American Psycho Parody
May 2008
So this is what we do in art school.. This is my final project for my CRW Gender and Difference class. It's an American Psycho parody from a female perspective. Enjoy.
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I find myself sitting in my apartment, and I’m getting bored by the daytime TV. On “The Patty Winters Show” the subject of the day is women who refuse to leave their abusive boyfriends and husbands. I notice that no one has bruises or casts and I wonder how much makeup was applied. None of the women’s hair looks right, too crunchy, too much hairspray, mall hair. The woman talking now, sobbing and clenching the hand of her boyfriend who sports a mullet, is wearing a blue Gap sweater, a size too small which causes her breasts to flatten and look distorted, spread too far apart. I don’t mute the show when I get a call from Michelle, and I talk to her on my cordless GE phone, staring at the screen of my Panasonic thirty inch TV.
“Did you make reservations tonight?” she asks.
“No. Where do want to go anyway? I’m sick of the Gramercy.” I can’t go there anymore, not for a few weeks at least. The bus boy with black gelled hair who always wears cheap Express Oxfords is missing two front teeth and has a broken collar bone after I brought him back to my apartment last week. After he came too early I hit him in the face and the chest with a phone book that was on my bedside table over and over again. I kept riding him until he went completely soft, coming only after I heard the snap of his left collar bone.
“I don’t know. What about Eighty One?” Michelle yawns. The woman on the screen leans in and kisses her boyfriend while the crowd boos.
“Well, the lamb is good. But I don’t know. Is Erica going? I’m not fucking going if Erica is going.”
“What the hell is your problem with her?”
“She’s a cunt and I’d rather slice open her belly and take a shit in her stomach than sit at a table with her and listen to her prattle on about her opinion of the Ralph Lauren fall line, that‘s all.”
“Either way, she’s not coming- she’s seeing Luke tonight. His fiancé is out of the city.”
We end up in Eighty One, and it’s me, Michelle, Jen, and Diane. Diane is clearly high, sniffing constantly and a red spot that looks like a cold sore (but is really a scab from all the coke she is on) is forming right under her left nostril. She’s wearing a black rayon Anne Klein dress and diamond stud earrings. She blinks too much and it makes her look like she has a facial tick.
“You look phenomenal Diane. Like a model.” She looks like shit, and her head is flopping a little on her neck. I take the drink in front of her, pink and full of crushed ice, and she doesn’t even notice. I drink it, and I don’t taste any alcohol in it.
“How do you wear patterned tights?” Jen asks, leaning all her weight on her elbows and fumbling with a unlit cigarette.
“You can’t smoke in here, for Christ sake. The secret to patterned tights is to avoid any pattern elsewhere. Don’t wear fishnets and a lace top. Wear solid fabrics and textures. Make sure your shoes match the outfit. If you are in a navy skirt, wear navy shoes. With tights, I tend to prefer subtle colors, but if you wear a black outfit and black shoes, then bright colors look nice. Just don’t try to pull the color in elsewhere. Allow the tights to carry the outfit.”
All is silent for a moment, till the waiter reappears, a short blond guy, thin and not too bad looking, although he has a bit of a unibrow. Jen giggles with every word he says, twirling her hair around her pinky finger and after he has left the check and walked away, she leans back in her chair a bit and sighs.
“Gee Jen, why didn’t you just suck his cock right here at the table? He looked straight- the extra hair between the eyebrows. You know a queen wouldn’t leave the house with that.”
“You make more than he does in a year each month,” someone says.
“Doesn’t matter for one night,” Jen sighs. “I could leave a fifty on his dresser.”
We pay, and I put it all on my credit card, collecting cash from everyone. Before we leave, Diane snaps into full consciousness out of nowhere.
“Is that Kate Collins by the bar?” She asks, manically pointing to a platinum blond in a velvet Nancy Hassler dress.
“No, that’s Erica,” Michelle replies right before downing the last sip of her Jack and Coke. “What the hell is she doing here? I though she was fucking Luke tonight.”
I try to herd everyone out of Eighty One, but Diane is now giggling and shouting to Erica, who sees us before the waiter even comes back with my card and I’m stuck making small talk with her and this chubby red-headed man in a grey Armani suit while I wait for him.
“Susan! How delightful to see you.” Erica wraps her freckled arm around my waist.
“It’s Patricia- get it right or I‘ll smash your face in with a crowbar.”
“What?”
“Are you staying here or going to another bar?”
“Oh, well, Blake and I are probably going to have one more drink and head home. He flies out tomorrow.”
“Delightful. Enjoy your night, you saucy bitch.” I laugh and slap her on the ass playfully. I wait till I’ve turned around to allow all the hate to show on my face. I hope he gives her a scorching case of the clap.
We end up at Mocca’s, and before we order drinks Michelle and I do a line of coke in the bathroom. Her nose starts to bleed, a slow trickle of thick, red blood. I don’t tell her about it when she asks if he has any coke left on her nose.
I’m at the bar and I’m listening to Jen and Michelle fight over whether or not Tom Cruise is a faggot and I am zoning out. A new song has just started and I’m trying to figure out who the it is by. It sounds kind of disco-y, not quite new age. I’m thinking Blondie, but I’m not sure. It’s just past midnight and I’m starting to wonder if I’ll find anyone tonight before Mocca’s closes when I see a brunette girl in a pink popped Pulitzer, cable knit cardigan, a short black skirt and pearls. She’s pouting next to the men’s bathroom door. Eventually a man walks out, skinny and dressed in a black pinstriped Ralph Lauren suit with a red paisley Paul Smith tie. He walks straight past her and she dutifully trails him to the bar, a few spots down from me. I order two shots of apple vodka and have the bar tender send them to the couple. After four more rounds of shots, it is closing time and I take them back to my apartment.
They are drunk, maybe a bit too drunk and I worry that they might be a bit sloppy or tired, which, although it does work to my advantage, also drains a bit of the thrill out of the events that will be taking place. I like some challenge. The man, who I have been calling Justin even though his name is Brian and he keeps correcting me, is already hard before anything starts. I tell him to take off his pants and to jerk off while I take off his girlfriend’s clothes and kiss her. She’s nervous, giggling, and I think she’s just going along with it for Justin, but that doesn’t bother me. I take off her panties, Day of the Week underwear that make me want to throw up a little bit, and I start licking her cunt, really slow and teasing at first but I start lapping it like a dog after a few minutes. She’s very wet and she keeps reaching her hands out for Justin/Brian, who is standing a few feet away from the couch where we are lying, even though I smack her hands down each time she does this. I start nibbling on her clit each time her arms move, progressively harder until she stops moaning and starts saying “Ow!” She gets the point after half a dozen times, and I stop eating her out and tell Brian to lay on my bed. He does so, and I follow him, tying his arms and legs to my bed posts. He’s so excited by this that I worry that as soon as anything touches his cock he’ll come, so I don’t fuck him. Instead I tell the girl to get on her knees by the edge of the bed and eat my pussy. I’m bent over the edge of the bed and my chest is between Justin’s legs. I spit on his balls and let the salvia drip down towards his asshole, which I drag my finger along lightly as his girlfriend slips her tongue in and out of my hole.
I get bored of this after a while, so I tell her to ride him. She does, and I sit on his face, and I tell her to fuck him as hard as she can until she comes, but that she has to tell me when she is about to. I grab her tits and occasionally wrap my hands around her and grab her ass. She’s quick to come, and she screeches “I’m fucking coming I’m fucking coming I’m fucking coming” and when she says this I instantly start pissing all over Justin’s face. I can here him choking on it a bit, so I grind my pussy onto his face a little harder. He tries to bite, but as soon as I feel his jaws moving I pull my torso up. He is too drunk and too turned on to be phased by the piss in his mouth. I let him swallow it and then move back down, rubbing my cunt on his face more. She is humping him hard still, working toward another orgasm, and when she gets there, this one smaller and accompanied by less shrill shrieks, I push her off his cock, which I am amazed hasn’t come yet, and she falls straight off the bed, knocking her head against the wall. I crawl off the bed and hit her on the head just hard enough to knock her out with a old baseball bat that I keep under the bed. Justin screams at me, so I hit him in the stomach with it. He turns his head to the side and throws up all the alcohol I’ve been feeding him, and I rub his face in it while fucking him for a while.
I come pretty quickly, and then I decide to try to bite off the head of his cock. I dig my teeth in and tear. Blood fills my mouth pretty quickly and I roll it around on my tongue before swallowing it. I can only get it about three fourths of the way disconnected with my teeth, so I go to the kitchen and get a steak knife. They are all dirty and I find one in the sink that still has a bit of blood from the small of the back of the club boy I brought home last night, the one who shit in his Banana Republic khakis while I cut and punched him. I burned off some of his skin with boiling water and then peeled it off with the knife.
Before I finish cutting off the tip off his cock I drag the girl into my marble bath tub. I slice the tendons in her legs and she’s still out cold when I pour lighter fluid into her vagina and her mouth and she doesn’t wake up until she’s been burning for about half a minute. She can’t scream and she tries to stand up, but can’t. She struggles for maybe a minute before passing out again. I think she dies shortly after I go back to Justin in the adjoining bedroom, and when I go to the bathroom in the morning she looks like a melted Barbie Doll, her face black and with visible bones and her vagina completely gone, just an ashy black hole between her hips. The blood drains straight away, but the bottom of the tub is strained brown with shit and a film of dried blood. I hope that my cleaning lady can get out the stains, because it’s Italian Marble and I spent six thousand dollars on the tub.
I go back and Justin is yelling, calling me a bitch and a cunt. I tell him to shut the fuck up, but I kind of enjoy the exchange. I decide to fuck his asshole with the steak knife. I stab at his ass hard at first, ripping the muscles with the serrated edge, but after a few jabs the knife’s progress is quicker, easier. Justin’s colon empties on my bed and I grab a handful of runny, alcohol shit and shove it in his mouth. He isn’t strong enough to fight it and I hear him swallow. He passes out for a minute or so, and when he wakes back up, near dead and completely weak, he starts begging for me to stop, to let him go.
“No dice,” I say, as I sever the remaining skin that holds his cock together. I hold the tip in my hand and watch the blood drain from his ass and dick until he stops gushing altogether. I nail the tip of his cock to the wall and I fall asleep on the couch. When I wake up I cut off his arms and legs with a handsaw and throw his torso into the tub with his girlfriend. I pour acid over what remains of their bodies and let them dissolve for a few days. I throw his legs out in the trash bags I leave in the hallway and I try to make a stew with the flesh from his arms, but I start watching “The Patty Winters Show” while it’s on the stove and I forget all about it. When I remember it is too burnt and some of the meat sticks to the bottom of the pot, so I feed it to a dog in the alley.
Copyright 2008 Jessa Marsh
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