean asked in wonderment. Then he gave a little chuckle.

“ Vig, there was nothing depraved about it, it was just a little—“

Taking no notice, Viggo continued forlornly.

“So I gave myself a paper cut, on each wrist , because—because…it was the slowest, most painful way to die! I was determined to bleed to death by paper cut! And even though it might take a really, really long time, at least it wouldn’t take the three fucking goddamn months that it would have taken to become the new me!! And--and—I just had to die and get the depravity out of my nose!!” by the last word, Viggo’s voice had risen into a girlie quaver.

“God, there is a woman inside him,” Sean thought.

He stared at the man before him, at a loss for words.
He didn’t think he would ever find them. Nope, those words had said “screw it,” and left the building.

“Sean”, Viggo’s face screwed up as he burst into tears. “These paper cuts real-l-l-l-l-l-y huuuuur-r-t-t-t-t!!! And- and—“ he stammered, “I don’t re-a-a-a-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-y wanna die!! Even if I do get to float through walls and spy on people and read scripts before anyone else……’cause—‘cause…” he took a huge gulping breath, and then wailed, “I’m not REEEEEAAAAAAADDDDDDY TO VISIT OTHER GALAXIIIEEEEEEEEEES!!”

“There, there, you daft sod……nobody says you have to visit other galaxies. I’m here to anchor you to Earth.”

Stepping forward, Sean gathered the morose, weeping, sandy-haired man with the dimple in his chin, into his arms.

“Please Sean”, the melancholy Dane—oh sorry, that was Hamlet-- begged, clutching at Sean’s shirt, “Please, step forward, and gather me, the morose, weeping, sandy-haired man, with the dimple in my chin, into your arms!”

“I’m doing just that, luv,” Sean said softly, rocking the half-Scandinavian, mid-40ish, divorced man back and forth soothingly.

“And God, Sean, please speak softly!” Viggo sobbed. “And please, rock me back and forth soothingly… .and never, ever forget that I am half-Scandinavian, mid-40ish and divorced. And a man, of course.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t forget that, Vig,” Sean said, gently stroking the sometimes-dyed, occasionally badly-cut hair, and smoothing it back from the several-language-speaking man’s brow, which was now crinkled in agony—the agony of one who has just come back from the brink of death-by-paper cut.

“You can stop crying now,” the goddamn-fucking-hot blond whispered, “Everything’s all right. I won’t touch your arse again, except in a lustful, groping manner, although I occasionally might knead it. And even as we speak, your cells are rejuvenating and creating a new you, a brand-spanking new you—oops! Sorry—“

“Sean!” Viggo shuddered against the goddamn-fucking-hot—oops, I already used that one—‘s shoulder. ………” Don’t remind me that you pushed me into a realm of violence! And possibly spoiled my chances of ever doing macramé again!”

“Sorry, luv, just forget I said that. What I was going to say is: in three short months there will be a new Viggo. You won’t have to use black adhesive stars anymore, even if they are marked down at Staples. Those deadly paper cuts will have long since healed, and be nothing but a distant memory. Neither will you be concerned about floating around, spying on strangers, and looking for scripts before anyone else has read them, just because you’re dead. I won’t shatter your world views by spanking you, making you question even your biodegradable dustbin liners. You will never have to worry about hawking depravity snot out of your nose again, because that nose is safe with me, and I cherish it. You can even take up macramé again. And Viggo……” Sean paused, looking into the troubled, formerly married to alternative icon Exene’s eyes,

“No one will ever, ever force you to visit distant galaxies…….. until you’re dead. And then, only if you want to.”

“Gosh, Sean, it’s so hard to believe, but…….nobody’s ever said those things to me before,” Vig smiled gratefully through his tears. “God knows I’ve waited all my life to hear them!”

*******************************************************************************

“Well, thanks for filling me in on the plot”, Orlando said. “Although, I still don’t think I would characterize it as a plot. A plot has a resolution, doesn’t it? Will ANYONE get laid in this thing?”

“No”, Elijah shook his head sadly. “It’s all about the chase. You know how when Sam and Diane did it on ‘Cheers’, it ruined everything. And on ‘Moonlighting’ too.”

“Sam and Diane weren’t on ‘Moonlighting’”, Orlando furrowed his elegant brows again. He just could not stop furrowing his elegant brows. As he did so he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. “God fucking damn, my brows are elegant when they’re furrowed. I should do it more often.”

“You do it all the time, you cunt. I’m getting really sick of you furrowing your elegant brows. Just because a person has elegant brows doesn’t give them license to go around furrowing them all the time.”

“Yes, yes, but Sam and Diane were not on ‘Moonlighting’!”

“Orli, I didn’t SAY Sam and Diane were on ‘Moonlighting’. ‘Moonlighting’ had those other two people on it. You know, those 80s people. I don’t know who they are, I was barely even born then.”

“I don’t remember the 80s much either. Why are we talking about 80s shows when we know nothing about them??”

“Orli,” Elijah sighed. “It’s because of the author. She came of age during the horror known as the 80s. And now she’s making usfer fer for it, and it’s not even our fault. She’s tormenting us with 80s minutia because deep down she realesenesents us. For not having had to come of age in the 80s like her. That’s why she won’t let us get laid. She’s giving all of us blue balls all because of the cunting 80s”

“That’s hardly fair”, Orlando furrowed—

“Stop it!! Stop with the furrowing already!! You reached your furrow quota long ago!”

“Said the man who laments the dead and yet also wants to have his sweaty, vile way with them. And even carry a FLAG about it.”

“Orlando, STOP THIS CAR RIGHT NOW!! I’m walking home! I don’t care if I am too small to be out alone. Stop this fucking car. I am so sick of all this necrophiliac crap. And I WOULDN’T dry hump a dead Liam Neeson anyway. I would do it with a dead person of a more manageable size, like—“

“See?? See?” Orli’s eyes widened in horror. “Shit, it’s true!! God, I knew it!! Get out of this car now!! You’re walking home!! I don’t care if you are too small to be out alone. Get your keening, necrophiliac arse out of here NOW.”

“Fuck you, AND your stupid-ass nut loaf!! I hope you CHOKE on your texturized vegetable protein!!”

Orli swerved to the curb, not even caring that cars were coming right at him. He wasn’t thinking of the danger and excitement of Losondon. Right now, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass. What the hell does that mean, anyway? Does anyone know?

Elijah jumped out of the car. Even if he had a rat’s ass to give, he wouldn’t. He liked animals. He wouldn’t be giving rats' asses away. God, why would anyone give the rump of an innocent rodent to someone?? It’s not only inhumane, but incredibly crass.

“I am not a crass person”, He muttered to himself, pulling his jacket closed against the fog and chill, even though he could have easily crossed the street to the sunny side. “I may keen, but I am not a fucking necrophiliac, and I don’t give rats asses away. All I want to do right now is watch the crack whores feed the ducks. And that isn’t crass either. Crack whores have the right to feed ducks, too.”

************************************************************************


“Crack whores have the right to feed ducks too…..” Sean murmured in his sleep. He and Viggo had fallen asleep, exhausted from Viggo’s endless philosophizing and Sean’s less sophisticated, but equally endless attempt to get a piece of hot Danish ass.

“Sean…Sean….” Viggo shook him awake. The word “crack whores” had jolted him out of his slumber. “You’re talking in your sleep. Something about crack whores feeding ducks. Which I believe they have the perfect right to do. Why not? Why would anyone question or make a judgment on that? Crack whores are human beings. Why should they be denied the simple joy of feeding…..”

“Viggo, I’m going to feed you my big hard cock just to get you to shut up”, Sean growled groggily.

“ I love it when you growl groggily. But I still don’t think it is appropriate at all for you to feed me your big hard cock, as tasty as it may be, just to stop my endless philosophizing. It is for your edification, Sean. Immanuel Kant said—“

“God”, Sean’s very un-sparkly eyes filled with tiny tears of frustration. “I’m NEVER gonna get laid. All because of the fookin’ 80s!! THE FOOKIN’ 80s!!”

He pondered a moment. “Wait a minute. We were forced to endure the 80s too, just like her. So why is she tormenting us?”

“Sean, her hatred of the 80s is so vast it knows no bounds. Like a scythe, it cuts a vicious path over all. We are not safe from it either. It isn’t fair, but as Nietzsche observed—“

“ARRRGGGGGGH!!” Sean smashed a pillow over Viggo’s face. But amazingly, he continued talking. “Mmmmmfffff Nietzsche mmmmmmmmffffphhhh Socrates mmmmfffff stupid ass Sartre mmmmmmmmmmfffffffffggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhcouldn’t give a rat’s ass about existentialism……mmmpph………..”

That was it. Sean broke into tears and sobbed. It was all too much. It was all so unfair.

“FOOKIN’ 80s!! “ He wailed. “FOOKIN 80s!! Shove your Flock of Seagulls!! Kajagoogoo sucked!! I HATED ‘Moonlighting’!! why torture ME?? WHY?? WHY??

BOO-HOO!! BOO-HOO-HOO-HOO! BOOOO-FOOKIN—HOOOOOOOOO!!”

******************************************************************************

“Booo-hoooooo-hooooooo.” Elijah cried softly to himself as he watched the crack whores feed the ducks, as dusk descended gently over Hyde Park. It was so touching. So moving. Tears flowed down his cherubic cheeks as he watched one crack whore in particular. For some reason she captivated him. She wore a sequined tube top that barely hid her sagging chest. Her teensy shorts were wedged in the crack of her flat crack whore ass. Her hair was a dirty and stringy predictably peroxided rats nest (but not rats ass nest). Faded and badly done tattooes covered her bony-ass crack whore body. But she had such a glow. Such a skanky glow. She held out stale bread in her bony-ass hand and said, “Here ducky ducky. Here ducky ducky. Get over here now, you fucking dumbass duck.” Then she actually grabbed the duck and shoved the bread down its throat.

“You like that, huh?? Huh?? “

God, it was so damn beautiful. Elijah boo-hooed and boo-hooed to himself. Feeling deeply sentimental, he got up and began walking home. Suddenly, he had forgiven Orli’s accusations of necrophilia. If a man can’t forgive a loved one’s accusations of necrophilia, he wasn’t much of a man, was he?

“And I am a man. I am. Despite what everyone says. I have the equipment to prove it, dammit. I don’t care what any of you say. OK, I am an impish spritely tousled woodland creature and all that crap, I may as well admit it. I can’t drive and I shouldn’t be out alone, especially with dusk descending gently over Hyde Park. I am a man, but I’m still gonna ask that crack whore if she’ll accompany me home. I’ll feel safe with her. And, she has such a skanky glow about her.”

************************************************************************

Dusk had descended gently hours ago. Does it ever descend violently?

Viggo sat at his desk, trusty, tattered, dog-eared journal by his side.

“Christ, I’m a rich moviar. ar. Can’t I afford a better journal than this?” He asked himself. “At least I could be scribbling furiously in a nice leather-bound, gold-embossed journal.”

But he really wasn’t thinking of his journal right now. He was immersed in an act of gratitude to the universe. And it involved piles of thank-you notes, glitter, stars, and his new lilac highlighter pens.

“I must project forth my gratitude to the universe, and to all the souls who’ve touched me—and to all the souls who will ever touch me. I have not yet evolved to that level of awareness to know who they are, but I am aware of those souls. I am. Soon I will know their names and addresses, and they will get extra glitter-both silver and gold-- and sparkles. But for now, there is one very important soul I must write a thank-you note to. A goddamn fucking hot built-like-a-brick-shithouse blonde, who saved me from a grisly death by paper cut.”

His brow furrowed, but not all that elegantly. It’s really only Orlando who does the elegant brow-furrowing thing.

“Dear Sean,

Thank you for being so edified and amazed by my endless philosophizing. Thank you for saving me from a long, drawn out death by paper cut, a death so long and drawn out I’d probably get bored waiting for it. Thank you for using that 9th grade line on me, I have to admit it was sweet, if somewhat unevolved. Thank you even for introducing me into a realm of violence, for like all things, it was a learning experience. You have taught me so much, Sean. You have taught me how to absolutely torture your brick-hard body by giving you the worst case of blue balls ever. Sean, it was a learning experience for both of us. Life is all about learning. You will thank me later. I will thank me later. I thank me now. Because I have already absorbed this cosmic lesson. You’re a ways behind me, though. But it’s not your fault. You’re a bit of rough from Yorkshire. And while you do have raw intelligence, it isn’t quite as refined and sophisticated as mine. But then, few people have my penetrating intellect and ability to synthesize spirituality into even the mundane. But Sean, nothing is really mundane. Every single thing has significance, more than we know…”

“Shit, I’m running out of room,” Viggo had begun making his letters incredibly small and squeezed to fit the space of the card. “Need bigger thank-you cards. Why the hell do they make them so small?? Don’t they realize people sometimes have a whole lot of thanking to do? I am going to write to my congressman about this. NEED. BIGGER. THANK-YOU NOTES!” he slammed his fist on the table, sending glitter and stars wafting into the air. He really didn’t look very evolved at that moment.

His frustration was interrupted by the front door opening. See, everyone does their shit in the living room in this story. Computers, writing at desks, etc. Because it’s really, really convenient. It’s just very convenient to have Elijah burst in the room right now, interrupting Viggo’s frustration. It wouldn’t be as effective if Viggo were writing at a desk in another room. So stop wondering about it and just pay attention. Pay attention!!

“BYE DUCKY!!” Elijah turned to the outside and beamed, waving at some crack whore who had apparently accompanied him home. Viggo could see her waving her bony-ass crack whore arm at him.

“Crack whores ARE people”, Viggo murmured. “They have an inalienable right to feed the ducks too. Who is anyone to question it??”

Elijah smiled. “Vig, crack whores can be WONDERFUL people. She made sure I got home safe. And she had such a beautiful, skanky glow about her. Let Orlando thumb-wrestle Chuck Norris all he wants. I don’t care. I’ll take a duck-feeding crack whore any day.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that particular set of words strung together in one sentence before. But then, nothing surprises me. It’s all about synchronicity, and there is no such thing as coincidence.” Viggo bit his lip, thinking. He took out a new card and continued his thank-you note to Sean.

“And Sean, there is no such thing as coincidence. We were meant to occupy this plane of existence together. To co-exist in this space, if you will. And you WILL. I’ll make you. Because Sean, I love you. And in three months when my cells renew and I am the new me, I will love you even more. Because you have freed me from depravity by showing it to me up close and personal. Even up-my-fucking-nose personal. And you even told me you cherish my nose……” Viggo sniffed. His eyes misted.

“Sean, nobody, nobody has ever cherished my nose before, nobody”, he blurted out. “It’s been—it’s been ne-ne-neglected. My n-n-nose has been sooooooooo n-n- neglected!! Boo-hoo, I’m so grateful! Boo-hoo!! Boo-hoo-hoo.”

“God”, Orlando rolled his eyes. He had been there the whole time, of course. This is a slash story.

“Elijah, you’ve got everyone boo-hooing all over the cunting place. It’s just appalling. I expect it from you. I can tolerate it from Viggo, because there IS a woman inside him. It’s Sean I have the problem with. It’s just unseemly for this big rugged Yorkshire manly man Blades fan kind of guy to be boo-hooing. It’s downright unseemly. And quite frankly, nauseating.”

“I can fookin’ boo-hoo any time I want to, mate”, Sean appeared suddenly (this is a slash story), and shoved Orlando a little. Which immediately gave Orli a huge boner. “God DAMN you’re so rugged”, Orli gasped. “Rugged would be such a nice change from impish and spritely and tousled.”

Orli whirled to see Elijah glaring at him. His crack whore glow had long since worn off. His huge eyes were in danger of swallowing up his nose and mouth again, but the nose and mouth wouldn’t have it. They hung on tenaciously.

“Look. I forgive you for calling me a keening necrophiliac, OK? That’s a lot to forgive. People don’t forgive that kind of accusation everyday, you know. I forgive you for driving me all over crappy Losondon. God, that place totally scares me. I forgive you for making me walk home, because I had a beautiful, sentimental crack whore experience.” His eyes suddenly seemed far away. Still huge, but far away.

“She was beautiful. She was such a bony-ass vision, force-feeding those ducks. She had such a skanky glow about her.” He sighed happily.

“Huh??” Orlando’s brow began to furrow, but for once it didn’t look all that elegant. Just incredibly confused.


“Never mind,” Elijah came up to him and put his hands on the sides of Orli’s supernaturally beautiful face, now a healthy shade of guacamole. It had no longer been sitting out in the sun. “Everything’s OK now. As long as you don’t have a goddamn Creed album lurking around here somewhere.”

“Er……no. Not since they kicked the lead singer out. I think they’re called Cree now. Or something. Isn’t that an Indian name?”

“Native American”, Elijah said dreamily. “I thought you, as a carrier of natural fiber tote bags and a consumer of vegan nut loaf, would know that.” He brought Orlando’s face down to his own and gave him a ravenous kiss. Like a small terrier devouring an exceptionally handsome Milk Bone.

Meanwhile, Sean’s large, manly yet sensitively formed hands trembled as they opened the four thank-you notes Viggo had handed him. Viggo had helpfully numbered them. As he read them in order, his green eyes resumed their sparkling, to the relief of everyone. Because Sean Bean’s eyes were made to sparkle. He almost gagged at the sappiness of the preceding sentence. But he was so happy now it didn’t matter.

“Oh, Vig”, tears filled his sparkling eyes and made them almost unbearably, uncomfortably sparklier. “I’m so moved. I didn’t know you felt this way. I mean, I knew all about the edifying philosophy shite, because that’s all I ever hear. God, the philosophy shite goes on and on. And the herbal tea…” He shook his head as if to clear the bad memory and resume his sparkliness.

“Viggo, this is beautiful. Beautiful. I might have to run and get a magnifying glass so I can read the tiny, squashed print at the very ends of these cards, but I know it will be worth it. And, and…..you gave me both gold AND silver glitter. And red and blue and green stars.”

“No more black stars, ever”, Viggo gave him an endearing smile.

“ Vig”, Sean lifted Viggo’s chin to meet his gaze, because they ALWAYS fucking do that in stories, “ I do cherish your nose. I do. I do. I am so glad I could give you a mini-tour of the depths of depravity, and thus free you from it. I am beyond glad that I saved you from the most drawn-out, boring death ever. No one should have to die such an excruciatingly boring death. Everybody deserves a fun and exciting death.

And I can’t wait for your cellular renewal. Because then—then—maybe you won’t be celibate anymore….?”

“I do have some macramé projects to finish, but I’m sure I can squeeze you in. Hmmmmmm. ‘squeeze you in’. I am not sure if I meant that literally, but even in the figurative sense it is undeniably suggestive. It-- mmmmmpppffff!”

Sean descended on Viggo’s mouth with one of his trademark plundering, battering ram-like kisses. Between breaths Viggo gasped, “Batter me, Sean!! Batter me! Be my Trojan Horse!! Or the battering ram at Helms Deep! Or some other big thing used to open castle doors in movies.”

“Does this mean the curse of the 80s is over?” Elijah asked hopefully. “Everyone appears to be engaging in heavy petting now. Maybe we WILL all get laid.”

Orlando shook his head sadly. “Afraid not in this chapter, luv. Isn’t it enough that we resolved the whole nut loaf, necrophilia, dry-humping Liam Neeson thing? and that other thing, which shall remain nameless? That you had reserved a special circle of hell for me for? You don’t still have it reserved, do you?”

Orli twitched nervously, deep brown eyes boring into Elijah’s deep blue ones, and not mixing to make a pretty color at all. Don’t mix brown and blue. Just don’t do it.

“All is forgiven. I’m a happy-go-lucky, spritely, forgiving guy. And I admit, being accused of necrophilia was awwwweeeeeesome. I mean, it’s so DARK. It’s cool to be accused of such DARKNESS! Nobody realizes, but I do have darkness within me. I do. There is a certain blackness in my soul…… NAH! Not really!!” Elijah started jumping up and down in an unmanly but seriously adorable way. It made Orlando horny as hell.

“ Next chapter. I hope?” Orli sighed in frustration. It looked like it would be blue balls again. All because of the 80s. It just wasn’t fair.

“But Lij, about that crack whore……”

“Don’t worry!” Elijah beamed, still bouncing up and down in an incredibly unmanly fashion, “I loved her in a spiritual sense, Orli. Watching her force-feed those ducks made me realize, we all have a crack whore in our soul, shoving stale bread into the hungry yet resistant mouth of life. Or something like that.”

“Elijah, you are evolving by the day.” Viggo smiled. “I’m proud. Now let’s all celebrate with some vegan nut loaf and texturized vegetable protein. I can dig it.”

They all sat down to dinner, in the terribly convenient house they shared. But later, Sean snuck off to Burger King. Fuck that guar gum shit. Orlando caught him smelling like a Whopper with decidedly non-fake cheese. He blinked his silky black lashes and his deep brown eyes filled with tears, which made sad paths down his guacamolean skin. “Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo”, he moaned. “Boo-hoo. Oh shit, now I’m doing it. Boooooooo-hooooooooooooooooo!” he could not hold back any longer. “You’ve betrayed me, Sean, and all I stand for. Boo-hoo!”

“Yeah, yeah. I know”, Sean said, setting his rugged, granite jaw in impatience. “It was just your turn, mate. Nobody gets out of this story without boo-hooing at least once. Hence the title. Did you think just furrowing your elegant brows would be enough?”

“Quite frankly, yes”, Orli sobbed. The Burger King betrayal had pierced his soul to the core. “I can usually count on my beauty and elegance to get out of things like this. But it seems even my tremendous attractiveness does not make me immune. It isn’t fair!! What kind of twisted mind comes up with necrophilia, suicide by paper cut, depravity snot, crack whores feeding ducks….”

“Endless blue balls,” Sean added. “Even if she was irrevocably scarred by the 80s, it isn’t fair.”

“Stop the angst. Stop it”, Elijah commanded. He didn’t look commanding at all, but still, everyone paid attention anyway for some reason. “At least there was no fisting, no murder-suicides, no raping or maiming or golden showers. Just a little necrophilia, that’s all. A bit of spanking. A touching crack whore subplot. An unnecessary mention of Ann Boleyn’s chopping block. That was a bit mucut wut we actually got off pretty easy.”

“But we DIDN’T get off”, Sean whimpered. “It’s all because of ‘Moonlighting’….boo-hoo…boo-hooo! Boo-fookin’-hoo!”

“Tomorrow’s a new day”, Elijah said brightly. “And to get everyone’s spirits up, I am going to play ‘Shiny Happy People’ over and over. It will raise our morale.” He bounded over to the stereo and put the song on. It was a song close to his heart. “Wait, this isn’t an 80s song, is it?” He stopped a moment, worried. “Oh, no, no. That’s right. 1991. Whew! Close one!”

As the opening strains began, Elijah looked around the room, triumphant. But to his shock, Orli, Sean and Viggo had all burst into tears and were sobbing disconsolately.

“Oh, GOD, bring on the murder-suicides!!” Sean wailed.

“Pleeeeeaaaassssseee……….let’s engage in violent fisting….or golden showers…….anything, ANYTHING but this!!” Viggo keened. “I really AM lamenting the dead! AND the living!!”

“Oh GOD, they’re not only shiny and happy, they’re HOLDING HANDS!! And LAUGHING! Pleeeeeaaase, Viggo, rape me as I lay dying of a horrible flesh-eating bacteria!” Orlando sobbed. “Yank out my IV, toss aside my colostomy bag, and have your wicked way with me!!”


Elijah’s lower lip quivered. “You don’t like my favorite song!! How can you do this to me?? How?? BOOOOO-HOOOOOOOO!! BOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOO!! BOOOOO-HOOOOOOO!” It was as though the crying lessons had never taken place.

“There’s no time to cry, happy, happy”, the song went on. And on. “Put it in the ground, where the flowers grow…”

There was much angst and boo-hooing that day, in the house they all conveniently shared. The wailing could be heard for miles. Even Big Ben stopped chiming, in respect to the terrible darkness enveloping the Wood-Bloom-Bean-Mortensen residence.

“Don’t they ever work??” people murmured amongst themselves. “And why do they all live together? It’s odd.”

The blackness that day was blacker than any Elvis on velvet painting. The angst-o-meter had shattered. The chasm had swallowed them. Oh, the lamentations, the groaning, the gnashing of teeth. The horrible boo-hooing. The boo-fucking-hooing. When would it ever, ever end?? Now is probably a good time.

Pray for them. Pray that “Shiny Happy People” has not plunged them into the depths, beyond even God’s reach. Pray that in the next chapter, they will mercifully relieve their blue balls and finally fucking get laid, as they so richly deserve. Pray that the awful spectre of the 80s will not keep them from achieving their horny goals. Pray for that poor little duck. He didn’t ask to be force-fed, for Godsake. What kof wof world is this???

It is up to each and every one of us to make this world a shiny, happy place, where people laugh and hold hands. And take it into town. And put it in the ground, where the flowers grow. And as Viggo, Sean, Orlando and Elijah now know, there’s really no time to cry.

tbc