Let Down Thy Golden Extensions

“The nipples are supposed to be aligned with the jaw.” Josie stated among the class.

I stared at the nude model before me and couldn't help but wonder…

What the hell is that?

I stared at his pork-shaft for hours, unable to move the charcoal around the page.

“And the ass crack is aligned with the spine.”

I leaned against my easel, stunned by the fact that “Figure Drawing” meant drawing men and their hairless thing. Holy shit, that thing looks like a fucking piranha.

“Rapunzel!” Josie screeched across the room. Suddenly, all eyes were on me. “For the love of Rembrandt and Leonardo, draw the damn penis!” Isn't she lovely?

I replied, “I would, but I’m afraid by the time I look away, there's going to be a little surprise in my mouth.” Josie rolled her eyes. She continued to parade around the classroom, stating how important it is to include dong-rod. Josie’s my figure drawing teacher. I’d like her more if she’d stop paraphrasing, repeating, or emphasizing anything relating to a body part used in bom-chicka-wah-wah.

“Remember the nipples, class. The nipples.” I finally managed to draw the penis, but I had a few distractions along the way.

“Rapunzel! The testicles are much rounder than that!”

“Rapunzel! Draw the penis longer!”

“Rapunzel! Rapunzel!”

How the hell do you expect me to correctly draw the penis when that thing’s right in my face? My god, one glimpse of a Victoria’s Secret catalog and I might just lose an eye.

“Rapunzel, if you cannot take this class seriously, I’m afraid I’d have to ask you to leave.” Josie stated. I merely shrugged my shoulders. I grabbed my yellow backpack and did what I was told: leave. But not before hearing, “And remember, class, the center of the pussy is always aligned between your tits.”

My footsteps echoed along the eerie halls of Galahad High. The repetition of sound resembled the pattering of raindrops, casting a serene sensation throughout my body. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, exiting the school.

I ended up coming to the most overrated spots where teenagers mope about their mediocre high school dilemmas: the park. I managed to find a bench, where I sat down and just, well, mope.

I believe I'm cursed. I'm cursed from the day I was born; starting with my name. My name is Rapunzel Gretel Kingston and no, I am not kidding. My mother thought it would be ‘ever-so delightful’ to name her daughters after fairytale princesses. But I'm far from those skinny little bitches who sit around eating bonbons all day, while their prince charming does all the work. Drop the pork rinds and pound some ass! If I was Cinderella, I would've shattered that glass slipper and used one of those shards to stab the evil step-mother in the eye.

I didn't say that I hated my name. No, I adore that fact that I was named after a retarded princess with coal so deep her ass, she's spewing out diamonds, and a fat little German girl who can't say no to some fucking candy. I also found it unusual to be named after a princess with hair that could support some 'Fabio' yanking at it all day. As for my hair, the color and texture resembled very much like tar.

I'm not mad at my mother for naming me after a beautiful princess. I’m mad at her because I'm the only one in my family with a ridiculous name. I have two older sisters. One named Belle, and the other’s Aurora. Belle was named after some French babe who won a beast, and Aurora was named after that singing, sleeping half-dead chick.

Wait a minute. If Prince Philip was sexually aroused by Sleeping Beauty and kissed her when she was in deep slumber… doesn't that technically make him a semi- necrophiliac?

Anyways, when I was seven, I discovered my mom was pregnant with her fourth child. She was almost certain it'd be a girl, so she decided to name her Thumbelina. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that name is? It's pretty damn embarrassing. But it made me happy. You know why? Because when this baby's born, people would stop making fun of my name and mock my sister's. Is that what happened? No. Because that little fucker just had to have a y-chromosome.

So my mother decided to name him Peter, as in "Peter Pan." And now I have three siblings with normal first names. And people are still mocking mine. And now my grudge towards my mother is growing every single day. And now--- "Would you like some candy?" And now I've lost my train of thoughts!

"WHAT?!" I retorted.

I hadn't noticed there was an elderly man sitting next to me. He seemed taken back by my response. My face softened, as I tried to avoid eye contact with him. I absentmindedly glimpsed at his cloak and was astound with what I saw. It was like some sort of hologram. It was a long royal blue robe with white stars that reached just below his bony knees. But the stars were moving. It seemed to reflect a recording of the night sky. I can spot Saturn, Scorpius, and Cassiopeia.

The man seemed to notice my stares, and smiled in appreciation. I looked at the man closely. The hood of the cloak hung over his head, but I could see the graying beard peeking through. I was unable to see his eyes but I knew he was looking at me. He inched closer, as he uttered with a croaking voice, "My name is Merlin. Do you want some candy?" This isn't starting off well. "I have some candy in that dark alley over there." And then he keeps talking. "If you don't like candy, then I have some money I could give you in the alley."

Can you say: 'child molester?'

"Sir, do I look like a ten year old boy to you?" I asked with sarcasm.

Unfortunately, he didn't catch on, "Is this a trick question?" As he uttered these words, I looked at my wrist watch. It was only half past twelve. I've some time to kill. Why not fuck with his head?

"Sir, do you really have candy in that alley or just some money?"

"Both." He answered with a grin.

I asked another question, "Sir, do you really have money in that alley or something even better?"

"Both."

"Sir, do you really have something better or something much, much better?"

"Both."

"Sir, are you a molester or just physically retarded?"

His instincts took the best of him and retorted, "For the love of King Arthur! Both!" I laughed hysterically as he finally realized what I said. "Oh, damn it all!" He cried.

I'm bored with him. I stood from the bench and walked aimlessly away from the bearded molester, satisfied.

I deeply inhaled, scenting the pollen dominating the atmosphere when, suddenly, I felt a pair of cold, clammy hands gripped around my waist. "Forgive me, miss." said the cloaked man from earlier. I panicked as I felt his grip tightened.

"Get your hands off of me! Rape! Rape!"

It was like a dream. One minute, I was at the park. And the next, the imagery of foliage and vegetation seemed to be melting off the walls, leaving nothing but a pile of vivid ooze on the floor. My surroundings were vacant and I felt I was trapped in an empty white room. The grasp on my waist disappeared. I was alone.

The second the ooze touched my sandals, the floors began to swirl. And then the walls. It wasn't long before the entire room formed into a swirling white vortex and my body was soaring. I was moving towards the light that was emitting from the end of the tunnel. I was incapable of moving anything but my trembling lips, which then released a blood-curdling scream.

It wasn't long before I reached the end. As my body went through the blinding yellow light, I immediately felt something hard beneath me. I hadn't realized my eyes were close half the time. I was too afraid of what I might see. I held my breath and managed to pry my eyes open.

I seemed to be inside a kitchen, sitting on hard-wood floor. And as I looked up, I finally noticed, not the bearded child molester, but a young man. A young shirtless man.

Bom-chicka-wah-wah.

You got to love those Axe commercials.