Disclaimers: This is a piece I wrote for the Purple Prose Parody Contest a while back. The characters are all mine, and I don’t think there’s anything here to offend tender sensibilities.
Gustav tossed his head to get his floor-length, jet-black-with-touches-of-midnight-blue locks out of his eyes. “I really should have it cut,” he thought, “What if I trip when I walk down the aisle?”
Yes, incredible as it seemed to him, after a three-day whirlwind romance international playboy Gustav had lost his heart and soul to the fiery and intriguing reporter Jessica Tarte. Who could have guessed, after his years of torrid love affairs and one-night stands with supermodels on the Riviera, that he would fall for the shy, insecure country reporter trying to make it in the big city? But somehow spending three days fleeing international terrorists in a bizarre mistaken identity crisis had formed a bond between Jessica and Gustav beyond any he had ever known. And in less than an hour, she would walk down the aisle and be his forever.
His ruminations were cut short by the entrance of a bizarre and motley group. “Good god,” he thought, “The Village People are in town!”
The four men could not have looked more dissimilar. A marine in full dress whites, a cowboy in chaps and spurs, a tortured poet in a ruffled silk shirt and leather pants, and a Duke in velvet jodhpurs. They were surrounded by a gaggle of children of various ages, and they were heading straight for him as though they knew him.
“God, another hairy one,” said the Marine, “He looks like Cousin It.” Gustav bristled at this, but the Marine continued. “Good to meet you, I’m Stryker. Meet Lance, Beau, and Julius, the Duke of Poshville.”
“Gustav,” he offered, shaking hands with the men. “Who are you people?”
“We’re Jessica’s ex-husbands,” said Lance. “Welcome to the club.”
“Ex-husbands? But we haven’t even gotten married yet!”
Beau snorted. “Did you miss the part where she explained all of her intimacy issues stemming from her father’s abandonment and the death of her gerbil? The woman’s got the emotional staying power of wet cardboard.”
“Let’s just get right down to business, shall we?” said Stryker. “Now since there’ll be five of us, we can split up the carpooling much easier. Monday through Friday in order of precedence. Poker night is Wednesday.”
Gustav stared at Stryker, bewildered. “Carpool? What the heck are you talking about?”
“She’s pregnant,” Lance explained.
“Twins,” Beau added, “A boy and a girl. It’s traditional.”
Gustav took a second look at the crowd of children plucking at the coat-tails of their fathers. Indeed, the five boys and five girls made perfectly matched pairs, almost identical aside from the difference in sex. Each pair combined Jessica’s violet eyes and darling chin with the features of their fathers. A sense of rising panic gripped him. “But we used condoms!” he shrieked.
Julius chuckled. “Bad luck, old sport. Did you really think those flimsy excuses for AIDS awareness could withstand the mighty force of your turgid manhood? She’s pregnant. With twins.”
“Well I wish someone had told me!” Gustav snapped. “I would have had a heck of a lot more fun if I’d known I didn’t have to bother with a rubber.”
The other men chuckled in sympathy. “If you think that’s bad,” said Stryker, “wait until you find out you can never have sex again.”
“What?!” Gustav screamed.
Beau shrugged. “If you ever have sex with anyone else, you become the evil ex-husband who threw her over for another model, she takes your kids and you have a horrible car accident a few weeks later so she can play the grieving widow and snare some other poor sap.”
“Poor Rufus,” said Beau. Two of the children turned maudlin at the name of their missing father.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” said Gustav, “Now, while there’s still time!”
The four men panicked and grabbed his arms to shake some sense into him. “Don’t even say that!” said Lance. “If you leave her pregnant at the altar, you’ll still never have sex, but you’ll have to spend the next ten years redeeming your hollow life while she struggles to raise the children alone, and when you reunite with them, they’ll be all resentful and you’ll have to pay for their therapy. Believe me, you don’t need that hassle.”
“Don’t fight it,” Stryker soothed. “It’ll all be over soon. Starr, Simon, Kayla, Kevin, Lily, Lucius, Michaela, Matheson, Desiree and Dominic, why don’t you go find us some good seats?” And with that, they disappeared into the chapel, leaving Gustav to greet his bride.
End.