Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/975088.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, F/F
  Fandom:
      Hamlet_2
  Character:
      Dana_Marschz
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-21 Chapters: 1/? Words: 821
****** Dark Memories of a Rigid Dictum ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     The crazy goings-on behind the scenes of the production of Hamlet 2,
     the most insane theatre production Tucson, AZ has ever witnessed.
Notes
     There might be underage content because it'll be a stretch to imagine
     that all the students are 18.
Dana Marschz sat in his favorite rocking chair facing the window of his tiny,
cluttered den in his tiny, cluttered Tuscon home. Years ago, he had decided to
ignore the warnings of his parents, his friends, and the blind gypsy girl on
the bus from Los Angeles, and moved to Arizona to discover an untapped source
of inspiration in the desert. He stretched his arms above his head, his fingers
grasping the muggy, bug-filled Arizona air as though trying to pull meaningful
dialogue from the gods themselves. "But how does Laertes respond?" He whispered
to himself. "He knows his mother is no bitch-hoe, but what does he say?" He
tapped the keys of his heavy iron typewriter, deep in thought.
He could hear his wife Brie in the other room, making herself a drink no doubt.
She had no respect for his recovery and in fact seemed to taunt him with every
martini she sipped while she sat staring malevolently at him, with every pina
colada she insisted on ordering with dinner, with every bottle of whiskey he
could smell on her breath when she leaned over and insulted him for deciding to
become a high school drama teacher instead of the thousand other, less stupid
jobs he could have spent his life doing. "I don't want to be a dental
hygienist," he whispered under his breath as he typed furiously, recalling an
argument they'd had only that evening. She had responded: "At least dental
hygienists don't get paid in gas money, you giant, talentless fuck!" He knew
she didn't mean it. She had been hitting the bottle pretty hard and she got
ugly when she was inebriated. It was one of the factors that had gone into his
decision to quit drinking a year ago.
He fussed with his mumu as his cat, Liza M., crawled underneath its cavernous
folds and began to swat at his exposed, newly shaven man-meat as though it were
an oddly shaped new toy hanging from her person's loins. Dana considered
shooing the cat away, but the feel of her fur was oddly pleasant against his
dejected penis. Brie had been trying to conceive for months before deciding
that, as in all things, Dana was to blame. After a visit to the sketchiest
doctor in Tucson--which is saying something as Tucson is the least fascinating
city in a state known only for heat, drugs, and racism--Brie decided, with no
input from Dana, that his little soldiers just needed to breathe. A few painful
minutes later, Dana was as naked as a baby jay bird and his penis was as naked
and raw as a baby jay bird's penis. Then came the mumu. To top it all off, Brie
took one look at him, pathetic in his oversized dress, his penis looking
somehow even smaller with his pubic hair gone, and decided that perhaps she no
longer wanted to try for a baby. The only living creature that had touched Dana
Marschz in the months that followed with any sort of fondness was Liza
Minnelli, the cat.
In order to explain away his increasingly hardening member, Dana closed his
eyes and pretended the fur stroking him was that of the real Liza Minnelli, the
soft tongue was the same one that had kept an audience of mostly aging gays
enthralled in her one-woman show "Liza with a 'Z'", the soft purring--oh, the
soft purring as her whiskers stroked his infertile ballsack and-
"Dana!"
Dana leaped from his chair and bumped his knee against his typewriter. A scared
Liza Minnelli sunk her claws into his penis. He yelped in pain and surprise.
His eyes began to tear up and his vision blurred; he sat heavily onto his
rocking chair. Brie was standing in the doorway, wine bottle in hand, disgust
written on her face. "What are you doing?" She yelled across the room, swaying
slightly with every word.
Dana scrambled to come up with something on the spot, which was surprisingly
difficult for him considering that he was the self-proclaimed most creative
mind on this side of San Xavier del Bac. After what seemed like an eternity to
him but no time at all to his dried up nag of a wife who was drunk off her
flat, unimpressive ass, Dana yelled: “You never touch me anymore!” Brie blinked
twice and slurred out the words: “Are you masturbating on Liza Minnelli?”
“It’s not like that! She came onto me!”
“You...you...”
Brie burst into fits of drunken laughter.
“God, you’re a loser.” With those words, she collapsed onto the floor and
seconds later began to snore as heavily as the hordes of homeless people that
litter the arid streets of Tucson. Dana waited a couple of seconds and,
determining that he was in the clear, shrugged. “Well, I guess that’s that,” he
said to himself as he turned his attention back to his masterpiece.
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