It was literally Saturday night, and Big Shots, a night club that was literally near the airport, was literally filled with people. Tucked away in a back corner booth, Rachel Zoe and her girlfriends were literally drinking cocktails and checking their Blackberries and ignoring each other’s boring stories. They were literally upset, because when they had first arrived, the bouncer literally didn’t know who Rachel Zoe was, and if he didn’t know who Rachel Zoe was, then he wouldn’t know who her friends were, because they were literally less famous than her, and she is literally not that famous in the first place, but they all literally enjoyed thinking that she was more famous than she was, and they were literally of the mindset that the more you acted like you or someone you knew was famous the more that people thought it was true and the more likely you were to get special treatment, which literally wasn’t that far from the truth. But tonight it had literally backfired, because they literally staked a majority of their self-worth on the perception, real or fake, of their importance over other people, and so when a bouncer literally is like “I’ve never heard of Rachel Zoe,” it literally sends them into mental tailspins of existential despair and horror. Eventually he did let them in, because the night club was near the airport, and it literally never gets THAT busy, and he literally didn’t care that much about his job anyway, he was literally just trying to make some extra money to supplement his police officer’s salary, which was literally too low considering the risks his job entailed.
“That bouncer was literally, like, probably the dumbest person I’ve ever met. He’s literally not even a person. He’s literally blind. He’s literally a blind hippopotamus,” one of Rachel Zoe’s friends literally said, literally not even looking up from her Blackberry.
“Oh my god, Wysteria,” Rachel Zoe said, “you are literally so right.”
Just then, someone literally started beating Rachel Zoe savagely in the face with a hardcover dictionary. There was literally never any serious danger to her, and the violence of the act was literally upsetting as all violence is, but this is literally made up and never literally happened, and so in some ways, we can literally just enjoy it in the same way that we might enjoy a cartoon or a movie, a work of fiction the realities of which might offend us if they were to literally occur but in which we can take some pleasure as long as they remain in the realm of fiction. Blood literally sprayed from Rachel Zoe’s nose. She literally held up her hands to ward off the attack, but they were literally of no use. Again and again, the dictionary literally smashed into Rachel Zoe’s face, POP POP LITERALLY POP. Her friends literally shrieked.
“Help us!” Rachel’s friend Mike, who was a girl but whose name was Mike, cried. “Someone help us!”
“Wait, so are you speaking figuratively now?” Someone from the bar shouted back. “You broke your general speech pattern by not using the word ‘literally’ and now I’m confused.”
“I literally don’t know you mean,” Mike shouted back. Someone in the darkness popped her in the face with a dictionary, too. She slumped into the banquette, literally unconscious.
“I think she used the word correctly that time,” someone suggested. “She seems like a pretty stupid person. I think she literally didn’t know what he meant.” Literally no one said anything. The guy was probably right, but literally no one actually felt bad for her. She was literally make-believe!
After what felt like a long time, the bouncer literally arrived and literally restrained the attacker. The blood-soaked dictionary literally fell to the floor with a loud thump. As the bouncer literally carried the attacker out to the street, Rachel Zoe literally curled up in a whimpering ball. Her friends literally gathered around her, some of them even putting their Blackberries away and chewing their gum more quietly, to see if she was OK. One of them literally dipped her cocktail napkin into her vodka and Diet Red Bull and began to dab at the bruised and broken puffy black blob that was Rachel Zoe’s nose.
“What are you doing?” one friend asked.
“I’m literally sterilizing her wounds,” the friend with the napkin replied.
She was not sterilizing Rachel Zoe’s wounds at all, but remember, these ladies are all literally so stupid. They helped Rachel Zoe off the floor. Little awful noises were literally escaping from her throat. Her face was literally upsetting to look at. One of her teeth was literally chipped. One of her eyes was literally swollen shut. She tried to smile and her friends literally gasped in shock at what had happened to Rachel Zoe. For a fleeting moment, each of them thought something along the lines of whether or not this was going to have a serious effect on Rachel Zoe’s career, which had now become entwined with her presentability as a TV personality, and in turn if it did have an effect, whether there would be subsequent effects on their own lives, which were now dependent on the success or failure of Rachel’s life. They literally did not want to admit any of this to themselves, and so they quite quickly pushed it out of their thoughts. Figuratively.