All You Need is Love! And Murder. And Betrayal.

12 Jan

Obviously, I haven’t found the time to update my blog in the last couple days. However, I did find the time to notice One Life to Live was ending after a half-century. In this economy, job security like that can only be dreamt of, so I’ve decided to write my own soap opera. Passion’s Destiny, as it will be called, will bring certain elements from Hispanic soaps, as well as a very dramatic medical motif. Based in the rainy city of Cape Gertrude, Passion’s Destiny  is a “sweeping odyssey of drama, passion, and destiny.” (That’s not a review or anything, using quotes just looks better.)

(In a completely original storyline, Royce and Daffodil are canoodling, and in doing so, are blatantly disobeying their parents. Daffodil leans in for a tender kiss, but Royce shies away.)

ROYCE: No, we can’t.

DAFFODIL: Why not?

ROYCE: My lips are so chapped.

DAFFODIL: That’s horrible.

(Camera turns to a lavish apartment in the up-scale north of Cape Gertrude. Standing next to an ornate mantle is Lola, an elderly women approaching her centennial, but her plastic surgery makes her look no older than 67. However, her plastic surgeon sneezed during the breast augmentation, so one is roughly two inches higher up than the other.)

LOLA (on the telephone): It happened? … No! … They’ll find the secret. … I’ll be right over!

(Faster than a GOP candidate can say fiscal responsibility, Lola throws on a jacket, jacket being used loosely since she’s essentially just wearing a wolf pelt. She calls Basil, her driver, Rumaki, her hairless cat, and Whiskers, her personal chef, and they all climb into the Bentley. Unfortunately, there was a mix-up while entering the vehicle and Rumaki ended up behind the wheel. Needless to say, the gang easily found a parking spot up a telephone pole.)

(Camera finds itself in a hospital room. A fat Italian baker, Tortellini Frederico,is settled on the table, with powdered sugar in his mustache and pain in his eyes. Frederico is actually a mob boss, but chose a bakery as his money laundering location because of his passionate love of cannolis. Beside him is Dr. Austin Calhoun, a man far too handsome to have passed a cutthroat organic chemistry class at the university on his degree. He is consulting a clipboard, but has forgotten the charts, and is furrowing his brow to keep up appearances.)

CALHOUN (to nurse): This man’s gonna need sixty cc’s of colonoscopy, nurse.

FREDERICO: Whats-a wrong-a with me-a?

CALHOUN: Sir, I’ve just diagnosed you with sensitive nipples. Luckily, you’ll be okay.

(Dr. Calhoun could not have been more incorrect at that time. Tortellini was actually suffering from  sfogliatelle-induced heart failure, and had already expired by the time Calhoun made his diagnosis. Calhoun, in customary practice, wrote “natural causes” on the death certificate and went home. Sadly, he missed the two hit men hired by Frederico in his will, now out to get him. Cut to commercial with Calhoun considering offering medical assistance to a wealthy woman and her friends who have just been in an accident, but instead deciding that his appointment with the stylist is far more important.)

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