50 Shades of Grey is selling faster than hoverboards at a Humourisms fan convention, and Jon Hozier-Byrne wants to get in on the action. Armed with little-to-no understanding of modern sexual politics or modern sexual sex, he tries to write him a best-seller.
“Oh”, she sighed, as Chrissy produced his large, hard DVD jewel case from his carrier bag.
“Tonight is the night”, Chrissy whispered, as he warmed up the laptop, because no-one actually has a DVD player anymore. “We’re watching Secretary.”
“Class”, moaned Annie, who hadn’t seen it, but had heard good things. She loved James Spader in Boston Legal, so it would probably be grand. And she hears the paperback adaptation is a bit of a saucy cracker, or at the very least, a Jacobs that has been dipped into some variety of roux.
She looked Chrissy up and down. He towered over her, reminding Annie of some sort of a tower – a sexy tower, the kind of tower you would want to bang. His large, bulging calves, barely obscured by his GAA socks, sang to Annie, like two Greek Sirens, whose song rang out, “lick the shins off me.”
Chrissy stared down at Annie, his gaze cutting into her, like that time she got a bad piercing in Claire’s. She was looking particularly intercourse-y today. Her shirt opened just enough to show a little bit of sweet, sweet boobs, which Chrissy was a big fan of – if you asked any of his friends, they’d be like “What? Chrissy? Yeah, he loves boobs. Mad for them. Who are you?”
The movie was just starting, and even the opening credits were provocative. Across the screen flashed words that got Annie a little hot under her Penney’s Finest collar – ‘Directed by Steven Shainberg’. “Tonight”, she thought to herself, I am going to give this guy double sex”, which is like regular sex, but more repetitive.
The opening shots of a young, pre-Batman Maggie Glynhall flew Chrissy into a violent sex-rage, as he lifted Annie up into his arms, much in the way a T-Rex couldn’t.
“I’m going for it, and damn what the establishment says” thought Chrissy, displaying his rebelliousness, just one of his many attractive traits. Ever since he was promoted to weekend manager at the branch of Tesco’s where Annie worked, she had looked up to him, both because of his suave, adult demeanor, and because he was significantly taller then her. He looked deep into her eyes, a long, penetrating look with some pretty decent phallic imagery. Without saying a word, he shifted her.
Oh, and what a shift it was. A lingering shift, the kind of shift where the world around you melts away, and you lose all sense of reality, and your friends take loads of photos of you on the mad shift and then there are some pretty scarlet-making profilers up on Facebook the next day. It was that good a shift.
After that, they both had loads of sexy intercourse. It went on for ages, all of the intercourse, and was very nice for all involved.
“Boy howdy”, Annie thought to herself, “I sure am relieved to have had all that intercourse. I may be falling for this man, even though he seems cold and distant.”
“Boy howdy”, Chrissy thought, “I wonder if there’s any Wheelies left in the press.”
The writer paused for a moment, and leaned away from his keyboard, smirking wryly at a job well done. Soon the offers will come flooding in, he thought; ‘oh, please, write us a best-selling book about all the sex that you understand so well’, they’ll say. Now, the writer thought, we play the waiting game.