A New Approach: An Obamacado Fanfiction StoryN

Prologue

I stared at myself one last time in the mirror. My face was dangerously gray, devoid of color, feeling and emotion. Around my eyes were tufts of black eyeshadow, with white glitter sprinkled across them for the stand-out look. My lips were a dark gray, teeming with botox and weird chemicals I had used as lip fillers. My hair was teeming with gel, formed in a mohawk with dangerously white outer edges. My 7 chins bounced vigorously as I switched between poses, distressed jean shorts fitting my waist paired with a plain red shirt and a black leather jacket. Lastly were my combat boots, clean and rhinestone studded for the extra apparel.

Orlin had told me to "dress my best" for whatever reason, and I wasn't afraid to go all out. I considered putting in some wrinkles knowing his adoration of senior citizens but ultimately decided against it. At the time, I was in my zenith of appearance- at least in my eyes. I was no longer the devout vegan boy, but instead the one to watch a butcher at work and chuckle.

After finally gathering mental approval regarding my outfit, I walked out of the door to meet an Orlin with no makeup at all. The stubble on his chin was more than visible, and he sagged as he attempted to raise his hand in a wave formation (he failed). I tilted my head, a query approaching its way to my mouth. "We're not going on a date today, Nick. Read this notecard." I tentatively raised it, new to this occurrence and therefore not sure what to think. It read as follows:

Dear Nick,

I am not sorry to say this anymore. You have known for ages that I like older men, yet you refuse to get plastic surgery in order to look as such. You have enough money from the stupid videos you force me to record, causing me to gain a potbelly that's unfortunately not full of gold. I used to try and mentally rekindle my feelings for you, but it's been impossible since that threesome I had back in February. Yes, I'm admitting it. I met with an elderly couple- a gay one at that. My expectations have risen since that occurrence, standards of which you do not seem to fit. I am sorry to say this, but I no longer desire your company, and as such we are breaking up.

Signed,

Orlin

My first instinct was to be angry. I looked at the paper to him, and repeated the process at least 10 times before I finally managed to speak. "SO YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU CHEATED, YOU HOOKED UP WITH A HORDE OF GRANDPAS, AND DIDN'T TELL ME ABOUT IT? AND EVEN WORSE, YOU DECIDE THAT AFTER THAT I'M NOT- I'M NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU?"

Orlin shrugged. "Pretty much. You didn't even apply wrinkles to your face, Nick."

A tremor started at my face and went down to the tips of my toes. I was not going to get some facial arrangement at the hands of a suspicious and most likely unauthorized plastic surgeon just to fulfill the needs of my boyfriend, that of which I had stated at least 50 times. And yet the guy, with his knack for pushing boundaries, had ignored this statement and chosen to believe that I had just done it to spite him. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but refused to let them run free. He expected me to break down, to not be able to handle this information. I had to let go of my whiny-boy nature. A porcine sound snuck its way to my throat and I let out the most cacophonous snort ever heard by man. My skin was turning a shade of light pink as I lunged. Orlin simply closed the door.

I suspected that the bruise would remain for the rest of my life.