Title: Reality Bites... Back
Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the life of Mr. Mark Calaway... I just feel sorry for him sometimes because of a lot of the crappy fic that gets thrown around with his name in it... The poor bastard. This is written as parody. Hopefully it's funny in spots.
Summary: Mary Sue meets her Waterloo.
Kayfabe Compliance: None whatsoever. With reason.
Distribution: One is also welcome to use Marie Susanne Plotlapin for other parodies. In fact, I'd love to see this. It will be funnier if she has different coloured eyes in every story... Just a thought.
Mark snorted awake. The baby was crying. That was fine. He'd been allowed to sleep past dawn, and that was good enough for him. He wasn't quite sure where Sara was at, but she had mentioned an early morning run last night before bed. Mark being home allowed her to do this.
He crawled out of bed and on to his feet, his hips and knees were aching, but he did his level best to ignore the pain that his job and physical size forced him to put up with. Most people didn't realize that being this tall meant lots of fun joint pain. And if by fun he meant agonizing. He walked to the nursery where the most recent addition to his family lay in her crib. She was over that initial looking-like-Winston Churchill phase that all infants go through directly after birth, and was now a very cute baby.
He smiled down at her, and picked her up out of the crib. She calmed down a bit and stopped crying, momentarily fooled by the soother Mark offered her. 'Ha-ha... sucker' Mark had to think as he carried her to the kitchen in search of formula and bringing a clean diaper with him. He kicked various toys out of his path on the way, and grimaced when he stepped in something wet... Dog drool... God, he hoped it was dog drool. Speaking of that... Where were his dogs? Sara didn't bring them with her when she went running.
Ignoring his wet sock, and coming into the kitchen, he was expecting a couple of hungry Rottweillers waiting by their bowls for their chow. The dogs weren't there. What he did see though was a downright elaborate, if very unhealthy, breakfast on the table. "What the fuck?" He murmured. Sara would never have prepared something like this. She was a non-believer in the high fat breakfast. She'd have a bird at the sight of steak and eggs.
He saw a woman moving near the fridge. She was tall, but not too tall. She had impossibly long hair... Stupidly long hair. 'How could she ever afford to shampoo that much hair?' Mark thought. She must trip over it when she walked. And who the hell cooked in a Gothic-inspired red velvet dress? "Who the fuck are you?!" Mark shouted. She turned to him with a look of crazed familiarity.
"I'm Marie Susanne Plotlapin. Darling, I'm finally here! We can finally be together! Come, eat." She said. She had a glazed look and Mark felt very uneasy. He started to back out of the kitchen, holding his baby daughter tight to him.
"Oh fuck! Hardy and Orton warned me about you! Fuckingsecuritysystem... gonnagetmyfivegrandbackonthatpieceofshit." He grumbled, and then gave her a sideways look. "And what the fuck is wrong with your eyes? Are you on meth?"
"They're silver, darling. They're for holding the interest of those around me."
"Why? Because you don't have a personality, so you have to have freaky eyes to make people pay attention to you?" He asked, trying not to laugh, setting down the diaper and picking up the cordless phone. Marie gave him a hurt look, pouting at his roughness.
"Darling, I-" She started, and Mark cut her off.
"I ain't your darling! Get the fuck outta my house you crazy bitch!" The baby spat out the soother and started crying. "Aw fuck, look what you made me do. Shit." Mark moved towards the fridge, and for a moment Marie looked like she might swoon with Mark moving towards her. The look on his face soon made her change her mind. She backed away from the fridge... Being careful not to make any sudden moves.
He put the phone down on the counter between the fridge and the microwave. He retrieved a bottle, pulled off the cap, and put in the microwave, his attention on the baby. He'd started to feed her when Marie cleared her throat. "Are you still here?" He asked, glaring daggers at her. "Get out!"
"But my love, I am spontaneously here to be devoted to you! I have no base for what you are really like other then what is broadcast on national television, but I know we were meant for one another. I will make love to you whenever you desire!" She defended. Mark looked incredulously at her.
"I have two kids under school age! You think I have the time, let alone the energy to fornicate at random? I'm lucky if I even feel like jerking off in the shower! ...And where the hell is my wife?!"
"She doesn't understand you! Not like I do."
"Oh, yes, my wife is the Jezebel keeping me from being with your fruitcakey ass." He declared sarcastically. "My wife that has gotten me to clean up my life, gain some stability, and has me actually taking care of myself in order to prolong being able to do what I love to do... My wife who puts up with me taking off for weeks at a time, leaving her here alone. What a bitch. How dare she? NOW, WHERE IS SHE?!" The baby squirmed uncomfortably in his arms. Marie hung her head, embarrassed and shameful. She was finally realizing that this reality thing was quite persistent, no matter how hard she fought against it.
"Knocked out and tied up with bungee cords in the garage." She admitted. Mark looked mortified. The baby had downed most of the tiny bottle, and Mark, running on autopilot, brought her to his shoulder and patted her back. Burp achieved, he reached for the phone and dialed 9 and 1 before Marie spoke up again. He wasn't frightened of her... But he was really annoyed at the intrusion. "I didn't mean any harm! We should be together!" She pleaded.
"You're fucking nuts! Do those saline fun bags of yours fly up and concuss you every time you run from the cops?!" Mark dialed the final one on the keypad, and crooked the phone between his shoulder and ear. He prayed his eldest daughter hadn't woken up despite the noise... The kid had slept though a lot before, so he hoped he wouldn't have to be finding her a therapist.
"I'll have you know that my body is completely natural. I was made this way."
"And Jennifer Lopez's ass is real. No one has real tits that perfect... Hello, Sheriff?" Mark was never so glad to hear the garage door burst open. A very pissed off looking Sara bounded into the room, and jumped at Marie, angrier then Mark had ever seen her... And he made a sport of working her up. From the rope burns on her wrists and the handkerchief still hanging precariously around her neck, it looked to Mark she'd chewed through the binds... Tough broad that she was.
"No one fucks with my family!" Sara shouted. Mark watched while Marie screeched and tried to get away, but was way too slow for his enraged wife. Sara took Marie to the ground and had her in an armbar in seconds. Marie simpered in pain. Mark gave the details to the sheriff's department.
"We have cruisers on the way, Mr. Callaway. Is anyone hurt?"
"Our intruder's far too fragile ego... Though you might want to hurry. My wife is ready to kill her."
"Your... wife?" The dispatcher sounded confused. This was rural Texas after all.
"I had baby duty this morning." Mark reasoned. "What was I gonna do? Throw the dirty diaper at her? Hey, come to think of it..."
"That won't be necessary, sir. It would just stink up our holding cell."
"Fair enough" Mark found his dogs tied in their outdoor run when the cops came screaming up the drive. Sara had the nut job confined to the garage complete with bungee cord restraints. The baby had been changed, however, Mark's wet sock had not. He was still trying to ignore it but wasn't having much success. The sound of sirens, almost foreign out here, was enough to wake his elder daughter. She came out onto the front porch, rubbing her eyes, and over to where Mark was with the baby, giving his statement.
"What's going on, daddy?"
"Nothing to worry about, darlin'. Everything's fine. How about we hype you up on sugar and take you to see Grandma today?"
"Does that mean I can have Oreos for breakfast?"
"Oh you betcha. Go get the bag. I'm sure the officers here would like a cookie too." His daughter was off like a shot through the screen door. Sara glowered at him. "What? Once won't kill her. Besides, all this insanity, she's going to need a positive memory to associate with this so I don't have to pay for therapy." He tried to look innocent, and Sara could only smile at his expression.
Over by the police cruisers, Marie was kicking up a fuss as they were trying to stuff her too perfect body into the back seat. "Shame such a pretty thing has to be nuts." One of them said.
"Still," Said another. "I'd hit it." The cops laughed.
"Mark! You know you want me!" She screeched.
"Yeah, I want you like I want herpes! Wait, I might get both... Ugh." He responded, feigning a shudder and then smiled at Sara, who laughed.
"You might have to get lucky for that." She said.
"I'm counting the minutes until naptime." He replied. "But for now, I need a dry pair of socks."