CHAPTER ONE
In which our lovers meet, whiskey is drunk, and sexual innuendos prevail
I slowly walked through the school, dazed because everyone was so tall… So overpowering to me, just a small shrimp. One day after school at the Poison Apple, a handsome man approached me. I could barely speak as he said with slight grin, "Hey there, little sexy man. My name is Shrek. What's yours?"
I was speechless as I just watched those rippling muscles through his shirt. I looked up and had to look down to collect myself. "He is the most handsome man I have ever seen," I said in a whisper - but, I guess, loud enough for Shrek to hear me.
"You're even sexier. Tell me your name?" Shrek said, now crouching to reach my level.
"Far - Farquaad," I whinnied as Shrek started to put his large hands all over my tiny head.
"That's kinky," I said, and Shrek whispered seductively in my ear, "I like kinky." I was shaking all over, his voice carrying through my body. He took my tiny hand in his and covered my eyes with the other.
"Come with me."
We had been traveling for what I estimated to be at least 20 hours, with him leading in huge, jumping steps and me being dragged behind before he released me. Expecting a Worcestershire Academy fraternity (or perhaps a dorm room) I was confused as to why I was surrounded by marshy swampland. Had he really decided a swamp was the best place or was he just messing with me? But… I couldn't disagree with those enticing lips. Had it been any other day, I would have cared - but today was different. Today was the day that meant something, the day I would finally live - because Shrek was the one I was going to be "creating a swamp" with.
I've been told by many others that Shrek is nothing to compare when it comes to "pitching a tent." I've been told by more that my sexual innuendos are nothing to be trifled with, just like Shrek's rock hard package.
"MAIL'S HERE!" said the mailman, dropping the cardboard box in front of Shrek. I tapped it.
"Odd," I said. "It's rock hard." We stepped into the hut, and the odor hit me. It was like a thousand onions, mixed with the scent of wedding cake and gingerbread. On top of the hardwood table was a 7-tiered cake, and, standing on the top, embedded in the icing, a gingerbread man. In his hand was what looked to be a whiskey bottle.
"More booze!" shrieked the pot-bellied freak of nature, startling me into jumping backward into Shrek's strong arms.
"Gingy's been living with me ever since the wife left," Shrek stated. However, I hadn't taken in a single word, as I was busy pondering the situation, thinking to myself: How can this man get any more perfect?