Fragments of Post WWII Novelette, Dirty Pictures
Nothing in the Centerfold but a Staple
34D-22-33 was not a fully matriculated student at Hedgeington University, ranked somewhere in the triple digits by World News and Reports. She has earned her tentative place as an undergraduate by winning the New England All Cheer for a Win Cheerleading competition. A partial scholarship and she was in. Or, almost in. Another little known and curious fact about 34D was that she was fascinated by the cosmos. More precisely, she was inadvertently drawn to the one metaphysical question that occupies even the most mundane of minds; namely, did she possess a soul and if so, was that soul hers or was it on loan to her. Her life up to this point has been an indeterminate effort to be a life that equated with an idea of which she had no proof. She thought once a photographer might help to capture her soul and so allowed herself to be photographed. Being sightless, she was not, however, aware that her centerfold was pierced with a staple in precisely the spot where her belly button should like a star have twinkled. Although it nicely complemented her piercing, suffice it to say the rude prong muddled the entire composition. As such, no soul could be discerned;though she received a number of rather licentious letters attesting to what could be seen. Beyond this factual criteria of her life, 34D also ate hotdogs…raw from the package. [2. As close as scholars can determine (and to encourage the correct degree of misprision), this second installation follows from the preceding as part two of 34D-22-33’s seduction. A number of faux films and graphic novels emerged on the scene following the release of this best-selling short all claiming to feature a female lead with bodily proportions corresponding exactly to 34D’s. No such claims were ever validated despite the number of measuring contests hosted by the avant-garde film company, Backroom Pictures. Including the hotdogs, there are no pertinent metaphors in this passage.]
Rhetorical Love Affair
As luck would have it, thought Norton, a silly phrase he thought again, rubbing his sore index finger along the Number #2 Pencil inscription etched into one arbitrary side of the school-bus yellow hexagon. For what would luck have? A one in four chance, he decided, arbitrarily. He took it and, as luck would have it, 34D-22-33 was just rounding the corner to his office. He pushed his door ajar and noted this strange creature flitting back and forth from one office door to the next. At each stop, she caressed (or what Norton fantasized was caressing) the brass plaque affixed just to the left of each door. Humming bird, he thought. Lost. When she reached his door, her heart was pounding at a rate well over two hundred beats per second. Her hand ascended to Norton’s plaque. A love affair was quite possibly about to begin. Then she cheeped out, “Not n ick.” Without the slightest hesitation, and much to her surprise, he corrected her, “Norton Tick.” Startled by his voice, 34D darted back (Humming bird). “Then someone has rather perniciously removed those letters—dots—from your plaque.” As this foreplay had reached its climacteric summit, she said, “I’m 34D-22-33. I see with my hands.” One in four chance, thought Not n ick, and welcomed her inside. [3. The Rhetorical Love Affair, first featured in Best American Stories, 1945 to 1955, was subsequently band by an emerging right-wing group advertising itself as Folks of the Family. The case almost made it to the Supreme Court when a little known pre-1970s pornographic film company hired the actual 34D-22-33 to play in the pilot, Deeper Exhilarations. She was blind and told, then, by competent medical authorities that her erogenous zone was oddly located where her Uvula (or “Little Grape”) should be. As it was, 34D was born with sleep apnea and, as such, suffered from long unendurable bouts of insomnia brought on by persistent and debilitating orgasms.].
Genesis Narrative: Dénouement
She seemed to touch everything as if the surface of objects, the leather arms of the chair, the chilled glass of water, Tick’s pamphlet on Rhetorical Structures in Postmodern War Poetry: a Desacralization of Content and the Contraption of Meaning conveyed everything she needed. “What can I do for you?” Tick asked. 34D made a frustrated effort to adjust her Cheerleader’s skirt; however, much to her chagrin, no amount of pulling kept it from receding just above her knees. “I was looking for the Metaphysical Department.” Tick could not relinquish the thought of his #2 pencil. “I’d like to fully matriculate but am not certain I can.” Tick was admittedly lost. “And you’re a philosophy major?” Tick spat the word philosophy like it was a bad oyster. “No. Not exactly. I’m uncertain of my soul and don’t always feel completely….” She hesitated. “Here,” she said. 34D continued to shift her 34D-22-33 body uncomfortably in the chair and in and out of her uniform. It was at this point that Tick rathe unconsciously and by accident snapped his #2 pencil. “What was that?” asked 34D. “It was nothing….”