![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Of Porn and Pizza
Fandom: NASCAR
By: Maveness
Note: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
celli’s Annual Unofficial Tax Day Challenge
Genre: NASCAR RPF
Pairing: None. At least none of the purposeful variety. Those included are Jeff Gordon, Jimmie Johnson, and Ingrid Vandebosch.
It was official. Jeff had found two things that should never be combined: taxes and porn.
“It’s just…why today? Why April the fucking 17th? Why on stupid tax day does my idiot accountant decide to call and start asking for information on property I’m holding in trust when I explained months ago that I didn’t want to file for an extension, that I didn’t want to have to worry about crap for the entire year, I just want it over? How is this hard? What the hell is wrong that he couldn’t just get his head out of his ass and get on this stuff sooner? I swear…”
Jeff tried to tune out the voice from the phone, but it wasn’t working really well. He’d just popped the DVD in the player when the phone rang. Knowing it was Jimmie, he’d erroneously assumed it would be a quick call to confirm some plans for getting to Phoenix, not to bitch and moan about taxes.
And damn it, he didn’t want to hear about taxes. He wanted to eat his pizza and watch some hot girl on girl action. (The only action he was getting these days involved his very pregnant wife sound asleep beside him and his own hand. She had him on a tight leash.)
Instead he was getting an earful and missing porn. (He just couldn’t watch the TV and talk to Jimmie at the same time. The idea of getting a hard-on while on the phone with Jimmie was disturbing to even think about, despite what some of his more fervent detractors might think.)
“You know, it sounds to me like you’re going to have to talk to the guy about filing an extension. If he doesn’t have everything now, you’re screwed.” Ah man, it would be nice to be screwed. By a woman.
Jimmie let loose on that one. “No! I hired this guy to do a job and do it right. I want my taxes done today! I want to write a damn check and give Uncle Sam his damn money and that’s what I told this guy three months ago…a guy you recommended, I might add.”
Like Jeff was going to tell Jimmie that the whole reason his taxes were last minute was because Jeff took a little longer getting his done. Current champion or not, Jeff still made more last year than Jimmie. Plus, Jimmie was whining an awful lot. So it served him right.
Jeff considered the time – and video – ticking away while Ingrid was out shopping and Jimmie was yapping.
“Jimmie? I hate to tell you this, but shit out of luck is just…shit out of luck. Nothing you can do but face facts: your accountant got behind and you have to file for an extension. There’s no way to get it done. Now, if you don’t mind, my wife has been withholding affections and I’m gonna need to do something about that, and frankly, you don’t rank on the list of things I care about right at this moment.”
Blunt and to the point, but Jimmie would understand. Someday.
Jimmie sputtered a “What?” on the line just as Jeff heard a door slam. Damn. Ingrid was home.
Jeff dived for the remote, phone still in hand, just as Ingrid walked through the door. He didn’t even get a chance to shut it off or explain before she zeroed in on him (she was going to make a great mother, at least), snatching the phone he’d forgotten he was even holding from his hand.
“Hello? Who is this?”
Jeff could hear Jimmie stammering, although words were hard to make out, while Ingrid just stared at him in horror. Jimmie was still talking when she hung up the phone.
“Look, Ingrid, I can explain.”
“I’d heard the rumors, but I didn’t believe them. Just jealous fans, that’s what I thought. After all, everyone knew why you and Brooke broke up. But…oh my god! Jimmie?”
For a moment he failed to see the connection. What would Jimmie’s taxes have to do with his divorce from Brooke? But as he was contemplating the issue, sounds from the TV slowly filtered through. Sounds of sex. Loud sex. Loud male sex. In a video that was supposed to be all lesbian.
He whirled around just in time to see a guy doing something to another guy that frankly was not something he’d ever wanted to see. The dots connected in his brain as he realized what conclusion Ingrid had just come to.
While those dots connected, Ingrid made it out the door. To the car. Quickly, for a pregnant woman.
And he was pretty sure his career just went up in smoke.
Fandom: NASCAR
By: Maveness
Note: For
celli’s Annual Unofficial Tax Day ChallengeGenre: NASCAR RPF
Pairing: None. At least none of the purposeful variety. Those included are Jeff Gordon, Jimmie Johnson, and Ingrid Vandebosch.
It was official. Jeff had found two things that should never be combined: taxes and porn.
“It’s just…why today? Why April the fucking 17th? Why on stupid tax day does my idiot accountant decide to call and start asking for information on property I’m holding in trust when I explained months ago that I didn’t want to file for an extension, that I didn’t want to have to worry about crap for the entire year, I just want it over? How is this hard? What the hell is wrong that he couldn’t just get his head out of his ass and get on this stuff sooner? I swear…”
Jeff tried to tune out the voice from the phone, but it wasn’t working really well. He’d just popped the DVD in the player when the phone rang. Knowing it was Jimmie, he’d erroneously assumed it would be a quick call to confirm some plans for getting to Phoenix, not to bitch and moan about taxes.
And damn it, he didn’t want to hear about taxes. He wanted to eat his pizza and watch some hot girl on girl action. (The only action he was getting these days involved his very pregnant wife sound asleep beside him and his own hand. She had him on a tight leash.)
Instead he was getting an earful and missing porn. (He just couldn’t watch the TV and talk to Jimmie at the same time. The idea of getting a hard-on while on the phone with Jimmie was disturbing to even think about, despite what some of his more fervent detractors might think.)
“You know, it sounds to me like you’re going to have to talk to the guy about filing an extension. If he doesn’t have everything now, you’re screwed.” Ah man, it would be nice to be screwed. By a woman.
Jimmie let loose on that one. “No! I hired this guy to do a job and do it right. I want my taxes done today! I want to write a damn check and give Uncle Sam his damn money and that’s what I told this guy three months ago…a guy you recommended, I might add.”
Like Jeff was going to tell Jimmie that the whole reason his taxes were last minute was because Jeff took a little longer getting his done. Current champion or not, Jeff still made more last year than Jimmie. Plus, Jimmie was whining an awful lot. So it served him right.
Jeff considered the time – and video – ticking away while Ingrid was out shopping and Jimmie was yapping.
“Jimmie? I hate to tell you this, but shit out of luck is just…shit out of luck. Nothing you can do but face facts: your accountant got behind and you have to file for an extension. There’s no way to get it done. Now, if you don’t mind, my wife has been withholding affections and I’m gonna need to do something about that, and frankly, you don’t rank on the list of things I care about right at this moment.”
Blunt and to the point, but Jimmie would understand. Someday.
Jimmie sputtered a “What?” on the line just as Jeff heard a door slam. Damn. Ingrid was home.
Jeff dived for the remote, phone still in hand, just as Ingrid walked through the door. He didn’t even get a chance to shut it off or explain before she zeroed in on him (she was going to make a great mother, at least), snatching the phone he’d forgotten he was even holding from his hand.
“Hello? Who is this?”
Jeff could hear Jimmie stammering, although words were hard to make out, while Ingrid just stared at him in horror. Jimmie was still talking when she hung up the phone.
“Look, Ingrid, I can explain.”
“I’d heard the rumors, but I didn’t believe them. Just jealous fans, that’s what I thought. After all, everyone knew why you and Brooke broke up. But…oh my god! Jimmie?”
For a moment he failed to see the connection. What would Jimmie’s taxes have to do with his divorce from Brooke? But as he was contemplating the issue, sounds from the TV slowly filtered through. Sounds of sex. Loud sex. Loud male sex. In a video that was supposed to be all lesbian.
He whirled around just in time to see a guy doing something to another guy that frankly was not something he’d ever wanted to see. The dots connected in his brain as he realized what conclusion Ingrid had just come to.
While those dots connected, Ingrid made it out the door. To the car. Quickly, for a pregnant woman.
And he was pretty sure his career just went up in smoke.
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Poor Jeff. He bought porn that was labeled wrong and his wife thinks he was watching it with Jimmie on the phone and doing naughty things. Hee! When all Jimmie wanted was to talk taxes!
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Hee. I'm amused. *grins*
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Why do I suspect I know who went around swapping out DVDs in a convoluted hope that something like this would happen? :)
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HAHAHAHAHA!!!
Poor, poor Jeff! And confused Jimmie, who just wanted to get his taxes paid. I love this!
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Alas, I wanted to put a pez dispenser in, but while it worked in the original story concept (with Jeffy threatening to insert it into someone's rear orifice if they didn't shut up), not so much for porn watching.
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*LOL*
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