Johnny America


Sat­ur­day Night Live


I caught a sec­ond-run Sat­ur­day Night Live — one of last season’s high­lights, I gath­ered. [Star­let A] was host­ing, plug­ging her lat­est the­atri­cal re­lease. She was wear­ing a classy chif­fon dress that framed her classy chest. The cam­era cut close as she cracked a punch­line and even with­out the ra­zor-sharp pic­ture promised by [Con­sumer Elec­tron­ics Man­u­fac­tur­er 1]’s new line of high-de­f­i­n­i­tion tele­vi­sions, I could see the freck­le is­lands spot­ting her creamy white ocean of skin. Skin is [Star­let A]’s fifth best fea­ture, fol­low­ing hair, tits, ass, and sass.

If on­ly [Star­let A] were in my liv­ing room, I con­sid­ered, and not in­volved with the beaus [Tabloid 1] ru­mors her to be court­ing — if she were here, in my liv­ing room, she would not be the kind of girl to mind our ten year age gap. It would ex­cite her, if she were here and not there. I re­solved that I’d of­fer her a glass of [Pre­mi­um Bev­er­age A], for which I knew from page eight of last month’s [Tabloid 2] she’s grown a healthy ap­petite. I might joke that my tongue was a sea mon­ster, then lick her freck­le is­lands as ca­su­al­ly as if I hadn’t been plot­ting the ma­neu­ver be­fore she’d left NBC stu­dios and caught a First Class flight to my house on [Street Named Af­ter a State].

Then [Star­let A] in­ter­rupt­ed my se­duc­tion by don­ning a [Hair Col­or 1] wig for a mediocre skit, which made me think of [Star­let B], who al­so has [Hair Col­or 1], and her sis­ter, [Star­let C], who nat­u­ral­ly has [Hair Col­or 2] but who, ac­cord­ing to [Tabloid 2], re­cent­ly dyed her hair [Hair Col­or 1], which has roused a grave rift be­tween [Star­let B] and [Star­let C] who, as sis­ters, are nat­ur­al ri­vals and as such like­ly prone to late-night cat fights in lin­gerie that nev­er lead to les­bian­ism, since they are sis­ters af­ter all.

[Star­let B] and [Star­let C] both have both promis­ing mu­sic and film ca­reers, I con­tem­plat­ed. [Star­let A] does too, though I think of her as an ac­tress-turned-singer, un­like the oth­er two, whose ca­reer tra­jec­to­ries fly op­po­site ([Star­let A]’s, not each other’s). I thought of [Star­let A]’s grow­ing dra­mat­ic chops and al­so what her freck­le is­lands would taste like driz­zled in mari­nara sauce, of whether they’d seem like vol­ca­noes — a thou­sand Vesu­vii trac­ing the mus­cle of an an­gel. Think­ing of is­lands con­jured im­ages of sharks, and [Star­let D], whose toned [Anatom­i­cal Fea­ture 1] I ad­mired ear­li­er in the day, paint­ed across the cov­er of her lat­est new-to-video re­lease, when I was rent­ing [Star­let C]’s new-to-video in­die flick at Block­buster. [Star­let D]’s DVD cov­er shows an ocean and a wave and [Star­let D], of course, who prob­a­bly has the best [Anatom­i­cal Fea­ture 2] in all of pop­u­lar cul­ture, which is an achieve­ment. I’m not sure there was a shark on the video box, but maybe — there’s a beach, at least, I think, and an ocean for cer­tain, and [Star­let D] looks a fox in that biki­ni that I wished wasn’t there be­fore wish­ing it back.

I think about [Na­tion­al Piz­za Chain A] and [Na­tion­al Piz­za Chain B] and then [Na­tion­al Piz­za Chain C], which has al­ways been de­li­cious but has be­come quite fash­ion­able since [Star­let B] signed on as spokes-ac­tress for their tele­vi­sion com­mer­cials, which was a smart move on part of [Na­tion­al Piz­za Chain C]’s mar­keters since it makes sense to load all the pix­els of today’s high-de­f­i­n­i­tion and high-def “ready” tele­vi­sions with im­ages of phe­nom­e­nal piz­za and de­li­cious breasts. I don’t have a [Con­sumer Elec­tron­ics Man­u­fac­tur­er 2] HTDV set yet, but the im­age looks tol­er­a­ble on my ob­so­lete [Con­sumer Elec­tron­ics Man­u­fac­tur­er 1] tele­vi­sion, enough for me to imag­ine the HDTV clar­i­ty, any­way. [Star­let C] was in one of those piz­za com­mer­cials, sit­ting at a pic­nic ta­ble look­ing tired and in need of a back rub.

Yes, I de­cid­ed, [Star­let A] would roll with the mari­nara. “Watch out for my chif­fon dress,” she’d warn, so I’d smile and of­fer re­move the en­dan­gered gar­ment. She’d blush but ac­cept and then I’d see her naked, freck­les and moles, and I’d ex­am­ine her [Anatom­i­cal Fea­ture 3] at full res­o­lu­tion. I won­dered if the pic­ture would be clear as what I’d see on a [Con­sumer Elec­tron­ics Man­u­fac­tur­er 3] high-de­f­i­n­i­tion tele­vi­sion set. Her breathy whis­pers would lack dig­i­tal en­hance­ment and Dol­by Sur­round imag­ing, which I’ve al­ways con­sid­ered vi­tal to her charm. The skit end­ed and a com­mer­cial be­gan. A gi­ant bur­ri­to flashed across the screen, and my mind turned to na­cho cheese and carne asa­da beef.

Filed under Non-Fiction on June 16th, 2006

Care to Share?

Consider posting a note of comment on this item:


Previous Post


Next Post


Join our Irregular Mailing List

For very occasional ramblings, word about new print ephemera, and of course exciting investment opportunities.