THE STING

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You’ll have to excuse Imelda’s Greta “I vant to be alone” Garbo moment but sometimes I’m the architect of my own misery.

Even after 20 years of stifling the dissenting voices calling for democratic change I still find it hard to silence my inner critic. When I visualize my inner critic she’s a cross between Leona Hemsley and Nancy Regan…yup, this is dark shit. She’s been extremely vocal of late and instead of facing her head on I got busy distracting myself with counter productive behaviour - big mistake. I hit the self-help sites in a major way and all this armchair mumbo jumbo did was blow out my credit statement and hasten my Mariah Carey-esque meltdown.

Going nowhere fast, I signed myself up to a gay chat room and pretending to be a 16-year-old twink looking to fulfil his Gary Glitter fantasy. Needless to say, I was swamped with offers. Wading through the sea of fisters and felchers I took a shine to a desperado with the handle ‘blood_fart’. His profile really tugged at my heartstring. He was searching for a man who shared his passion for Princess Anne memorabilia. I have a natural affinity with twisted-sisters and we spent days chatting about Anne’s love of dowdy ill fitting pant suits and turtle necks. ‘Blood_fart’ became my dirty shame, my crutch, and my escape from the pressures of being an international symbol of glamour, tyranny and greed – until the intervention.

I hadn’t been expecting guests so when the front door bell chimed I was momentarily startled. I heard the door open and then close and muffled voices and the shuffling of rubber soled shoes. No one wears rubber-soled shoes in The Despot’s residence - this wasn’t looking good. An impending sense of dread washed over me so I turned the crazy up a notch and frantically logged on to my computer – I wanted to disappear into my ‘Anne Hole’ where Nancy and Leona were silenced with talk of tweed and box pleat skirts.

When the door exploded open I couldn’t look up, I was irrational and out of control with a single obsession…blood_fart had just received a new Franklin Mint limited edition commemorative bust and I was desperate to see if they’d successfully captured Anne’s brittle looking hair…ZAAAAAAAAP!

Luckily my re-enforced panty girdle absorbed the full blast but I was still blown clean off my ergonomic bounce ball. Before I had time to fire back someone snatched my Taser heels and I was pinned to the floor.

“Imelda you’ve been stewing in your own filth long enough so I’ve decided to hold an Imeldavention”, it was Jill from Trend de la Crème. “I’ve booked us into a secluded Franciscan retreat in the Milanese Alps and you’re going to rediscover your inner despot, whether you like it or not”.

I was about to get on my high horse, when I realised Jill had said ‘us’. “You mean you’re coming with me?” I asked, “Lady you can’t be trusted. You’ve managed to snake your way out of every charge and indictment that’s been thrown your way. I don’t expect the Friars will know what to make of you”. “True! Can I have my heels back?” I asked, “No” she replied. “Bitch” I muttered.

No amount of pouting, posturing or complaining would change her mind - it was done deal.

While Jill and Yum Yum overheated the G5’s p2p consoles, I was left to consider the implications of my bad behaviour, the irony of being tasered with my own shoes and plot how I was going to give Nurse Ratchet and a bunch of sex starved Friars the slip.

As the car wound it’s way up the picturesque Alps Jill tossed me a brochure “have a read” she mumbled. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting, the buildings were well maintained and the Monks looked nourished and happy. This wasn’t going to be as quite as diabolical as I expected (don’t get me wrong, I still wasn’t happy about it). Two weeks of fresh mountain air, meditation, delicious Italian cooking and…WTF…SILENCE!

Right at that moment I felt something cold and metallic snap around my ankle – that didn’t feel good. Looking down I could see Jill had clamped me into an electronic anklet. Justifying her swift moves, she smiled and said “Just in case”. The car screeched to a bone-jarring stop, we’d arrived…

Part 2 tomorrow

Comments

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Now THIS is the crazy, fucked-in-the-head, over-the-top despot we know and love. I can't wait for part deux (which I'm sure is savory as hell!) Looks like the fresh mountain air got to you, and in a good way ;)

Posted by: trend de la creme | August 25, 2008 at 06:52 PM

Nooooooo! I hate cliffhangers almost as much as I loathe and detest Siimon Reynolds (truly, I read the end of the book first, and am an insatiable spoiler junkie)! How can you do this to me, I must know how this ends!

Posted by: Skye | August 25, 2008 at 06:55 PM

What a fantastic story-maybe this should be your new day job? I can't wait for the next installment!

Posted by: Sharon rose | August 25, 2008 at 07:27 PM

This is indeed a very interesting story, was the metallic snap of a new marc jacobs shoe?

Posted by: Rachel | August 25, 2008 at 07:31 PM

this is pure insanity... love it!

Posted by: lady coveted | August 25, 2008 at 09:24 PM

Glad you liked the video. Isn't it lovely? I got a little teary. Thanks for the comment, as well. :)

Posted by: fashion chalet | August 26, 2008 at 01:02 AM

OMG!!! I love this writing!!!
What a great story I'm looking forward for the next part. I think you should think about writing novels ;)

Why are you who always make the questions about the aspect of my post that I think more interesting?????
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Posted by: The Seeker | August 26, 2008 at 01:40 AM

Yikes! The suspense!

Posted by: Sal | August 26, 2008 at 02:17 AM

Ok I'll forgive your despotic decider - part deux given the fact you're officially sleeping for two, however if the zzzz were due to boredom I'm willing the anklet to go tighter....

Posted by: Make Do & Mend | August 26, 2008 at 03:39 AM