Free Pirate Dave and his Randy Adventures (Career Ending Romance Spoof) by Robyn Peterman

enthusiasm sounded forced, but I hoped if I agreed, she would shut up.
    “You should listen to LeHump,” Poppy the Plant said. “She made three hundred thousand in sales last year alone.”
    “What?” I gasped. I had no idea so many people wanted to read about sticking things in their butt. As impressed as I was with that number, I couldn’t possibly add a scene with the teacher and the bus driver and the lunch lady. It wasn’t true to my vision. What am I thinking? I have no vision. I just pulled the most ridiculous premise out of my rear end and now I have a vision?
    As I silently contemplated the merits of a threesome with the lunch lady, the mood in the room changed abruptly. The tension grew thick and the hair stood up on my arms. The women scurried around like ants in a rainstorm. What was going on? Were they offended that the bus driver didn’t come clean about his past? I could change that part. Maybe he should tell her . . . After all, he’s not really guilty of killing anybody. I mean, he did steal an identity, but he found the driver’s license in the garbage in back of a fast food restaurant when he was scrounging for burgers. He was starving, for God’s sake . . . couldn’t they understand that?
    “She’s here,” Nancy hissed. All eyes flew to the door.
    “Who’s here?” I whispered urgently. My breakfast doughnut was threatening to make a reappearance. Why in the hell didn’t I leave at the first mention of bondage? I was scared to death and I had no idea why.
    “The skanky, book-stealing, bottom-feeding slag,” Shoshanna LeHump said quietly. “Don’t look her in the eye—she’ll suck out your soul.”
    “Put Rena behind you,” Nancy frantically barked to Shoshanna. Her muumuu flowed wildly around her, making me dizzy. “The smelly skank-hole always goes for the new ones. Protect her!” she hissed.
    LeHump shoved me behind her. She was strong for such a tiny thing. I was starting to hyperventilate. What in the hell had I gotten myself into?
    A small almost inaudible whimper rippled through the room as she entered . . . Ladies and gentlemen, Evangeline O’Hara was in the house.

Chapter Two
     
    An eerie hush fell over the room. I could feel Poppy the Azalea Bush trembling next to me and Joanne was picking at her face where her eyebrows used to be. Nancy and LeHump held their ground, but they were half the women they had been only five minutes ago. We stood huddled together like a herd of cows. There was a lump in my throat and my heart was bouncing around in my chest like a Ping-Pong ball; I knew everyone could hear it. What in the hell was happening? With extreme caution, I peeked out from behind Shoshanna’s head.
    What the fuck was that? That couldn’t possibly be Evangeline O’Hara. Could it? My God, the picture she used on her website had to be at least thirty years old . . . maybe forty.
    She prowled the room like a panther . . . with a limp. It had to be the shoes. I’d seen shoes like that only in magazines. They were so high, I didn’t know how she didn’t teeter off. Her body was skeletal thin. But her boobs . . . her boobs were ginormous and didn’t move as she circled the mound of terrified women pressed together in the middle of the room. She was draped in turquoise silk. The same color as her eyes. I’m positive she slept with them open, not by choice . . . by necessity. They’d been lifted to her eyebrows. She looked like she’d just come out of a supersonic wind tunnel; her face was yanked back as tight as a drum. There wasn’t a line on her forehead or around her eyes or mouth, but her neck resembled a flesh-colored rotten prune. Clearly her vision was impaired, because if she got a gander at her neck . . . Hoo Betty. My guess was that misplaced pride in her frighteningly abundant cleavage blinded her to the saggy neck.
    There’s just something inherently wrong with an eightyish-year-old woman sporting the triple-D bosom of a twenty-year-old centerfold