Warning: There is a smidgeon of AC language/content contained in this post.
Since an Ab Fab movie is due for release in 2016, I think I can say add that these are “absolutely fabulous” words:
She prayed in front of the monument she’d installed in the bedroom, staying awake for 2 days at a time. “Needless,” he sneered as he gently stroked her hair. “Superstition. Scam artist.”
Usually his bon mot internet quip philosophies calmed her, allowed him to nuzzle her neck, then impress her with his prowess. His memory of her pleasure spots revealed in sepia histories; the intenseness of his pleasure enough to lacerate her aching lust.
But now, she felt other equally strong and pleasant emotions. Not from his caresses or knowledge of her body. She knelt before that damned Space Macrocosmator, asking for the inputs for monachopsis. So she could “phone home.” To return to whatever crazy parallel universe she mentally linked herself.
Time to call Dr. Cretin again. Surely, there had to be a pro-type that didn’t have this inherent monachopsis; this need to know where every part came from. How much of the Space Macrocosm was in their nuts and bolts, their circuitry, their nipples, their vulva, their clit.
Sighing, he flicked the cut-off switch. “Good bye, Phy-11,” he said. “Yah know, we almost made it, but I have a good feeling about Phy-12.” He finished his fare-the-wells, rising to answer the knock at the door.