[ WP ] Write about a museum guard who touches the art

Bubba worked at the Louvre. At least he did, until last Tuesday. 
 
 The museum closed at seven. But in France, that meant you got to tell people to fuck off when the clock struck 6:30. So Bubba and the other guards were telling the visitors to all kindly fuck off. Bubba noticed that Pierre had forgotten to lock the sculpture wing of the museum. 
 
 He stopped waving his bludgeon at the slow-moving elderly patrons and went to go have a little looksee at the stone-people. 
 
 He stood in front of the Venus di Milo. 
 
 “ Why you ain ’ t got no arms, girl? ” he said, gazing at her nipples. “ Damn girl, you perdy. I ’ d buy you a twenty-dollar steak if ’ n you was alive. ” 
 
 He sighed, groping her breast. 
 
 “ And then, ” he added, “ We ’ d probly have sex in my car. ” 
 
 He brushed the remains of Cheetos out of his beard and pursed his lips. He stood on his tippy-toes and gave ol ’ Venus a smooch on the mouth. 
 
 Venus di Milo came to life. She screamed in Italian and ran behind a sculpture of some guy with curly hair. For some reason, he was holding his toga on his arm instead of wearing it. Maybe he mistakenly thought he had a big penis. 
 
 “ Holy smokin ’ Toledo, ” Bubba said, “ Am I hallucinigatin? Somebody musta spiked my 42 ounce fountain drink with a psychedelic substance again. ” 
 
 He looked at the Venus again. She was quivering with fear, trying to hide her exposed chest from Bubba. Bubba turned away, to show her what a deferential gentleman he could be. 
 
 Then he saw a nice bouncy butt lying naked on an inclined sofa. It was one piece of marble for the figure and the sofa. Art scholars probably made a big deal about that kind of thing. To them, that was a bigger deal than a triple-decker sandwich with extra avocado. 
 
 “ Oh well, ” Bubba said, trying to block out Venus ’ annoying sobs, “ No point in wasting a good high. ” He spread out his hand and slapped it down on the prone statue ’ s buttocks. 
 
 It came to life, scurrying away from him across the sofa. 
 
 “ Hey there, ” Bubba said, “ It ’ s a compliment. Ya got a nice booty. ” 
 
 The statue screamed in ancient Greek and ran out into the hallway. Bubba pantomimed brushing dirt off his shoulder and loped down the aisle to look for another statue. 
 
 There was a lot of penises waving around, but not too many boobies. Finally, he saw a little lady who had a quiver of arrows on her back and a pet deer. He walked up to her and gave a little nibble on her ear. 
 
 She sprang to life, pulling out an arrow and pointing it at him. 
 
 “ You ain ’ t got no bow, ” Bubba said, “ Why don ’ tcha just gim me a chance? I ’ ll show ya the good times, if ’ n ya know what I mean. ” 
 
 Suddenly, a screeching noise came from the hallway. The statue from the sofa was back, and she was riding on the back of winged Victory, who had been standing sentry at the stairwell. 
 
 The headless Victory flapped her wings furiously. She knocked into the archway, sending rubble scattering. She screeched in pain and fury. She launched herself airborne again, knocking over a nearby bust of someone who was no longer important. 
 
 “ Well whoop-di-whoop, ” Bubba said, “ Smack my ass and call me Nancy! If that ain ’ t the damndest whatsit I ever did see. ” 
 
 He loped away, trying to duck out of the room. But Victory was too fast. She barreled into him, pinning him to the floor. 
 
 The girl with the quiver of arrows ran towards his body. She pulled off his shirt and pants. 
 
 “ Oh dearie me, ” Bubba said, “ I love the rough stuff. How ’ d ya ’ ll know? ” 
 
 The girl leaned down to his face. Bubba could barely read her marble features in the dim light. But her expression—it looked something like satisfaction. 
 
 She kissed him, long and tender. He felt his face hardening. It was turning into white marble. His whole body was turning into white marble. 
 
 He reacted in terror, throwing up his hands. And they stayed there. 
 
 Bubba lay there in the Louvre, frozen in a paroxysm of fright. He remains there to this day. Watching. Waiting. Hoping a foolish tourist will get too close and accidentally touch him. 
 
 

