passed. Posh spurt out a baby boy, whom she and her fiancé named Brooklyn.
For some reason, Posh was under the impression that she had become pregnant
while she and Beckham were in New York, so she decided that naming the child
after the place where he was conceived was a good idea. It was a shame that
Posh had not consulted with other couples who had done the same thing, or she
would have known better.
could forget the tragic legend of Titicaca Thomas Rowls, whose only secure job
in his entire life was performing for amateur transsexual porn movies thanks
to his parents' unfortunate choice of his name? He died of complications after
an unsuccessful sex change operation.
of course, there was a young girl named Albuquerque Smith, who had a slight
learning disability. This disability wasn't extremely detrimental, except for
one fact: she could never learn to spell her own name properly. After years
of having various job applications rejected due to misspellings of her name,
she found employment as an orderly in a Canadian hospital, earning minimum wage
her entire life until the day she died from being trampled by a crazed man in
a soccer uniform who was charging through the hospital. She still lived with
her parents, and would no doubt have been more successful with a simpler name,
like maybe New Mexico.
finally, there was Abraham Lincoln's Bedroom Peterson, whose parents had an
illicit affair while on a tour of the White House. He was diagnosed as clinically
insane by the fourth grade. He later hung himself with a sausage casing at the
tender age of thirteen.
Posh known about any of these unfortunate cases, she probably would have thought
more about her child's name. After the lawsuit with the Walt Disney company
was settled, she promised her husband-to-be a quick nooner if he would tattoo
the name Brooklyn across his back as a publicity stunt. He obliged without hesitation.
so, it came to pass that the lovely couple set a wedding date. It was to be
July 4, 1999. It would be held in a large castle, with celebrity guests ranging
from soccer players to Elton John to more soccer players. Posh sold the rights
to the wedding to a local magazine for a hefty fee, condemning this celebration
of marriage to be nothing more than a glitz and glamour excuse for her to remain
in the spotlight just a bit longer.
to the media, Beckham refused to have a bachelor party. Some sort of bullshit
about spending time with his wife-to-be. The truth was that the media covered
up the tragic events of that night.
best man, Gary Neville, had organized what he believed was a great party for
his teammate. He had ordered a stripper to jump out of a cake, three kegs of
beer, and some inflatable furniture to provide for seating in his basement.
At around eight o'clock on the night before the wedding, Beckham, Neville, and
a group of thick-as-shit soccer players gathered in Neville's basement. Few
pleasantries were exchanged as a good portion of the guests headed directly
for the beer on tap. The media outside was gathered in a large crowd, hoping
to get some incriminating photos of some sort. However, the men guarding the
door would not allow anyone through who didn't have an invitation.
men waded through the crowd of photographers and walked up to the door. "Now
remember," Cloud said, "stick to the plan at all costs."
said Oliver. "Look, this is a great idea and all, but I still want to know
how the hell you got my number."
ready, John?" Cloud asked.
Redwood nodded. He was a twenty-year old football fan, adorned in a Newcastle
United shirt to keep the spirit of the black and white bachelor party affair
alive. "I'm ready."
the door, Oliver and Cloud stayed behind, watching as John knocked on the door.
It opened, revealing two large bouncers whose responsibility it was to keep
the media frenzy and uninvited guests out of the party. "Let me see your
invitation," one of them said.
I don't have an invitation," he said.
then, fuck off," the other bouncer said.
John thought out loud. "Manchester United kicks ass!"
the first bouncer said. "Terribly sorry. Go right on in."
stepped past the two men and headed for the party in the basement. Damn, he
thought, that was easier than expected; they really do all have a one-track
and Oliver nodded at each other. "Well, time to get the truck," Cloud
scene in the basement was not exactly for the feint of heart. Off in one corner,
a few men had taken to the idea that lighting their farts on fire would be the
most amusing thing since that Viva Forever video. Others had decided that binge
drinking was for sissies, and were downing shots of something clear and strong
at an alarming rate.
and Beckham were lounging in inflatable easy chairs, each nursing a beer.
table," Beckham said,
then drank a gulp of ale.
" Neville laughed.
floor," Beckham continued.
laughed again. "Where
bathtub." He drank again. "And
plane?" Neville asked, before sipping his own
plane," Beckham said. "David
decided to blend in before he got the signal, so he grabbed a beer and sat down.
later, Sporty Spice came running down the stairs. "Hi fellas!" she
yelled. "Is the stripper here yet?" The entire room fell silent, and
merely stared at her. She realized her goof. "Oh
what I meant to
ask was if the stripper was here because she's
an old friend
of mine from school." She looked around the room, searching for anything
resembling a camera. "Wait a minute, is there anyone here from the media?"
around the room shook in answer to her question. No, no media was allowed inside
this party. Sporty's eyes brightened, and her usual lecherous grin spread across
her face. "Woohoo!" she screamed. "Bring on the cooch!"
Cheers of agreement erupted through the room, as every man in the room raised
his mug in the air in a salute to Sporty. Hooting and hollering began. Sporty
herself darted for the beer kegs.
merely sat and waited, stupefied that a dog had a higher IQ than the sum of
the IQ's of everyone in this room. Soon, his cell phone began ringing. He picked
it up quickly and pressed the Talk button. "Yes?" he asked.
came Oliver's voice over the phone. "We've managed to shake off the media,
and the traffic's just started to pick up."
did you get rid of the media so quickly?"
easy. We just told them that a prostitute a few blocks away was orally satisfying
Hugh Grant, and they ran for it like a pack of wild dogs. You ready?"
"Yup. I'll have the lot of them out there in a few minutes." He turned
off the phone, stood up, and got ready to do his part.
walked calmly to the middle of the room, and then let out a shrill whistle between
his fingers to get everyone's attention. "Attention everyone!" he
yelled. "I just found out that there are two dogs having sex out in the
As anyone who has ever witnessed an orgy of heavy drinking knows, the slightest
mention of an animal performing some sort of disgusting biological function
will send most participants to the scene of the act in order to point and laugh.
Such was the case here. Every man in the room, including Beckham and Neville,
leaped from their chairs and dashed up the stairway, pushing and shoving. Only
Sporty was left sitting in the basement with John. She smiled half-heartedly
at John, as if to say that such juvenile things didn't interest her.
John stammered. "The person carrying the leashes is a naked woman?"
stood up without hesitation and charged up the stairs and out the door. John
sighed, relieved that it had worked, but wondering if Sporty's departure was
a bit too late for the plan to work.
screeching tires, bloody screams, and loud crashes coming from outside indicated
that at least some of the partygoers had fallen for the ruse. John chuckled
to himself, then walked upstairs to meet Oliver and Cloud outside. "That'll
teach you to get England thrown out of the World Cup," he mumbled.
Chapter V: Requiem.
and copyright 1999, CloudVader Productions. Do not reproduce without giving
the author, Cloud Volpe, due credit.