So yeah, I’m all cozy when I hear somebody pounding on the door. I quickly put on my silk bathrobe, the one with the feather trim, not the pink one, but the green one… its after 9:00 and you never know, it could be Ryan Reynolds responding to a certain tweet you sent saying how you’d love to see that Green Lantern costume in person… so I open the door and there are three men in black suits standing stoically on the porch.
“Ma'am, we have a warrant to search the premises and confiscate any computers you may have in your possession,” the Head Goon said
“What? Why?” I protested as two of the goons shoved past me and started searching my house.
“You have been flagged as viewing material on the interweb that is has been categorized as illegal. You are now going to have to register yourself on our watch list.”
“No way, man, the website clearly said that they were all over eighteen!”
“No ma'am, this is not in reference to your visiting Fresh Twinkies dot com, you have been flagged as having viewed ‘The Human Centipede’ in its entirety.”
“But… but… I was just curious to see what all the hub-bub was about-- you can’t be serious!” I said, just as the youngest goon walked up, a look of repulsion on his face. He carried, between his thumb and index finger, a copy of “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.”
“Indeed,” the Head Goon mumbled.
“What? I’ve had that book since I was a kid! It’s a first edition! This is crazy, the movie was on Netflix for fucksake!”
“Yes Ma'am, that’s what we refer to as a sting operation,” one of the more handsome goons said as he put my laptop into a plastic bag marked “evidence.”
“Surely we can work something out,” I said, turning toward him, allowing my robe to slip off one of my shoulders.
The Handsome Goon looked at my smooth toned shoulder, then looked me in the eyes, “It’s a movie about a man sewing people together, ass to mouth,” he said as he shoved past me. Then he turned and added, “You disgust me.”
“Seriously, it’s just a movie! Granted one that was hilariously bad while simultaneously being thoroughly disturbing!”
“You can tell it to the judge,” the Head Goon said
“What’s he doing?” I asked, looking past the Head Good at the younger one who was hammering a sign into the grass at the end of my driveway.
“You are required to prominently display that in your front lawn until further notice,” he added, then walked out. After they had left, I walked down the end of my drive way to get a better look at the sign. It was in the shape of a centipede and read “Pervert” in large bright letters. Just then Ryan Reynolds rolled up on his skateboard. He glanced at the sign, then back at me.
“Well then,” he said with a hunger in his voice, “I hope there is a bit of truth in advertising!”
“And I hope your abs aren’t totally CGI,” I said coyly.
“Only one way to find out. Shall we take this inside?” he asked as he pulled a bottle of Strawberry Hill out of a paper bag.
“Lets!” I said, pulling him toward the house. When life hands you lemons, you hook it up with some Boone’s Farm.
