(With a muffled boom in the sky, the director made a dazzling entrance—silent farts did not stink, hence the muffled boom.
All the audience members leaped to their feet in excitement, raising their noble hands. In an instant, the entire world was drowned out by one sound—the whoosh of rotten eggs cutting through the air.
The director calmly said, "Such enthusiasm from everyone—I am deeply gratef~~~~~~~~ Ah~~~~~~~~ Who the hell threw that goose egg?")
Scene Two: A dim, wet little path. The entire path was extraordinarily clean; there was not a single piece of trash in sight. No—there was one, and only one: a VCD lying on the ground. Written on it was a couplet. First line: If one does not read Path of the Wicked Dragon; second line: Heaven shall surely castrate thee three times; horizontal inscription: You have to read it even if you do not want to!
(Complaint hotline:
Enthusiastic audience member C, Xiao Bo: "Even kissing a pig's ass has limits!"
Enthusiastic audience member D, Dragon Throne: "Exactly! Piggy is already at 160 now—one more chapter and it'll be 161!"
The director ignored the above individuals: "Guess why it has to be castrated three times. No prize for the right answer.")
Whoosh! The camera suddenly focused on the end of the path. A silhouette—uh, more accurately, a humanoid silhouette. Do you know what it means to stand without standing properly and walk without walking properly? This person had taken that saying to the absolute extreme, to the point where even I, the wise and mighty director, could not tell whether it was actually a person.
"Whew~~~~~~~~~~ This goddamn weather that deserves to get its ass blown out—I'm practically steamed alive." The humanoid figure walked out of the darkness and into the light.
(Director's friendly reminder: Please watch the following scene with a parent or guardian!)
A pair of worn-out flip-flops; an oversized pair of beach shorts—with the zipper undone, sparse yellow body hair drifting with every step; an oversized shirt in every color in the world—with no buttons fastened, his pale, shriveled body half-hidden by what seemed like foreskin; a cigar at least 0 cm long, desperately burning itself to bring pleasure to others; and as for that flowing head of hair, it was unbearable to look at, for fear one might "fall in love with your lovely hair~~~~~~." His mouth never stopped cursing—I supposed he was not sending regards to the national football team.
The driving force behind his walk came from that unzipped area. Every time he took a step, he first thrust hard, then his two legs slowly and reluctantly alternated forward—perhaps that was where his dantian and sea of qi lay. What did it mean to be naturally gifted?
He slowly yet resolutely thrust from the left side of the path toward the right.
(Director's friendly reminder once more: Regardless of gender, please prepare tissues for the following scene. Men, use them to wipe your nosebleeds; women, use them to wipe your tears.)
"Click, click, click~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~·" The fine, steady sound of high heels appeared at the other end of the path.
A beam of moonlight like a searchlight shot down from the nine heavens, ruthlessly shining upon the owner of those high heels—the director revealed, "Tonight, Chang'e and Wu Gang went to watch Avatar, so only Zhu Bajie was up there. Uh, you know what I mean!"
Low-cut neckline, high slits, enormous breasts, perky ass, slim waist, long legs, delicate hands, red lips, elegant nose, seductive eyes, fine brows, snowy skin, flowing hair—countless words came together in one sentence: "She was a calamity sent from heaven!"
She swiftly and seductively slunk from the right side of the path toward the left.
(Breaking news: Because a certain audience member ignored the director and failed to prepare tissues, he was now severely anemic and had been rushed to the hospital for a blood transfusion. His family was requested to pay the bill as soon as possible. This audience member was named: Passerby!)
As though fated, dry kindling and blazing fire met slightly left of center on the path—who was the kindling, and who was the fire?
(At this moment, beautiful and fitting background music began to play—"Leo": "When I'm alone, I'm a Leo, baa~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~")
Smack!!! With one chop of her hand, she knocked down the man thrusting over from the left, hoisted him onto her shoulder, and carried him away.
They vanished into the boundless night~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(The director's message: "Many times, men are the victims of X-harassment!")
"Chekhov, the two of us could never be together."
"No~~~~~~ That wasn't how it was!"
"I have everything I want now. What could you give me?"
"I..."
"Heh heh, I never expected she was still a virgin. She was really wild in bed. Hahaha, Chekhov, you son of a bitch—did you deserve to have her?"
"Let's go. I have nothing to do with him anymore!"
"Hahahahahaha~~~~~~~~~~ Chekhov, my poor little dog. I wouldn't mind letting you have a turn after I got tired of playing with her. Haha~~~~~~~~~~"
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"
"Ah~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"
The two screams rang out almost simultaneously atop that enormous waterbed.
Chekhov's entire body trembled without pause. He clutched his hair desperately as cold sweat streamed like water. An unnatural flush spread across his naked, shriveled body.
The woman beneath him had her eyes tightly shut, a compassionate smile fit only for Guanyin on her face. It was so pure, so inviolable. Such an expression appearing in such a setting was enough to drive anyone mad.
A quarter of an hour later.
Chekhov finally stopped trembling, and the woman opened her eyes as well.
Chekhov silently rose and sat on the edge of the bed. In a low voice, he said, "You, leave. Your tip."
A black-and-gold bank card shot from his hand to the woman's side.
The woman quietly looked at Chekhov, still wearing that same smile.
"If you keep looking at me like that, I'll kill you! Get the hell out~~~" As the final word left his mouth, every window within a hundred li cracked into the tiniest fragments—yet miraculously, they shattered without falling apart.
The woman said nothing. She silently put on her clothes. She did not take the unlimited black-and-gold card; instead, she took a photograph from among Chekhov's clothes, then turned and left.
Chekhov's lips moved, but in the end, he did not stop her. He merely muttered mockingly, "That was my only photograph. Heh~~~"
Suddenly, a Buddhist chant came from somewhere far away: "Amitabha~~~~ This humble monk is named Joyful Guanyin. The people of the mortal world call me Bewitching Guanyin. I came down this time to undergo tribulation. I have endured tribulations in the mortal world for over a hundred thousand years, yet I was never able to find the fated person who could help me escape my trial. I never thought that person would be you. Good, good~~~ This humble monk is about to return to my rightful place. I have already left behind the karmic ties between us. If fate allows it, we shall meet again. Amitabha~~~~~~~~"
The night sky instantly became as bright as day, then vanished in a flash.
"Karmic ties? Fuck! What karmic ties could a one-night stand possibly have?" Chekhov collapsed onto the bed as if drained, and before long, he fell asleep.
Moonlight gently shone upon his face as a tear slid from the corner of his eye. (To be continued)