***Aight ya'll this is Jen (the webmaster of JTI), and I'm just letting you know that the name thing gets confusing. This is a hilarious addition to the infamous 'rapist van' stories. It was written by a very funny girl, also named Jen (I think the humor runs in the name...jk) and her story of how she captured Lance. It's in her point of view, obviously. So props to her for being hilarious, and hopefully the name thing won't confuse too many of you. If you have the brainpower of a Fatone, however, you might as well give up now because you will never get it. Anyways, enjoy!***
"Tell me again why I’m here," Jen instructs me with an inquisitive look. I'm not altogether sure why she seems to be in a state of near shock. I mean, come on, is it THAT unusual to ask someone to drive down to meet you in your home state (Tennessee) just so you can ask her if you can become part of a well-known sexual assault chain that targets boy band members?
"Um…well, ok," I start out again. "Basically, I'm interested in masterminding the kidnapping and rape of Lance Bass."
"Uh-huh. Rrrrriiiiight…" she trails off in true Dr. Evil fashion. "And why do you want to rape Lance? I mean, why not, I don't know…Joey?" She issues the challenge flawlessly; but I know a test when I hear one.
"Are you fucking nuts?!" I shriek. "Do you know what kinds of STD's that boy must have? I'd end up with gonorrheal pubic lice with herpes or something. Alright, I know, so Lance has moments of pure fruitiness, but the boy is HOT! Grade A slice of pure studmeat. Nice ass, too. Who wouldn't want to jump his bones?" I nervously await her reaction, my apprehension growing with each passing second she continues to silently stare at me.
Suddenly, Jen beams a wide grin, and slaps me on the back with a hearty "Congratulations, Jen, you passed! If you'd have shown any indication whatsoever that you had even the slightest interest in raping the FAT-one I'm afraid I would have had to have you executed on the spot. Now come on, let me show you our new vehicle. The van’s waiting for you in Iowa." And so off we go, chatting up a storm over our favorite theories on why Chris is so damn hyper all the time.
"I think his parents drugged him when he was a kid or something, but when he got older, he realized how much cooler the world seemed without Ritalin and he stopped taking it, tossing him into a world of hyperactive withdrawal," she offers.
Straining to catch my breath through the ensuing bout of laughter, I manage to gasp out "Maybe he gets laid all the time. I know I'd be happy."
"Yeah, but that Viagra's a bitch, ya know? Definitely not crunk."
"No shit. How bad would that suck to have to slip a pill down your throat during foreplay without your girlfriend noticing? Poor gal probably thinks she's gifted when he's stuck with like a 2 hour erection."
"Hey, you know what?"
I somehow gather myself long enough to ask, "What?"
"You know those Do-Me Pills things that everyone keeps saying Justin has stashed away somewhere?"
"Yeah…the ones Lance got into right before the Bye Bye Bye video was released?"
"Yup, those. I bet that JC keeps trying to get into them before they go on stage, but has been mistakenly taking skeeto-boy's Viagra. That must be why JC Jr. is always so perky."
"You know, Jen, I bet you're ri…holy shit! What the hell is that thing? It is way crunk." I exclaim as we make it to the front of my house. Parked there is a shiny new rapist Winnie!
Jen shrugs. "Well, we love our van and all, but thought a Winnie would just kick ass. You know, more comfort for the victims and all. We're always thinking of the boys."
I look over at her and cough a "bullshit" before dissolving into more laughter. Out of nowhere, an idea dawns on me, complete with Wile E. Coyote-style light bulb. Okay, so maybe there isn't a light bulb, but this idea is so damn ingenious, I know that if I were a cartoon, it certainly would have warranted one. "Dude, you have to let me use the Winnie," I beg of Jen.
She raises an eyebrow skeptically. "I don't know, Jen. We usually make the newcomers use the van. The Winnie is…special. I mean, this being your first rape and all…" she pauses. "This IS your first rape, right?"
I grin. "Yes, it's my first. What do I look like? A serial sexual assailant?"
"Not at all. More like a girl who wants to replace Toby as Lance's favorite thing to ride."
"Aww…gee thanks." I'm practically blushing with pride.
After thinking a moment, Jen replies, "Ok, Jen, if you can convince me that your plan of action deserves the Winnie, you can use it."
"Sweet. Check this out." Barely able to contain my excitement, I explain my idea to her.
I watch as her eyes light up with true rapist delight. "Jen, you've got the Winnie."
"Kick ass. Thanks, Jen." I raise an eyebrow. "This name thing is gonna get confusing, isn't it?"
That said, we take off in the Winnie for the fabulous state of Iowa. The boys had arrived early to take a two day break before their show in Des Moines. Because we are just so crunk, we automatically know where the boys are staying and park outside the hotel. Relying on Jen's superior knowledge of the boys' touring schedules, I know that they're out to dinner. Everyone but Lance. "Now, you're sure he's still in the room?"
Jen nods. "Trust me. He's probably sitting on the bed staring at the picture of Toby he keeps in his wallet. When he grieves, he loses his appetite. You ready to go?"
"Yep. How do I look?"
She checks out my French maid uniform straight out of a Halloween costume aisle and giggles. "Like something Joey would eat up in about 2.3 seconds."
"Perfect." Covering myself with a trench coat, I hop out of the Winnie and rush into the hotel, snagging a housekeeping cart on the way to the elevator. I search out the boys' room, drop the trench coat, and tap once on the door. "Housekeeping." Knowing how much I hate it when housekeepers wait a full half second before opening your hotel room door and waltzing right on in, I decide to follow suit and immediately use my skeleton key card (damn, I'm good, aren't I?) and strut my stuff into the room.
I look around the room, which is 20 times cooler than all the Holiday Inns I get stuck in on school trips, and just as Jen predicted, Lance was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed mourning over a wallet-sized photo of Toby, totally oblivious to my presence. Still mesmerized by the spaciousness of the room, I state, "Definitely crunk."
His head snaps up. "Did you say something?"
Thinking quick so as to not blow my cover, I recover with a smooth "Yeah, just that this thing definitely shrunk when I washed it." I fiddle with the lacy trim of my skirt for effect.
"Oh. Ok." He returns to his grief.
Moved by Scoop's sensitivity as a tear slips down his cheek, but more than slightly pissed that he didn't bat an eyelash at my dashing display of cleavage, I scowl and go about my work. Pretending to feather dust the silk tree in the corner of the room, I deftly slip a slim microphone, and camera amongst the leaves. I'm gone before he realizes the bedsheets are still as twisted as they were before I came (I made it a point NOT to ask how they got that way.) On the way out, I'm sure to bend over in front of him on the bed to stick a mini-Post It note on the back of the Toby pic. Lance is so blitzed, he notices nothing.
Jumping back into the Winnie, I find that Jen has the video and audio up and running. "Time to mess with Lance's head," I announce in a sing-song fashion, picking up the mic.
Jen settles in on the couch with a bowl of popcorn to watch the fun.
I flip on a tape recording of a neighing horse, watching with amusement as Lance jumps roughly 2 feet into the air and falls off the bed. With the room once again quiet, he gingerly picks up the picture of Toby, studying it closely. Right about then, I let another neigh loose, sending little Poofoo into a frenzy that ended with him curled into a ball in the corner of the room…and with Jen and I convulsing with laughter looking much like JC dancing.
I choke out "Time for the really fun stuff." Jen clasps a hand over her mouth as I grab the mic and whisper into it, "If you build it, he will come."
Lance looks around frantically, somewhat like a terrified rodent. "What?! Who are you?!"
"If you build it, he will come."
"Who will come?!"
"(Neigh)."
"Toby?!"
"If you build it, he will come."
"Tear down a cornfield and build a baseball field?"
I glance over at Jen. "Dude, this guy is as dense as the greasy shit in Joey's hair." Turning back to the mic, I whisper, "Try again."
"Build a stage? If we put the stage up in a cornfield, I'll see Toby?"
"No, dumbass. Build a barn. A damn barn." I knock myself in the side of the head to symbolize his retardation as Jen stifles her giggles.
"But…but we're only in Des Moines for two days! I can't build a barn in two days!"
"Yeah, I figured as much. Look on the back of the picture on the bed."
"How did you know about that picture?!" he yells, clutching it to his chest.
"That doesn't matter. Just follow the directions." We watch Lance for amusement purposes a moment longer and then our wheels are spinning as we take off to start Phase 2.
"That was crunk, Jen."
"Thanks," I reply. "Lance sure is a complicated guy to rape."
"Hang in there. It gets-" Just then, Jen is cut off by the shrill ring of the cell phone, which I happily pick up.
"Hello?"
"Jen?" comes the voice on the other end, which seems strangely familiar.
"Yes, this is Jen."
"Hey. You 'member that time we hooked up, yo? I be sorry dat I gone and used ya like dat, yo. So, ya know, while me and my peeps are in da 'hood, I thought maybe we could like do it again sometime, yo."
"Justin?!" I shriek. "I never slept with you! I wasn't gonna do that until you agreed to wax your arms!" Shuddering, I toss the phone at Jen, Justin's shouts of "What's wrong with my arms?" still audible. "This must be for you."
"Justin?"
"Woman! Yo, what up?"
"Let me get this straight. When I kidnapped you, you used me for sex, right?"
"True dat."
"And now, you want to use me for sex again, and you're asking my permission?"
"True dat, too. You tight wit' dat?"
"Hell yes. I'm kinda busy right now though, so call me back later."
"I'm down wit' dat. Talk to ya later, yo." (click)
Jen sighs. "Boy band members. Honestly. Can't live with 'em…anyway, you leave the directions on the picture?"
"Yep. He should arrive at the barn tomorrow morning if all goes well."
The next morning, as scheduled, a taxi rolls into the driveway at a small local barn (as if Lance could convince the bus driver to do this for him). I see him coming from the barn aisle, where I stand holding a carbon-copy horse of Toby by his lead rope. "Damn. I was hoping for leather pants," I grumble at the sight of his jeans. "Oh well. Cue the smoke," I whisper to Jen, on standby with the smoke machine. What Lance sees as he approaches: a mystical woman in tight riding jeans and a painted on tank top (me) standing next to Toby (some random horse we borrowed for 5 minutes) in a cloud of haze.
"Toby!" he screams and runs toward us.
"Hello, Lance," I greet as he stops in front of me, giving Toby a big hug.
"Wait a second. This isn't Toby! I was the ONLY one who could control Toby!"
Using my soothing voice to calm him down, I sweetly say "Don't get your panties in a wad, Lance. It's so not crunk. All horse spirits are calm in their second life, regardless of how they may have behaved during their first," I make up as I go along. "Besides, if you had my legs wrapped around you, you'd be at my mercy, too." I allow myself a satisfied grin at his face, something which resembled fear with a twinge of excitement. "Now, what say we go load him into the trailer over there and we'll be on our way?" I motion to the Winnie off in the distance.
He squints at it for a moment. "That's not a trailer."
"Sure it is," I reply, rolling my eyes. "It's one of those new slant-load ones that looks like a Winnebago. Really nice dressing area in the tack room."
He shrugs. "Oh. Cool." He turns on his heel and skips (literally…skips) toward the Winnie.
Jen has long since made it to the driver's seat. I turn around, shove a $20 bill into the hand of "Toby's" owner and run up behind Lance. "Hey, Poofoo, wait up!" Before he has the chance to turn around, I jump on him piggyback style. A string of protests flow from his mouth, but they fail to deter me. When I hear "I can't breathe" I think I may be squeezing a bit too hard, so I loosen up. "Alright, in the Winnie. Giddy-up."
"Dammit, how many times do I have to tell you that song is NOT about a horse!?"
"How 'bout once more for good measure?" I tell him, giving him a peck on the cheek. "You sound do damn cute when you say it. Now, IN THE WINNIE."
Not able to resist the legs of an experienced horsewoman, he complies. Once I have him safely and securely pinned to the couch, I yell "GO!" and Jen floors it, heading for the local Hampton Inn (nothing too posh, but I figure the 100% Satisfaction Guarantee would serve me well in this situation). Jen parks the Winnie outside, waiting around to watch for cops, and I poke Lance in the back continually until he gets out of the Winnie and walks into the hotel. We reach the room and I shove him into a chair. "Stay," I command.
I wander into the bathroom before returning wearing my top-grain leather chaps and smacking a crop against my calf. "Alrightey, Scoopster, this is the deal. You and I are going to bring new meaning to Giddy-Up. Since it's not about a horse and all. Ride it, ride it, ride it…"
Lance looks up at me quizzically with his pale green eyes, not knowing what to think. "But…but…I'm from Mississippi…"
"And your point is?"
"We um…(gulp)…I mean I uh…I'm supposed to be a Southern gentleman…"
"Oh cut the gentleman crap. I see it in your eyes—you want to do this."
(sirens and banging on door)
"Aw, shit," I grumble, opening the door.
Jen bursts in, takes one look at Lance's petrified yet somewhat aroused face, breaks into laughter, quickly sobers up and tells me, "Time to go." She opens the window as I pull Lance to his feet and make him face it.
"Bend over," I command.
"What?!"
"Just bend over already." He does so, and I take a few moments to shamelessly admire his ass before shoving him out the window (gotta love first floor rooms). Jen and I are close behind as we make our way to the getaway rapist Winnie. I shove Lance inside and am about to climb in myself when I hear "Hold it right there!"
"Damn."
"Jen, is that you?" one of the cops yells. He obviously knows the NSYNC rapist M.O.
Jen and I both turn around and yell back, "Yeah, what's it to ya?" I toss her a sidelong glance as she does the same to me. "Sonofabitch, this is confusing. I'm changing my name."
One of the cops turns to another. "My God, there's two of them!" He looks back in our direction. "Where's the hostage?"
"Where do you think? He's in the damn Winnie," Jen shouts.
"Let him go, Jen. It's over."
Jen grins at me. "Time to make your demands."
"Not so fast," I shout, pulling out the remote control to my CD player. "This remote is connected to a bomb wired to the undercarriage of the Winnie. I push a button and Lance is toast…unless you meet my demands!" I turn around and flash a smile at my hostage who is pressed against the Winnie's door window.
"Alright, ok, calm down. Don't do anything rash. What are your demands?"
"First off, I want to have your word he won't be kissing that 7th Heaven chick any more. Knowing he dated the Topanganator was bad enough."
Lance bangs on the door. "Hey, no fair! That's the only time I ever get any action!"
The cops agree with me. "Done! We’re on the phone with the WB now."
"Second, I want assurance that we will see Lance in leather pants much more often."
"I'm not so sure I want to see that," the cop hesitantly replies.
"Hey, why not?" yells Lance. "I like my ass!"
"Yes, we know you do, hon," Jen calls back to him. "We saw you spanking it on HBO."
"Done! We have fashion designers lining up with a fine assortment of pleather…python print included!" yells a female detective.
"Third, I think he needs a solo."
"Not a bad idea…"
"Lance, stay out of this! You're the hostage, not the negotiator!"
"Alright, fine.” He turns to his partner. “Maybe we’ll let him speak a whole sentence on the next album.” To me: “Anything else?" he shouts.
"Yes. I want to make absolutely sure that his hair will stay as is and never, ever go back to a bulb cut. Oh, and buy the boy a horse already. He's gotta start eating again." Glancing back at him, I add, “Wait awhile on the horse thing. He needs to drop a few pounds first and start pumping iron again. Until then, buy him a dog or something.”
"Okay. We'll do it all. Now let him go."
“Right after you guarantee us immunity from prosecution. I know a thing or two about the law, so I can weasel my way out of it anyway.”
“Really?” Jen asks. “That’s pretty crunk.”
“No. I pretend to be a lawyer in college, but I really don’t know anything helpful. It sounded good though.” I turn back to the cop, who’s screaming something at us.
“You have yourself a deal. Just don’t let us catch you doing this again.”
Reluctantly, I open the door to the Winnie and Lance steps out, surprised that the demands benefited him so nicely. As he passes by me, I spin him around and plant one square on his lips. "If action's what you want, cowboy, mine's the phone number on the back of Toby's picture." With a wink, I send him on his way, and Jen and I dash into the Winnie in a fit of laughter.
"So, who's next on the list?" I ask her as we tear up the highway.
"Joey or Chris. Your choice."
I shiver involuntarily. "Ew. Do I have to? I think JC and Justin deserve another go."
My first attempt was one of those Apollo 13 “successful failure” things, in that I kidnapped him but got nothing in the way of action. I’ll get you next time, Gadget, next time…meeeeeeeoooowwww!” Sorry. Cartoon flashback. I leave you with these words of wisdom: if you ever see a Winnie with the following bumper sticker "BOY BAND RAPIST ON BOARD" do NOT tailgate it. We will kick your ass.
***Again, thanks to Jen...you are crunk. PEACE.***
