Erica Scott: Life, Love and Spanking

Ruminations, opinionated observations, darkly humorous blathering and the occasional rant from an outspoken spanko and unapologetic attention wh–, um, hog.

A (not so) sweet holiday fantasy

My regular readers know that, at this time of year, I like to write a naughty Christmas carol parody. However, due to the grim circumstances of 2016, I’m not in the mood to do so. For those who would like to revisit last year’s parody, I present “Elves Gone Bad,” here. In the meantime, my gift to you, in lieu of a parody, is a sweet (well, sweet for me) holiday fairy tale.

Once upon a time, there was a forlorn crybaby named Erica. She was unhappy all the time, now that her country had been taken over by a large orange fascist blowhard named The Trump, and she no longer felt safe or assured of her future. Despite the fact that his opponent got nearly three million more votes than he did, he still won, due to an antiquated electoral college and most likely Russian some outside influences. He was filling his cabinet with elitist millionaires, and everyone but the richest of the rich and the whitest of the white was basically as fucked as Ivanka in her daddy’s fantasies.

To add insult to injury, some* of his supporters were especially hateful people, members of a white supremacist movement called the Alt-Reich, gloating and sneering and name-calling. They were the ones who had labeled her a crybaby, among other nasty names such as “libtard” and “snowflake.” This last one especially puzzled Erica. She lived in the grand blue state of California, on the west side of the DSA (Divided States of America). She’d gaze out her window at the perpetually sunny sky and wonder, “What’s a snowflake?”

Another thing the Alt-Reich people were fond of saying was, “Suck it up.” “Suck it up, whiner!” “Suck it up, buttercup!” Suck what up? Erica couldn’t quite figure out what “it” was. She combed the Internet, seeking answers, but as was often the case, there were too many answers and not enough real information. At one point, she saw this picture of Mitt Romney groveling like a pussy eating dinner with Trump…


…and was horrified. After all, everyone knew what Romney had to choke down for dessert at that meeting. “Oh, no,” she thought. “Surely they don’t mean suck that up? Ugh!”

So what was she supposed to suck up? After much thought (in between bouts of weeping), it dawned on her: California had just legalized marijuana. Erica was not a big fan of mind-altering substances, but in this new order, she figured reality was intolerable, so perhaps an alternate reality would be a pleasant escape for a while.

She then consulted her younger, hipper friends, whom she knew would be able to steer her in the right direction to the good stuff, and procured a huge blunt of the best weed she could afford. Settling herself at home into her favorite chair, ensuring she had plenty of peanut butter Oreos and Hershey’s Nuggets for later, she lit up and took a deep, deep suck inward, drawing the sweet, pungent smoke into her lungs.

Ahhh. Suck THIS.

As Erica grew dreamily stoned, she watched lazily as the smoke curled from the joint, drifting across the room and gathering into a cloud over the couch. She closed her eyes briefly, opened them, and blinked rapidly. “What’s in this stuff?” she muttered. For she could swear the sweetly scented puffs were coalescing and morphing into a shape, slowly but surely. She rubbed her eyes and looked again; to her shock, the amorphous cloud had settled into the form of a man, sprawled on the couch. As he came into focus, Erica could see he was in faded jeans, barefoot and shirtless, with long dark hair. His eyes were heavy lidded and slightly bleary, and in one hand he clutched a can of Pringles. His other hand came up into a lethargic wave.

“Who are you?” Erica spluttered.

“Just call me Gene,” the stranger said, stretching his legs out, then tipping the Pringles can to his mouth. As he crunched, she stared. “What’s your last name?” she asked.

He swallowed and yawned, then gave her a languid smile. “Everstone.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Erica groaned. “Everstone. Initial E. Gene E. I get it. What are you doing here?”

“You’re always crying,” he drawled. “It’s bad for your eyes. So I’m here to cheer you up with four holiday wishes.”

Erica shook her head. I’m really wasted, she thought. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she scoffed. “And isn’t it supposed to be three wishes?”

“What, you’re complaining ‘cause it’s more?” He shrugged. “Four is the standard these days. Inflation, I guess. So come on. What do you want? A few million dollars? Eternal youth? And please don’t bother me with that ‘world peace’ crap. Everyone knows that’s completely impossible.”

Erica took another hit, savoring it as she thought about her options. She sat up, curling her legs under her. “No,” she mused. “I want some things that will help restore the country to sanity.”

Gene munched a few more Pringles. “Go for it,” he mumbled around his mouthful.

“Wish Number One,” Erica began, her eyes lighting up. “The Trump resigns. He’s like, ‘Hey, I just wanted to win the presidency; I didn’t actually want to be president! This job is yuuuuge! It takes too much time away from my own self-serving interests! And people are mean to me!’ He then gathers up his entire family, including these two ghoulish greaseballs…


…and of course, his eldest daughter, whom he has lusted after since her adolescence  adores…


…and moves them all to Russia, where he spends the rest of his days with his nose firmly embedded in Vladimir Putin’s ass.”

Gene snickered. “You sure it’s just his nose?”

“Ewwwww!” Erica moaned. “Please! Don’t go there; you’ll make me throw up. I’m high and I might aspirate.”

“OK, OK. Anything you wanna add to that one?”

Erica thought for a moment. “Yeah. The Trump has to wear electrically wired underwear at all times. Every time he tries to tweet, he gets a big jolt of juice to his junk.”

“You really should get stoned more often,” Gene laughed, cocking an eyebrow. “It gives you a wicked imagination.” He waved his hand. “OK, it’s done. But honey, now your people are stuck with Mike Pence, Mr. Funerals-For-Fetuses.”

“Ah, that’s Wish Number Two,” Erica grinned, extending her hand for a chip. “I have special plans for Mike Pence.”

“Do tell.” Gene stretched back, reached into a smoke ring and pulled out a bottle of microbrew. He cocked one finger and the top snapped off.

“Mike Pence finds himself trapped in a large room that’s locked from the outside. On one side, he’s flanked with a mob of angry LGBTQ folks who didn’t appreciate his views on how they should be forcefully converted; and on the other side is a group of very angry rape victims who were denied abortions, because, you know, Jesus.”

“And what happens then?” Gene smirked.

“Mmmmmmm,” Erica said, wrinkling her nose. “You don’t wanna know. Let’s just say that after they’re through, er, expressing themselves, ol’ Mike isn’t fit to lead a Boy Scout troop, let alone the country.”

“Couldn’t happen to a more deserving guy. OK,” Gene said, placing the Pringles can between his legs and waving his hand once again. “Consider it done. So now what? What about Speaker Ryan? What about The Trump’s clown car of idiocracy?”

“Wish Number Three,” Erica smiled. “In which Paul Ryan, Steve Bannon, Jeff Sessions, Ben Carson, Kellyanne Conway, Rudy Giuliani, Newt Gingrich, Michael Flynn, Rex Tillerson, Corey What’s-His-Face, and all the others in The Trump’s elitist parade are shipped to a newly discovered planet, an angry little red orb called Ignoranus.** Oh, and we throw in Ann Coulter and Sarah Palin too, because Coulter is Conway’s long-lost twin and Palin is… Palin. Here, they will govern over the planet’s citizens—snow white, sheep-like creatures—and spend their days in activities such as flag waving, burning books written by women and minorities, and target practice. Oh, and we build a giant wall in the sky so they can’t return to Earth, and so that all their hot air and noxious gases don’t infiltrate our atmosphere.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Gene chuckled. “OK, done. But what about those alt-Reich fuckers? Don’t you want to do something with them for your fourth wish?”

Erica pondered for a while, taking the last hit off her blunt and closing her eyes. Opening them again, she said, “Hmmm. If I were a deplorable like Mike Pence, I’d say they should all be put in conversion camps and given shock therapy until they see the light and realize they’re in the Alt-Wrong. But this is still a free country, so I say leave them be, let them go on with their miserable little lives.” She paused. “Well, sort of.” She gave Gene her best beguiling smile. “Can I have five wishes?”

“Wha—?” Gene said, with as much indignation as a stoned hippie genie could muster. “Now you want another one? What for?”

“Well, it’s sort of a two-parter. Please-please-please?” Erica wheedled.

“Geezus,” he grumbled, downing the rest of his beer. “You’re kinda spoiled, you know that?”

“So they tell me,” Erica murmured, blushing slightly. “But hear me out. Can you make it so the alt-Reichers wake up a different race? Doesn’t matter which, it can be random, as long as it’s not Caucasian. Pretty hard to be a white supremacist if you’re not white. Let them experience what it is to be persecuted, profiled and hated and see how they like it.”

“Very fitting,” Gene agreed, his soporific nature back in place. “Where does the fifth wish come in, then?”

“Well, they’re going to be mighty pissed off, and we can’t take away their guns and all their other macho toys, because who wants to listen to them whining about the Second Amendment for all eternity? Personally, I’d choose to let them all have muskets, which were the only arms in use when their precious fucking Second Amendment came to be, but that would be silly, I guess. So for those of us who just want to live in peace and equality, make us bulletproof, and make all our homes, offices, venues, etc. fire- and bomb-proof. Does that work?”

Gene sat up, put his beer bottle on the coffee table and did a slow golf clap. “Works for me,” he said approvingly. “That way they can still have their weapons, but no longer harm innocent people with them.” He snapped his fingers, twice. “Well done, Erica. Have a good life.” And as Erica watched incredulously, he faded into a haze of smoke. The Pringles can and beer bottle remained; otherwise, she would have thought it had been a dream.

After indulging in copious quantities of chocolate (because this was a fantasy, so there were no calories), Erica cleared up and went to bed, thinking that had been a nice high and she’d deal with reality in the morning. That night, she had her first nightmare-less sleep in months, and when she woke, it was to the realization that her wishes had indeed come true. Gene, the Stoner Genie, hadn’t been a figment of her weed-infused imagination after all. When she turned on the television, the first thing she saw was the newly elected President Kamala Harris. Ms. Harris had chosen Elizabeth Warren for Vice President, and for Speaker of the House, she had picked George Takei, who everyone knew was the wisest man in the land.

And so, that was how Crybaby Erica sucked it up and saved the country. She lived happily ever after, and she no longer cried. Her mojo was restored and she was able to engage in kinky adventures once again. And they were even better, because all men were now respectful of women and safe words were no longer necessary.

You’re welcome, America.

* Notice I said some, not all. Of course I don’t think all Trump voters are ignorant white supremacists. That would be generalizing on my part, and heaven forbid I do such a thing. I almost feel sorry for the swing voters who just wanted a change and thought they were doing the right thing, as they’re going to be screwed along with the rest of us, but they brought it on themselves. Voting for a man who publicly mocks the disabled; is personally endorsed by the KKK; who is so fucking stupid that he spells “unprecedented” “unpresidented,” and who brags about how he can get away with sexually assaulting women “because he’s a star” is never a good idea.

** Ignoranus: One who is both stupid AND an asshole.

Just a few notes, because after this, I am going to do my best to avoid politics on here altogether: No doubt I’ve pissed some of you off with my flagrant disrespect for the office of the president. You’re right; I’m a very bad girl. Tell you what: I’ll give your CheetoFace NaziPants Donald Trump respect, just like you respected President Barack Obama, mmmkay? Remember all those memes, likening the Obamas to monkeys? Remember Michelle Obama being called an “ape in a dress,” or an “ape in heels”? Remember the picture of the White House lawn, with watermelons Photoshopped all over it? I sure as hell do.

And all your snarking about how Trump is payback for how you “put up with” Obama for eight years? I’m calling bullshit on that too. Obama restored the country after your idiot frat boy George W. Bush took us down the dumper for two excruciating terms.


So for those who don’t like this post, to them, I give back their own words: Too bad. Suck it up. You’re more than welcome to read something more up your alley, like Breitbart News. Oh, and this too…


(Of course, I mean that in the figurative sense, not literally. Because I wouldn’t actually let any of you anywhere near my ass.)

To my friends and faithful readers, I promise I will be back when my kinky mojo returns and I feel like posting on topic again. In the meantime, Merry Christmas HAPPY HOLIDAYS, y’all. 😛

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34 thoughts on “A (not so) sweet holiday fantasy

  1. 0thistle0 on said:

    I fuckin’ love you.


    Liked by 1 person

  2. bklynny0856 on said:

    I love your snark! ❤️ And I’d have no problem kissing your lovely ass😁. I feel better about the coming four years already 🇺🇸🗽


  3. Jadelyn Mathias on said:

    Hi Erica ❤ 💖 ☺ 👍 I like your story it’s awesome. I miss you and Love you xoxoxoxo hugs. From Naughty girl Jade / Emily Jean


  4. That WAS comforting. Great to see you back! Enjoy holidays with your beloved ones. Be kinkily well soon! LKOve.


  5. Anonymous on said:

    Well fa la la la la …. My Ass! ………. Bah Humshit!

    Yeah Guess Who!


  6. Bklyn — I sure wish I did.

    Jade — thank you, dear.

    MrJ — I hope to be, thanks.

    Grinch — and a Ho Ho Hell No to you too, sir. Good to see you.


  7. Hehe. Wellcome back (sort of?) and Happy Holidays to you too Lady Snark 🙂


  8. Downunder Don on said:

    Oh Erica…I have missed your wonderful, dark sense of humour. Please have a happy snark filled Xmas and a trumpless new year.
    Downunder don


  9. Suck THIS up, dickwad! flip idiots off, preferably with both hands

    Trump IS a giant bag of disaster, isn’t he? An awkward, socially inept, festering pus-boil on the ass of disaster, really. (And I’m Australian, so he won’t directly affect me–I hope.

    If you want to say Merry Christmas, you go ahead and say it–political correctness is overrated.

    Happy Hanukkah, by the way.


  10. CS — same to you, thanks.

    Don — no hope for that, I’m afraid — we’re stuck and fucked. But thanks for missing me.

    Terri — to be honest, I don’t give a rat’s ass whether people say “Merry Christmas,” “Happy Holidays,” or “Joyous Winter Solstice.” It’s the attitude behind it that bugs me. “We say Merry Christmas, and @#$% you if you don’t like it.” It’s kind of like the woman on Facebook recently who wrote to me, “Good riddance… but God bless you.” A good wish with malice behind it is a bit of a contradiction. And who the hell CARES what you say, as long as you’re wishing something nice?


  11. That’s a comeback, indeed!

    Brilliant, Ms Erica, brilliant! Nicely done!


  12. An excellent rale! * Would that Gene E really existed and could do these things.

    rale = conflation of rant and tale.


  13. Elizabeth Jane on said:

    Glad to see you back, and I enjoyed that. I want Gene E to come visit me too, great fantasy! But now I can’t UNSEE that picture with his daughter. Hurling into toilet bowl


  14. Wolfie — thank you, sir.

    Pon — (giggling) Only one problem with your portmanteau “rale” — it’s a real word! It means those icky rattling sounds you hear in people with chest congestion.

    EJ — that’s just one of them. There are several others. I swear, there’s something so very creepy about that family. (Actually, many things.)


  15. Nice picture, and a very nice ass it is. Well worth a kiss, or other attention.

    Nice to see you again. Missed you.


  16. Anonymous on said:

    Clever girl 🙂 Never stop being Erica Scott! Love you!! Glad you’re writing again!



  17. Hurray for you, welcome back, and Merry Christmas!


  18. CrystalLavender on said:

    Best Christmas fantasy I’ve read this year


  19. smuccatelli on said:

    Hmmm. Normally, I agree with a lot you have to say, but… I too, live in the dark blue state of California on the coastal part. I could be more sympathetic to you and folks like you if, in the state of my birth and where I’ve lived all my life, I wouldn’t have been entirely disenfranchised by a virtual one-party state with every state office occupied by Demoncrats and both houses of the legislature having a supermajority, making it unnecessary to even acknowledge the “other” party. So… boo hoo and, by the way, Buck Ofama… And no, I’m not leaving. This is My home too.


  20. Smuccatelli — never did I ever say that people can’t disagree with me. They just need to be civil about it. This post is a slap back to those who have been outright snotty, snarky, and nasty — to me and to people I care about.

    And just to be clear: This is not about party line for me. I couldn’t care less that people voted Republican over Democrat. What I care about is that they voted for a man who is immoral, indecent, and willfully ignorant, who is in this for an ego trip and nothing more, and whose appalling lack of good judgment and personal filter is most likely going to get us into some deep and dangerous shit.


    • smuccatelli on said:

      I don’t really know your motivation for this post and don’t really care. We all have a right to our opinions and I was expressing mine about your POV. And, just to be clear, this is ALL about party line to me. True, one doesn’t have to be Republican to vote for The Donald. I just happen to be one anyway (and most of the rest of the field in the primaries didn’t seem able to tie their own shoes) and one doesn’t HAVE to be Republican to despise BHO, but I do anyway (and him being black has nothing to do with it. It is his policies and his unparalleded arrogance that I couldn’t stand). If I interpreted your post as a personal attack on my values, that wasn’t my intent, however seeing that most of your commenters rather enthusiasically agreed with your POV (and gleefully shared your disdain of Trump), I think I may be forgiven for that. I hope you agree. And I hope you had a Merry Christmas too (or whatever). 😉


      • Smuccatelli — no worries. Like I said, if you’re civil (which you are being), you can disagree with me and hold whatever views work for you. Like I said, this post was for people who have been insulting and nasty. I spent two months hiding and crying, but no more. Now, if people @#$% with me, I @#$% right back.

        And I hope you had a merry Christmas as well! 🙂


  21. Yorkie69 on said:

    I’m glad you’re back Ms Scott. I’m looking forward to some gratuitous snark and spanking stories.



  22. dislike Trump all you want as I dislike Obama but attacks on there kids should be off limits! You need a good SPANKING


  23. Yorkie — thank you. I’ll try.

    Gary — they aren’t kids. They are full-grown adults, and they behave badly, especially the elder sons. People said abominable things about Obama’s two girls for years… and they WERE kids.


  24. It’s wonderful to see you back and in top form, Erica. I wish it all wasn’t just a maryjane-induced hallucination. the next four years will be downright terrifying.

    A very festive Festivus to you.



    • Hermione — my Festivus was especially Festivus-y. I’ve been airing grievances for nearly two months, and my feat of strength has been getting out of bed each morning. (sigh) Terrifying indeed. But I’m doing my best to rediscover my humor.


  25. sweetsong1 on said:

    Good to see you’re back, Erica. And good to see your sweet, spankable bottom, too. And I love your fairytale! May all your wishes come true; failing that, may your sweet, spankable bottom get the sweet spanking it so richly deserves. Happy New Year! XOXO


  26. Sweetsong — alas, my fantasies are just that — fantasies — but a woman can dream, no? Happy New Year to you, and thank you for always being so nice.


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