|The Story||The Authors|
|Jake, fully dressed, sat up in bed soon after Mr. Tickles had sequestered himself in the bathroom. So Mr. Tickles, Jake thought, you have fallen into my little trap. Soon you will be too fucked up to resist me and I, Jake (insert last name here), will be the new and improved Jake (insert last name here). Whatever that means.|
In the bathroom, Mr. Tickles greased himself, silently, from head to toe, with Vaseline petroleum jelly, taking extra special time and care when he reached the naughtier bits of himself. He posed before the mirror, his canines protruding over his upper lip, his eyes flashing with a Mephitic malice. He'd been up all night, directing this nightmare around Jake, and the whole cast had been costumed and used again and again, and still nothing, Jake didn't get it, Mr. Tickles had his orders, to be sure, to proceed until finished, which he certainly would, being a man whose notions of duty had been formed by several hardened Green Beret non-coms, but this, well, this was just too much, this Jake character was keeping them awake long past dawn, was obviously a complete and utter knucklehead, with a lump of half-hardened wood-glue in place of a brain. |
So this time, exhausted and in a vile temper, he aimed to give Jake something the lad was not soon to forget.
Proficiently greased, Mr Tickles stood for a moment shiverin in the cool morning air and admiring his from in the full length mirror that adorned the bathroom door. He was a sexy fellow to be sure. Even with a the bald wig covering his handsome auburn curls. Just looking admiringly at his own little pot belly was enough to cause his prodigious member to swell a bit. "No time for hat now," he cooed softly to himself. The dextroid suppository had begun to work it's magic in his system. A warm unearthly glow was begin to make itself known in his fingertips. He didn't have much time left. jake would be waking up soon and he needed to have everything ready for it. He began to hurry a little. Mr Tickles began to shave.|
With his face and nether reagions all lathered up Mr Tickles picked up his cell phone and made arrangements for Marie and the others to meet him in an hour. Jake should still be knocked out by then and they'd have enough to time to get the rest of the motel room ready.
Mr Tickles chuckled sotly to himself. It was not necessarily every day a guy like Jake got to witness his own birth. (and most especially not with such a handsome baby as Mr Tickle knew he'd make.
|He checked his watch. There remained only the matter of the man-sized Love Canal, but that would be arriving with the ladies. He checked in on Jake, who tossed and turned in light uneasy sleep. Mr. Tickles sniffed under Jake's eyelids. It would be at least half an hour, leaving him just enough time to slip out the window, climb down the fire escape and go ogle that sassy new waitress at Elmo's over a steaming mug of java and a morning smoke. Ah, he thought, life was good, once you took care of these Jake-types. He wished they'd post him to this plane more often.|
|Officer Pencilthinmoustache read over his notes and scratched his head in bewilderment. He flipped back to the beginning of his notebook and quickly read through it again. "This makes no fucking sense at all!" he shouted at no one in particular. The only concrete fact the poor confused policeman could derive from his scribblings was that the notorious Mr. Tickles had killed two people with a shovel and for that justice had to be administered.|
For his part, Mr. Tickles, pouring sugar in his coffee and staring at the brisk image of Officer Pencilthinmoustache wavering in the screen of the transelectro-duodenoscope installed in the sole of his shoe (and to think they'd only had shoe-phones in the old days!) took it as a chuckled aside from the splendid vision of the new waitress's plump buttocks circumnambulating the diner. He could smell his flapjacks cooking on that griddle back there, he could indeed, and, thinking fondly of the sort of justice he himself had the priviledge of delivering on a daily basis, he felt a brief pang of respect and admiration for Officer Pencilthinmoustache, so mired in the past. |
And now, at last, the flapjacks, the steaming oatcakes were set before him. The hungry dwarf breathed in great nosefuls of their warm perfume, then looked up at the waitress with round, luminous eyes whose irises began to spin like pinwheels. "And now," he said,
"After I have poured on the syrup," he said,
"You, my dear, are going to feed me."
"Yes, master," the hypnotized waitress replied, bending her shapely knees to sit in his proferred lap. "Your wish -- is my -- command."