|The Story||The Authors|
|There was just the hint of dawn on the horizon when Mr Tickles awoke in his little nest of palm leaves. "Goddamit", he grumbled to himself, "if I'm going to have TV nightmares they could at least involve Tori Spelling." He groped for his velvet pantaloons. In the distance he could make out the faint strains of Donovan's extended sitar break on a version of "Endless Love". He was hungry. He was horny, he needed a shave and a way to get to Cupcake Island now that it appeared that Injun Joe and Captain Cupcake had marooned him here. But most especially he needed to find a way to make Donovan shut the fuck up with that goddam sitar.|
|Mr. Tickles was very confused. He wasn't sure what was happening and what had just been a nightmare. Then he saw Little Debbie and Meredith locked in battle. Donovan was caught in his bubble which seemed to have a mind of its own and was making him quite seasick. Oh man, thought Mr. Tickles, I really nead some breakfast. But what there was to eat on Stage Island he did not know.|
Or at least it seemed to Mr Tickles that the pair were locked in battle. In reality L'il Debbie and Donovan were involved in some heavy mystic tantric lovemaking that involved orifices existing on all sixteen planes of existence and the interconnection of third eyes through the nostrils of a nearby Nepalese houseboy named Hadji that Donovan kept for just this purpose.|
Having just passed the tenth state of erotics, Kimpashti, (or "The Tiger Eats Her Cubs While Buddha Watches and Rubs Her Belly") the blissful pair were building to the heady heights of Pidji Teng (or "The Lizard's Tongue Smites the Holy Lotus Sword With Perfumed Saliva") with still twenty six levels to go.
|What kind of shit are you talking about, dumb ass!|
|I laughed at him and shouted "Ah doan't wahnt- yaw lahf" a la James Van Der Beek in that crazy football flick. I ran away then, for the clouds on the horizon did not seem favorable, and i did not want to be in the midst of a thunderstorm caused by Dawson Leery.|
|But alas.... i fell over; and was killed.|
|Bearing this terrible news I got up and ran home.|
|I recieved news that I was fired.|
Or so sang the blissful pair as they rose to the thirteenth level Kunji Kunji Koni ("The Jade Willow Bends In A Shower Of Puckered Rosebuds")|
Mr Tickles for his part found a mango tree and ate a dejected breakfast.
|At that moment his fate seemed inextricably tied up with Jake's. An eternal winter of ungratified sexual desire and Jergen's lotion. He remembered the cat suit then. Mr. Tickles rolled his eyes. He heaved a sigh. He might as well climb back into it, resign himself to subsisting on kibble and the occasional saucer of cream, find some herb-tea-drinking feminist to take him home and chuck him under the chin and seer the delicate ego of his ears with gitty-bitty-kittums baby talk. Anything was better than this, opined the dwarf as Li'l Debbie announced her 87th orgasm of the morning with a series of eardrum-bursting bleats and hoots all too reminiscent of Mr. Tickles' all-time favorite CD, Morton Subotnick Unplugged.|
"Kee-rist, grumbled Mr Tickles to himself, "this is worse than the frickin' sitar." adding a side dish of crow and sour grapes to his tropical breakfast.|
With a heavy sigh he began to work his way inland and away from the rising strangled cries of the hot and heavy pair. The echoes of the sound following like a little black cloud.
|Coconuts disengaged themselves from palm trees and thudded to the ground around the miserable little man as Donovan and Debbie orgasmed simultaneously at the steep apex of K'un Sha or "Annunciation of the Gilded Yoni in a Nest of Fire Ants." Parrots rose screaming from the dense tropical foliage and a rotten mango bopped poor Mr. Tickles on the head. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah" he screamed, as stinging, rancid mango juices ran into his beady little eyes.|
|This insult to injury was more than our diminutive friend could bear. Roaring in pain and anger he broke into a run towards the beach bent on destruction.|