The world’s next beloved women’s fiction phenomenon — finale
“Oh my God!” I shriek in sexy despair.
“WOWZA!!!” postulates Jazz Hands.
Amy sticks up a middle finger at me, her way of offering emotional support.
I realise then that Amy and Jazz Hands have been lurking outside the restaurant, spying on my date and pre-emptively wielding machetes, the whole time. My heart fills with gratitude to have such considerate friends.
“Well, then,” Brad Chad Dean Hart says. “Looks like I have a usurper on my hands. You’d better get out of here, Nick Luke Chris Smith, before I grab an ice pick and Trotsky your ass.”
“Ooh, I saw that on a porno once,” Amy chips in helpfully.
“Oh, you want a fight?!” Nick Luke Chris Smith bellows with the ferocity of a cuckolded boar. “I’ll give you a fight, Brad Chad Dean Hart! Or should I call you — Bad Sad Mean Fart?!”
“YOU TAKE THAT BACK!!!” Brad Chad Dean Hart cries, and slaps Nick Luke Chris Smith straight in the crotch.
Apropos of nothing, ‘It’s Raining Men’ by The Weather Girls begins playing.
“Oh, Jenny, what are you going to do?!” asks Amy, as she, Jazz Hands and I position ourselves in the corner to calmly watch two men amusingly battle each other for my affections.
“POPCORN!!!” offers Jazz Hands, as Nick Luke Chris Smith pulls a chunk of hair straight from Brad Chad Dean Hart’s head.
“Thank you, Jazz Hands,” I say, and take a handful. “I don’t know what to do, Amy!”
Brad Chad Dean Hart forces Nick Luke Chris Smith through to the kitchen and pierces a fork through his palm, pinioning him to the blazing stove.
“I mean…” I look at Nick Luke Chris Smith as he wails in agony. “I’ll be honest, Amy — I’ve missed Nick Luke Chris Smith. It probably hasn’t shown because I’m such a strong and independent woman, but I miss him.”
Nick Luke Chris Smith tears his hand free, spraying the entire restaurant with blood and bits of charred flesh, and pours a pot of boiling water onto Brad Chad Dean Hart’s head.
“He’s so sensitive,” I sigh. “He used to hold my hand, and we’d skip in meadows, and gaze out across the horizon.”
Brad Chad Dean Hart flails recklessly, grabbing a cleaver and slicing off Nick Luke Chris Smith’s nose.
“It was perfect,” I continue, sadly. “So, so perfect. We were made for each other. But then, as I’m sure you remember, we broke up, because.”
Amy nods and pats my back.
“DEVASTATING!!!” soothes Jazz Hands.
Nick Luke Chris Smith leaps forward in a feral rage and bites off Brad Chad Dean Hart’s ear.
“But I think of him every single day,” I lament in an attractive moan. “His hair, his smile, his eyes–”
Brad Chad Dean Hart picks up two ladles and simultaneously plucks out both of Nick Luke Chris Smith’s eyes.
“–his hair, his smile,” I reiterate. “Perhaps we never should have broken up at all. It’s not about needing a man, it really isn’t. His was always the right type of companionship. He really understood me. He really loved me. I was truly myself with him.”
Nick Luke Chris Smith howls and blindly tears off Brad Chad Dean Hart’s kneecaps.
“But on the other hand,” I ruminate with wisdom, “there’s Brad Chad Dean Hart. And him, well, from the moment I saw him, I could tell, he’s just so…”
“RICH!!!” Jazz Hands concludes.
“Exactly, he’s just so rich,” I say.
“Yes, he is rich,” Amy confirms.
“Very rich. So really, I think I should probably go for him,” I shrug.
Brad Chad Dean Hart hurls Nick Luke Chris Smith through the restaurant window. As Nick Luke Chris Smith’s lifeless body slams into the ground, ‘It’s Raining Men’ hilariously ceases playing.
“Well, that’s lucky,” Amy observes.
“I’ve made my decision!” I announce importantly. The whole restaurant turns to look at me, rapt, in awe of a woman so strong and independent.
“Brad Chad Dean Hart!” I cry passionately. “You’re the one!”
He strides over to me then, the joy of his grin unabated by his missing front teeth, his blood running down his torso and mingling with Nick Luke Chris Smith’s.
“The colour of the revolution is red,” he whispers in my ear.
“Oh, Brad Chad Dean Hart!” I breathe with great longing.
“I love you, Emma!” he cries.
“Jenny,” Amy seamlessly conceals within a nonchalant cough.
And that, ladies, is the story of my happy ever after. Brad Chad Dean Hart and I have had many wonderful experiences together since, including buying a mansion, buying a plane, buying the concept of free will, and buying a small island. It’s been wonderful, truly wonderful.
How to get your own happy ever after? The only thing I can advise to you, my fellow ladies, is to always, forever be a strong, independent woman.
But make sure you do it with a man by your side who can buy you stuff.