tagCelebrities & Fan FictionCupid has a Bad Day

Cupid has a Bad Day


Cupid, God of Love, doesn't want to shoot any more arrows.

Eros, aka Cupid, the God of Love, doesn't want to shoot any more arrows.

"Cupid! What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm sleeping or, at least, trying to sleep."

"Get up, Eros. Get out of bed. You're going to be late," said Psyche Cupid's wife.

"Late? Late for what?"

"Valentine's Day. Today is Valentine's Day. You'll be late for Valentine's Day."

"Oh, that, yeah, well, I'm not doing it today, Psyche. I just can't. I'm tired. I'm depressed. I've had it. I'm done. I'm staying home," said Cupid, aka Eros, pulling the covers over his head.

"Not doing it today? Tired? Depressed? Staying home? Are you nuts? You've worked all year for this one day. You can't stay home? This is the most important day of the year. People depend upon you, especially today, of all days, the day of love." His wife stared at the impression he made beneath the covers. "Today is Valentine's Day and you're Cupid. You can't stay home."

"People don't need me anymore," said Eros peeking up above the covers to look at his wife. "They have the Internet with one click dating sites now. Besides, it's no longer about love. It's all about sex and it's all about money. Romance is dead. People don't want to get married anymore. They just want to get laid."

"Don't be silly. Romance is not dead. There are still people getting married Cupid and the reason why they need you. Maybe you should talk to your friend, the one who this day is named after, Saint Valentine."

"Saint Valentine? He has his head in a Heavenly cloud. He'd never even see, never mind agree with my point."

"Then, I don't know what to tell you, Cupid, other than you just can quit helping people to fall in love. It's what you do," said his wife.

"There's a pox on marriages, I tell you. Too many marriages today are marriages of convenience. Now, there are actually even, arranged marriages and mail order marriages," he said taking a pause to wipe a tear from his eye, "loveless marriages, gay marriages, and marriages performed just to allow an illegal alien to stay in this country."

"Come on, give me a break with the Internet dating sites, arranged, mail order, loveless, gay, and illegal alien marriages. You're the God of Love, the Archer for Venus. You're above all of that. You have the gift and the magic arrows to change all of that. You're above the laws of mere mortals souls. You are Cupid, Cupid."

"The only thing I can change is how much longer I'll sleep. Awaken me when supper is ready. Good night. Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day to you, Psyche. I love you."

"Cupid! Get up! What would your Grandfather Zeus say about you shirking your responsibility and staying in bed with the covers pulled over your head on of all days Valentine's Day?"

"Go away. Leave me alone, Psyche. I'm sick. I don't feel well."

"If you cannot do it for yourself, if you cannot do it for humanity, if you cannot do it for love, then you must do it for your father, Hephaestus and your mother Venus. Now get out of bed this instant. Now Cupid! Now!"

"Okay, okay, I'm getting up. I'm up. Give me a minute. Just quit your nagging. Nag, nag, nag, you're giving me a headache."

"Hurry or you'll be late."

"I'll be late anyway. The flight traffic flying down from Mount Olympus is going to be a nightmare this time of day with all those jumbo jets filled with tourists coming and going. I nearly got sucked in an engine yesterday. I had to fly like a bastard to get away from the suction of that thing," he said slumping back to the soft comfort of his bed and waving a hand of disinterest. "I'll go later."


"Okay, Psyche, I'm up already. I'm up."

"What's wrong with you, Eros? Why are you suddenly like this? I thought you loved your job. I thought you loved helping people fall in love. I thought you loved Valentine's Day. I thought it made you happy to help those people who wouldn't ordinarily meet or who were too shy to fall in love. What happened to your sense of romance? You said you loved a happy ending."

"Well, now that you bring it up, to be honest, I don't like living here," said Cupid sitting up in bed. "You said when we moved here from Mount Olympus in Greece to Mount Olympus in the state of Washington that things would be better. You said we'd be closer to California and with less time spent commuting, I wouldn't be gone from home as long."

"It is better Cupid. You're not gone half the time you were when having to make those long transatlantic flights. Not to mention, now you're safe from all the times the United States thought you were a UFO and threatened to fire a nuclear missile at your ass."

"Notwithstanding the transatlantic flights and the potential missile attacks, you said California was where all the action is. Only, I'm wasting my arrows on people who marry three and four and more times. Zsa Zsa Gabor, Liz Taylor, the late Lana Turner, Mickey Rooney, and the late Robert Evens have had thirty-two wives and husbands between, thirty-two, Psyche. How in the name of Zeus did they remember all their names?"

"That's Hollywood for you, Cupid, but you can't allow the select and privileged few to ruin your good day. Today is Valentine's Day, the day of love, the dawning of romance for those you grace with your golden arrow."

"I don't mind saying, Psyche, that I'm tired of shooting arrows at Geena Davis and Billy Bob Thorton. They've been married ten times between them. These people don't know what love is. They get married for no other reason than to get married. I don't understand. It' baffles me."

"Agreed, Hollywood and LA is nothing like Greece, but you can change all that by making people fall in love. Forget about those people who have been married multiple times. Obviously, there's something wrong with those people, Cupid. I wouldn't waste any arrows on anyone married more than twice is how I feel about it. Maybe that should be your cutoff point."

"This isn't the country of love, it's the country of sex and divorce and with all the violence and drive-by shootings, it's the land of hatred. I want to go home to Greece. I hate this country. These people don't know what love is even after I shoot them in the ass with one of my arrows."

"You take things too personally, Cupid," said his wife. "When you return home to the mountaintop, you need to separate yourself from your work life and your personal life. You're just stressed. You need to find a hobby. You need to find a leisure activity, something that will take your mind off of your job. You need to find something to relax you and make you happy."

"Hobby? Who has time for a hobby? Do you realize how many people there are in the world? Shooting arrows at people's asses is a full-time job."

"Oh, you exaggerate. Look at Santa Claus. He doesn't allow all the bad people to get to him. He delivers his toys to all the good children and then returns home to Mrs. Claus and the elves to make toys for next year and next Christmas. Making toys is his hobby and it allows him to not take his job so personally. That's what you need to do, get a hobby," said his wife.

"Except to make his appearance at the Macy's Day Parade, Santa Claus goes out one day a year. I'm out there every day, day in and day out, trying to encourage people to fall in love. I'm tired, Psyche. I'm bored. If I have to attend one more singles' night, one more dating bar, and one more singles' dance, I'll be sick. I don't get the joy out of doing this job in the way that I used to, when I was shooting arrows at people who wanted to marry and stay married, in the way they did in the earlier part of the twentieth century, the 30's, 40's, and 50's."

"There you go exaggerating again, Cupid," said Psyche. "You've made plenty of people fall in love and stay in love. Look at Will Smith and his wife Jada, Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson, Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick, Dan Akroyd and Donna Dixon, Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman, John Travolta and Kelly Preston, Stephen Spielberg and Kate Capshaw, Michael J. Fox and Tracy Pollan, Julie Andrews and Blake Edwards, they're all happy thanks to you."

"They are the exception to the rule," said Cupid with a discouraged look on his face. "For every one success, I can name a hundred failures. The last couples I remember feeling joy and self-satisfaction over was when I shot my arrows at Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward, Jack La Lanne and his wife Elaine La Lanne, George Burns and his wife Gracie Allen, and Bob Hope and his wife, Dolores. Not only did those couples stay married, but they remained faithful. I thought I had that with Bill Cosby but even he strayed on his wife, Camille. Oh, the inhumanity of it all not taking the holy vow of matrimony sacred."

"I wasn't going to mention anything this to you, Cupid, especially now, since it's Valentine's Day, the holiest of day of love and romance, but since you brought up the gibberish about not taking the holy vow of matrimony sacred, you had lipstick on your collar again."

"Lipstick on my collar? Don't be ridiculous, Psyche. I, uhm, went to Mickey D's for lunch. It's ketchup."

"Just get through this one day, the most important day of the year, and when you come home, we'll discuss moving back to Greece and the ketchup on your collar. Okay?"

"Okay, I'll do it, but not for them, Psyche, for you."

Cupid grabbed his bow and his satchel of arrows and left his mountaintop for work. Tired of forcing people to fall in love with one another, he thought about a career change. Only, shooting arrows is the only thing he knew how to do.

If only he was a citizen of a country, if only he wasn't invisible, he'd participant in the Olympics as a champion archer. He'd win the gold medal, no doubt. He'd be famous. He'd have a book and a movie deal. He'd be on Oprah, Leno, Letterman, and Good Morning America.

Alas, for now, it was business as usual. Only, if he had to spend another Valentine's Day shooting arrows at people who were too busy or too nasty or too self-centered to fall in love, he'd go crazy. Then, he had an idea. For once in his life, why not have some fun, he thought? Why not spice up Valentine's Day a little? Psyche will never know. For if she knew, she'd harangue him for what he was about to do.

He remembered that tonight, on Valentine's Day, there was a rehearsal for the Oscars to be held on March 7th at the Kodak Theatre and it would be loaded with celebrities. He could start there. If nothing else, it would remove the boredom he felt and recharge his love battery, perhaps.

He took off at supersonic speed and just as he was fluttering his wings to land, he spotted Brad Pitt of all people.

"Perfect," he said. "What at the odds of this? Just the man I want to shoot with one of my golden love arrows."

He watched Brad holding the limousine door open for his wife, famed actress and humanitarian, Angelina Jolie. Then, when he saw Brad looking over and watching Jennifer Aniston alighting from out of her limousine, he had an inspired idea.

"Oh, my Zeus, this ought to be good," he said reaching behind him and grabbing two arrows from his quiver. "Someone goofed inviting those two at the same time and to the same function, but what the Hell. It's time for the fun to begin."

Still pissed that these two had divorced after he had shot them both with his arrows so many years ago, Cupid was intent on getting even. When Jennifer turned and spotted Brad, she gave him a little wave and a reluctant smile and he waved back. That was when Cupid fired his arrows hitting Jennifer and Brad both squarely in the asses.

"Bull's eye," he said. "Perfect. Serves them both right. This should make my evening more interesting and less boring."

Later during the party, Angelina found Brad fucking Jennifer in the last stall of the ladies room. Brad had Jennifer's gown pulled up around her back and her panties pulled down to her ankles. While reaching around her to feel her tits and fondle her nipples, Brad was fucking Jennifer doggy style and slamming her head up against the bathroom wall with an empty sounding thud.

"Easy Brad, you're going to knock my head through the wall. You're going to give me drain brammage."

"Sorry, Jen, it's just that I missed you so much and I'm so very tired of being tied to all those kids that Angelina keeps bringing home. Not to mention, there's all those trips to God forsaken Africa. If she gets another tattoo of the latitude and longitude coordinates of where her children are from, I'm going to puke, I swear. Google Earth already has a complete map of her body. Now, she has plans on going to Haiti to rescue more orphans. Lord help me. I sometimes feel as though I'm living with the old woman who lives in a shoe."

"I feel for you, Brad. It must be difficult," said Jennifer putting her hand up against the bathroom wall to stop Brad from banging her empty head against the stall wall again.

"I just wish I was still married to you. My life was simpler than. You never wanted to do anything or go anywhere. You didn't even want to have children. You were my perfect woman, my dream woman. Now, I have to flee to New Orleans to pretend that I'm helping the Hurricane Katrina victims, just to get away from Angelina and take a break for all those foreign children. I love you, Jennifer."

"And I love you, too, Brad."

Then, with a Karate kick to the door, a kick that she learned from filming Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Angelina literally and figuratively exposed Brad and Jennifer's extramarital affair.

"Isn't this sweet? I wondered where you two disappeared and now I caught you two cheating assholes. Unfucking believable. I can't believe you're back with this dumb, little whore, Brad. How could you?" Angelina stormed out of the bathroom.

"Wait, Angelina, I can explain, I think," said Brad turning back to finish having sex with Jennifer.

"Dumb? Did she just call me a dumb?"

"She called you a whore, too, Jen."

"I may be a lot of things and maybe I am a whore, but I'm not dumb. Bitch! Crazy bitch!"

"Just ignore her Jennifer. Besides, she'd gone. She can't hear you. She has issues. Sticks and stones, Jen, sticks and stones. Now, where were we? Oh, yeah, I was fucking you. Bark like a dog for me."

"Ruff, ruff."

He couldn't understand it but, suddenly, he felt this lustful and compelling attraction, love really, for Jennifer and he couldn't leave her, even to run after Angelina. It was a magical moment. It was love.

Meanwhile Cupid was off looking for more prey and he found some. As soon as he entered the function room, he spotted Oprah, her lesbian lover, Gayle King, and Stedman, her pretend boyfriend. Again, he reached behind him and grabbed two arrows from his quiver, readied them, and fired both arrows hitting Oprah and Stedman in the asses. Later that evening, looking all over for her lesbian lover, Gayle couldn't believe it when she spotted Oprah giving Stedman a blowjob on the darkened corner of the veranda.

"Stedman, I'm going to do to you what I've never done to any man before," said Oprah.

"You are?" Stedman gave her a look before speaking. "What's that Oprah, you're not going to emasculate me? Are you going to treat me as a man and with respect? Perhaps, you're going to treat me as your equal? Maybe you're not going to treat me as a potential rapist and an incestuous pervert because you were raped by your uncle, an incestuous pervert?"

"No, I can't go that far and do any of those things, but I will suck your cock," said Oprah with a big toothy smile.

"What? Suck my cock? You're kidding. You will? You'll suck my cock? Wait, is this just a ploy to make Gayle jealous? Did you two have a lover's spat? Are we on Candid Camera? What does it matter? I'm getting a blowjob from Oprah," said Stedman suddenly looking at her with love in his eyes. "After you blow me, Oprah, would it be okay if I write a book about you sucking my cock and have you hawk the story on your talk show. I already have a title, Oprah Blows," he said looking at Oprah. "How's that for a title? It's just off the top of my head, but--"

"Just shut the fuck up, Stedman. You're more like a woman, a bored housewife, than you are a man. I never heard a man talk so much. You're ruining the mood, fool, sorry, I mean, Stedman," said Oprah lining her big, full lips with nearly an entire tube of bright, red lipstick.

"Ah that's the emasculating Oprah that I've come to know and love," said Stedman. "Oh, by the way, Oprah, since I have your ear, as well as your mouth," he said with a chuckle. "It's Valentine's Day, 2010, and I still haven't received this year's twenty-five million dollar hush money check for pretending to be your fiancé. I usually receive that the first of the year."

"The check? Oh, it's in the mail Stedman. It's in the mail and you can cum in my mouth," said Oprah.

"Cum in your mouth? Right here? You're going to blow me right here?"

"Yes," said Oprah puffing out her chest and making her tits appear even more massive than what they were.

"Right now? You're going to suck my cock right now?"

"Yes," said Oprah rolling her eyes and lifting up her gown above her knees, so as to be able to get down on her knees. She unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock. "Give Mommy some white sugar, Stedman, my big chocolate man."

"Are you sure I can cum in your mouth, Oprah? You won't chase me around with the shotgun again later, will you, like the last time, I annoyed you by talking too much? Lord almighty, I can't imagine what you'd do to me if I shot my load in my mouth and I wasn't supposed to do that. You'd tar and feather me."

"Yes, Stedman, you can cum in my mouth? No, I promise not to chase you around with the shotgun, later, and I won't tar and feather you, so long as you promise not to put those photos of Gayle and I that you took last night on the Internet."

"Oh, you know about those? Okay, I promise that I won't post those on the Internet," said Stedman, glad that things were good again between him and Oprah.

"Why'd you take those photos of us having lesbian sex, anyway, Stedman?"

"Why? First of all, it's exciting for a man to see two women going at one another and I just wanted some insurance should you not pay me my twenty-five million dollar hush money for pretending that I'm your fiancé."

"I told you, Stedman, the check is in the mail and you can cum in my mouth," said Oprah rolling her eyes again.

"Okay," said Stedman finally satisfied that the sudden blowjob from Oprah wasn't some sort of trick.

"Fine," said Oprah. "Now stick your cock in my mouth."

"Gees, Oprah, must you be so clinical about it? Can I kiss you first?"

"No, you'll ruin my lipstick. I want to put my lipstick on your dipstick."

"Will you swallow?"

"Yes, Stedman, I'll swallow all that you have to give," she said looking up at him. "For Christ's sakes Stedman, you have a way of putting a girl out of the mood. Is it any wonder I haven't sucked your cock before?"

"Sorry, Oprah, but if you're going to blow me--"

"What? What now, Stedman? Lord, you can drive a girl crazy," said Oprah putting a hand on her hip and giving him a look of attitude that only a black woman can give.

"I need to play with your big titties, first, you sexy Mama. It excites me more to play with titties, while getting a blowjob and your monstrous tits would excite me to no end."

"Okay," she said pushing down her gown until her tits were fully exposed.

"Wow! Now, those are tits, baby."

"I'm glad you like them Stedman. Easy on the nipples though. No teeth."

Oprah filled her hand with Stedman's cock. She slowly stroked him, while kissing and licking the head of his cock, before taking his big prick in her mouth.

"Oh, yeah, baby, suck my cock, Oprah," said Stedman, while feeling, fondling, and caressing her big tits and fingering her massive nipples.

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