Seventy-two Percent is Sane

Authors:  Rebelcat and Eliz . . .


EH: Hey, wait a minute, all I did was make a few suggestions.

RC: Yeah, and write some of the dialogue, and part of the action, and helped me come up with the original idea.

EH: Yeah, but . . .

RC:  You’re in denial? “I’m EH, and I’m way too angsty to write parodies.”

EH: Fine, alright.


Authors: Rebelcat and Elizabeth Helena


EH: Happy now?

RC: Ecstatic.


Title:  Seventy-two Percent is Sane


Gen or Slash: Gen, in the sense that they would really rather not in this universe.  But a certain gun wielding lunatic has her slash goggles firmly in place.  Poor girl, she’s stuck in the wrong A/U.


EH:  Because the slash-verse would have the Bomb Squad in it.

RC:  I tried to put him in, but EH wouldn't let me!  She said it messed too much with continuity.  (Like that matters in a frickin' parody!)

EH:  Consistency is the foundation of a rational universe.  Excuse me, I must go wash my hands.  Again.


Rating:  R, for some rather unusual sexual kinks.


Category:  Ohhh… parody.  A hundred and ten percent no matter which multi-index test you apply.


Disclaimer:  Neither gen nor slash is being singled out for ridicule here.  We love them both equally.  And doesn’t everyone make fun of the ones they love?


Feedback/Critique:  Give it to me, baby!  (Ignore the whimpering from the bathroom, that’s just EH.)


Notes:  So, once upon a time there was a conversation on a list on-line about whether a picture of Hutch giving head to Starsky could be considered Gen.  This led naturally to a discussion between EH and myself regarding how far we could push a slashy situation and still keep it gen.  Sort of an “Unslashable” scenario, without any of the gross Simonetti moments.


Seventy-two Percent is Sane


Diana Harmon has scored 73 percent on the Wisconsin Multi-Facet Index Test, which means Cabrillo State had to let her go.  This is very sad for Starsky and Hutch, because the first thing she did on her release was kidnap both of them at gunpoint and take them to Empty Warehouse number 53 on Pier 42.


It’s a dump.


Starsky:  Jeez, lady.  Couldn’t you have gotten us a better warehouse?  There’s got to be hundreds of them around here!


Diana:  You think this is easy, bub?  Do you have any idea how much action is going down in all these warehouses?  Hear that?


They listen.  There’s a sound of muffled chanting from somewhere to the west.


Diana:  Satanists.  And you hear that?


Small arms fire erupts in the distance, somewhere to the south-east.


Diana:  The Cubans want control of the drug scene in Bay City, but the Haitian Voodoo Priests are refusing to give it up.  If you want five star accommodation, you have to book months in advance!


Diana waves her gun menacingly.


Diana:  Now, get naked.


Starsky & Hutch:  WHAT?


Diana: I did a lot of thinking while I was in my straightjacket, and I’ve finally figured out why Hutch couldn’t love me the way he should have.  It’s because he loves you  more.


Hutch:  Lady, at this moment, I’d love a rectal exam more than I could ever love you.


Diana:  Funny you should say that.  (Waves her gun.)  C’mon, lets get those clothes off.


Starsky:  Why do we have to take our clothes off?  I don’t get it.


Hutch:  I think she wants us to have sex, Starsk.


Starsky:  Nah, that can’t be… 


Starsky looks at Diana.  She’s nodding and grinning widely.


Starsky:  Nooo…


Diana:  Oh, yes.  Show me what you do for him that I couldn’t.  Because, I know I’m prettier, so it’s got to be something else.


Starsky:  The hell you are, lady!


Hutch:  Starsky, stop arguing with the Very Pretty Lady holding the Very Big Gun.


Starsky:  But my ass is much better looking than her’s!  She barely has one!


Hutch addresses Diana directly, trying to use his soothing, reasonable voice.  If he thought it was safe enough to get that close, he’d be stroking her arm right now.


Hutch:  Diana, you don’t understand.  We’re not…  We’ve never…


Starsky:  We’re not gay!


Hutch:  You’re all wrong about us, Diana.  So why don’t you just put the gun down before someone gets hurt?


Diana:  Oh, you are SO gay.  I mean seriously, who do you think you’re fooling?  I’ve seen how you touch each other, and the way you look at each other.  You practically sit in each other’s laps.  You share drinks!


Hutch:  I don’t share.  He steals.


Starsky:  I don’t steal! I borrow!


Hutch:  Borrowing means there’s something left to give back when you’re done with it!  Do I have to remind you about my hotdog?


Starsky:  I was hungry.


Hutch:  So was I.


Starsky:  It’s not my fault you’re such a slow eater.  I thought you were done with it.


Hutch:  It was still in my hand!


Starsky:  Yeah, but…


Diana:  (Clears her throat.)  Excuse me?  Do I need to remind you that we’re on a schedule here?  I have an appointment with my psychologist at five, and he gets very cranky when I’m late.  Am I going to have to shoot somebody?


Starsky & Hutch:  Sorry.


Starsky and Hutch reluctantly take their clothes off.  Starsky puts his shoes back on after he removes his jeans.  Starsky realizes that both Hutch and Diana are staring at him.


Starsky:  Every time I take my shoes off I lose one of them.  Besides, I’ve got delicate feet.  And hey, Hutch, you’re still wearing your socks!


Hutch:  My feet are cold.


Diana:  Just shut up already, and get on with it!


Hutch:  Well, what exactly do you want us to do?  Hand job, blow job, a finger up the ass…


Starsky:  Eeep.


Hutch:  …full anal penetration?


Starsky begins to hyperventilate.


Diana: (generously) Oh, whatever you like.  Just do what comes naturally.


Starsky:  There ain’t nothin’ natural about this, lady!


Hutch:  Actually, same sex pairings are quite common in the animal kingdom…


Starsky:  Yeah well, how often on Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom have you ever seen the buffalo doing it at gunpoint?


Hutch:  Well, I’ve heard that off-camera…


Starsky: (very quietly to himself)  It’s not a fate worse than death.  It’s not a fate worse than death.  It’s not…


Hutch:  Starsky, what’s a hand job between friends?


Starsky:  …not a fate worse than death…


Hutch:  Here, buddy, just put your head between your knees.  That’s it.  Breathe.  Slowly…  You can do it.


Hutch rubs small circles on Starsky’s back, because triangles and squares just don’t cut it.


Starsky:  *gasp*


Hutch:  Are we good now?


Starsky:  *whimper*


Diana:  Enough with the histrionics!  I want to see some action here! Chop-chop!


The boys attempt to obey, being quite interested in preserving the currently un-perforated conditions of their hides.


Starsky:  Huuuutch, it's not working!


Hutch:  Since when have YOU ever had a problem getting a hard-on?


Starsky:  It's the pressure.  I don't perform well under pressure.


Hutch:  Look, just close your eyes and think about... who the hell are you dating these days anyway?


Starsky:  I can't, okay!  I just can't.  You're not doing it right.  You don't feel like a girl, you feel like my doctor, or my mom, or something.


Hutch:  Oh god, tell me your mom's never done anything like THIS to you!


Starsky:  No, of course not!  Jeez!


Hutch turns to Diana.


Hutch:  I'm sorry, this just isn't going to work.  You're going to have to torture us.


Starsky:  Wait!  I think I'm getting it up!  Wait for it... wait...  No.  Sorry.  False alarm.  Man, Hutch.  Can't you be sexier, or something?


Hutch:  Close your eyes and pretend I’m Farrah Fawcett.


Starsky:  ...  Still not working.


Starsky turns to their captor.


Starsky:  Can we put gloves on him, maybe?  And dip him in Chanel #5?


Hutch: (sarcastically)  Why not a full body condom while we're at it?


Starsky: (seriously)  That's not a bad idea.  But, would you be able to breathe?


Diana taps her foot.


Diana: Boys, I’m getting bored here.  How about if I shoot one of you?  Suffering always seems to bring out your affectionate sides, with the thigh-clutching and all.


Starsky & Hutch:  No thanks, we’ll pass!


Starsky:  Hutch, I’m too tense.  Why don’t you let me do you?


Hutch:    ooookay…  Ow!  When was the last time you clipped your nails?


Starsky, with a martyred air, tries again.


Hutch:  Starsky, will you stop poking at it like it’s some kind of dead thing you just found by the side of the road!


Starsky:  Well, it’s definitely dead.


Starsky takes Hutch’s flaccid penis gingerly between two fingers and holds it upright.  Then he lets go.  It flops over.  He does it again.


Starsky:  Hey, this is kind of fun.  If I had a magic marker, I could draw a little face, right here…


Hutch covers his face with both hands.


Hutch:  I’m in hell.


Starsky:  C’mon, Hutch!  Don’t I do it for you?  Even a little?


Hutch:  I prefer my dates a lot less hairy.


Hutch opens one eye and peers out at Starsky from between his fingers.


Hutch:  I don’t suppose you’d shave?


Starsky:  Shave???  You mean arms, legs…?


Hutch:  Yeah.  Everything.


Starsky:  Everything?


Hutch:  Well, you can keep the hair on top of your head.  That’s not a turn-off for me.


Starsky crosses his arms.


Starsky:  But everything else about me is.


Hutch:  You’re not offended, are you?


Starsky:  No.


Hutch: You are!  Listen, it’s nothing personal.  It’s just that you’re, well… a very hirsute male.  And… you’re not blonde.  And you haven’t got…  things I like.  But, I do think you’re prettier than her!


Diana:  Hey!


Hutch:  I mean, you’re pretty, too.  In a girl kind of way.  And he’s pretty in a guy kind of way.  And we’re all sitting here being pretty together and…


Diana:  If you don’t shut up and get on with it, I’m going to put some holes in places where holes don’t go.  And if I remember correctly, you don’t enjoy bleeding.


Starsky has a sudden moment of inspiration.


Starsky:  I got it, I got it!  Take off your socks!


Hutch:  What?


Starsky:  Trust me, this’ll work!  You got to put the socks over your hands.


Hutch:  You got a thing for my socks?


Starsky:  Depends… are they cotton?


Hutch:  Why would THAT matter?  No, no, on second thought, I don’t want to know.


Hutch takes his socks off, puts them on his hands.


Hutch:  (mutters)  I feel ridiculous.  (louder)  Okay, now what?


Starsky:  Well, you remember I said my mom taped socks over my hands when I was a little kid?


Hutch:  Yeah, so you’d stop sucking your thumb.


Starsky:  Actually, I lied.  It wasn’t thumb-sucking she was trying to break me of.


Hutch looks at his hands.  Pales.


Hutch:  Oh god, I’ll never be able to wear these again.


Starsky:  You mean, your socks are more important than our lives?


Hutch:  …it’s not a fate worse than death…  (Closes his eyes, gingerly reaches for Starsky.)


Starsky:  Yeah, see?  That’s lots better.  Oh, yeah…  Just like that…


Hutch:  Can you please just shut up?


Diana:  You’re only halfway there boys.  I gotta see action on both sides.


Starsky:  I’m not shaving my manly bits just so Blondie here can get his rocks off.


Hutch:   Well, there is an alternative…


Starsky:  Hutch…?  You got any kinks I don’t know about?




Starsky:  Look, now we all know about me and the socks – and don’t stop what you’re doing right there – so you can just fess up about whatever it is that turns you on.


Hutch:  (sighs) Okay, take off your shoes.


Starsky:  You got a foot fetish, buddy?


Hutch:  Not… exactly.


Starsky hands him a shoe.  Hutch buries his face in it and takes a deep breath.  A look of  bliss crosses his face.


Starsky:  I bet you don’t see that in the animal kingdom.


Hutch:  (making a fist) Just because they’re covered in socks right now, doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you.


Diana:  Oh my God, what are you two doing?


Starsky & Hutch:  What?  We’re trying to do what ya asked here!


Diana:  You guys are insane!  You couldn’t even score 50 percent on the Multi-Index Test if you tried!


Starsky:  No, we’re not crazy.  I’ve just got a sock fetish, and he’s got a shoe fetish.


Hutch:  We’re partners.


Starsky:  Yeah… oh, you’re not going to rub it there, are you?  Partners, my ass.  I’m going to have to burn that shoe.  That’s disgusting!


Hutch:  Like you don’t have six more identical pairs at home!


Starsky:  Hutch… did I… Those shoes I thought I left under your bed.  How did they get there?


Diana:  That’s it!  I’m just going to shoot you both now!


Starsky:  That was my favorite pair!  I wore them… after you… oh god!  They were damp!


Hutch:  I just licked them.  A little.


Starsky:  Oh, THAT makes it better!


Hutch:  Oh yeah, and what about all those pairs of my socks that just go MISSING?  That you said the washing machine must have EATEN?


Diana:  Hello?!  I’ve got a gun here!?  Pointed at your heads!?


Hutch:  You stole my socks!


Starsky:  You molested my sneakers!


At which point, the wall collapses as a tank emblazoned with the bright yellow letters BCPD drives right through it.  Trumpets sound, it’s the cavalry, or at least BCPD’s second-finest, to the rescue.  Diana is buried under the rubble.


Starsky:  We have a tank?


Hutch:  That must have been some budget increase.


The hatch on top of the tank opens with a clang.  Dobey sticks his head out and glares at them.


Dobey:  What are you two doing here?  We’re supposed to busting some kind of Cuban/Haitian drug cartel.


Hutch:  Starsk, which warehouse were they in?


Starsky:  I think it was that way.  Just follow the trail of little Cuban Voodoo Dolls.


Uniformed officers are now pouring through the gap in the wall.  Hutch belatedly tries to cover himself with Starsky’s shoe.


Dobey:  And why are you naked?  For God’s sake, get your clothes on!


Starsky & Hutch:  It wasn’t our idea this time!


Dobey: I don’t see anyone else here.


Hutch: She’s under the rubble, really!


Dobey:  Hutch what the hell are you doing to Starsky’s shoe!


The End.


Starsky:  No really, we can explain


Hutch:  It’s not what it looks like.


The End!


Starsky:  You see, my shoe flew off in a freak explosion …


Hutch:  Which then knocked my socks off …


Starsky:  And they got stuck on his hands and I was trying to help him get them off when they got stuck in my zipper, so I had to take my pants off …  



S: Why d'you keep releasing his nutso girlfriends?
H: I'm still in hell...