Written by Falconempress. Posted on Apr 30, 01:19 PM.

"You Slay Me" Spork - Chapter 5

When we left ASSling (heh, thanks, Derrick Mace), the last time, though sadly not FOR the last time, she was just done sucking face with Drake and made her grand exit out of a bar named G&T. Or at least one would think she made her exit OUT of the bar with all the drama she put into it, but no. Now that she does not have the tongue of the man who grabbed her by the neck all the way in her throat, Assling remembers people other than Drake exist, she notices the twins with Shakespearean names again and goes over to talk to them. Of course, as she walks towards their table, the crowd parts in front of her like the Red Sea (yes, she actually compares herself to an act of God), as if they were scared of her and afraid to touch her. Me, I would just feel a compulsive need to throw my drink into her face.

She joins the sisters, who stare at her as though she just dropped from the sky, orders another Dragon’s Blood, to underscore yet again her Speshulness. Blah blah, they talk and the twins do so much eye – popping it’s a miracle their eyes are not rolling on the table already. Nothing interesting there – Assling wants to know how to defeat a dragon, they talk she should stay clear from Camus, since he is playing with Teh Dark Side™, providing us with yet another hint that he may turn out to be the main antagonist. She wants to pwn Drake so that she can get the statue back and thus blackmail him into helping her find the real killer or some shit like that, I don’t care. They warn her about not doing anything rash and with that, she finally leaves the bar, although not until she exchanges a couple of glances with Drake, of course.

By the way, Assling and the twins also discuss the differences in certain, hm, intimate parts of physiology between an ordinary man and a dragon. Apparently the dragons are different in their private parts and that women who do sleep with them end up… hurt. God, I was just joking about the tail! It was just a joke! Just a joke!

Assling goes back to the hotel, and calls a person named Beth who is not only her uncle’s secretary, but also her best friend. Well, that is convenient. Ladies and gentlemen, say hi to the source of random, yet strangely useful knowledge or a mean of attaining otherwise unavailable information. I hate Beth already, because one of her first lines is “Good golly, Miss Molly“, the only thing in the multiverse which makes the Adam West Batman series version of Robin look like the coolest being to ever have been alive.

He just oozes cool

If I ever meet the author, I will strangle her to death.

The two talk, and turns out Assling is a horrible, horrible employee. Her uncle has called her about six times, but she never calls him, her employer, back about the job she was supposed to do for him, which she totally fucked up. She even crumples every message he leaves her and throws it away. She says this is because would only feel confident enough to call him once she has the statue back. Not only is that a gross violation of so many labor and employment laws I cannot even name them all, but what’s worse is that Damian’s very own secretary does not push Assling into taking responsibility for being a total dolt and just brushes the whole thing off like nothing happened. Another baffling aspect of this is that Damian only growls and scowls, yet does nothing about Assling. I may understand being reluctant to fire somebody from your own family, but the chick lost a priceless historical artifact, got herself involved in a murder investigation, as one of the main suspects nonetheless, and the entire time she refuses to contact him to explain everything?

If she were working for me, I would fire her horny ass before she could say “Poop“.

She then asks Beth to fax her certain pages on demon summoning from the medieval manuscripts she has laying around her apartment. Beth questions this strange proposal, but soon, being the puppet existing only for the convenience of the supremely annoying main character, agrees to do as was ordered. Assling hangs the phone, realizes she is tired and goes to sleep. Then comes one of the creepiest things I ever came across in my entire life. And I have gazed into the abyss of teh internetz and somehow crawled back up without vomiting. Well, without vomiting too much. BUT THAT’S BESIDES THE POINT.

She has a wet dream.

That is not the creepy part.

The whole thing happens in the apartment of the Dead Woman From Chapter One. No, the Dead Woman From Chapter One fortunatelly isn’t there anymore. Which actually does very little to reduce the deeply disturbing scene that is about to follow.

Drake is there! Of course. At this point, it would surprise me more of he didn’t keep popping up everywhere. Assling wonders whether it’s a dream or reality (insert Queen song joke here), Drake has some cryptic shit to say about it, which actually explains nothing but makes it feel an awful lot like he is trying to tell her the whole thing is real without actually telling her the whole thing is real. Most normal people would understand his wannabe – cryptic remarks, but Assling is, of course, retarded and thoroughly ignores his not-so-subtle hints which are about as hard to ignore as repeated beatings to the head with a brick. She instead decides it’s just a dream based on examining what she is wearing:

I was wearing an absolutely gorgeous cream-colored satin-and-lace negligee, one that emphasized my good points and hid the bad ones. “Now I know this is a dream. I don’t own a nightgown like this.”

headdesk

headdesk

An absurdly powerful being able to change the shape of its body at will, burn people alive with his fiery kiss (the lamest ability EVER), moves with inhuman speed and has trickles of smoke rising from his nostrils when angered would surely not be able to enter somebody’s dreams and summon a garb like this.

So since Assling decides this is just a fantasy, the two proceed to suck face, since we didn’t get enough of the sweet sweet action the first time around.

Also, Drake is wearing an unbuttoned black silk shirt. I think we have accidentally stumbled into one of those awful Harlequin novels covers:

Now that would be an improvement

Then this appears, which I would like to present as evidence that whatever success may Katie MacAlister have in the field of writing romance stories, she should quit. Forever:

If I thought he had magic fingers, his lips were candidates for the Houdini Hall of Fame.

This woman somehow manages to create the horniest female character in history and with the same hand, murder sex as such for the rest of the world.

Strangulation would be too kind.

Assling is not only retarded, she is also a retarded whore, since she is not only questioning who she believes to be only in her head as a sexual fantasy, but also tries to extract this information by, to use the authors own words, “going all girly on him“. Yes, she uses sex as a mean to garner information from what she believes to be the figment of her imagination. And she treats this information as serious clues.

Calling Assling retarded is now a reason for retarded people to be personally offended. Compared to this woman, every one last of them is a MENSA candidate.

Turns out Drake was in the apartment because he had an appointment there, though not with the dead lady, and for what seems like a millionth time repeats he did not kill her or draw the circle, since dragons can’t summon demons and that he has no idea who did it. He drops more obvious hints to the fact that all of this is happening IRL and before Assling can ask any more questions, he cuts her off by shoving his tongue into her mouth again.

Before they get to the business of horizontal cha – cha, though, Drake asks her whether she really wants to go through with it (no), since once he does her, they will officially be mated (no!), whether she knows what she is going into (NO!) and treats the whole thing like such srs bzns, Assling should really stop and reconsider her “it’s just some brain sex“ attitude. But there is not a single synapse in Assling’s head where the normal people’s brains are and eager to get to his pants, she says she is sure and that she wants it as well. (NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! GODS? PLEASE? DON’T LET THIS HAPPEN!!!)

We did go through sexual crimes at school, but I have a trouble deciding whether having somebody, who you know does not think the whole thing is real, say out loud that they believe it’s not real, agree to having sex with you and you say nothing despite the fact that you know their belief is wrong, counts as consent.

The two then have sex.

Very graphic, disturbing and emotionally scarring sex.

I am only going to get to the jest of it because providing all the nauseating details would mean reading that particular part again, something I would not wish even on my worst enemy. Assling basically wants to do the traditional style, Drake disagrees because the first time he has to do her the way dragons do it (ugh, please, I just ate), and since she a bitch and she supposed to keep her mouth closed and do as her man tells her to, he flips her onto her stomach and, well…

BUCKFUTTALITY

Oh yeah.

Not only that. He also pins her down and restrains her in a way that she cannot move at all, she just lays there, completely passive and disarmed, for him to do as he wants with her, while he, I shit you now, chews on her shoulder. When she tried to move, he growls. But oh, he does not just growl:

I made one half-hearted attempt to move, but the resulting growl of refusal came not from his throat, but from deep in his chest, and I knew that the hold he had on my shoulder was his way of keeping me submissive. I’ve never been one to take pleasure where I couldn’t give it, as well, but I was too overwhelmed by Drake’s possession to complain.

There is so much wrong with that, if I were to adress it all, we would be here all day.

Yes, strangulation is too merciful. If justice is to be served, nothing shot of prolonged, agonizing, begging-me-to-end-the-suffering torture will do.

The whole scene is laced with expressions like “posession“ and “submission“. She does not care what he does with her and in what manner, as long as it is him who does it to her. The only reason I do not consider this worse than Twilight is that Katie MacAlister’s “work“ is not worpshipped world – wide by an army of screaming youg women who take her every word as holy testament. But that’s not a very comforting thought.

It is, of course, the best sex evar, Drake says it will always be like that between them since she is his mate, which ASSling brushes off with “nice brain sex kthxbai“. She even takes that ridiculous gown with her.

Which, in a not-at-all-surprising twist is exactly what she is wearing when she wakes up, covered in sweat and breathing raggedly. Does Assling freak out after she realizes what just happened? Does she experience any personal distress? If you answered yes, you haven’t been paying any attention up to now, because in order to realize something and ponder its consequences, one would have to be capable of higher cognitive processes. Which Assling apparently isn’t. She does not even remark on the whole thing after outside of:

When I woke up two hours later, I was wearing a cream-and-lace negligee that I didn’t remember buying.

(and my butt was horribly sore)

You know, I am beginning to think Katie MacAlister should not have been allowed anywhere near a pen and paper. This is one of those rare cases when illiteracy is the best possible option.

So after Assling completely disregards the more than disturbing events of the previous night, she goes on to summon herself a demon, to get even with Drake and steal the dragon statue back. Even though not too long ago she thought that all of Paris is suffering from drug – induced mass halucination. There is no transition, nothing, she just skips from “demons are bullshit“ to “Imma summon me a demon“. Guh.

She goes to the store with the creepy prophet lady she visited in Chapter Three to get some demon – summoning supplies. She is short on money (I hope that second dress was worth it, genius), so she buys the cheapest stuff they have there, so that it would maybe, just maybe, be enough. Amelie doesn’t question her actions, but what the hell, she is the Sue here and nobody will get to dissuade her from anything. Assling then goes back to the hotel, draws the ash circle on the carpet (the room service just HATES to clean up all those circles after those pesky demon – summoners), picks a demon and with a horribly contrite, wannabe archaic – sounding incantation, calls the demon forth.

What she gets is a Newfoundland dog slobbering in the middle of the room.

Oh wait, it gets better. The dog TALKS. Because, you see, the dog is the demon. And not only does it talk, it’s also a wise – cracking demon dog! Hooray for the annoying comedy relief talking animal sidekick!

No, more annoying.

More annoying.

MOAR!!!

There we go. Only instead of shoving obnoxious environmental message down our throats, this dog has a different gimmick. Well…just read on.

I shook my head. Something was very wrong here.

Yes. There is no shotgun aimed right between your eyes in my hands.

“Demon, what is thy name?”

“Jim,” it answered in a surly tone.

I closed my eyes for a moment. Oh, wasn’t that just fine and dandy. I risked my eternal soul to summon up a demon, and I got Jim the Newfie. “Jim? That’s it, just Jim?”

“Well, the whole thing is Effrijim, but I prefer Jim. Effrijim sounds a bit girly.”

Actually, with a name like that, instead of a huge dog, you should have turned into a giant pussy! HAHAHAHA Get it? OUCH! Why does my hand keep involuntarily slapping me? That’s it, I’m taping it to my body from now on. It may make the typing harder, but screw it. Where’s some tape?

The dog has some “funny“ things to say, there are some horrible dog puns and toilet humor, since you can never go wrong with jokes centered around bodily functions. The demon also has some horrible pop – culture remarks, which takes Assling aback, since Jim is supposed to thousands of years old.

I stared at the dog, my mind still having a hard time wrapping itself around the thought that Jim was as old as he was. “You watch TV? In Hell? Television?”

I couldn’t believe it was possible, but the demon looked offended by the note of disbelief in my voice. “What, you think that just because we’re demons, we don’t like to stay current with world events? You think we don’t like to be entertained? We’re demons, not Nazis!”

blinks in disbelief

And that is officially the worst joke I have ever heard in the little over twenty years I have plagued this planet.

Jim then tries to use the toilet and he fails and it’s all funny because he’s a dog and dogs can’t use the toilet. So he demands Assling takes him outside to do his business. The chapter only has about a paragraph or so before it ends, when the writer does the most cruel thing she could to the reader – she makes this the worst paragraph of the entire chapter. And if you made it all the way here, you know you are in for something truly horrible.

“Whoa, would you look at my package!” Jim stopped next to the door, doubled over as it looked at its groin. “I’m a demon studmuffin! The babes are going to love me—oh yes they are! After you take me for walkies, I want some food. Raw meat sounds good. This is France, right? You think I can get some horsemeat? Used to love the stuff. Come on, come on. I don’t have all day! Chop, chop!”

I would like to apologize to everyone who just read that for including this in my spork. But I had to show you the true horrors that had spawned out of the depraved mind of Katie MacAlister. And in case you were wondering, yes, Jim’s gimmick is being a horny sick fuck. Oh, he and Assling will get along splendidly!

I opened the door and let the demon out, wondering as I followed after it what I had done to deserve this.

Hell is nowhere near enough for this woman to suffer for the atrocities she caused.

sigh

The chapter is over, thank the gods.

Thank you for reading,

falconempress

Tagged as Falconempress, Paranormal Romance, Spork, You Slay Me.

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