Written by Charpa93
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Saturday, 10 March 2012

image for Kate Gosselin Still Pines for British Man Who Ditched her for a Tart
Whoa, Clive, you dance a mean mambo

It was the summer of 2010, and Kate Gosselin was at the peak of not only her reality show acting career but also the peak of her sexuality. Divorced since 2009, Gosselin was hot to trot, but looking for love in a small Pennsylvania town with cameras aiming at her from all directions meant discretion was a six-letter word starting with 'f' and followed by 'up.' In other words, she was screwed and not getting any pleasure from it.

It was June, when the days were getting longer, nights were getting steamier, and her temper was getting shorter-if that was even possible. She realized she had to get out of town quick--if only for a quickie she told herself--or she was going to lose her mind. But where? Where could she go where she wouldn't be easily recognized or vitriolized. She'd gotten enough of that at home.

She settled on London. She'd read somewhere that the British hated American television shows and since she was already at the bottom of the heap in her own country, she was pretty sure they'd never recognize her. Besides, she'd heard tales of a man named Danton. Clive Danton. Maybe he was just a figment of her imagination, maybe a character in one of the many romance novels she had tucked away in her nightstand to help stave off those lonely nights. Whatever or whoever Clive Danton was, she had to find out.

She arrived at Heathrow Airport and caught a cab to a downtown hotel, moderately priced, AAA approved, and set about to find this Clive Danton. To her amazement, it was easier than she'd imagined. He did exist. In fact, there were three Dantons in London, one C. Danton, one C. L. Danton, and one Clive Danton.

She nervously picked up the phone and asked the operator to dial the number for Clive Danton. (They still do things the old-fashioned way in London. None of that dialing up a number on your cell phone and talking while in the middle of a crowded street). And, in fact, everything is still in black and white in London as well. At any rate, a man's voice answered. "Hello, luv, Clive here." Kate hung up.

"Wait a minute," she said to herself, "I am fu*king Kate Gosselin, and I came here to get laid." She dialed the number back, herself, without the aid of the operator this time.

Again "Hello, luv, Clive here," then breathlessly, "what's your pleasure?" This time she answered. "Hello, Mr. Danton, my name is Kate Gosselin, and I understand you are the man to see for intimacy." She couldn't believe she had just said that. What if he hung up merely because she was rhyming her words? But, of course, it was Clive Danton. He was not only interesting, but interested as well. He answered back.

"Yes, luv, I've been expecting your call." Not really, but after all, he was used to getting these calls regularly. If there was a woman on the other end, it could only mean one thing, they wanted to know where their alimony check was, or he was about to meet the next woman who would eventually require an alimony check. Either way, he was always ready for action.

Long story short--very short as it turns out-Kate didn't have to wait long for Danton to show up, and within minutes of meeting, the two set about to dancing the horizontal mambo.

Unfortunately, as much as Kate wanted to stay, she had to scurry back to Scranton, as they say in Pennsylvania. She dressed quickly, packed her suitcase and blew a kiss to Danton, who was lazily lolling about on the bed of the 4-star AAA London hotel. But, before she closed the door softly behind her, he assured her that he would never look at another woman again and would wait faithfully for their next encounter.

It wasn't long before word got out about the two, and the London tabloids had a heyday with the story. "Man in Pork Pie Hat and Curious Tan for a Londoner Steals Kate Gosselin's Heart," and "Dashing Danton Dates Dancing with the Stars Star." The Sun immediately set about tapping Danton's phone. The celebrity was too much for Danton, and he handled the pressure like he always does, he went out and got himself another woman, leaving Kate in the dust, but not before selling his story to The Daily Mirror for a large, undisclosed amount.

To this day, Kate Gosselin cries every time she hears the song "London Bridges Falling Down," which just happens to be her kids' favorite song. But she'll get over Danton, or at the very least, hunt him down like a dog and make him pay for what he did to her, like so many have done before her.

Make Charpa93's day - give this story five thumbs-up (there's no need to register, the thumbs are just down there!)

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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