Star-spangled Banter
Dusty leans back in her chair, a confident smirk spreading across her face as she crosses her arms beneath her prodigious chest.
DUSTY: Drinkin’ beer and getting 25% off a new mattress!
DACY: Ahem. Heh. After taking a moment to remember the fallen, right? Riiight?
DUSTY: I just got done tellin’ ya. You got wax in yer ears? Don’t get me wrong, I love our troops! My daddy, Brady Blackwood, he served his time in the Fairy Kingdom military ‘fore he became a wrasslin’ legend, and he taught me that you honor the fallen by livin’ your best damn life. So every Memorial Day, I head down to the Nashville VA — that’s a hospital, not the state of Virginia, in case you didn’t know — and I visit with the vets. I listen to their stories, and just spend quality time with them.
DACY: Wow! After the answer to my first question—
DUSTY: Hahhaa! I’m just messin’ with ya, son! Lemme me tell ya exactly how this lil ol’ firecracker spends her Memorial Day weekend. And I ain’t talkin ’bout no backyard barbecues or flag-wavin parades neither. Dusty Blackwood supports our troops the only way she knows how: by takin’ care of ’em personally, intimately, an’ thoroughly. First thing I do is head on down to the nearest VA hospital, or wherever them fine servicemen might be recoverin’, restin’, or simply standin’ at attention, wearin’ nothin’ but a stars-an’-stripes bikini that barely contains these patriotic puppies
Dusty gestures emphatically at her massive cleavage. And I do mean massive
DUSTY: Now, once I arrive, I make sure every single soldier knows his sacrifice ain’t gone unnoticed. I strut right into them wards, hips swayin’, heels clickin’, an’ I start handin’ out personalized thank-yous that’d make Uncle Sam blush redder than a baboon’s behind. Each brave boy gets the Dusty Blackwood treatment: slow, sensual body-to-body contact, whispered gratitude delivered straight into eager ears, followed by these here sweater-stretchers wrapped tight ’round whatever salutes me first. Ain’t a man among ’em who leaves without feelin’ fully appreciated….mouth, hands, an’ generous bosom workin’ overtime until they’re moanin’ out the Star-Spangled Banner in ecstasy. By sundown, I’ve honored more troops than a twenty-one-gun salute, an’ trust me, Dacy, they always request encore deployments!
DACY: I uh..well…I’m not so bad at Call of Duty. Not the newer ones. But some of the ones for 360?
DUSTY: Are you making light of our boys’ sacrifice, Dacy Alex?!
DACY: No! Never! Tell me about this stars-an’-stripes bikini, is it just your standard thong bikini? Microbikini? Slingshot bikini? String bikini?
DUSTY: Naw sir, Dusty Blackwood’s Memorial Day special is a custom-made, hand-stitched, patriotic slingshot bikini that I had a li’l Vietnamese seamstress down in Nashville put together for me, an’ bless her heart, the poor woman ’bout had a stroke tryin’ to figure out how to make somethin’ this skimpy actually hold up these Double D weapons of mass destruction.
DACY: Should have had it American made.
DUSTY: What did you say?
DACY: Nothing, please continue
DUSTY: The whole rig’s held together by these thin lil’ navy-blue strings that run up over my shoulders, cross down my back, dive between my cheeks, an’ tie off in a bow right above my tailbone. One good sneeze an’ the whole shebang’s comin’ undone faster’n a Yankee retreatin’ from Stonewall Jackson!!!
DACY: …Uh…who?
DUSTY: When I walk, them Double Ds bounce like two basketballs in a paint mixer, the fabric strainin’ an’ creakin’ with every step, an’, Dusty-doo, I swear on my daddy’s championship belt I’ve had three different soldiers salute spontaneously the second I rounded the corner into their hospital room. And by salute I mean with their pecker since they were missin’ arms. Raised more than their morale in my red, white, an’ blue stiletto heels an’ a li’l American flag bandana tied ’round my ponytail lookin’ like Lady Liberty herself decided to come down off her pedestal an’ personally thank every troop who ever fired a rifle for Old Glory!!!!!
DACY: So Dusty they say blondes have more fun, especially with black guys!
DUSTY: It’s the truth, son! Even carry it proud in the name. Blackwood!
DACY: When you show up to a Memorial Day veteran’s party wearing nothing but that stars-and-stripes bikini covering those fat nipples, how many minutes before you were bent over the picnic
DUSTY: Whoooo-eeee, Dacy, now you’re askin’ the real important questions, son! ! Well, sugar, if Dusty Blackwood walks into a Memorial Day bash wearin’ nothin’ but a couple postage stamps worth of patriotic cloth strugglin’ to contain these Double Ds, I’d say ’bout negative thirty seconds before some big, beautiful chocolate soldier’s got me bent over the potato salad spread like a Sunday hog gettin’ readied for the spit roast!
DACY: Negative? Seconds?!
DUSTY: Last year, Hell, I ain’t even made it past the cookie tray before Sergeant Johnson……or maybe it was Corporal Washington, hell they all blend together when you’re face-down in a checkered tablecloth screamin’ praises to Jesus, done grabbed these blonde curls like reins on a rodeo bronco an’ introduced my southern belle snatch to every blessed inch of his government-issued dark meat faster than a grease pig at a county fair!
DACY: Why do you have grease pigs at a fair?
DUSTY: I ain’t the damn fair organizer! You gonna stay on task or what?
DACY: Sorry!
DUSTY: When my daddy Brady Blackwood taught me wrasslin’ holds, he never mentioned the full-nelson variation where I’m sandwiched between two muscular brothas while a third feeds me enough dark meat to feed a family reunion!
DACY: That’s some interesting positioning and body control!
DUSTY: Them boys treated my holes like enemy territory that needed conquerin’, an’ I ain’t ashamed to admit this rebel flag flew higher’n ever once they finished plantin’ their flags if ya catch my drift! By the time the fireworks started, I had more cream pie than the dessert table an’ enough DNA samples to fill a military database. God bless America an’ God bless our boys in uniform, especially the ones packin’ heat in their pants!
DACY: Well, ya know, I think you’d make a great recruiting tool.
DUSTY: Damn straight, Dacy! Hell, the Pentagon oughta put me on the payroll as Chief Morale Officer, ‘cuz Dusty Blackwood’s Double Ds done did more for enlistment numbers than every dang commercial with eagles soarin’ an’ tanks rollin’ put together! Picture it, son: some fresh-faced eighteen year old’s sittin’ there debatin’ whether to sign on the dotted line, an’ then BOOM!
DACY: BOOM!
DUSTY: BOOM!
DACY: BOOOOOOOM!
DUSTY: Up pops a poster of yours truly, oiled up, bustin’ outta a camo bikini three sizes too small, with the slogan “COME HOME TO THESE” plastered ‘cross the bottom in big ol’ red, white, an’ blue letterin’. That boy’d be sprintin’ to the recruiter’s office faster’n a jackrabbit on jimsonweed, ready to storm whatever beach Uncle Sam pointed him at, just for one shot at motorboatin’ these here patriotic peaks!
DACY: Do you worry you might have too many soldiers getting attached to you?
DUSTY: Hell no! That there is what I’m here fer. When a soldier gazes into my eyes while tremblin’ atop me, when he confesses horrors witnessed an’ burdens carried, when tears of relief mix with perspiration on flushed cheeks, man, Dacy Alex that’s sacred ground we’re treadin’. I become sanctuary, confessional, an’ salvation rolled into one blessedly buxom package.
DACY: I didn’t think you could be so poetic.
DUSTY: I have to take stupid poetry for one of my gen ed classes. What a load of shit!
DACY: I take it back.