Gothic Diana Ross Plays Bocce to Win

Narcissists want to buy your time…so they can waste it…over and over without paying.

Gothic Diana Ross is busy minding her own business at her specialist’s waiting room up at Rush University Medical Center in Chicago. A routine follow-up appointment, Miss Ross would rather be home having fun singing with Gothic Flo and Gothic Mary, instead of waiting in a crowded room full of strangers. 

An hour passes by and Di still has not been called.

“Hey, I’m Greg Schneissder. Are you from Manteno?”

Image: colour drawing of a gothic person of color looking to the left.

”Ummm…” Diana rolls her eyes and looks away from the undead Greg,

“I saw one of your shows, you ladies are so beautiful and talented.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you know Pat Splatt?”

“Yeah…no. Eew.”

Image: a colour drawing of a 62-year-old zombie wearing a blue hoodie

“Pat is one of the coolest guys around! I hang around him and Bernadette Cacca.”

Diana freezes from panic, already nervous awaiting her lab results.

“Don’t. Mention. Bernadette.”

“Oh why? She is the the nicest person around! And so famous! I see her picture in the paper a lot. She’s a celebrity. Wasn’t she on that Human Body Odor Channel show?”

Diana rolls her eyes.

“How can you say anything bad about her?”

“Stop.”

“I am gonna complain. You are harassing me now. Nobody talks bad about Bern Cacca!”

Di looks at the lady across from her.

“I am sure he was just trying to help.”

“Really? Just…no.”

“How do you know?”

“Just leave me the fark alone.”

“I am gonna just leave. I can’t be at this office where people talk badly about other people!” Greg whinges as he storms down the stairs.

“Deeanna?”

“It’s Diana…grrr.”

Diana grabs her patent leather sack and follows the medical office assistant to be roomed.

It begins to rain, the clouds taking a massive whizz all over Northern Illinois. Thankfully Diana merges her black 1988 Chrysler Conquest onto 90/94 safely and avoids rush-hour traffic to head south on I-57 toward her home in Manteno.  Mind clear from a clean bill of health, the slender gothic beauty slides into her canopy bed, the silky black sheets comforting her as she drifts off to her internship in Hell.

Two hours later, Diana wakes up in a panic, startled by a moron who thought it would be cute to crawl into her bed.

“You know Diana, your music would sound better if you articulated your words better.”

Image: a full-colour drawing of a heavyset woman with brown hair, goofy smile, tongue hanging out, clothed in a poop emoji dress.

A stunned Diana looks over.

“You forgot to lock your door, hon.”

“Get the freak outta my house and my bed!” Diana screams at the top of her lungs and chases out the bored poopy-burner and communal narcadoodle, next-door neighbor Bernadette Moran Cacca.

“How dare you talk bad about my beloved Bernadette!” Greg Albert Schneissder screams at Diana about the crowd-pleaser for whom he created the Fakebook account “BMCacca Fannn.”

Diana slams the slate door to her Victorian Gothic home.

Gregory slithers over to Bernadette and the pair head upstairs to Bern’s bedroom.

Image: a full colour drawing of a shack next to a Victorian home.

“Can you just, like, not fart in front of me?” Greg asks his date Bernadette Cacca during their date netting some flicks while hoping to chill. 

“No, honey.”

”You don’t fart on stage at those charity events where you sing and play kazoo requests to raise money for the Manteno Optimal Club and for Ukraine.

“No need to gas-sleight me!”

“You gaslit me!” Greg retorts.

“No, I mean, I need to fart. Farting is healthy. I will implode if I don’t rip ‘em when I need to.”

The swamp-witch Bernadette lifts her leg and her bum goes boom.

A wild Gothic Diana Ross appears in the foreground.

”Heave-ho! Where are your enablers now? Bwa ha ha ha ha!” The Gothic Boss Miss Ross interjects as she yeets the communal narcadoodle Bern halfway down the staircase, and the Midnight Supremes chuck her bum-licker Greg, spocking the pallino down the stairs.

“You left your front door open…” Diana addresses the undead mess spilled all over the basement floor with a smile.

”What did those stairs do to deserve that punishment?” Gothic Mary jokes as the Midnight Supremes leave in amusement.

Image: a full-colour drawing, dimly lit, depeciting three black ladies in Gothic attire.

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