John's Oliver is laid to rest

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
The Bugle Podcast's John Oliver has been running from his demons for years, but they're finally catching him up, and he doesn't have much time left.

Submitted: November 04, 2011

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Submitted: November 04, 2011




This story is obviously 100% fake and if you don't know what that means kindly stop reading.

Nothing I've written below was done so intending to offend anyone.

No celebrities, animals or celebrity animals were hurt in the making of this story, get it?




“Goodbye Buglers, until next week, stay safe, and enjoy the crisp clear taste of Smirnoff responsibly.” And there it was the historic Bugle 200 was bagged and tagged. Andy turned towards John as he started to say “So that went well...” but he had already gotten up from his seat, and was heading out of the studio at speed. He couldn't help notice the complimentary bottle of vodka provided for the recording by the Bugle's new sponsor poking out of his colleague's bag. Zaltzman's first glass stood untouched in front of him, but John had already drained a nearly half the bottle, and apparently had no intention of stopping there.

By the time Andy had said goodbye to Chris and stepped out into the drizzly London evening, John was already leaning on Andy's car and drumming his fingers on the body work impatiently. As soon as Andy pressed the key of his white Jaguar XKR John scrambled into the passenger seat. Andy climbed in next to him saying “Belt up, the roads are really slippy.” John reluctantly complied. As soon as Andy had got the 5 litre V8 out of the car park he glanced at John who was looking at his feet with a single tear running down his clean shaven face. “So... hitting the bottle pretty hard Joanna?” he said, in a conversational tone. John didn't look up, but his frown seemed to become much less sincere at the mention of his preferred name. John said nothing for a few moments, as they drove through increasingly heavy traffic and rain towards John's 5 star hotel, and for a second he thought he should just drop it for now; but eventually John replied. “It's Kate” he spat “She's found more of my clothes, and she read my diary... then burned it. She says if it happens again, she'll out me to the press, and then screw me out of everything in the divorce. She says no judge would take the side of a 'fucked up British tranny'.” Andy sighed, John should never have married her. It had been a last ditch attempt to convince himself he could be happy as a man, and it would be very costly. “Let's just get to my hotel, get drunk, forget we have wives and fuck.”

That was all he had to say for the duration of the drive, and Andy didn't push him. It had been years since one of countless drunken fucks after some gig, (Was it York? or Hull? They all blended into one after all this time) when John had confessed the cause of the pain that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. “There's nothing I can do about it” he had said that night, as Andy held him, not knowing what to say. “I barely make ends meet as it is, and sales are hardly going to increase if I rock out with my frock out on stage. I'll die this way, I'm sure of it”. Andy still felt terrible for not disagreeing with him back then, but his sales were even worse than John's, and he couldn't bear the thought of going up on stage with a human bottle magnet at gigs. The crowds were already far too rowdy for his tastes. But over the years he became more and more aware that if John was going to die this way, it wasn't going to be of old age.

Andy gave the keys to the valet and followed his colleague to the lift. Once inside they held hands behind a little old lady wearing inch-thick make up. They were still silent when John drunkenly swiped his key-card, managing it the third time. Once inside John took a tumbler off a shelf and placed it down next to his own, which already contained a small red straw, no doubt the remains of an early-morning pick me up. He had been having too many of those lately. John filled both glasses, handing one to Andy he slipped into the bathroom dragging his suitcase, muttering “I need to get changed.”

Andy gulped down the vodka, knowing his heart was too heavy for what they were about to do, and reasoning that if he lightened his head; it would balance up. He grabbed the bottle as he walked over to John's Ipod dock and tried in vain to find a suitably romantic tune. Unfortunately John only listened to hip-hop these days, so he settled for P's and Q's by Kano. He switched on his smart-phone and checked the itunes podcast charts taking a swig of vodka as he cursed the time it was taking to load. He needn't have bothered, 'Smirnoff-Online's The Bugle' was still number 1, with 'Ovaltine presents: Answer Me This' a distant second, but still well ahead of the Financial Times-Durex joint venture: 'Economics and Bedroom advice with Willie Nelson'. This perked Andy up a bit, yet another Zaltzman 1-2. While he was wondering if this was what it felt like to be Venus Williams, the bathroom door opened and what stepped out was certainly not John, but Joanna.

The transformation was, as always incredible. Although she denied it every time Andy told her, she was an expert with make up. After years of practice she could cover every imperfection adeptly while still managing to make it look light and subtle, even when blind drunk. But for Andy this was not the most striking thing about Joanna's appearance, nor were her beautiful brown eyes no longer hidden behind thick glasses and now framed by heart-stopping fake eyelashes, nor even the high quality jet black wig. It was the dress. It was grey, corseted, and with a voluminous black skirt. Not the recipe for a universal hit, but to Andy it was perfect. It was the same one in the picture on the wall of his study, it was the same one in the picture in his wallet and the same one in the tattoo on his arm. It was Florence Nightingale's Sunday best.

Joanna slipped off the jeans and t-shirt, and felt her heart lift as she pulled the dress out of her bag and in front of the bathroom mirror, which covered most of one wall. The sight that met her drunken eyes dragged her mood back down though. A completely waxed naked man holding a dress and beaming from ear to ear, wasn't what she imagined when she closed her eyes. She liked to wear a corset when possible, and had bought the dress mainly so that it wouldn't look out of place; but when Andy had texted her the picture of his new tat she realized what a nice surprise it would be for him. As Joanna went through the long chore of applying her make up and putting on her stylish but itchy wig and the incredibly impractical dress, she wondered how many more opportunities she would get to do this with Andy. Kate was tightening her chains more than ever, when she had suggested staying in London for a little while longer, Kate had warned her that she would call the gossip pages if she was a minute late home. She had even flat out refused to let Andy visit them in New York. So she got two days in the UK, one she really had to spend with her ignorant Daily Mail reading parents, and one with Andy, and Kate only allowed that so they could record the landmark 200th Bugle together.

She stopped applying her slap for a moment to look down at her wrists. Her incredibly pale skin nearly hid the criss-crossing white scars, that marked the short-cuts she'd tried to take to her inevitable end. She ran a finger up and down her arms feeling the presence of her abused artery. It had been years since she'd woken up in hospital seeing her family, then just her sister, then the 'get well soon' post-it notes left by boyfriends who'd long since got paranoid and left, then finally Andy. She wondered why it had been so long, it wasn't because she was happier now, because she wasn't. It might have been because she couldn't bare the idea of waking up and seeing Kate.

Joanna took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror. There was still a million reasons she could convince herself she looked atrocious, but she decided it would do, and slowly stepped back into the bedroom. Andy was sat in the opposite corner, and when he looked up from his phone, his surprise was clearly visible on his face. Wide eyes and a gaping jaw quickly turned into a beaming smile. He put down his phone and stepped forwards with his arms held out to embrace her, but she took a nervous sip from the glass she had left for herself before joining him. Despite the fact that the stereo was currently working it's way through Andre Nickatina's greatest hits he held her close as they danced slowly across the bedroom's mahogany floorboards. He whispered softly in her ear, telling her she was beautiful a thousand different ways. Sweet lies, she thought, but she loved it anyway.

Eventually Andy's hand slipped up her skirt and located her most hated, unwanted part. Her male body responded as it always did, but in her mind she was getting wetter by the moment. Wordlessly he led her to the bed, where she slipped under the covers. He climbed in on top of her and whispered “I'm going to eat you out baby, I've been waiting for this all day.” “I've been waiting months” she thought to herself as the muscular red-head slivered under the sheets, down to the bottom of the indulgently large bed. She closed her eyes, and with her mind filling in the blanks where her stupid body was lacking, Joanna Oliver, in her period costume and itchy wig squeaked and squealed her way to a blissful orgasm.

Andy happily swallowed the weeks-worth of backed up semen and resurfaced at the top of the bed next to his glowing lover, who after passionately assaulting him with a barrage of sweet kisses stared at him for a few moments and said jokingly “Well, aren't you going to fuck me already?” Andy climbed out of the ludicrously soft, white bed and walked through the open bathroom door. “Is it in your suitcase?” he called to Joanna, the reply, which followed the hasty swallow of yet more vodka confirmed that it was. He found the bottle of anal lube under a stack of more sensible women's clothing. He walked slowly back to the bed, unbuttoning his clothes and letting them drop to the floor as he did. He stopped briefly to move the ipod onto a more upbeat song and with his thick erection twitching with excitement he slid back under the sheets, and knelt above Joanna. His gaze never left her face as he blindly applied the lubricant to his bulging cock and his lovers tight hole and slowly entered her, holding her waist as he slid in inch after inch. He started slow, but once they got started, they continued for what seemed like hours. When Andy finally came, the ipod had reached the end of the playlist and stopped. Exhausted and overwhelmed with pleasure they switched off the lights absent mindedly and fell asleep in each others arms.

“Why can't this last forever” Joanna said the next morning as she grumpily munched on her breakfast of salt and vinegar crisps, as Andy finished making himself a cup of coffee and climbed back into bed next to her. “Today I have to get on a plane, and go back to New York, a man's name, Kate and those trousers.” She pointed to an ugly crumpled pile in the centre of the gargantuan suite. “Those are my trousers dear” replied Andy “Yours are in the bathroom, remember.” This didn't improve her mood at all. “Well some ugly trousers anyway.” She mumbled, her voice quiet and filled with tears. “Why is happiness so hard.”

Andy took a deep breath before responding, he'd said this before, but always as a fantasy, he'd never been serious before. “I could leave Miranda and...” he began but Joanna was already shaking her head. “No listen to me Jo, I'm serious. We should have done it years ago, I'll leave Miranda, and you leave Kate and move back here and get some hormones.” He said as he tried to wipe away her now streaming tears, shuddering with the effort of holding back his own. “It'd never work.” She replied. “I wouldn't be able to work, and I'd get screwed by Kate in the divorce. Even if Miranda goes easy on you, which I doubt, especially once she finds out you've been cheating for years, you'll still have child support to pay.” Joanna reeled all that off whilst barely taking a breath, she'd clearly rehearsed this in her mind. Andy battled on “I've looked this stuff up, and the worlds changing quickly, and for the better, people like you are protected by the law now. It might be the end of the Bugle, but if you come out and your TV friends fire you, you can sue Comedy Central and NBC. You might be a laughing stock, but you'd be laughing all the way to the bank, and it'd be good publicity for your new autobiography. Not to mention the countless chat show's that'd book you in, on both sides of the atlantic.” Andy's confidence rose as the glimmer of hope appeared in Joanna's eyes and her sobbing stopped. “This wouldn't end your career, it would be the perfect launch of your new tour. You'd even have an old friend to hold your hand, as you walk out on stage dressed in this.” he finished, tapping the solid corset of her Pyroclastic-Flo costume.

The response seemed to take an eternity, Joanna facing away from Andy, the back of her bewigged head giving no clues. “I'm in.” she finally said. As she turned back to look at his already grinning face she continued “On one condition. I'm not spending another day with Kate. The Daily Show is still on a break, so I'll book us in here for a couple of weeks, while we go public with this and sort everything out.” Andy was excited, but at the same time petrified of what the future might hold, and could see from the look on Joanna's face, underneath the smudged and streaked make up, that she was too. In a way he couldn't believe their boldness, but at the same time it seemed so right, and so obvious.

While Joanna grabbed the bedside phone to ask reception to extend her stay and Andy padded about in a thick toweling dressing gown making himself some more coffee, there was a polite knock on the door, and a quavering female voice said “Housekeeping?” Joanna smirked, “That's the same maid as yesterday, big bugle fan, she's really starstruck, and to tell you the truth I think she fancies the hell out of me. Ha ha, what would she think if she could see me now.” Joanna's smirk widened into an evil grin, Andy nodded in agreement and the both said in unison “Come in!” The maid pushed open the door, saw the two of them, the make up, the dress, the clothes on the floor and the bottle of lubricant on the dressing table, dropped the towels she was carrying and ran away shouting “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god...” Joanna put the phone back down saying “At least now Kate won't get the satisfaction of leaking it, but I think we might be better off finding a new hotel.” Andy agreed and he pulled his jeans and t-shirt back on and started shoving clothes into Joanna's suitcase; while she changed into something more comfortable and reapplied her make up in the bathroom. Nearly finished Andy reached for Joanna's now quarter-full bottle of vodka as her sweet voice called out from behind him “Leave it. I need to be sober and presentable if I'm going to fight for the custody of Hoagy.”

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