Spoof Writers' Turd story rally to save Jade Goody's reputation comes too late as coalition collapses on ill news of her passing

Funny story written by Robert W. Armijo

Saturday, 28 March 2009


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image for Spoof Writers' Turd story rally to save Jade Goody's reputation comes too late as coalition collapses on ill news of her passing
"Somebody, anybody, please dance with me."

London, England - "We were a day late and a turd story shy," said one lamenting member of the secretive spoof writer's coalition to save Jade Goody's reputation. "If only she would have held on for another day. Or maybe if we would have wrote a little bit faster instead of drinking beer and doing Tequila body shots all night long, playing idiot poker for spoof points and pulling out rulers, measuring each other manhood, we could have saved her reputation and that spoof writers too."

So goes the best intentions of mice and men and apparently that of the writers of spoof as they wasted away their opportunity to redeem themselves, and the reputation of the poor misguided soul of one Jade Goody, a victim of the new corporate state empire.

"I knew we were parting too much and way into the night to get any writing done," continued the spoof writer that asked that his identity be shielded fearing reprisals from his coconspirator coalition colleges as he nurses a hangover over a hot bowel of Menudo and a cup of coffee. "But you know the strangest thing is that as I sit here talking to you, even with this throbbing headache, I can still remember last night. Though most of it I wish I could forget, particularly the incident with the striper and the Donkey. Is that even legal in England?"

The spoof writer went on to confess that he joined the secret spoof society to save Jade Goody's reputation for selfish reasons, having no real opinion on the continuous issue either way. Joining really just to get to know the other spoof writers, when he realized that the coalition to save Jade Goody was a sham.

"I remember as clear as day after it was my turn dancing with the Donkey, one spoof writer after another sneaking away the underground parking garage party off to their laptops in their cars," said the spoof writer with his eyes closed, rubbing his forehead trying to remember the events of that night in the order in which they occurred. "Then I remember the Donkey getting off me, letting me ride him for awhile."

As the spoof writer moseyed on over to the other side of the underground parking lot, he spotted his colleges grouped up in a circle around a dumpster, busy typing away Jade Goody stories on their laptops.

"Hey, guys. What's going on?" asked the inebriated spoof writer from the back of his Donkey to his fellow spoof writers.

"What do you think?" Sarcastically replied one of the spoof writers without looking up from his computer screen. "We're writing about Jade Goody. You twerp. And if you know what's good for you, you'd get off that high horse of yours and join us and get your fair share of all those free points floating out there."

"Yeah, yeah," came a couple of echoing disembodied voices that belonged to some novel spoof writers from deep inside the dumpster. "Your, your, fair, fair, share, share."

"That's when I asked about the coalition and spoof writing meaning something more," said the spoof with his eyes still closed. "Why are we debasing ourselves like this?' I asked them. 'Spoof writing should stand for something. It should mean something."

"Like, like, what? what?" echoed a question from the dumpster.

"I don't know," said the spoof writer still mounted on his Donkey. "Maybe we're like the modern version of Don Quixote, charging with our lances at wind mills, mistaking them for giants. Or coming to the rescue of ladies of the night, mistaking them for ladies of the court. I don't know. But I know one thing --"

As the spoof writer on the Donkey spoke his fellow spoof writers stopped writing their Jade Goody stories and looked up at him, their eyes filling up with tears as if recalling a time not so long ago when they knew what spoofing meant to them.

"-- I know we're better than this," continued the spoof writer.

Suddenly the writers closed up their laptops, rose up to their feet again and followed the spoof writer on the Donkey as he lead them away from the dumpster, out of the underground parking lot and back out into the sun.

"Now let's get back out there and write those stories of substance," said the spoof writer as he led the charge into the bright beaming rays of the sunlight. "Watch out world, the mystery men and women of the spoof are back! Engorged penis, turd and Britney Spear's vagina stories here we come!"

"Does he know the only reason we're following him is because Jade Goody just died and therefore we're all out of material?" whispered on spoof writer to another in between cheers.

"No," came the reply. "But don't tell him, okay? He might get depressed and start 'dancing' with that Donkey again. And I got to get that thing cleaned up and back before noon or I lose my deposit."

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

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