Mashups are not a new phenomenon. The word itself has been around since about 2011, as Internet geniuses and terrible dance club DJs began jamming two songs together to make something akin to an elementary school choir concert. Since it has been around for about six years, and the fad luster is finally worn away by thousands of masturbatory wannabes, it is the perfect time for me to thrust my two bucks into the stripper’s thong.
First of all, mashups have been around for much longer than 2011. The porn industry has been combining disparate genres of movies for decades. It just called those types of films “parodies” and convinced men and couples to watch movies called Titty Titty Gang Bang and Pulp Friction. Mel Brooks was the king of the non-pornographic mashup as he combined every other movie genre with comedy. Before this recent outburst of artistic mashing of two different songs, Vanilla Ice was being sued over the use of David Bowie’s six sick beats from “Under Pressure” in his awful self-aggrandizing one hit wonder.
All of those were a hundred times better than the more recent offerings of Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
Second point: music mashups are allowed to just put two songs together without changing a damn thing, just matching up lyrics with new background music, but literary mashups are told to join two genres together. Authors have to take horror and history and still create their own entire dialogue and scenes. How is that fair? Granted, authors are inherently more creative and intelligent than note-slinging guitar wanks, but sometimes we just want to plagiarize two works for the sake of humor.
Therefore, enjoy these three mashup excerpts where I combined scenes from romance novels, listed on a website as some of the hottest scenes in romantic *cough* literature *cough*, and William Shakespeare’s comedic styles. I edited the format of Shakespeare’s lines so they would read as more contemporary dialogue and changed genders in a few of his lines so it would fit the romance novel’s context, but otherwise left every single word from both sources the same.
Separate note: women need to stop complaining about men watching porn while they are reading these filthy erotic novels.
Night After Midsummer Night’s Dream
He drove his tongue inside her, setting off another shattering moan that was music to his ears. “I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again: mine ear is much enamour’d of thy note; so is mine eye enthralled to thy shape; and thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me on the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.”
She was quite an instrument to play, so finely tuned, and if he touched her right, she made the most glorious sounds — raw, intense, absolutely delicious noises of pleasure as he plundered her with his tongue. “Methinks, master, you should have little reason for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days; the more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.”
She grabbed his hair, yanked and pulled him closer as he’d told her to do. “Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.”
He thrust one finger inside her, crooking it and hitting her in the spot that turned her moans into one long, high-pitched orgasm. “Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.”
She shuddered against him, her legs quaking, and when he finally slowed to look up at her, he saw her hair was a wild tumble, and her face was glowing. “Out of this wood do not desire to go; thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. I am a spirit of no common rate; the summer still doth tend upon my state; and I do love thee: therefore, go with me; I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee, and they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep and sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep and I will purge thy mortal grossness so that thou shall make an airy spirit go. Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! And Mustardseed!”
Excerpts from Night After Night by Lauren Blakely and A Midsummer Night’s Dream
The Sexual Life of the Shrew
Ringo came and took his place on top of me, while the third boy, who was more reserved than the other two, rested on one elbow beside us and ran his hand over my upper body. “First kiss me, Kate, and we will.”
Ringo’s body was very different from Andre’s, and I liked it better. “What, in the midst of the street?”
He was taller, more wiry, and one of those men who isolate the action of the pelvis from the rest of the body, who thrust without smothering, supporting their torso with their arms. “What, art thou ashamed of me?”
But Andre seemed more mature to me, his flesh was not so spare, he already had less hair and I liked going to sleep bundled up next to him with my buttocks against his belly, telling him we were a perfect fit. “No sir, God forbid, but ashamed to kiss.”
“Why, then let’s home again. Come, sirrah, let’s away.”
Excerpts from The Sexual Life of Catherine M by Catherine Millet and The Taming of the Shrew
As You Enchanted It
When at last I entered his chamber, I was positively quivering with excitement. “Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?”
The Beast was sitting in a chair in a remote corner of the darkened room. “I would kiss before I spoke.”
Removing my robe, I positioned myself on the edge of the bed in just the way he liked best, as was my habit. “Nay, you were better to speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking – God warn us! – matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.” Within seconds I was soaking wet and aching for him.
“How if the kiss be denied?” he asked.
“Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.”
“Who could be out, being before her beloved master?” That’s the way it was for me with the Beast. It was enough just to wait there, trembling and poised on my hands and knees, anticipating what was to come, to bring about that kind of response in me.