Chapter 3
| The Story | The Authors |
|---|---|
| Ann shrugged. She said, "Well, now that that's over with, let's go find the thieves who stole Granny's locket!" "Amen!" replied Grandma Pearl. She added, "But cain one of youze help an' ol' laydeh outta dis seatbelt contraption? Ah think mah corset's caught or sumthin', dagnabit." Ann giggled and helped Grandma Pearl. Meanwhile, Mary inspected one of the small hayish piles more closely. "Hmm," she said, pinching her nose. "Still looks fresh. They must be nearby." Ann suddenly had a thought. She asked, "We can cover more ground if we split up and search the block, or we can search together. Any thoughts, people?" | |
| "I've got a better idea" Mary piped up, "I reckon the pohlice are searching for this here borrowed truck already, let's let them find the no good thieves. Gimme your fan Granny." Mary took the fan and began scraping up piles of fresh dung and scattering them about the stolen postal truck. "Granny go fetch some empty vodka bottles from behind this no good liquor store," she ordered. "I get it," Annie said with a grin, "The police will discover the evidence and figure it was the lardo and his two-bit ho friends that stole the truck." "Wooowee" the girls heard Granny call in her unmistakeable screechy voice, from behind the store. There sat Granny on a diplated dirty matress in between her new found friends who were busily filling bottles from a steamy rickety contraption. "Wesa done found da promise land" she cried as handed each of the girls a half filled tumbler of clear liquid. "Desa ma garden angels" Granny announced pointing at the two men, "dis here is Win and him der is Win an dey shore does make some tasty hooch." | |
| But, unbeknownst to granny she had swallowed a worm at the bottom of the bottle she began to go into an hallucinative trance...................................... Colors blending, giant radishes chasing her, logico legos, now what? Grann...RANNY...Gra...grann...Mary's voice was strange as it echoed from the belly of a whale..... | |
| I could hear her faint cries from beneath it's wet, leathery skin. "Please... it smells in here!" | |
| Vashondra dropped her last quarter into the vibro-matic hoping it would put her to sleep. There is only so far you can travel on the back of an elephant with diarreah. Fluffy was plumb wore out, but greatfully he had volunteered to sleep on the floor of the two-bit motel she had rented. Bitzy was snoring away on the elevated twin bed and Vashondra lay awake worrying about the locket, Tiki and her purpose in life. Still restless and thirsty she crept out on the fire escape. "There must be an all-night beautician that could poof up my hive." | |
| But, today is another day. A day that will bring new horizons as I venture west to that forsaken land. A land of glitz and glamor on the surface of a tired, doomed people. As I walk among them, I will try to not stand out as an outsider, but adapt to their pretentious ways. I will thrive on their spoils as a vulture would feast on the stringy meat of a forgotton beast. Yes, today will be a new day. | |
| Yet I was uneasily aware that I would have trouble finding a place to live that would allow my dog, Dada, to be with me. | |
| Grandma Pearl just stared at Mary, her bugged out eyes showing clearly through her spectacles. "Youze alright, honeh?" she asked cautiously. Mary continued chanting gibberish: "I shall never know what became of last year's bitter winter. Thoughts of the snowflake drift within me biting, biting, ever so biting with teeth cool and sparkling glitter. Fallen are my golden arches! Lo! Dada, I stand before thee kneeling as I stand, standing as I kneel..." Mary stood up and started strutting around with her arms sweeping in exaggerated motions. "OhmahGawd!" shrieked Grandma Pearl. "Satan's doin' some mean mumbo jumbo on dat youngin'...she's poh-zessed! Someone get an' egg-sor-cist!" | |
| I may just have to open up a can o'woop ass on you. | |
| Anyways, Right About 'Round This Time Jeb And The Boys Where All Hog-Tied And Botswana'd.. Ah Told 'Em Not To.. | |
| But why did he say that, she wondered. Shaw was twisting and turning like a thresher shark in a fine filament net. But now it seemed to the girl from Spiddal that a new sense of Irishness was being forged. She remembered Stephen Dedalus prayer "forge .... something something ... uncreated conscience of my race" What utter nonsense she used to think that, but now? She remembered that night in the GPO when she met the man from God knows where, his strange, haunted look, his gentle caresses and passionate kisses. | |
| Suddenly it came to her as the stench of Hai Karate hit the air, it was...him! | |
| Her Feminine Instincts Went Wild! Leaping Over The Desk, She Brazenly Pulled On His Tie And Jammed His Head Into The Paper Shredder. Making Various Sounds Of Pleasure To Drown Out His Sounds Of Mortal Pain, She Proceeded To Turn His Once Beautiful Face Into Long Pulpy Strands Of Skin, With Which Her Cat liked Playing With. | |
| A huge fist came down on Jesse, smashing her into a mass of pulpy fiction. Deb screamed in her trademark falsetto, hitting a high C#, before the fist opened into a flat palm that slapped her across to the next continent. The man from who the hell cares tried to run from the scene, but the giant hand simply placed its index finger on the guy's head and drove him into the ground like a pile driver. | |
| "Hmm" he thought slowly. All this thoughts were like that. Slow but not measured. Again he paused and leaned back on her writhing body. She wasn't very comfortable. "Quite lumpy," he thought. "Is that you Carmelita Sundae?" came a voice from behind the smoke of the melting plain paper fax machine. He froze. His socks adhered to the frosty concrete of the deck of the pile driver. "Oh darn.." he sighed at the thought of another two days spent weaving polyester wool into his aging pedal coverings. "I just hate this." | |
| The next morning he awoke to the sound of Mr. Crickett, the mailman, throwing up in his driveway. | |
| For forty-five minutes the retching echoed off the imposing brownstones which lined the street leading to the seminary. The Very Reverend Doctor Malamute Sledrunner had a passion for ripe stilton which Crickett delivered every fortnight. As bishop in charge of the seminary, Sledrunner, tried his best to remain aloof but the vomit encrusting his stoop had begun to interfear with the operation of the door to the servants entrance where the mail was delivered. Crickett would have to be delt with. | |
| Even Grandma Pearl would agree that a situation like this could not go on. Reverend Sledrunner often fantasised about Grandma Pearl and really did not know why. He had only met her once, when he was a fey, very young boy at the orphenage and the matron had brought Grandma Pearl to the dormatory to meet him. At first the large elderly women frightened him. The lingering aroma of stilton seemed to infuse her vast petticoats. Sledrunner trembled - yet he was transfixed as her huge wizzened hands tied a locket to his nether regions. | |
| He wore it there for many weeks. During that time, he and Pearl would meet secretly and she would abuse him verbally. Finally, at their last rendezvous, she beat him mercilessly, removed the locket and vanished into the night. The Very Reverend Sledrunner thought he would never see her again. And now here she was before him. He smiled sheepishly. "Do you have the locket?" he whispered to Grandma Pearl. He had no idea that at this very moment, Vashondra Du Lunchenette had the locket safely tucked into her 3 foot high strawberry blonde beehive and, along with her companions Tiki, Bitzy and Fluffy, was quickly making her way to the Canadian border. Sledrunner's question sent Grandma Pearl into a fit of rage and she beat him mercilessly. As he lay on the floor, nearly dead, he realized that he loved Grandma Pearl in a way that he had never loved any other woman. Blood and bone fragments sputtered out his mouth as he tried to express his feelings for her, but Grandma Pearl just stepped over his broken body and left him there to die. | |
| So there he lay, not moving. Not moving - because he was dead. That night the rain lashed like four inch nails emerging out of the thick cloud cover. Well, night metamorphised into a glorious day, and Sledrunner's carcas merely lay there, not moving, in a state of still, black, insectile death. I suppose it would have stayed like that if it wasn't for Tuwanda-Shabadoo Glassdrinker who happeded to find Sledrunner's body on her way to work. ''MY GOD HE'S DEAD!" Exclaimed Tuwanda with a blood curdling shriek. She went through his pockets and found some money, along with an expensive watch and one solid gold Wizards Staff. "So long sucker!!" Exclaimed Tuwanda as she ran off to the pawn store. I wonder how much I'll get for this Staff, she thought to herself. "no more work for me !!!" She exclaimed to no one in particular. At the pawn store the guy gave her $10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 for the Wizard's Staff. Holding the money to her huge, round, fleshy, beaytiful breasts she started to sing a song: "I'M RIIIIIIIIIICH, SO RICH BABY!" A record label big shot who happened to be standing next to her signed her for a 2000 album deal. Everything would have turned out okay for Tuwanda if it wasn't for one small problem, that would soon put the safety of the entire world in danger . . . . In her undergroud fortress, Grandma Pearl looked at her evil minions. "WHERE'S THAT WIZARD'S STAFF!!??" She screamed. "your higness, we have not yet found it . . . ." "IF THAT STAFF FALLS INTO THE RIGHT HANDS I'LL NEVER RULE THE UNIVERSE DAMN IT!!! NOW GO OUT AND FIND -" All of a sudden the underground fortress began to tremble, as if sound great force was disrupting the Earth's energies . . . . | |
| ...and then, silence. Silence so rich, so deep, that the creak of old mother Earth, slowly turning on her rusted axis could almost be heard. Grandma Pearl rose her eyes to the sky, as if in a moment of glorious epiphany - then sat. Just sat... A sniveling, snaggledy toothed minion crept up to her throne, whimpering like a beaten dog to it's evil master. "Grandma Pearl, great one," he began, stopping only to suck back a string of drool dangling from his malformed lips. "WHAT!" She responded, her eyes glaring at him - then, softening. "What-could-it POSSIBLY be-now?!". "Grandma Pearl... You forgot to take your estrogen." he cowered. "You know how the doctor always says to take your pill... How he says this stuff always happens when you forget your pill... Maybe you should take it. Maybe you should have a pill." | |
| "Oh no silly" said grandma pearl "I don't need to take it anymore!" Well later that night the strangest things started happening to Grandma Pearl, she started talking and talking and the wierd thing about that wasn't that she was talkibng it was because she was talking to herself. By the end of the night more and more things started happening. | |
| Like Cheesecakes, For Examples.. All Of A Sudden Cheesecakes Where The Happening Thing.. People Were Snapping Them Up Like Hotcakes, And Hoarding Them In Their Basement.. Cheesecake Weekly Actually Managed To Get A Subscription Or Two.. It Was Chaos! | |
| But like any thing that promised cheap satisfaction there was a tragic - criminal element mixing things up, as fast as cheesecake treatment centres could open there were thousands more victims. Police conducted massive undercover operations which all seemed to lead to the mob and to Philadelphia. | |
| As the crisis deepened the search for someone to lead the war on the on the criminal cheesecake conspiracy became even more frenzied. Illicit labs were working overtime to come up with a faster "no-bake" recipe which even the the FBI (Federal Baking Investigations) could not detect with their highly trained sniffer weasels. FBI Director Betty Crocker was not going to have her apron soiled on her watch. She leaned back in the big chintz desk chair and hissed into the intercom, "Get me my Pearls.......Grandma Pearl!" Her assistant, a pale , pauchy kid she called Pop'n moved quickly to set the seach in motion. | |
| As the crisis deepened the search for someone to lead the war on the on the criminal cheesecake conspiracy became even more frenzied. Illicit labs were working overtime to come up with a faster "no-bake" recipe which even the the FBI (Federal Baking Investigations) could not detect with their highly trained sniffer weasels. FBI Director Betty Crocker was not going to have her apron soiled on her watch. She leaned back in the big chintz desk chair and hissed into the intercom, "Get me my Pearls.......Grandma Pearl!" Her assistant, a pale , pauchy kid she called Pop'n moved quickly to set the seach in motion. | |
| "The Horde Shall Feast Well Tonight!" The Stout Little Doughboy Said To No One In Particular, Fiendishly Rubbing His Pasty Hands Together In The Universal Symbol For Pure Evil. After Assembling His Horsemen, They Galloped Off Into The Night, To Seek Raping And Pillaging And Low Cholesterol Treats Of Varying Sizes.. | |
| Their fate, however,was already sealed. Unbeknownst to the harrowing horde, a mass grave awaited them just beyond the .... | |
| toilet bowl. And they all lived unbearably ever after. Except for Grandma Pearl. The initials on her locket (and if you were paying attention, you'd remember they were "P.K.") stood for Pressha-rised Kapsule (which is of course misspelled, but what would you expect from a 2nd grade dropout?). Eventually the locket's seal couldn't keep the pressure in forever, so one day it exploded like a bloated whale, sending Grandma Pearl sailing plunging into the Rivuh Jordan. She couldn't swim and, well, you know the rest of the story." Grandma Amethyst closed the book and rocked in her chair. Little Darla clapped her hands merrily and sat up in bed. "Oh Grandma! That was a great story! I liked it lots! Please tell me more! What happened next, Grandma?" "Sorry, my little munchkin. The story is over. And it's time for beddy bye." She reached over and tucked the darling child in bed. "Oh Grandma! But I want to hear more! Tell me what happened next. Was there a princess, Grandma? What happened to the princess?" "There's no more to the story, my child." sighed Grandma. "And there was no mention of a princess in the story." Little Darla sat up and fidgeted. "Oh Grandma! Did the princess meet a prince? Did she fall in love, Grandma?" Grandma Pearl lowered her voice and said firmly, "There was no princess, Darla, no princess at all. Now it's time for beddy bye. The sandman is waiting to send you to dreamland." Darla continued to fidget and exclaimed, "Oh Grandma! I'm a little princess, aren't I? Am I going to meet a prince someday? Just like the story, Grandma? Someday someone's gonna give me their hand in marriage! Huh Grandma!" Grandma Amethyst mumbled, "I'm gonna give you the back of my hand in a moment if you don't shut up," while she continued to rock in her chair and do her knitting. "Hey Grandma!" shouted Little Darla. Grandma Amethyst stood up on her feet, put her hands on her hips, and glared down at the little girl. "Didn't I tell you to go to sleep?? What is it now?" Little Darla looked up at her Grandma with her big blue innocent eyes and said in a deep voice, "I'm gonna kill you!" "No you're not!" taunted Grandma Amethyst. "Yes I am!" said Little Darla, who pulled out a big kitchen knife. Grandma Amethyst pulled out a machine gun from her bundle of yarn and said, "You want some of me? Come on, try me!" And so Grandma Amethyst and Little Darla charged at each other. | |
| With an electric-like shock that shook every wattle and wrinkle, Grandma Pearl rolled over into what passed for consciousness. Was it a dream, Was it a dream? | |
| With an electric-like shock that shook every wattle and wrinkle, Grandma Pearl rolled over into what passed for consciousness. Was it a dream, Was it a dream? | |
| She was convinced it was indeed just a dream, save for the several odd, crescent-shaped burns on her sagging thighs. | |
| Rolling slowly on to her side, she struggled to see the burns. Strangely there was no pain, only the familiar smell of stilton. Her aged midnight eye lids rested and then rose like creeking garage doors, the light forcing its way into her aqueous humour glinting off the few remaining rods and cones. Grandma Pearl's enormous breasts sagged, both to one side and slowly she could see the burn marks, her thighs now pressing languidly against each other. First one synapse, then two, then thousands like some crazy telephone central switch... there was a message....a message burnt into both thighs! | |