Hunger Dames
Illustration by Justin Buschardt, justinbuschardt.com
The set is a “Spaceship Train” stopped in the jungle.
Cardboard props of foliage from different parts of the world lean against studio-light poles. Some of the leaves are bent at the corners.
Two sexy women vacillate between standing and leaning, both wearing torn camo bikinis near a fake coconut tree. They eat bananas and touch themselves.
One is a beautiful brunette with almond eyes and milky white skin. The other is a black goddess with an afro and huge tits.
The white girl has a thick Brooklyn accent and stretches a string of gum from her mouth around her index finger. She forcefully exclaims, “Oh gawd, these games are making me so hungry!”
The interruption to silence clearly frightens the second woman, even though she knew the line was coming. She jumps slightly and then shivers.
Before the white girl has completed the startling utterance, a dirty-blonde, shaggy stoner-looking guy with a “bob” haircut stumbles into the room, loosely holding a pizza box. He knocks over a fake tropical bush and loudly inquires, “Uh, did somebody order the pizza?”
Just then, smoke from dry-ice fills the room and the black woman says, “Oh Lawd, it’s that mist that kills people. Once agaaaaiin it strikes. What’s it we’z supposed ta do?”
Twelve silent seconds pass and a man in a crotchless baboon costume leaps into the open. “It’s one ‘a ‘dem killa monkeys!” the women yelp together.
Baboon Man lifts his mask to reveal he is actually “The Game Master.” But he doesn’t look like Philip Seymour Hoffman because Hoffman was a great artist and I don’t feel like making a joke about him. (Really, it’ll be a while until we get another one of those.)
Baboon Man takes an uncomfortable amount of time to remove a giant remote from his costume, then pushes a big red button on it to “Turn off the mist.”
The game master states, “Man, I’m, like, so hungry with all these games cuz the only fog/mist I make is from marijuana.”
All 4 actors pull out huge joints and start puffing.
A mechanical “click” is heard as the dry-ice machine is switched back on.
The pizza guy pulls out his dick and begins to masturbate as the women drop to their knees and give orgasm to each other.
Not clumsy like men, they move slowly, delicately over one another, exercising gentle touches of intent – caresses which playfully articulate the art of sensitive knowing.
They are idiots but they both have enough sense to know that they will make these prosaic men with huge dinguses cum easily; however, there is a susurrus of subtle, vibrant energy afloat whispering that if they can orgasm one another, they have done something special and powerfully Babylonian, like masters of a super hard video game where you smash your controller all the time cuz it’s real f’ing hard, ejaculatory Rubix Cubes.
Breasts touch and the eye contact is so sexy and elegant that Baboon-Man prematurely finishes by the Funky Monkey Toucan Tree that was once in a children’s puppet show (and likely will still go on to be). A mustache is slapped onto a shorter stand-in and he enters to conclude the scene.
As this happens, the white girl looks at the surfer pizza guy and whines, “Me’ me me so HUNGRY…” He walks over and expresses his balls in the open mouth of the luxurious brunette. She swallows his semen, looks at the camera with a smile and exclaims, “Yowzas, youz guyz: these really a’ (are) the hunga’ games.” She winks at the camera and then continues winking several more times in rhythm until the director realizes he will have to ask her to stop winking. He simply never thought he’d ever have to tell anyone to stop winking. He thinks of his college degree. Then of his wife and son. The tag itching him in his sweater. He sighs, gets it together and approaches to tastefully request that she cease winking.
Baboon-man stand-in begins making Dionysian sex with both of the seductresses in several creative, ayurvedic postures while singing, “Go Hunger! Go Games! Games, Go Hunger, Go Hunger Games, Go! Go, Hunger, Go Hunger Games, Go!”
The gorgeous black girl exclaims, “Youz betta’ mark me with dat stuff in a hot minute, boyeee!” Baboon-man stand-in game-master abides, spraying his cosmic life seed on their backs and hair.
The glowing, rough yet somehow sumptuous white girl looks at the camera while slowly rubbing some of the fluid on her body circularly with her fingers, “Wow, I shore am happy we made those alliances. Fa’ (for) games!”
She winks and then starts to do it many more times, but the director looks at her discouragingly. He is tired of all of the pornos and The Hunger Games and embarrassed.
He drives home carefully that evening, listening to Beethoven & contemplating how he needs to spend more time with his family. He passes oak trees and nice houses along winding bends. Both are partially reflected on the waxed exterior of his Lexus.
Upon arriving home, he finds a note in the kitchen explaining that his wife and son went to see the new Hunger Games movie.
He takes a long bath.
