Subject: no subject (file transmission)
From: [email-masked] (Synth Oberheim)
To: [email-masked]
Date: Sun, 16 Jul 95 05:52:52 MST

Author unknown.  (I *wish* I wrote this!)

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                A DAY IN THE LIFE OF DEBBIE GIBSON

     A silver tear rolled down Debbie's perfect cheek as she slowly
lowered her sleek young body into the white marble bathtub. When she
was younger, a nice hot bubble bath was all she needed to raise her 
spirts, but now it seemed that nothing would calm her troubled soul.
Life wasn't easy for the teenage singing sensation.  It seemed that
no matter what she did, no one would take her work seriously.

     "Trite." the critics had called her last album.  "Trite, cheesy
and sappy."  Debbie shuddered and began to weep harder.  These were
her innermost feelings they were poking fun at.  If "Lost in Your
Eyes" and "No More Rhyme" weren't heartfelt reflections of the depth
of the human soul, she didn't know what was.  And surely "Electric
Youth" was the most inspirational song about youthful potential since
David Bowie's "Changes".  But still her finest works were ridiculed
by those too emotionally and intellectually immature to fully
understand them.

     But Debbie's musical career wasn't what was bothering her, and
she knew it all too well.  Her real problem is that she could no
longer go on ignoring the feelings that were swelling inside her body.
She was blossoming into womanhood, but could not realize her fantasies
in fear of tarnishing her image as the fresh, innocent pop starlet.
It wasn't so much to preserve her career -- she knew in her heart of
hearts that she could make it on her talent alone -- but she felt she
owed it to her fans.  She wanted to be a role model to young girls,
to tell them that it's cool to just say no to sex and drugs -- to
follow their dreams and to be an individual.  But at the same time,
Debbie was finding it harder and harder to resist the powerful desires
coursing through her veins.

     Yes, Debbie was a virgin, but it was more by circumstance than
conscious choice.  She was curious, but didn't want to just hop into
bed with the first guy that came along.  And since her busy career
prevented any kind of real romance from developing, it seemed that she
was doomed to chastity forever.  It had been months since the last time
she had been touched in a sexual manner.  A smile crept across her face
while her mind replayed once again that delicious evening.

     She washed the tears from her face while her slender toes slipped
around the tiny chain on the rubber stopper in the tub.  A gentle tug
and the water began slowly draining away.  Debbie began gently
caressing her taut young body as the water lowered, exposing her soft
flesh to the cool air.  Bubbles crackled and popped on the delicate
surfaces of her small, pert breasts -- sending tingling pleasures from
her tiny pink nipples to her moist womanhood.

     "Kirk," she whispered to herself. "Oh... Kirk..."

     To most people, Kirk Cameron was just another television star.  He
played Michael Severs on the popular ABC sitcom "Growing Pains" -- a
winsome youth with an irresistible smile and a keen wit.  But he was
more than this to Debbie.  Much more.

     By now the water had reached the floating curls of her soft blonde
pubic hair.  Debbie ran her slender fingers through the tiny locks and
remembered that night at the Emmys.

     By mere chance they had been seated next to each other.  They
talked a little, mostly about being mobbed by hordes of twelve year old
fans whenever they went out in public.  But while they spoke, Debbie
could feel Kirk undressing her with his eyes -- tracing her curves and
taking obvious glances at her tight skirt.  He had an air of hungry
confidence about him, and she felt desires welling up inside her that
she had never felt before.  The lights went down in the room, and the
ceremony began.  Kirk took Debbie's hand and began gently stroking it.
Then he suddenly let go, and instead put his hand on her knee.  Slowly
he began to move it up her leg, stroking and caressing her inner thigh,
making Debbie swoon in shameful anticipation.

     Lying in the bathtub, Debbie's mind played over the delicious
image of Kirk gently slipping his fingers underneath her silk panties,
his manicured nails lightly grazing her swollen rosebud -- all the
while looking into her eyes and coyly mocking her obvious passion.  She
pictured that face, those fingers, penetrating over and over ...

     And then it boomed over the sound system, "And the winner for best
actor in a Family-Oriented Situation Comedy is ... KIRK CAMERON!"

     Kirk removed his hand from Debbie's sopping underwear with admirable
swiftness, with only a split second before the roaming cameras would
whirl to meet his ever-charming smile.

     Debbie began thrashing about in the bathtub, shuddering violently
with orgasmic tears, but only a second after her muffled cries began
to escape her ruby lips -- the wooden door into the room blew into a
thousand pieces under the force of a strategically placed tactical
plastic explosive.

     Into the room jumped an unholy trinity of nefarious evildoers.  The
central figure was a fully clad ninja warrior -- armed with razor-sharp
precision weapons and dressed in the black eelskin Shinomo garb that
only outfitted the assassins of kings.  The ninja was flanked by a pair
of Nazi frogmen in gray-green wetsuits and flippers -- each carrying a
deadly speargun whose purpose was all too obvious.  On their chests was
the unmistakable emblem of Adolph Hitler's Third Reich.  Without
hesitation, the two frogmen advanced while the figure in black stood
back to survey the carnage.  Debbie had the sudden feeling that she
might be in trouble.

          *    *    *    *

     What only Debbie's adoptive family and a handful of others knew,
however, was that this young nightingale was far from defenseless.  When
Debbie was only a few months old, she and her natural family had been in
a shipwreck -- and Debbie, the only survivor, washed up on the shores of
a small uncharted isle somewhere between the Fiji and Easter Islands.
She was raised by wolves for the first few years of her life, until she
unwittingly came across the only other human being on the island, an
aging Shaulin martial arts master named Bruce, who taught her the ways
of man and the art of self defense.  After ten years of rigorous
training, Debbie decided to once again rejoin the real world, and
fulfill her destiny as the best-loved pop starlet of all time.  On a
makeshift outboard canoe, Debbie sailed to New York, where she was soon
adopted by a nice upper-middle class Protestant family, who introduced
her to record producer Fred Zarr -- and the rest was history.

          *    *    *    *

     Debbie leapt from the tub in a flying summersault, barely avoiding
a forked spear that fiercely penetrated the four foot luffa only inches
from where her sinewy young form had just been.  Even in mid-flight,
she was able to identify the deadly curare poison coating her opponents'
barbed projectiles.  They were playing for keeps.  She spun to meet the
evil duo, and remembered the words of her master ... "The less effort
expended, the more powerful the connection."  An indescribably graceful
spinning crescent lunge kick underneath the chin of her first opponent
neatly severed his head and sent it flying into the bidet.

     She ducked a slice from the second frogman's 9-inch serrated
hunting knife, and with a deafening cry of "WAX ON" she plunged her
open hand through the Swastika emblem on his chest -- and with a similar
cry of "WAX OFF" she withdrew his still-beating heart.  As the body
slumped to the floor, Debbie whirled to meet the stoic gaze of the
remaining figure in black.

     "Who are you?" she cried, "And what do you want with me?!?  I broke
a nail on your lame-ass frogman's collarbone, and I'm really pissed off!"

     "You have killed two of my finest warriors," intoned the ninja.
"And as you die, I want you to know who is killing you."  The figure
pulled off its sinister hood, and out poured a cascade of fiery red hair.

     It was Tiffany.  Debbie's arch-rival in the musical netherworld of
teenage pop icons, and the very figure of evil incarnate.  Her fans
thought of her as a quiet young girl with modest dreams of stardom, when
in reality she was a brazen harlot who would stop at nothing to have the
whole of the music industry under her wicked thumb.

     "Tiffany!" cried Debbie. "I should have guessed!"

     "You were expecting maybe Chuck Norris?" quipped back the red-haired
vixen.  "I mean, Chuck's pretty hard up -- but he's got better things to
do than nail a prissy little WASP like you."

     "What are you doing here?  What do you want with me?" screamed
Debbie, falling back into a defensive posture.

     "You ruined my career!  I was on the verge of creating a musical
empire ... I'd taken the first few steps to establishing myself as the
hottest young thing around -- when all of a sudden you came around
singing those insipid little ballads of yours and stealing my thunder!
Next thing I knew, I found myself classified and categorized as a flash-
in-the-pan little tart like you."

     "What?" gasped an amazed and unbelieving Debbie. "You honestly
thought you could make it big by covering Beatles' tunes for the rest of
your life?  Not!"

     "You untalented little blonde tease!"

     "You plagiarizing red-haired slut!"

     "Slicing your throat open is too quick a death for you!" sneered
Tiffany, dropping her weapons' belt to the floor.  "I'll crush you with
my bare hands!!"  She let loose a double reverse snake punch aimed at
Debbie's naked torso.

     But Debbie was too fast for her and did a double backwards somersault
to the other end of the room.  As Tiffany sped towards her, Debbie
crouched down and threw her lower body upwards for the little known
Shaulin upside-down spinning helicopter kick for which there is no known
defense -- except, of course, for the even lesser known Japanese flying
supersonic blur-hand in which Tiffany had been expertly schooled.  The
two clashed together in a tangle of limbs and flesh, leaving them locked
in a strangling embrace -- pitting will against will in a struggle to
the death.

     But as Debbie's hands closed around her opponent's neck, she found
herself mesmerized by the tender fierceness in her eyes.  She suddenly
remembered what it was that she was doing before this rather startling
interruption, and the proximity of such a beautiful, healthy young body
pressing against hers sent an unexpected flash of heat through her loins.
This took Debbie completely by surprise.  I mean -- she shaved her legs
and had long hair and everything -- she never dreamed that she might be
a lesbian!  But her body cared very little about her mind's outdated
ethics as she pressed her firm young bosom into Tiffany's.

     As she did so, both her and Tiffany's grip loosened, and their
snarls of anger transformed into faint moans of pleasure.  Debbie found
herself entranced with the delicate lips of her opponent, and before
she could stop herself she was kissing them.  For a moment it occurred
to Debbie that Tiffany's acceptance of this might be a ruse to get the
upper hand -- but then she felt a soft, warm tongue slide into her mouth,
and she knew she had a willing and eager partner.

     "I wanted you so bad," whispered Tiffany between kisses.  "So bad I
wanted to destroy you, because I didn't think I could ever have you."

     "Mmmmmm ..." replied Debbie.  "I never thought it could be like 
this ..."

     Tiffany's hands roamed freely over Debbie's supple body, as Debbie
neatly removed her black ninja garb.  Underneath she wore nothing, and
Debbie swooned as she uncovered a figure not unlike her own -- save for 
a wild growth of fiery red hair between her legs.

     "I never believed you were a real redhead," quipped Debbie tenderly,
as she slowly kissed down her torso.

     "That's O.K." countered Tiffany, gingerly swinging her partner
around into a sixty-nine.  "I never thought you were a real blonde."