Gone Bitch: A Parody of Gone Girl

After my talk with Tanner, I needed a drink. And not an espresso, a drink drink. So I headed to a bar that Andie’s younger crowd liked to go to: cheap booze, and everyone hopefully too drunk to recognize me.

I sat down at the bar and ordered a scotch. The bartender stared at me for a little too long, then shook his head and walked away.

I couldn’t believe it. It had gotten to a point where I couldn’t get a drink in my own hometown.

“What’re you drinking, scotch?”

It was an Asian girl, college-aged, cute. Although I couldn’t tell if she was cute because she was college-aged or cute because she was cute.

“Trying to,” I said. “I have no idea why this guy won’t serve me—”

She was gone…and then 30 seconds later she was back with two scotches. She handed me one.

“Cheers,” she said.

This was too easy. “Are you a tranny?” I said. “Oh wait, I guess since you’re Asian, the proper term would be ladyboy?”

“No, Nick Dunne, I’m not a tranny or a ladyboy. What I am is the one person in this bar who’s rooting for you. I think you’ve been getting a bad rap.”

“Oh come on,” I said. “You’re clearly just saying this so I’ll take you home, and then when I pull your pants down I’ll be shocked to see a penis, but then I’ll be like ‘what the heck’ and hook up with you anyway.”

“I’m serious!” she said. “I really think you’re innocent! Have you heard of the CSI Effect, where the public watches so much CSI that they think science can solve any crime?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Well I think there’s something called the Overwhelming Evidence Effect: the public has seen so many true crime shows where the person who did it is the same one who the overwhelming evidence suggests did it, that any time there’s overwhelming evidence that a person committed a crime, the public automatically assumes that person is guilty.”

“Yes! That’s totally it! Thank you. Now if only Dr. Rupta—”

“Fuck Dr. Rupta and his focus on evidence!” my new friend said, and ordered us another round of scotch.

My new friend turned out to be Rebecca, a senior at Fordham University who was interning at the New York Post. She’d flown to Missouri just to see if she could find a scoop about the missing Amy story that could help her career. I admired her chutzpah, and also her college-aged boobs.

After a few more rounds of drinks, Rebecca pulled out a Flip camera. “Nick, let’s do an interview, right now,” she said. “You’ll finally get a chance to tell your side of the story.”

I was tempted, but Tanner would never approve of it. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t,” I said.

“How about this,” she said. “First I’ll interview you, and then my hand will interview your penis.”

It had become an offer I couldn’t refuse.