The One With Christina Hendricks

“They’re going to start arriving any minute now,” said Jill, “Hurry up. We need to get ready!” The Red Carpet was rolled out. The press flanked it on either side, still waiting for their quarry: the Emmy’s attendees, a poor man’s pantheon of minor stars and starlets. The show was about to start, and soon they would be here.

“Is the seating set up?” she asked anxiously. “The ushers are all in place, right?

“Yeah,” said James, a scruffy man in a paint-stained T-shirt and jeans. “Everything’s ready. Relax. We’ve got it under control.”

“And what about the... larger members of the audience? Do you have everything prepared for them?”

“The giant ladies? Yeah, everything’s good except the food. We got seats ready for a few of them. This ain’t the Oscars. There’s what, two or three of them?”

“Twenty three, although most of them are in the eight to fifteen foot range. Kim Kardashian’s a no-show, she’s doing some kind of a Spice cleansing program in Africa. The only full-sized ones are--”

“Christina Hendricks and Princess Elizabeth. You told me. Everything’s ready.”

“And you know how big they are?”

“Of course. Christina’s eighteen feet tall, Elizabeth is thirty.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. God. You idiot! Do you not watch TV? Christina is eighty feet tall! Not eighteen, eighty! And Elizabeth is three hundred, not fucking thirty! That’s only like an order of magnitude off! Oh my God this is going to be terrible, shit shit shit shit shit...”

“Hey, it’s no big deal. You can just ask the big girls to sit outside during the show, and--”

“Really? How about you can do that? Do you really want to ask a three-hundred foot woman to sit outside of her own awards ceremony? You do whatever the hell you can to please Elizabeth. Do you know what happened to the Statue of Liberty? I’ll tell you, she did! And wait, okay, keep it cool, one of their limos is arriving... Ushers, over here!”

The limos pulled up, one after another. Each one brought another set of actors. They walked down the red carpet, flanked by photographers and paparazzi, one blinding flashbulb going off after another. Inside, one by one, the seats in the Auditorium filled. Some of the actresses were eight or ten or twelve feet tall: they rode in specially-made limousines, or squeezed out of normal limos with some difficulty. And soon, nearly everyone had shown up; but the two biggest stars were nowhere to be found. 

Then, they heard her. There was a deep pounding, ‘thwomp, thwomp, thwomp,’ like the slow beat of tribal war drums. The poles that ran along the wide Red Carpet shook just a bit with each footstep. The press readied their flashbulbs, eager and perhaps a bit apprehensive. And then she appeared, coming into sight from around a corner: Christina Hendricks. There she was, eighty feet of thick curves, topped off with long red hair. She wore a red dress and red heels. With her hourglass figure and huge breasts she looked like some real-life Jessica Rabbit, only scaled-up to gargantuan heights. 

The flashbulbs went off, one after another, all pointed up at the giantess. Christina looked down, shooting friendly smiles to the people below: little people, whose weak bodies would break like insects under her incredible weight. People who were helpless under the power of her mountainous body. She made her way down the narrow carpet, her hips swaying to the side with each step. Christina tried to walk inside the narrow confines of the red carpet, though it was difficult given her size. Her hips were as wide as a two-lane road, and her enormous breasts, jutting out like two ripe melons, made it impossible for her to see the ground immediately below her. 

“Hello, Ms. Hendricks,” said Jill, “I just wanted to make sure that everything is to your liking today. It’s a great honor to serve you, and I’m unworthy of your beauty.”

“Oh, you’re such a sweetie,” Christina said, looking down, “but I already knew that.”

An unscrupulous paparazzi was trying to get an upshirt shot of Christina. He crossed the barrier, pushing onto the Red carpet just in front of Christina. He stood there in her path, aiming his cameras upward. Christina continued forward. The front of her high-heeled shoe, as big as a small car, hit him with the impact of a car crash, throwing his body to the ground like a ragdoll. Christina, however, didn’t feel him at all. She continued walking. Her foot came down upon him. The man tried to scream out, but the impact had knocked the air out of his body. A second later, her huge heel came down onto him. For a moment her full weight, immense as it was, came down upon him, two hundred tons of woman smashing him against the hard ground. His body gave way completely, squashing flat as a pancake; only his lower legs, which stretched out past the edge of her gigantic heel, still retained their shape. 

Christina didn’t see the man under her, and she didn’t feel him either; his body was too soft, too weak, crushed under her heel so easily that she couldn’t even feel it. She did, however, hear the sound; she was all too familiar with that sound. Christina bent down to see what she stepped on. “Oh. I’m terribly sorry, little man. Didn’t even feel your little body under my big old foot. You weren’t trying to sneak a peek, now were you?” She grabbed his feel between two huge fingers, pulling what remained of his body off of her foot. “Well, off you go.” She tossed the flattened body carelessly; several paparazzi narrowly avoided being hit by it. 

“Hey,” yelled a reporter, “I had a question.” Christina bent down to him. “You’re an inspiration to countless plus-size women across the country. What’s it like to be a role model for the full-figured?”

Christina bent over. She looked down at the reporter incredulously. “Did you... did you just imply that I’m fat? That’s not any way to talk to a woman. Not any way at all.” She reached out towards him. She started to pick him up; her delicate-looking, but long and powerful fingers easily wrapped around him. “I guess I’m fat, then. So,” Christina said, “you must think I eat too much. Well maybe I do. But when one person after another asks me patronizing questions about how ‘plus-size’ or ‘full-figured’ or ‘voluptuous’ I am... Well, that just makes me get all upset. And when I get upset, I get hungry.”

“No, I’m sorry, just--” but it was too late. Leaning her head back, she tossed him into her mouth. He fit neatly between her lips. She swallowed, sending his body down her throat, his muffled screams getting fainter and fainter as he slid further down.

“That vibration, when they try and scream, even as they fall down your throat... It’s such a delightfully strange feeling. Does anyone else want to ask me about how full-figured I am? No?” Nobody else did.

She came to the end of the red carpet. Christina looked down at the entrance in front of her. The double doors were perhaps fifteen feet wide and fifteen feet tall; far too small for a giantess. She looked down at Jill, who was standing next to the entryway. 

“How exactly am I supposed to fit through there?”

“I’m so, so, so sorry Christina. It’s just that there was a bit of confusion, and--”

“I’ll ask you once more, little Miss. How exactly am I supposed to fit through there?”

“I’m so sorry. Maybe you could... knock down the wall?”

“That’s not particularly feminine behavior, is it? I’m a woman, not a wrecking ball.” 

She paused for a while. “Maybe... if you squeezed through there... On your hands and knees...”

“What? So I show the whole country my rear, so I can crawl under there like an animal? And the whole world will see photos of it all online?” She paused for a moment. “Well, no such thing as bad publicity... I guess I’ve done worse things for fame. Have those ushers help me, would you?”

Christina got down on her hands and knees, and started to squeeze through the door. Her head fit through easily enough, but with her huge breasts pushed against the ground, she couldn’t fit her chest under the doorway. There she lied, her head on one side of the doorway, her body stuck on the other. She tried to maneuver her way under, but it was no use. She thrust her rear into the air, a photo opportunity the paparazzi weren’t about to miss. A sea of flashbulbs went off behind her.

“Ushers!” yelled Jill. “Help her! Pull her through!” They weren’t sure how they would be able to make any difference; it was like trying to move a train by pushing against it. Neither, it turned out, was Jill. And yet they dutifully tried. A few of them pushed against her rear, doing precisely nothing to push her forward. The ones inside, a dozen or so of them, tugged and pulled and pushed against her blouse. If you were charitable, you could say they were trying to lift up her breasts; if you wanted to be accurate, though, you would just call it groping. At any rate, they never managed to lift them up, not even slightly. Ten men, after all, can’t be expected to lift ten tons. All they managed to do was make her gigantic breasts ripple and shake around, like giant globes of jell-o in a red bustier.

“Careful, boys,” Christina said, “these things aren’t cheap! I think it’s time for some drastic measures.” She leaned backwards, shifting her weight back, then forward, back, then forward. Her rear knocked back the men behind her, sending them reeling. And with each thrust, her chest moved a bit farther, and her blouse came a bit looser. “Hey,” she asked, “could you boys tighten my blouse up a bit? My hands are a bit tied at the moment.” They tried to tighten her blouse, but it was no use; he heavy breasts, pushing and pouring outward, made it impossible for them to close it. “Oh, forget it,” she said. She swung back, then swung back forward. Her chest swung up high into the air, her blouse popping open. Her breasts heaved out, gigantic and round and perfect, bigger even than they looked in her dress. Ten tons of firm, heavy breast tissue came down upon the ushers, crushing them with unfathomable mass. Blood squirted out from under her breasts like jelly. 

“Oh? I’m sorry, boys. And here you were, being so helpful. One of the hazards of being a woman. Dangerous curves, they say. But I guess red is my color.” One of the men was still alive; his arm stuck out from under her. “It’s okay, little guy, it’ll be over soon. Just breathe slow, take it easy, you’ll be gone soon enough...” after a moment, the hand stopped moving.

She suddenly realized that everyone in the room, thousands of eyes, were loooking at her. “Oh,” she said, “that’s hardly polite. Would all of you kindly turn around? I said NOW?!” They turned forward, one by one, until not an eye was upon her. Everyone knew it wasn’t wise to upset Christina. 

She pushed through further. Her hips were too wide for the doorway. After a few tries she pushed through. Her thick hips broke through the sides of the wall, bringing wood and concrete down around her. “This is no way to treat a lady.” Christina stood up quickly, hitting her head on the ceiling. She craned her neck down, then brushed the dust and concrete off her dress. Then she brushed the bloody human remains off her breasts, and stuffed her immense breasts into her half-broken blouse as best as she could. 

Christina looked around for a place to sit. The room was packed, chairs and people stuck tightly together. Jill ran up to her, frantic. “I’m so so so so sorry about all this,” she said, but there’s really no place to sit.”

“Oh,” said Christina, walking up five or six rows, “it’s okay. I always manage to find a seat.” She walked down a narrow aisle, pushing past row after row of people. “I’m sorry,” she said, “didn’t mean to push. Just mind my rear.” She bent over, and the people behind her looked up apprehensively. They were in her shadow now; most of them realized what was about to happen, but it was too late. 

Before any of them could get up she leaned back farther, letting herself fall down on her rear. Her wide rear came down hard upon them, huge and thick and heavy, crushing everyone below. She came down upon them with incredible mass, her soft yet firm behind crushing them with the force of a freight train. Three dozen people were crushed under her, along with the folding metal chairs they had been sitting on. They were crushed like bugs, their blood oozing out from under her like jelly.

“Oh,” Christina said, covering her mouth in mock embarrassment, “did my little derriere do all that? What a shame for all those poor little people. I imagine most of them were good actors. Some of them might have even been on my show! I always seem to have to worst luck with these sort of things. On the plus side,” she said with a twisted smile, “I always do manage to find a seat. It’s even nice and soft.”

All around Christina were dozens of lucky people, still sitting in their chairs, who had barely missed being crushed by the enormous weight. They looked tiny, dwarfed by her full behind and thick thighs. One of them, an older man, sighed with relief. Just then Christina’s huge hand picked him up, tossing him into his mouth. Christina chewed and swallowed.

“Well, I hope everything is to your liking,” Jill said nervously, but I really must be off.” Jill quietly moved outside, to the front of the building. A limo was pulling up. She headed towards it, walking quickly, but she lost her balance. The ground shook. 

At first she thought it was one of L.A.’s famous earthquakes, but then she realized. “Elizabeth,” she said aloud. She felt the ground shake one more, and a deep rumble shot through the earth. If Christina’s footsteps were a ripple, these were a tidal wave. Another step. The poles along the red carpet shook and fell over. Another step. The paparazzi had a hard time keeping their balance. The very foundations of the building seemed to be on the verge of faltering. Another step. It was getting louder, a deep boom followed by a deeper rumble. Another step. Whatever caused that had the mass of an ocean, a force that could move mountains. Another step. Jill herself felt as if she might fall over. Another step. “Well,” Jill said, “let’s roll out the Red Carpet.”