The Unnamed adventures of Roger Weaver

The Unnamed adventures of Roger Weaver

Chapter 6

     The Story The Authors
But it was an empty gesture. After all, they didn't really think it was such an awful fate for the world. Heck, it might be kind of fun. But Boar, being the southern gentleman and staunch upholder of proper manners that he was, knew that Anita was ultimately right. Sex in itself was not a bad thing but it had it's time and place. Discussing sex, let alone performing the act, in public would cause the breakdown of polite society and the breakdown of polite society meant the end of civilization as they knew it. Boar put his hairy, hooved foreleg about Anita's heaving shoulders and reassured her. "Naw, naw, don't you fret, Miss Anita. I aims to do ev'rything in mah powuh to help y'all stop this horrifyin' disastuh from ocurrin'." Anita gazed up at Mr. Boar with red, swollen eyes. "Thankyou, Boar." She smiled. "You are a true gentleman." The Cat Devoid of Hat and the Thing duo just shrugged and agreed to follow along. cuddles
"Let's stop at the Seven-Eleven for a quick Slurpee," he stuttered hurrily. Frank Mom
"No, you fool!" cried Anita. "There's no time for that." She slapped the bareheaded Cat repeatedly about his naked bean. cuddles
the cat cried in alarm and jumped away from anita. "meow you old bag!" anita laughed and grabbed a broom. "i'll show you who runs this house!' chris
She chased the cat through the house, laughing at the eccentric behaviour of a cat so young. When Anita tired of this she sat down in the kitchen with a coffee. She could see the cat watching her from the corner of her eye. Just sitting there staring.
"Ma'am, suh, I beg of you to desist with this rathuh unnecessary behaviah this momen'. This is mah home an' Ah will cannot abide by it in mah presen' condishun. Theah ah things that need to be done an' ah suggest we should bes' staht on ouah expedishun post haste. Now, if theah is no objecshun, let us continyoo."
Hyped with caffeine Thing One and Thing Two were revived enough to add
We must start
There is no doubt
The time has come
The truth is out
Jake's coma dreams
Mold our lives like putty
So move we must
Before they're naught
But smutty

And so it was agreed upon that the journey would continue. The Cat's magic chapeau was located in the freezer filled with ice (some sort of fuzzily remembered hangover preparation that had seemed like a good idea at the time)and following a hearty breakfast of ham steak with red eye gravy and generous helpings of grits, they set off following the next set of initials.
At the back of Boar's cavernous livingroom (corners heaped high with the bones of previous trespassers and other unfortunates) another arrow, crowned with the initials A.S., pointed towards the further, narrower reaches of the cave.
"In mah youth, befoah the Wah of Nawthun Oppression dee-stroyed the South of mah foahfathers, ah used to spee-lunk in this heah cave with mah first love, a lovely maiden who went bah the name o' Becky Thatcher... We used to get loast in theah foah days awn end without evah reachin' the cave's nethah cawn-clusion..." He sighed nostalgically. "Since then, howevah, the sizeable, er, girth I acquired due to mah first wife's pro-pensity foah cooking almos' evuhreething in lahd has por-hibited me from resuming mah explo-rations of the cave. Thanks to the Slim-Quick diet my esteemed colleague Doctah Benway put me awn last yeah on account of mah angina, I believe I have shrunken enough foah me to be up to the task, heh heh heh..."
Anita regarded her butt in the mirror and said nothing.

Down the dark esophagus of the cave they set, then, our spelunkers five, Old Boar leading the way, his pendulous buttocks jiggling in his fine gabardine trousers, a kerosene lantern swaying in his forepaw...
Next up came the two Things, still stumbling a bit with the after-effects of the previous night's festivities, and giggling self-consciously under the matching miner's-helmets which Boar had provided them;
The Cat in the Hat followed them, needing no artifical light due to the naturally absurd radiance which emanated from his bewhiskered countenance;
And Anita brought up the rear (she didn't want anyone looking at her butt...)

Meanwhile, in the twenty-years-and-counting slumber of Jake, the Tooth Bitch was strutting back and forth in front of a blackboard, lecturing Jake on the anomalies of female anatomy. Mr. Tickles ran the overhead projector, beaming genitally provactive transparencies onto a pull-down screen.
"No'mally I stay away from littyratchure, but they ain't nobody what said it bettah than the sadly deaprted Texan writer Donald Barthelme (even if he did insist on that hideous Amish beard... 'The clit-o-rice is not a do'bell,' he wrote. 'No mashing down!'" S/he looked up. "You got dat, Jakey-wake? You takin' notes?"
From his tiny desk, Jake stared back at her with the uncomprehending look of a dummy. The empty first page of spiral-bound notebook lay open on the desk before him. A thing tentacle of drool ran from his mouth to a growing pool on the egde of the desk.
"Tut-tut," clucked the Tooth Bitch, tapping her retractable pointer along the chalk-gutter basing the blackboard. "Somebody's gone have to wear the dunce-cap again..." At this pronouncement, Jake began to emit a series agonized whines reminiscent of a senile, incontinent dog upon the return of its abusive master. The Tooth Bitch was meanwhile rummaging in her desk (atop of which sat a pyramid of rotten brown apples, redolant with fruit-flies) and here! At last! She found it! At the sight of the thing she held up, Jake whined twice as loud as heretofore, and Mr. Tickles (muttering curses under his breath) shrank back into the shadows of the cloakroom.
It was an iron codpiece. Spikes were set into the lining of it, pointing inwards of course, in much the minature manner of a medievel Iron Virgin (or Iron Sausage). An adjustable belt of whalebone crowned the horrible thing.
Savoring every moment, the Tooth Bitch crossed the room in a perfect two-step imitation of Cardinal Richelieu returning from his lunch-break to the scene of an inquisition-in-progress. She dangled it in the air, giggling. "Okay, girlfriend," she said giddily to Jake. "Y'all know de routine. Down wif yo' drawers, honey..."


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