Hollywood, California - Having to put up with Angelina Jolie at the Oscars was hard enough for Jennifer Aniston but to endure seeing her arrive with her ex-husband, Brad Pitt? And both nominated for an Oscar, too? While she gets the job of an award presenter? Apparently, that was all too much on her plate to handle in just one evening, so right then and there (backstage at the Oscars) the lovely Aniston made a Faustian deal with the Devil (like so many movie stars before her) to sell her soul for revenge.
Immediate following the Oscars, reportedly Aniston did not drive to the nearest fancy after awards show Hollywood party to inebriate herself into oblivion. No. She drove directly to Octu-Mom's mother's house in Whittier, California to silicate her with an indecent proposal instead. Just like the Devil told her to do and with an ironclad contract in her purse that he gave her.
Some how managing to sneak pass an encampment of sleeping reporters spread out on the front lawn of the working-class suburban neighborhood of Octu-Mom, Aniston and her posse of paparazzi stood undetected on the porch ringing the doorbell at midnight, the bewitching hour.
"Hey! What the Hell is going on out there!?" cried out Octu-Mom's Mom. "Don't you people have any compassion? I'm trying to catch up on five years of sleep over here, before the freak show is released form the hospital."
A long silence then followed when from behind the front door came a whispering sweet voice asking: "Who is it?"
Aniston identified herself, the paparazzi and briefly explained her proposal. The economically strapped Octu-Mom seemed interested so she let them inside.
Quietly the kind Octu-Mom led Aniston and her traveling troop of paparazzi into her mother's three bedroom home and into her room where six children were sound asleep.
Carefully, Octu-Mom, Aniston and the paparazzi stepped over the children that were laid out on makeshift beds: floor mats, dresser draws and bookshelves.
"You see," said Aniston to Octu-Mom. "If you can take care of all these kids, you can handle Angelina Jolie. Brad has a thing for pregnant chicks."
Octu-Mom paused as if contemplating Aniston's offer as they sat in the dark on the edge of the only bed in the room.
"I don't know," said Octu-Mom. "I have eight more coming home any day now. Besides, where would Brad fit in my life with all my kids."
"Are you kidding me," said Aniston. "The man is crazy for kids. I mean he left all this and a bag of chips. I mean I know I just turned 40, but do you think for a minute danger girl with a treasure map tattooed on the inside of her butt cheeks is going to look this good when she's my age after squeezing out all those rug rats? Oh, sorry. Don't get me wrong; I really admire all you guys that can do that baby thing. But I get light headed if I break a fingernail and they're the kind you glue on, see?"
Aniston then held out her hand in the dark, showing everybody her fake press-on fingernails, but no one could see what she was doing.
"No," said Octu-Mom as she turned away facing the bedroom wall with a carefully planned calendar on it, showing breast-feeding, bathing and play time schedules for the children for the next three years. As she spoke, she longingly looked up at it. "Call me selfish, but I have only a few short years to spend with my babies before they learn how to walk, talk and preset the speed dial feature on the phone with the number to child protective services on it. Besides, where would a man fit into this bedroom? I mean there's some space left in the closet, but that's the kid's play den."
"What?!" said Aniston. "Brad has several houses and a few mansions, all around the world, too. You don't have to live in this sardine can. Oh, sorry. You get what I mean, don't you?"
"Look, Jennifer," said Octu-Mom, reaching down under the bed, pulling out a specialized metallic container from a styrofoam box packed in dry ice with bright red letters written across it that read: 'BIOLOGICAL HAZARD." Then tapping it twice with her knuckles, Out-Mom defiantly said, "I have what any woman needs from a man. Right here."
"That's not all that a woman needs from a man," said Aniston, reaching out to weigh the metallic container in her hands. "Hey, this thing is heavy. What you do hold up a sperm bank or something?"
Taking back the metallic container from Aniston, Octu-Mom asked, "Then what does a woman need from a man?"
"I don't know," replied Aniston. "I thought I knew. Once. But I guess I was wrong. But I do know one thing. What a man has to give a woman is not kept at subzero temperatures in that metal container."
Octu-Mom did not respond.
Slowly an uneasy feeling came over Aniston making her nervous and suspicious at the long awaked silence. Rising to her feet, she walked over to Octu-Mom careful not to step on any of the babies on the floor. Reaching out to touch the Octu-Mom on the shoulder to comfort her, Octu-Mom suddenly fell backwards on to the bed with an empty hypodermic needle stuck in her arm.
"Oh my God!" screamed Aniston. "She just over dosed on of fertility drugs! Quick somebody call 911!"
Later, while in the ambulance with Aniston sitting along side the still unconscious Octu-Mom, she turned to the emergency medical technicians (EMT's) asking them with a look of utter desperation on her face if they thought she was going to make it.
"Oh my God," said Aniston, holding the Octu-Mom's hand. "I can't believe this is really happening. Is she going to be okay?"
Before any of the EMT's could answer, slowly Octu-Mom began to open her eyes.
"Look everybody," Aniston said excitedly as the desperation on her face was washed away with a sense of relief. "She's coming to. She's coming to."
Aniston then reached into her purse and pulled out the Devil's contract for Octu-Mom to sign. She also pulled out a designer pen and a pair of stylish black-rimed eyeglasses.
Looking rather stunningly cute as she read aloud the terms of the unholy contract from Hell, Aniston was so smitten with herself that she did not notice that Octu-Mom had passed out, unconscious again.
"Oh shit!" yelled out Aniston, looking down at her hand as Octu-Mom began to flat lined, alarms sounding off and EMT's performing CPR. "Can you believe it? I just broke a press-on nail. Oh my God, I think I'm going to faint."