|The Story||The Authors|
|Evil Nicole desended upon her enemies smiting them left and right|
|all were afraid save one, Kimi the chosen one|
|Sadly too was that in the midst of all of this wanton lusty frenzy Jake still could not manage to get laid. Stepping over copulating pairs of nannys and their elementary charges as he crossed the park, he could do little but sigh. In the dog run an obese record company executive in a dark Armani suit and sunglasses was chasing an Irish setter, his pants around his ankles. Kake's only consolation was that he really did like Whitesnake.|
It was then that he spied the tall, wooly, deep black Standard Poodle standing all by its curly lonesome at the far corner of the dog run. His heart stuck in his throat -- his forehead burned -- he had to, he couldn't himself, he -- |
Back in front of the banks of monitors, Mr. Tickles was laughing to the point of incontinence, warm urine running down the insides of his stumpy little legs. It wasn't every day that a man got to stage an apocalypse of his own design...
|Mr. Tickles had settled back in his ergonomically correct chair and wiped away the last of his tears of pure joy when he noticed something odd appearing on his monitors. Up there, in the top left corner he could see Janice, Jeremy, Joel, and Kristi. In the right hand corner he could see Vashondra Du Luncheonette with her best friend and sidekick Bitzy Bootleg riding in Vash's convertible mustang. On the monitor below that he could see Xerxes, Sophocles and Kate driving down the road in a suburu. There was Zsa Zsa Gabor! There was Dastardly Dan and Neenor! There was the ghost of Terrence and the angel Diane! There was Pencilthinmoustache! There was Gurn Blansten and Little Socco and on all the other monitors a myriad of brief walk-ons and cameos. "What the hell?" Mr. Tickles sat forward in his chair. "Why am I seeing all these dead characters from forgotten past storylines on my monitors?" Little beads of sweat broke out on the little man's out of proportion head. He knew that some day he would join the ranks of these tired out fictional beings but it couldn't be his time yet! Could it?|
|yup, sure could.|
|It wouldn't even cost that much. I mean, all you have to do is sell a couple of pints of blood, and it's yours.|
The gods would always demand their pound of flesh and Mr Tickles wondered what he had done to draw their disfavor. He'd tried to keep things moving along dispite the constant interuptions of unruly minor characters, he'd attempted to be coherent and stay in character. And he wasn't done yet. There was still much to accomplish. He flipped Monitor One back to Injun Joe with an irritated flick of his wrist.|
Back in the bar a brutally enforced orgy was going on. The women were wailing and the braves slipping and westling around in the blood leaking from the stacked corpses. At least something was going right.
|Richard Gere, appearing in Tandem by special courtesy of Tri-Star Productions, had fallen completely to pieces in the character of "Dick Deltoid". Kissing Valetroie and both bouncers, he apologized profusely for not being able to stay in character. The sight of both the baby firing a machine gun at the ceiling and smoking a cigar, while the so-called Bull Dyke of Brooklyn was revealing her true character, had shattered his fragile hold on multiple illusions. Crying like a baby he had rushed out the back door of the "Badlands of South Dakota", jumped into his limo, and between sobs indicated to his bewildered driver he had to be taken at once to his private jet to seek another audience with his mentor, the Dalai Lama. [Mr. Gere's Wardrobe courtesy of Benedick of Beverly Hills. His hair styling courtesy of Lorena Bobbitt Creations. Any use or copying of any scenes featuring Mr. Gere prohibited by law.]|
...and with this sad turn of events, Monitor #17, second row down from the top and third from the left, blew a tube (must have been the gerbil, eh?), showering Mr. Tickles with a spray of sparks. "Dammit and tarnation upon this curs¸d technology!" swore the dwarf. |
Meawhile, inside the pub, the curtain was raised and out stepped Injun Joe in a brilliant gold lamˇ tux and matching top hat. The band behind him struck up Cher's runaway hit "Halfbreed," for an overture, before launching into a song penned by Injun Joe himself.