A Short History of Postmodernism - Perspective of a Female Victim
Winona the-Ever-Grateful (a widow of just 23 years) technically had sexual intercourse four times, with three different men, the week of June 1st, 2008. The inconsistency manifest in her record because while she meant to only sleep with each of them once at random intervals over the seven-day period that separates a week from any other week on your common calendar, the fact that she didn’t cum the whole-long-while that defined the second encounter – the one with the big, sad, drowsy, yearning behemoth known as Horace the big and angry Jockstrap (who works at the supermarket, bless his heart) – which was spent with a man who, coincidence would have it, being the type of man that would not struggle to find a way at cumming even if a cathartic, transvestite septuagenarian (perhaps there being symbolism in that particular number) with a hole-in-(its)-throat had walloped him across the ears with a wooden baseball bat (yes, a wooden bat), she marooned herself upon the island-of-a-question and decided that no, that did not count, and broke the terrifying news to Horace that he would be made to perform far past his (embarrassingly) limited sexual capacity, his “warranty” being long expended.
She had experimented with women for some time before and felt that it was safe to “switch” back to men, being that since Senator Hillary Clinton (the woman, wife of Bill) of New York was expected to suspend her campaign for the Democratic Nomination for the President of the United States (a contest that was to be decided in a near-five months) and endorse her former-rival Senator Barack Obama (the black guy, husband of Michelle) of Illinois, she had all but done her part concerning the plight of Woman and could now wholeheartedly indulge her more primal, less progressive notions and impulses.
And upon reminiscing-while-nude the Sunday night of June 7th, 2008 while at the same time understanding that the Clinton Campaign® had officially “surceased”1 and ceded to the Obama camp (as, has been noted, was long expected), she was brought to understand that each man was a specific lesson in the application of masculine violence upon the female subject.
Whereas her time spent as a possible-lesbian was an opportunity for her to play the violent character – being that it was natural for her to assume the “male” role upon “switching” and to lose her lips in the wild territory that constitutes a tight and spacious ****, hesitant at first but then the taste and the hand upon her falling hair and the impetus to not resign (now being the “man”) “herself” to domination and bear down upon it with the veracity of a stolen body abducted by a red and savage phallus each deeper thrust of tongue and baptism of saliva unleashing evermore possibility of stern reproach in the form of those resisting arms that seemed to have no body and no brain and she not to be resisted and eventually she baring her soft teeth upon its exterior fold while rubbing her pointed nose through the prickling hairs left behind by such a busy razor some of those hairs tickling the insides of her nose eventually coming to bite down upon it all with the full terror and submerging herself in the gushing foams that resulted while eventually pressing herself off of it and inviting the same action to be performed upon her (though upon one’s virgin knees) the satisfaction that emerges when they are on their knees – and commit atrocities upon a visage of herself, the time spent as a woman before that was lived with the understanding that she, as a woman, was sacred.
“Did you wipe the – cuum – off of everything?” he asked, while standing next to the bed naked and scratching himself between his shoulder blades with one hand and rubbing her shoulder softly with the other after coming back from the bathroom, where he had left the light on.
“He” being Dr. Emile, Jade-Watson, PhD (Winona the-Ever-Faithful’s therapist, physical and psychological2). He always making sure to practice the most sincere sympathy for those who clean hotel bedrooms.¤¤
She moves away and causes his arm to fall in a ridiculous swinging motion to his side, almost causing him to fall flat-on-his-face.
“You say “cum” as if you are saying “come”, like you want me to crawl to you. And she moving to the door and sliding down with it against her back; he moving towards her, his pale and lanky strides as pale and lanky as his body, “I am sorry, but you are just so pretty – but yet so tragic – what ill, if I may, has befallen you, my ever-sounding submarine?”
¤¤Winona the-Ever-Forgetful and Dr. Emile, J-D, PhD, having just had sexual intercourse a single time and for the first time, are at the Backwood’s3 Motel. In the forthcoming scene, a visually depressed Winona, after much plodding and enquiry and emotional as-well-as actual physical tickling (actual tickling, no word-play) on the part of Dr. Emile, J-W, PhD, at last confides in him what, as to his question, “has befallen” her.
“I miss Leslie” she says in exasperation, through infantile (meaning just beginning, not immature) sobbing.
“Leslie! By Leslie do you mean your rat-bastard, hack of a gynecologist?” he answers with a question, his finger pointing up in the air, towards the ceiling.
“Sort of” she responds, fully delirious now – “Leslie is also my accountant as well as my personal masseuse.”
“So Leslie, that *******, that donkey’s what-not-of-cholera poison, has done this to you! Well, bloody4 nevermore he will not; I’ll see to that, you bet your beautiful a-ss5 I will!”
She begins to collect herself and places her hands upon her knees and starts rocking them to-and-fro, in opposite directions.
“Almost, almost, you see, there are two Leslies, there’s my Gynecologist/ Accountant/ Masseuse, Leslie Sclhgardeizkerlchtoctenishathnm, who’s from Vermont, who you know, who I’ve always kept a professional relationship with, well, as professional a relationship as can be had with a man who massages your entire body with essential oils, understands your most intimate financial details, and inspects your vagina for disease every-now-and-then, and then there’s Leslie I-Don’t-Know-Whozit, who’s an immigrant from Austria that I had sex with last Sunday night right here, against this door – he had me like that. We only did it once though.”
It would not be testing the bounds of the impossible to describe Dr. Emile, J-W’s reaction to this therapeutic cleansing as altogether impressed, enlightened, relieved, and violently repulsed, intoxicated with the sudden knowledge that his – homosexual lover – Leslie I-Don’t-Know-Whozit, from Austria, had cheated on him with the love-of-his-life Winona the-Ever-Frivolous, who he had recently begun seeing as a result of the collapse of their professional relationship as therapist-and-patient that had lasted for the seemingly interminable eon of a session-and-a-half. But, being that he was still on the clock, Emile had to see this through, and bring her to “catharsis”.
“So” he managed to choke out of his ever-drying lips, his wispy blond hair being molested by his fingertips, which were painted black, “it is this Leslie, from Austria (deep pain in stomach) that has caused you (slight sob) so much pain?”
By now Winona was ever-tired of the secret that she had been harboring, the truth that had so enslaved her person for the last few moments; that she couldn’t stand it anymore, and had to confess:
“Well, no, you see, it is actually a third Leslie, last name Welter-of-the-Non, who you’d love, whose actions I am suffering this response to. You see, and I only tell you this because I love you, by the way, and I love the way you say “cum” as if you are asking me to “come” to you, by the way, and the way you stand at the edge of the bed in your bathrobe, as you just did a couple of minutes ago, and have me turn off the lights as you begin to disrobe, and then turn them back on only when I can feel you entering me; I tell you this because I love the stupid way you ****, as I just experienced, by the way, in which you close your eyes and bare your teeth and your head all ridiculous bobbles-about and the whimpers that you emit, as if I have my little-toe permanently about to enter your *******; I tell you this because I love you, that I had a lesbian relationship with a woman called Leslie Welter-of-the-Non, in which I most likely transmitted the HIV virus that I have had for a couple of weeks now, to her, and then to Leslie I-Don’t-Know-Whozit, from Austria; Horace the big and angry jockstrap (who works at the supermarket, bless his heart); and yourself, but, mind you, not to Leslie Sclhgardeizkerlchtoctenishathnm from Vermont, who I have always managed to keep the utmost professional relationship with, he being my Gynecologist/ Accountant/ Personal Masseuse.
Dr. Emile, Jade-Watson, PhD had no idea that since the last time he had ****ed his whore-of-a-wife, Leslie Welter-of-the-Non (who, being progressive as well as from France, had decided to keep her last name, in spite of Dr. Emile, J-W’s wishes that she become, at the very least, Leslie Welter-of-the-Non Jade-Watson, so that he could be spared embarrassment at the hands of his very American-in-his-English and very macho brother-in-law, Leslie Sclhgardeizke-rlchtoctenishathnm, who lives in Vermont with his wife, whose last name he had the ironic sense of complete awesomeness to take), he had been dying of the HIV virus given to her by her perhaps-lesbian, most-likely evil lover, Winona the-Always-Obvious neé Frivolous, neé Faithful, neé Forgetful, neé Grateful!
¤¤In the space it had taken Dr. Emile, J-W to realize this undeniable fact (all but a few hours), Winona had gone about twiddling her thumbs and staring at the ceiling in embarrassment; now she decided that enough was enough.
“Emile,” she said, “I still love you, and I fully expect you to leave your dying whore-of-a-wife so that we can die a terrible, AIDS ridden-and-wasted, farce-of-a-death, together. Baby, you complete me!”
And with that Dr. Emile, Jade-Watson, PhD committed murder6 for only the second time and left the room without his clothes (or, naked), Winona’s (former) body a white mass of bloated, quiescent and stark flesh, the bathroom light still on and buzzing that ridiculous low buzz that hotel bathroom lights are bound to do as a result of their proximity to the generator, the room perhaps still marked here and there with traces of Dr. Emile, J-W’s drying, immigrant cum.
Epilogue
So, Winona the-Ever-Grateful came to appreciate the plight of Man as well as the plight of Woman as well as the hazards and the emotional, paradoxical pressures that accompany the Presidential Election® cycle, that which is held once-every-four-years, as by law expounded by the Constitution of these United States®. But upon further examination, just what is Winona the-Ever-Grateful?
Is she a whore? a *****? is she simply misunderstood? or, perhaps, is she just an incredibly stupid idiot?7
Endnotes
1. Totally awesome word, courtesy of dictionary.com®/thesaurus; meaning “to cease from some action; desist”
2. This is not an instance of an implied crude “double-entendre” or, in English, “double-meaning” in the fact that Dr. Emile, J-W, PhD is Winona’s “physical” therapist (let the record show that there is also no connection implied between “physical” and “psychological” therapy being performed upon Winona; alas, such as Church and State, the two are ever separate.
3. There is a “double-entendre”, or, in English, “double-meaning” implied here, however. Perhaps it is sexual, which would make it political and therefore fanatical and unbecoming of our heroine.
4. Dr. Emile, Jade-Watson, PhD being an English immigrant, from London.
5. See: note 4^
6. For the much debated consequences of such an act (and perhaps even Winona’s spreading-of-the-HIV), see: Holy Bible, New International Version: Exodus, 20:13 (also, in the case of Dr. Emile’s adultery, see Exodus, 20:14)
7. All un-answered questions are to be answered by the reader.
