Hard Hitting Celebrities

London DaysInn stood in her kitchen with a piece of frozen steak to her eye. Aside from the black eye, she had movie star looks – blonde hair, blue eyes, and the type of body that makes men (and some women) salivate.

“What the fuck, Randy!” She yelled to Randy, her boyfriend. “I have to go to a movie premiere tonight!” Randy cowered as best he could behind the island counter in the kitchen.

“Baby, if you didn’t stop fucking bickering all the fucking time, I wouldn’t of had to do that,” Randy said, sidelining the room for an escape route. He wanted to act tough, but he realized that he was decidedly the less famous of the two and in Hollywood, that’s all you need to win an argument. Also, Randy was not Hollywood attractive – another important facet in Hollywood argument theory.

An expression of shock came over London’s face, “Ok, say I was bickering. You’re way of dealing with it is to hit me? Get the fuck out of here.”

“Fine, I’ll go to Michelle’s. Oh and by the way, you suck as an actress,” Randy said as toughly as he could after hitting a woman.

“Fuck you,” London said. Randy scurried out the door.

An hour later, London sat in front of her make-up desk. She tried covering the shiner up, but it still seemed unnatural. She thought of wearing her sunglasses, but realized that she would still have to take them off inside the theater. London sank into her chair. The tv flickered in the background. She turned her head to the 60 inch plasma HD and watched a commercial for a well known make-up company. The commercial showed an average woman being turned into a super model. The end text said, “No wonder our perception of beauty is distorted.” A genius thoght over came Ms. DaysInn.

At the premiere of Swashbucklers of the Mediterranean, London DaysInn walked down the red carpet, displaying her black eye proudly. The paparazzi swarmed over London, asking questions like: “What happened?” “Are you ok?” “Did Randy do this to you?”

London responded, “You know a black eye is like beauty. This is natural. This is beauty.”

***

Heather Jameson, editor of Fashion! Magazine, watched the live footage of the movie premiere. She was sitting in her darkened living room. She had an old t-shirt on that said: Go Ducks. It was the type of outfit that if anyone saw her in, she would kill said witness and then kill herself. Heather’s jaw was agape; she dialed her office without even realizing it.

“Get photos of London on tomorrow’s cover. I don’t care. Do it now. Tell Bruce to whip up an article about domestic violence chic. Call it DVC for short. Well wake his fucking ass up! Call me when it’s done.”

***

While getting her morning coffee at the 24/7 convenience store, Brittany Robinson picked up the newest issue of Fashion! Magazine. Brittany stared at the cover, proclaiming the next hip thing in fashion. She walked in a daze towards her high school. Everywhere Brittany went, people stared. She was the hottest girl in the school – brunette hair, blonde highlights and soft brown eyes. While she was walking down the main hall, she ran into her boyfriend, Jake Smith. Jake was the captain of the football team. He had medium length brown hair, a chiseled jaw and a low IQ.

“Hey baby, what are you doing now?” Jake asked.

“Nothing. Hey do you want to go out to your car?” Brittany asked, giving a devilish look.

Jake thought he knew what she meant, and agreed to go. They walked back out of the building to Jake’s black pick up truck. The two climbed in and Jake leaned in for a kiss.

“No, not this time,” Brittany said, pushing Jake away.

“Then why are we out here?” Jake asked.

“I want you to hit me.”

“I thought you didn’t like Fight Club.”

“Hit me in the face.”

“No! What’s gotten into you?”
Brittany handed Jake the magazine. Jake looked at it, puzzled. “Yeah, and?”

“Look at London’s eye,” she said, pointing to the picture.

“So she has a shiner, so what?” Jake still didn’t get the implications.

“It’s the next big thing in fashion. It’s called domestic violence chic.”

“You’re saying that if I hit you, you’ll be fashionable?”

“Yes, and popular. You know how I love being popular, right?” Brittany gave Jake the smile-that-no-one-could-resist.

Fifteen minutes later, the two walked back into their high school. Now everyone was really staring at Brittany. The hallways came alive: “Oh. My. God. Is she ok?” “What happened to her?” “That’s soooo cool.”

By the end of the day, every and any girl in a relationship had black eyes, broken noses, broken hands, a few even had to go to the hospital due to broken jaws. The less-than-popular girls all huddled in the bathroom to hit each other, to give the illusion that they were in relationship. The jocks all high fived each other in the hallway while discussing who hit who. The nerds spun yarns about hitting their internet girlfriends with plus 80 magic in the face. Principal Andross’ phone rang off the hook all day with calls from irate parents.

***

A week later, at the pre-awards ceremony for the Oscars, Joan Lakes stood in front of the red carpet, commenting on the fashion choices of the various actors and actresses. Joan was a woman past her prime, but somehow this former comedian found a niche in fashion commentary.

“Oh, oh, oh. Look who’s here, it’s Rachel Hughes. And look at what she’s wearing. It’s a lovely red sequin dress. Oh, and look at her jewelry she has a wonderful gold plated halo neck brace with diamond studs. Rachel! Rachel! Come talk to me!”

Rachel walked towards Joan as best she could.

“Rachel, as we all know you just married Josh Nightly last weekend. How was the honeymoon?”

“Well as you can see, I had quite a time with Josh. We are so in love with each other. I don’t even think we left the hotel room. Well except for that time he took me to the hospital.”

“Oooo, Rachel, that’s a little steamy for network tv,” Joan said, waving her hand in front her face.

***

Heather Jameson sat waiting for her satellite feed to go active. She was appearing on Barry Queen Live, along with psychologist Dr. Steven Grebber and Mr. and Mrs. Robinson.
“Ok and we’re back. Tonight my guests include Heather James, editor of Fashion! Magazine, famed psychologist, Dr. Steven Grebber, and parents of a high schooler – now in a coma. Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, why don’t you tell our viewers your story,” Barry said, dressed with his trademark suspenders.

“Well,” Mrs. Robinson began, but couldn’t finish due to heavy weeping.

“Our daughter, Brittany, was dating a boy who hit her so hard that now she’s in a coma,” Mr. Robinson said, picking up where his wife left off. “That’s why we started Parents Against Domestic Violence. It’s our aim to get people like Ms. Jameson behind bars for promoting violence among our youth.”

“Uh, excuse me? Hitting your significant other is no different than giving a kiss on the lips nowadays. It’s not my fault that you don’t understand that. And what’s even worse is that you don’t understand that your daughter’s boyfriend must have really been in love to do that type of damage,” Heather said.

The two parents huffed and puffed in outrage. Barry stepped in. “Dr. Grebber, what do you make of all this?”

Dr. Grebber sat and contemplated the question for a bit. He was wearing a tweed jacket and what appeared to be corduroy pants. “Well, I believe that the more and more this fad catches on-“

“Oh, sorry, Doctor. We have to cut to commercial,” Barry said, turning to the camera.

***

Tracy Rhodes was getting dressed for her date with Greg Billings. Tracy was the captain of her high school’s volleyball team. Greg had finally gotten the courage to ask her out a few days prior. He had crush on Tracy for quite some time, but he always got too nervous around her. One day at the lockers he finally asked.

“Hey, Greg. How’s it going?” She asked.

“Fine, HeyTracydoyouwanttogooutsometimetogetsomethingtoeatorsomething?” Greg asked, nervously moving his hands around his body.

“Greg, are you asking me out on a date?” Tracy asked, she was wearing a black and white striped shirt.

Greg got red in the cheeks, “Yeah I guess I did.”

The doorbell rang throughout Tracy’s home. Her father, Tom, answered the door much to Greg’s chagrin. Greg thought that Tom looked like he used to be in the Armed Forces. He was right.

“Hello, Greg, I’m Mr. Rhodes.”

“Hi,” Greg’s voice squeaked, “I’m Greg.”

“Why don’t you come in Greg? Tracy’s still getting ready.”

Tom and Greg walked into the living room and sat on a brown leather couch.

“Would you like something to drink?” Tom asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

“So what are you two going to do tonight?”

“Well, I thought we’d go eat dinner and then see a movie or go mini-golfing. Tracy said she still wasn’t sure.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Tracy, she’s so indecisive,” Tom said.

Greg laughed awkwardly. Tom leaned in, “Now listen. If you do anything to my little girl, I’ll break your damn nose.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were gay,” Greg said.

***

Jake Smith and two of his football buddies, Sean and Adam, sat outside of the local McDonald’s, eating hamburgers. A group of 5^th graders walked by, talking loudly.

“Guess what guys?” said one 5^th grader.

“What?” another responded.

“I punched Sarah’s arm last night.”

All of them stopped and stared in awe. Jake, Sean and Adam all laughed to themselves. The 5^th graders started to walk away from the parking lot.

“Wait until those kids get older and break a girl’s cherry,” Sean said.

“Don’t you mean break a girl’s nose?” Adam asked.

“Yes, Adam, that’s what he meant,” Jake said.

***

An auditorium full of high school kids talk loudly, waiting for Principal Andross’ speech to begin. The short, bald man walked out to the podium and adjusted the microphone.

“Hello, everyone. Could we settle down? Everyone? Hello. I’m here to talk to you about this recent wave of violence inflicted upon the female population in this school. I know a lot of you aren’t participating in this—“

“Yeah! The nerds!” Someone yelled out.

“Who said that?! Get him out of here!” Principal Andross adjusted his tie and microphone. He waited for a teacher to escort the disruptive student. “I know that most of you aren’t participating in this violence, but this needs to stop. You young girls are risking permanently disfiguring you faces for a fad. Your fellow classmate, Brittany Robinson, is in the hospital right now fighting for her life because of this domestic violence chick—“

“—It’s pronounced SHE·ik,” One of the teachers called out.

“Thank you, Mrs. Clemens.”

The next 45 minutes consisted of Principal Andross telling the students statistics about DVC, pictures of teens that had to go through corrective surgery, and testimonies of victims of domestic violence – before it was fashionable (That last one had a profound opposite effect on the audience. Everyone was in awe of the Creepy Guy and the Russian Mail Order Bride’s relationship.)

It ended like most presentations do – by suspending a boy and a girl for “necking.” Necking of course meaning the two were punching each other in the neck.

***

London DaysInn stumbled into her house, drunk out of her mind. It had been a good three months since she invented domestic violence chic. She was on top of the fashion world. Her every move was being watched by paparazzi and fashion magazines. She got up to her bedroom, and lit a cigarette before passing out on her bed. London woke up to the sound of her smoke alarms going off. She fell out of bed and crawled to safety outside. That morning, after the fire trucks left, she rummaged through her now, smoke charred and burnt clothing. She got an idea.