Hornswaggler | The culture, the humor, a bit of the sports, not so much the politics, and the workplace distraction

Hornswaggle is an alternate spelling of hornswoggle, an archaic word that means to bamboozle or hoodwink. I take my pronunciation from the late Harvey Korman in "Blazing Saddles" --

"I want rustlers, cutthroats, murderers, bounty hunters, desperados, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, halfwits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, conmen, Indian agents, Mexican bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswagglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, train robbers, bank robbers, ass kickers, shit kickers and Methodists!"

Culture, Humor, Sports
Workplace Distraction

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Monday night mashup

[In anticipation of Monday's finale, here's a sendup of "The Bachelor" that winds up incorporating aspects of another TV show that runs on Mondays. I'll let you figure out which one.]

I was talking with some of the girls about true love, finding the man of my dreams, and how much I hate Tiffany, that b---- with the fake t---, when Chris Harrison asked if he could have a word with me outside.

"We have a problem," he told me once we were on the patio. "Something that's never come up in all my years hosting 'The Bachelor.'"

"This is a very difficult thing to say," he continued, meting his words out slowly. "It's very uncomfortable, very awkward. But I'm going to prolong it as long as possible, because it’s amazing television."

He paused dramatically. I stared at him blankly.

"Do you know why we're having this conversation?" he asked.

"Nope," I said.

"Chastity, you entered into an inappropriate relationship with someone on our production staff."

"Oh, Steve?" I said innocently. "He's my cuddle-buddy."

"I'm afraid the relationship was more inappropriate than that."

I stared at him blankly.

"Chastity, you became intimate in the hot tub. I've seen the video -- several times. We counted at least five distinct positions, none of which were appropriate."

"I needed the practice," I said with a shrug. "I'm trying to find the man of my dreams, Chris. And when I find him, I have to know what I'm doing."

"It doesn't even matter," he said. "We went back and looked at your application, performing a more rigorous background check. We learned some disturbing things. To start with, your real name is not Chastity Cheeks."

"My first cousin twice removed, Sixers great Maurice Cheeks, is going to be very upset when he finds out you said that."

"And you didn't tell us about your criminal record. Attempted homicide. Arson. Grand theft."

"I'm not here to talk about the past, Chris. I'm here for a love that redeems all."

"Even murder?" he said, his voice taking on a sharper tone.

"What are you talking about?"

"You remember Jennifer, the contestant who was found dead in the pool?"

"That was ruled a suicide," I said, forcing myself to remain calm.

"Jennifer sent me a text shortly before her death. It contained information that implicates you as her killer."

"Listen to me, Chris," I said, lowering my voice to a whisper. "Jennifer was part of a plot to kill the bachelor. I was protecting him."

"That's ridiculous," he said. "You and I both know that's a li—"

I took Harrison down with a karate chop to the neck. As he slumped from his step stool, I wheeled and stabbed the camera man with a blade I'd hidden in my dress, dropping him before he could make a sound. I removed the memory card from the camera then dragged them to a secluded path leading to the garden.

Who else was in on the assassination plot? Harrison clearly couldn't be trusted. I was about to start torturing him when I heard the bachelor and one of his concubines walk out to the patio for some one-on-one time. I paused to listen.

"I just wanted to thank you again for our date," the bachelorette murmured, leaning into his chest and gazing in his eyes. "The helicopter ride. The mountaintop picnic. The prompt medical attention when I developed hypothermia. It was magical!"

"Well, I can't really take credit for that," he said. "The show arranged everything."

"Flying in my developmentally disabled brother," she continued, "giving him a service parrot. That was so sweet and thoughtful."

"Again, not my idea. The network takes care of all that stuff."

"And I just love your home. I can’t believe you have your own goat farm here on the property!”

"This isn't my house, and those are wild deer.”

I could tell this might go on for awhile. I turned back to Harrison, who was squirming underneath me.

"What happened to Steve?" I asked, screwing a silencer onto my pistol. "Is he dead?"

"He was promoted to executive producer," Harrison squealed. I pressed one of my Jimmy Choos deeper into his neck.

"Who knows about the text?" I demanded. “Who?”

"I don't know. Two or three people," he said. "Look, please. I can help you. I won't tell anyone about this. I swear!"

"I wish I could believe you, Chris," I said. "Take a moment. Say your good-byes."

I punched that smarmy rodent’s ticket, then put the knife in his hand and planted the gun on the camera man. I set the timer on the explosives hidden around the building and grounds, straightened my dress and circled around the house to the front door.

This was going to be the most dramatic season ever of "The Bachelor."

.: posted by hornswaggler 8:19 PM

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