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I'm Just Here For The Food

Updated: Feb 1, 2021

This is Story Four in my 38 Stories Project.

Parameters Submitted By: Johnny Scaccia

Word Count: 350 Setting: Gender Reveal Party Word: Tyrant Action: Stepping in dog shit


“Surely this is a crime?”

“She looks voluminous. Maybe there’s one of each in there.”

“Or puppies! I need to start declining these rancid parties. One more chocolate nappy licking baby shower or cluck-cluck drink a watery mojito through a cock straw hen’s day and I’m going to forget how to be cool.”

“Cheap sparkling.”

“Shit grazing table. Just because she can’t eat soft cheese doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“He looks nervous.”

“Wouldn’t you be? Forced to pop a giant balloon and watch his future Saturday mornings burst out in streamer form. Pink or blue. Ballet or baseball.”

“Or the gender reassignment waiting room and realising that colours are for everyone.”

“Realising he’s married to a tyrant who makes him pop a giant balloon at a party with no cured meats to speak of.”

“He’s about to step in…”

“Wouldn’t you clean up the dog shit beforehand?”

“Probably too busy lamenting his former half cool self and crying in the mirror.”

“He’s quite handsome.”

“Did I tell you I made out with him once?”

“No! When? Tongue?”

“He felt me up on the dancefloor at Connections a lifetime ago. He had abs then.”

“He still has biceps. Good shoulders.”

“Probably from carrying around the weight of his bad decisions.”

“Why is her hair like that?”

“Like fluffy?”

“Like orangey.”

“Jesus. They’re about to do it. I can’t look.”

“That’s it everyone. Get out your phones and set them to Boomerang.”

“I need a real drink. Is there whiskey?”

“I think it’s ten am.”

“Chrissssst. Gin then.”

“Oh look, it’s pink.”

“How darling. Can we go now?”

“I think we have to wait for them to make a speech.”

“About how they hope she’s not a lesbian?”

“About how they hope to develop some personality in the coming months.”

“He looks like he’s going to cry.”

“Because he knows he’ll have to stick it in her at least one more time to see if he can sire himself an heir.”

“That hurts my senses.”

“Jesus. I can’t take anymore. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

“Right behind you. Bring the beetroot dip.”


Thanks for reading.

Taya. xx.

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