Wednesday, June 8, 2016

In Which I Experience Ted Cruz/Guy Fieri Erotic Slash Fiction.

So, Ted Cruz. If you don't know of him, he's an American politician who some people say may be the Zodiac Killer, and who may best be known for behaving as though several alien cuttlefish found a drifter's corpse and are making unsuccessful attempts to use it to communicate with actual people.

Then there's Guy Fieri. Best known as a celebrity restauranteur with Smashmouth hair and the slick, shiny appearance of a boiled sausage, he has appeared in things ranging from television shows, to a (now defunct) website entirely devoted to photoshopping his courtroom sketch into famous works of art, to clips of him eating backwards:


(Incidentally, if this video's a little tough to stomach, you might want to skip the rest of this entry. Just FYI.)

In a stroke of mad brilliance, Lana In Macando posted a piece of erotic fiction starring questiohuman man Ted Cruz and well-oiled meat balloon Guy Fieri. This is a very long preamble, because I'm attempting to delay having to act on the fact that I told a friend I would live-blog it.

Anyhow. I bring you "Frosted Tips." Let's do the thing.

The story opens up with a truly believable and moving description of Cruz-- his disdain for the fleshy undulation of Midwestern tourists, the curl of his flesh-mouth, his attempts to out-human everyone around him. You really feel his confusion and discomfort. His attempts to wallow in human delights can lead him only one place... Flavortown.

We cut now to Fieri, occupied with admiring his unctuous body films in the mirror. There's a hint of the supernatural here, as he seems to detect Cruz's approach without heating or seeing him. Is this going to be more than a sticky-fingered, Donkey Sauced hookup in a broom closet? Yes, this could be interesting!

I could have lived without the simile likening Fieri's testicles to "sour cream-laden triple-loaded baked potatoes," however.
I think I might need to drink a ginger ale and go lie down for a bit.


Gotta keep plugging through.

Cruz finds himself in Fieri's restaurant, experiencing a stirring in his loins and heart. I'm kind of surprised the Cruz-organism has parts analogous to a human's loins and heart, but I'm willing to suspend my disbelief here if it keeps me from having to think about it for longer than a picosecond.

Oh crap the authors are describing mouths. "Wet, narrow sea worm of a tongue." "The white ooze that had congealed [on his lips] in his panic."

No, no, no, no, n

Round three.

Mercifully, the reader is spared too vivid a description of the act itself. I'm less inclined to believe that this is for any kind of propriety's sake than it is because describing the various fleshy dongles and gibbering orifices Ted Cruz uses during copulation is beyond the abilities of a mortal author. Either way, I'm happy I don't need to hear anything else about mouths.

Instead, there's a paragraph describing thrusting, Donkey Sauce, and Fieri being a bottom. Not nearly as bad as I initially assumed.

God help us all.


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