Santorum Slashfic: The Cone

February 29, 2012 § Leave a comment

Mmm.

One of my favorite things in the world is anti-fandom, and has been since I was small. Discovering this term two years ago was a revelation, and pretty much legitimized the previous 26 years of my life. I could finally call that thing I’d always done an actual name! Suddenly I felt like people, or something a lot like it.

tl;dr I love love love hating things, not even in a hateful way but with genuine aplomb and enthusiasm. It would therefore stand to reason that I’d have a deranged soft spot for Presidential election cycles, which are basically just studies in anti-fandom and trollish fuckery. 2012 has already been a watershed year, and I assure you will only get weirder.

It was in this spirit that I decided to start writing election-themed slashfic, because why not. I’ll cross-post some of my favorites here, but will be publishing the bulk of my e-LOL-ction coverage on Modern Primate. My first story will run tomorrow, but for now enjoy the following prefatory blurb I’ll be attaching to all my entries, mostly to ensure that no one gets sued. IT’S CALLED ARTISTIC FREEDOM YOU GUYS.

So far, the Presidential nomination process has supplied the American people with enough facepalms and uncomfortable laughter to last every man, woman and child well into 2013. Lost in this torrid shitshow has been the subtle art of political slashfic—UNTIL NOW. Each week I’ll select a particular media artifact (a picture, video clip, or ill-conceived comment) and will write a story based on the people, places or things contained therein. Today’s adventure stars homophobic folk hero and human-lizard hybrid Rick Santorum, whose insatiable appetite for chocolaty goodness knows no earthly bounds. Bottoms up!

[and/or full text after the jump]

It was hot, that day in the kitchen. Too hot. The kind of hot that makes a man do things. Makes a man want things. And what he wanted was to wrap his lips around something sweet.

“I’ve heard yours was the best in town,” the stranger said. His voice was low and calm, like he’d been down this road before.

“You heard right.”

“What’s your secret?” The stranger’s eyes twinkled under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“It’s all in the wrist,” I said. I’d been down this road before myself.

“Can I have a taste?”

“That depends,” I said. “How do you like it?”

“However I can get it,” he answered. “Just ask my wife.”

This didn’t surprise me. “Feel strongly about nuts?” I asked.

“Sometimes they can’t be avoided.”

“Preference on size?”

“I’ve been told I have a pretty big mouth,” the stranger chuckled. “Whatever you can give, I can take.”

“You’re easier than most,” I said.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” The stranger took a step closer.

“Chocolate or vanilla,” I asked.

The stranger raised an eyebrow. “I get to choose?”

“I’ll be damned if you don’t walk out of here with a smile on your face.”

“Another trade secret.”

“You could say that.”

The stranger stood there, expectant. I know this look all too well.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Always.”

I reached forward and tugged on the handle. The machine shuddered to life.

“Easy now,” the stranger said. “We don’t want to make a mess.”

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