My Romantic Valentine’s Post

Yeah. So, I’ve actually watched a few of those Nicholas Sparks movies.

Now before anyone accuses me of growing a vagina, I’ve only watched a handful. And in my defense, I was a raging hypersensitive drunk at the time. And I really enjoyed a good cry and a sappy movie set in the Carolinas. Now that I’ve sobered up, I’m still a somewhat sensitive guy, but the overall sappiness of what I watch is pretty much limited to How I Met Your Mother reruns. And American Pie 2. That part at the end where Jim goes running up to Michelle and 3 Doors Down is playing just gets me every time.

Anyway. That being said, I wanted to write a super duper, wang dang sweet poontang, romantic-palooza post for Valentine’s Day.

Needless to say, I drew a blank.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I haven’t always sucked at being Mr. Romance, but apparently this year, my ability to come up with a romantic thought is right on par with that of an earthworm.

Then it hit me.

If this Nicky Sparks fella can write a movie, or a book, or whatever the hell it is he writes, so can I!

Without further ado, here’s my blockbuster romantic movie screenplay thingy…just in time for Valentine’s Day! You’re welcome.

ROMANTIC MOVIE BY TOM (ok, so the title’s a work in progress…)

Our setting is a quaint little North Carolinian beachfront town where the houses are those big ass wooden ones. Where you gotta wonder what kind of moron would build a wooden house so close to the beach, with hurricanes and all. The beaches are picture perfect and lined with lazily blowing sea grass. Or maybe it’s beach grass. Fuck, how the hell should I know? It’s not like I’m some kind of lawn care, grass guy. I’m a stupid blogger for crying out loud.

I mean I’m a movie screenwriter writer guy now.

Oh yeah, this movie’s gonna probably have to be rated R due to the swearing.

Anyway, just like in the movies, wild horses run the beaches at random, gracefully galloping in slow motion.

Where in the fuck they’re going, or where they came from beats the shit out of me, though.

Couples in love walk hand in hand in the surf, or romantically frolic among the waves.

Cue scene of frolicking couple in the water.

The female has huge boobs.

Ginormously huge boobs.

And her top miraculously falls off. (Hey, we already decided this is a rated R movie, so why not?)

There’s also a 22 foot Great White Shark, nicknamed “Big Ole Shark”. The townsfolk were obviously not very creative when it came to nicknames. Big Ole Shark makes it’s home just offshore, constantly intrigued by all the romantic frolicking going on.

The story starts a whole lot of years earlier with our main couple, Mort Felterbush and Gladys Boner meeting for the first time in this very same spot. Young Mort was a strapping, well built house painter that was working on Gladys’s parents beachfront summer home. Gladys was a real looker that was being courted by a well off young bachelor named Thadeus Dickhead, from her parent’s country club. Gladys had a wild streak, and of course fell for Mort, which infuriated Dickhead. This, being the days before drive by shootings, left little for Dickhead to do to win Gladys away from Mort, so he challenged him to a swimming contest.

It was either that or thumb wrestle.

On the day of the swimming contest, a category 9 hurricane is barreling down on the town, but the two young men are not deterred in their quest to win young Gladys’s hand.

And boobs.

Gladys has some stellar knockers.

Big Ole Shark is undeterred too, although it has no idea what it’s undeterred about because sharks have the brain capacity of an endtable. It does realize it’s hungry though.

Anyway, the whole town is hunkered down, ready for the ginormous storm approaching. Except for the three morons…I mean, main characters, out on the beach.

Gladys’s sundress is blowing in the wind until a gust blows it up over her head, revealing perfectly toned abs, a belly button ring and sexy boy shorts.

*Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” plays in the background*

After about three minutes of Gladys wrestling with her dress in slow motion, all the while sexily shaking her hair like an epileptic and sticking her tongue out in what looks like an attempt to lick her own earlobe, she gets everything situated.

Mort and Dickhead go diving into the growing waves.

Just offshore, Big Ole Shark’s stomach growls. He also hears the men splashing in the water, and starts heading toward the sound.

Cue suspenseful music and shots of Mort and Dickhead swimming around, interspersed with Big Ole Shark’s dorsal fin breaking the water.

Cut to a shot of the beach and Gladys fidgeting with her belly button ring.

Cut back to the water. Both men see the shark and start frantically high tailing it back to shore. Shot of Big Ole Shark opening his big ole mouth.

Back to the beach. The rain is really coming down, making it hard for Gladys to see the guys in the water. She jumps up and down and calls Mort’s name.

Because that’s apparently going to make everything better.

In the water…

Mort looks behind him, sees the fin fast approaching, and calls out to Dickhead for help. Dickhead, being a dickhead, takes a quick look, smirks, and swims off to shore. Mort looks behind him one last time and disappears in the waves amidst an assload of splashing.

On the beach…

Gladys sees a figure emerging from the water, but can’t tell who it is because of the rain, and goes running towards the water.

At precisely the same time, a seagull, blinded by the rain, flies directly into Gladys’s head and knocks her unconscious.

The seagull’s ok.

He shakes himself off and goes stumbling away, figuring it’s probably a lot safer walking instead of flying in this shitty weather.

As Dickhead trudges out of the water, he sees Gladys laying on the beach, and figures that she’s letting him know that she’s ready for the sex, so he quickens the pace and goes jogging towards her, trying to remove his bathing suit…

And he’s totally stampeded the fuck over by those wild horses that are always running up and down the beach.

Back in the water, with the storm still raging, Mort explodes from the depths with one last valiant burst of strength, and miraculously catches a wave back to shore, where he sees his love, Gladys sitting up, rubbing her head. He races to her and embraces her with a loving and passionate kiss as the winds and rain subside, bringing the sun back out again.

A Miley Cyrus ballad plays out the scene. You know, a Miley Cyrus ballad from way back when, when she had hair, kept her tongue in her mouth, and focused more on singing instead of dry humping every inanimate object she can drop her cooter on.

Fast forward to modern times.

We learn that Mort and Gladys spent the rest of the summer together canoodling and just basically being all lovey dovey and shit. Until the last day of summer, when Mort stepped on a rusty nail, went into septic shock, and died two days later. Gladys was completely distraught and didn’t date anyone else for about three weeks, when she met a dude named Burt Dunklenose, who would eventually marry her. Tramp.

Gladys and Burt lived a happy, yet boring as fuck life together, eventually retiring to the same little town where Gladys had been wooed by old whatshisface…oh yeah, Mort. Gladys liked to spend her days on the beach, looking out at the waves and thinking back to her and Mort’s summer romance, so many years ago. Burt liked to spend his days inside the house looking at Misty, the 23-year-old house cleaner. Mort was still dead.

One particularly hot, summer afternoon, Gladys decided to cool off and go for a dip, smiling to herself as she thought back all those years to Mort running out of the same water and right up to her as she lay on the beach. As she waded out into the calm waters, she heard a noise back on the beach and turned around to see those majestic horses, galloping in slow motion down the beach. Gladys’s smile turned to outright joyous laughter.

And then Big Ole Shark jumped out of the water and ate her.

The End.

(C’mon. You really think I’d forget about the fucking shark?)

Have a Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

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daddyanarchy

I write stuff. And I have Poodles. Big Poodles. The Poodles don't write stuff.

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