Earlier this week, Orlando Bloom and Katy Perry were photographed swimming and sunbathing on a Sardinian beach. At one point, Orlando kneeled atop a paddleboard completely naked and ferried Katy around the sea. What follows is an extremely real timeline of Orlando and Katy's day at the beach.
Tuesday, August 2, 9 a.m.: Katy had not let Orlando put on clothes for a long time now. Ever since the Incident at the Democratic National Convention. He'd really thought the camera was on, he could've sworn the camera was on, during Katy's performance. But when he'd gone to show her the footage, it had mysteriously disappeared.
Orlando's skin crawls at the memory of that horrifying, white-noise moment, the moment when he'd opened his videos folder to find only the 17 apology videos he'd sent to Katy in June after accidentally stepping on her invisible dog. She'd almost left him then. How would she stay with him now? Orlando had tried to explain that he'd triple-checked the camera, that he suspected foul play, likely sabotage via his sworn enemy Olivier Rousteing, but Katy hadn't listened. Katy had hurled the iPhone across the room, then forced him to eat the SIM card that fell from its obliterated carcass.
He can still feel it sitting at the bottom of his stomach as he watches Katy get ready for the beach. He looks down at his pale, exposed thighs. "Katy," he begins, his voice faltering. "Can I put on a bathing suit?"
Katy turns away from the mirror, where she has spent the past few hours crushing a La Croix can in slow motion. Her lips curl into a depraved grin. "You can wear one for 15 minutes today," she says. "You decide which 15 minutes."
Orlando runs to the bathroom, his stomach churning. "Don't forget to look for the SIM card!!!!" yells Katy.
9:20 a.m.: Orlando can't find the SIM card.
9:30 a.m.: Katy is uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the beach. Orlando is naked. He is staring at his penis, which he used to love, before Katy pointed out that it reminded her of an old-timey candlestick. Sometimes she stands over it and sings Christmas carols.
Katy is typing something on her phone. Orlando peeks over her shoulder. She is typing out the lyrics to Linkin Park's "Numb." She turns to him. "I'm writing a new song," she says. "It's about your childhood."
Orlando gazes out the window. In the distance, a couple embraces. The woman is laughing. The man is also laughing. How can they both be laughing? he wonders. Katy puts down her phone, hunches over Orlando's penis, and recites the Shabbat blessings.
"So what brings you to Italy?" asks the driver, politely avoiding the little candlestick's gaze. He has asked them this question several times over the past few days. Katy has never responded, and has forbade Orlando from responding. Orlando couldn't respond if he wanted to. He has no idea why they are in Italy.
10 a.m.: Orlando steps out of the car, still naked. There are dozens of tourists on the beach before him. He glances at Katy, pleading with his eyes behind his dark sunglasses. He is allowed to wear sunglasses because Katy hates the color of his eyes. "Are you pleading with your poo eyes?" Katy shrieks. "Do you not remember what you did to me? I have no record of performing my new song, 'Rise,' the official anthem of the 2016 Summer Olympics, at the DNC. And it's all your fault, Aragorn." Orlando looks down at his feet, which are obscured slightly by his penis. "The thing is, though," he says softly, "there are a lot of videos of it on YouTube and a bunch of news organiz –"
Katy grips Orlando's balls tightly. "Never mention YouTube to me ever again. You know what YouTube did to me." Orlando, panicked, searches his brain. Katy is still gripping his balls. With her other hand, she removes her cover-up to reveal a yellow tie-dye bandeau bikini. "Do you like my bikini?" she says. Orlando nods. "It is made from the flesh of YouTube executives." Orlando's penis shrinks 14 sizes and he begins to cry. "I'm just kidding," says Katy. She hands him a hat that reads "The Sardines." "Put this on," she says. He puts on the hat.
10:15 a.m.: After seven separate tourists point at Orlando's penis and begin animatedly talking about candles, Orlando decides that now is the time to put on his bathing suit. "Katy," he says. "I am going to put my bathing suit on now." She nods, distracted by an old volleyball. "Does this volleyball look like it has a human face?" she asks. Orlando picks up the volleyball and inspects it. "Not really," he says.
Katy pulls a Swiss Army knife from her bag and lightly cuts the tip of Orlando's finger. She grabs his hand and smears his blood across the volleyball in the shape of a smiley face. "That's better," she says."I'll name him Wilson." "Like from Castaway?" says Orlando. "What?" says Katy.
10:20 a.m.: "Kiss me, Tilda Swinton," demands Katy. He kisses her. "Kiss Wilson now," she says. He kisses the volleyball. "On his mouth!" she shrieks. He kisses Wilson on his mouth.
10:22 a.m.: Katy tears off Orlando's hat, throws it into the sea, and smooshes his hair around wildly so that he looks like a cartoon surfer. "Grab my tush," says Katy. Orlando grabs her tush. Katy begins to laugh. Orlando joins her, hoping to feel like the couple he'd spied out the car window.
Katy pulls away. "What are you laughing at?" she asks. Orlando sputters. "Are you laughing about my YouTube human sacrifice joke from before?" she asks. "Yes," he says. "That's right."
10:25 a.m.: The Sardinian sun is fierce, and Orlando begins to worry about his soon-to-be-exposed-again penis. "Can I put on sunscreen?" asks Orlando. "I'll put it on for you," says Katy. Orlando is gripped with fear. "Okay," he says. He instinctively covers his stomach, hoping the SIM card will emerge from it soon.
Katy ropes a pair of goggles around her wrist. "These are for the volleyball, for later," she explains. Orlando smiles, but on the inside, he is screaming. Help me, Derek Jeter, he screams inside. Help me.
10:29 a.m.: A long-haired stranger walks by Katy and Orlando's blanket wearing the hat from before, the one that says "The Sardines." Orlando realizes Katy must have stolen it from him earlier and feels ashamed and frightened.
Katy bends over and begins to scream. The stranger stops in his tracks, confused. "I HATE SARDINES," screams Katy. Orlando stares, unsure of what to do. A woman Orlando has never seen before approaches the blanket and hands Katy a plate of rice. "Thank you, Denise," says Katy calmly. Denise vanishes.
10:30 a.m.: Katy stares at Orlando. He knows his 15 minutes are up. He steps into the water and slowly removes his bathing suit. Too slowly. He knows it's too slowly. Katy looks on, gripping a La Croix can as a threat. She crumples it slightly. "This will be your dick, if you don't take those little pants off right now," she whispers.
Orlando stands stark naked. He attempts to tuck his penis between his legs to protect it from the harsh Sardinian rays. "No," says Katy calmly. "Kneel on this paddleboard." Orlando kneels on the paddleboard. Katy wanders off, distracted by a giant cooler in the distance.
A long-haired stranger walks up to Orlando. "That's my paddleboard, man," he says in Italian-accented English. Orlando is still kneeling. "I'm so sorry," he replies. "It's Katy's now."
10:45 a.m.: Katy has not returned, so Orlando kneels still. She has become distracted again by the hat, the hat that reads "The Sardines," which is now resting on the long-haired stranger's towel. "I hate sardines," she writes in the sand next to the hat. She picks up the hat and hurls it into the water, again. The long-haired stranger races into the waves to retrieve it.
Still kneeling, Orlando watches as Katy steals the long-haired stranger's goggles and flippers, and stalks him into the sea. The two tussle for a while in the waves.
11 a.m.: Katy emerges from the waves. The long-haired stranger does not. Katy walks back to Orlando, whose knees have gone completely numb. She hands him the hat. "Put this on," she says. Orlando gasps. "I didn't drown him," announces Katy. "He swam away from me to another beach. He won't bother us again." Orlando nods.
11:01 a.m.: "Paddle me around the sea, Lizzietown," says Katy. "No pants?" whispers Orlando. Katy sits on the front of the paddleboard and begins to softly hum "Candle in the Wind."
11:05 a.m.: Orlando is paddling as fast as he can away from the beach, wondering whether he should join the long-haired stranger on the other beach, perhaps forever. Katy turns around. "Can you act more like a Venetian gondolier?" she yells. Orlando does his best imitation of a Venetian gondolier.
11:10 a.m.: "Now I want you to act more like Pocahontas," says Katy. Orlando picks up the paddle and considers breaking it over his own head. Instead, he begins to sing "Colors of the Wind."
"Never sing," says Katy. "Never sing again."
3 p.m.: Orlando cannot feel his arms. His arms, back, and legs are bright pink. He is afraid to look at his penis. He is always afraid to look at his penis these days.
Katy is still singing at the front of the paddleboard. This time it is "Light My Candle" from Rent. "What'd you forget?" she shrieks. Orlando does not answer. "You're supposed to say, 'Got a light?'" she says, apoplectic. "I thought I'm not supposed to sing," says Orlando. "WHAT?!" says Katy. "Sorry, I mean, I thought I'm supposed to do the boy parts from Rent only," says Orlando quickly.
Katy considers this. "You're right," she says. "I was singing the boy part." She stares at him as if seeing him for the first time. "I'm ready," she says. "To go back to shore?" says Orlando. "No," says Katy. "You go back. I'm going to find the long-haired stranger on the other beach and make him give me his cooler."
Orlando nods and hands Katy the paddle. She takes it, and hands Orlando back his bathing suit. "You can wear this for 12 more minutes until I get back."
Orlando swims back to shore and wanders into the brush. He sees the couple again, in the distance. One of them is holding the volleyball and the other is pointing out the smiley face wrought from Orlando's blood.
Orlando smiles. That was pretty funny, he thinks. He looks down at the sand and sees that the SIM card has, somehow, fallen out of him. He picks it up, admiring its sharp, shiny exterior. He holds the bathing suit in his hand, but does not put it back on.