Chapter 2
| The Story | The Authors |
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| Meredith awoke with a start. "What an odd dream," she told herself. "I can't remember everything, but wait'll I relate the part about the incredible bus trip to the girls at the beauty salon!" She laughed, stretched, and padded into the bathroom to enjoy her morning shower. The clock indicated 9:45 as she rushed to finish her cream danish and gulp down the last drop of Swiss Mocha. "Mustn't be late for work today," she reminded herself. "I've got the whole world depending on me." This was a reference to her position as first female head of the United Nations. It was a long commute from home to work, but she was always on time, thanks to the resourceful machinations of her team of hand-picked troubleshooters; particularly, Lt. Mike McClure, the best darn fighter-pilot ever to soar over Gulf Stream. | |
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Not to mention over the Gulf War, where, unfortunately, an overfast bit of shrapnel, flying off a purported enemy munitions cache Mike had just bombed, cut through the fusilage of his fighter jet and severed not one but both of the poor man's testicles before lodging itself so intricately between his coccyx and his duodenum than no doctor had yet been found who would undertake its removal. What no one else knew, though, was that the bit of shrapnel had begun to talk to Mike. Specifically, to issue him instructions. | |
| "why don't you ever listen to me, Mike?" said the shrhapnel lodged in his loins. "I feel very detached from your every day life and honestly, I'm feeling a little neglected." Mike tried to ignore the talking shrapnel and focus on his date, Nikki, who was sitting across the table from him. "Did you say something, Mike," she said. He blushed and said, "no, um.. it's just a war injury." "Oh," she said, "cause I was starting to agree with it for a moment." | |
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His head jerked up to search her face for some sign of humor. Thank God! She was smirking . Actually, in this lighting, she looked strikingly beautiful. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she queried. "I was just thinking how beautiful you are." "Beautiful?!" mocked the shrapnel. "how can you call that beautiful, Mike? Can't you see how close together her eyes are? And get a load of that nose!!" Mike looked down at his groin. "You're just jealous. It's as simple as that." he replied. | |
| "Jealous?!" the thin, high pitched voice whined, bringing to mind that time Mike had tried to fly unhampered by anything, save gravity, and had inevitably cracked his fool head open, and had to be rushed back to civilization, by way of an antiquated, station-wagon ambulance with those really pointy taillights. All the while, in the background, the annoying siren had nearly driven him insane. . . "Pray tell oh beleaguered one, for what reason might I feel jealous? That pointy-nosed bitch will never be as close to you as I am, Mikey." And, as if to drive the point home, the shrapnel nestled in a little closer, sending excruciating pain shooting throughout Mike's body. Much like the rays of the sun reaching out from behind a cloud, to touch those who are enveloped in shadow. | |
| "Alright!" Mike winced. "You win!" "Say it." commanded the shrapnel. "Oh, please, don't make me do it." Mike begged. "Say it!" said the shrapnel, punctuating the command by sending another bolt of pain through Mike's body. "Shrapnel is my lord and master!" Mike said as he fell to the ground in agony. "Thankyou. Answer that." said the shrapnel in response to the electronic ringing of Mike's cell phone. Mike did as he was commanded. "Hello?" he said, trying to mask his humiliation. "Mike, where the hell are you?" It was Meredith, Mike's boss. "I'm going to be late for work! You know I can't be late! This is what I hired you for, Mike. Your job is to see that I'm not late and where are you? Your making me late!" | |
| Mike winced. "I'm on my way. right now. really. bye." He hung up quickly before Meredith could get her tirade into high gear. Her abuse seemed to be the only real constant in his job and in fact had caused him a certain amount of tinnitus in his right ear from answering her constant calls. "Mike, where the hell are you? It's three AM and I'm out of sugar for my herbal tea. I need it here NOW! before the tea gets cold." Mike, I'm in the ladies room on the third floor and this stalls out of toilet paper. Hurry, you worthless son of a bitch, I've got a meeting with the Somali ambassador in ten minutes." "slow down, stupid" "Hurry up, dipshit" " You call this a corned beef sandwitch? I could shit between two slices of bread and do better." and on and on. At least it paid well. Allowed him to meet beautiful exotic women like Nikki. He sighed. Deep in his bowels the shrapnel snickered. "She doesn't know, does she Mike?" sneered the small bit of metal. When were you planning on telling her? Such a sad story yours is Mike. It's too bad really, Bertram would've really enjoyed her." Mike gasped as another spasm of pain wracked through him. He leaned over and kissed the luscious Nikki as passionately and quickly as he could and hurried out the door yelling for Bertram to get the car. "Yes, yes, yes, Bertram will be dissappointed to find he's missing out today." taunted the Shrapnel with another tweak to Mike's inflamed guts. Bertram brought the car around and they sped out quickly into traffic. Betram was Mike's chauffeur/personal valet who also held the much esteemed position as Mike's "closer" since the accident. The piece of shrapnel may have severed Mike's testicle and made daily shaving a thing of the past, but it hadn't severed his libido. The drive was there only alas, the equipment wasn't. So Bertram was employed. Mike was thus able to continue with the rakish lifestyle to which he had accustomed himself. It was just certain aspects that had to be changed to accomodate his peculiar circumstances. He would still meet and wine and dine the ladies in question and when the moment was ripe begin the seduction. He would pour his soul into it for it was all he had left in the world that he loved. And also as it is true that a disability sharpens a person's other other skills so was it true with Mike. He would drive and lap at sweetest essences of the moment with not inconsiderable skill for as long as he could up to the penultimate moment at which point he would discreetly recuse himself and helplessly watch as Bertram finished his work and the shrapnel sang it's special little song to him. | |
| Mike sat in the back seat of the black Lincoln Towncar and pondered his miserable existence. How did it come to be that he could be tyrannized by a talking piece of shrapnel lodged in his groin and so controlled by a deranged megalomaniac? And to top it all off, he couldn't have proper sex with a woman or anything else for that matter. And even though Meredith's abusive obsessive compulsive behavior had been the only constant in his life, he decided it was time to end it. He instructed Bertram to drive to the desert. Since Bertram didn't answer to Meredith, he obeyed unquestioningly. Meanwhile Meredith paced the floor of her apartment waiting for Mike to arrive. Mr. Tickles hid behind the geraniums, he'd seen her like this before and knew it was better to stay out of her way. | |
| Meredith checked the answering machine for what seemed like the thousand time. If Mike did not see fit to at call then she would not worry herself to death, besides mother was coming for a visit this week, it will be hellish enough trying go entertain her. From the corner of her eye Meredith thought she detected a sudden motion coming from corner where the geranium stand sat--what the hell!!; before she had a chance to respond she was swimming in a web of darkness as her body slammed into the hardwood floor. | |
| Meredith checked the answering machine for what seemed like the thousand time. If Mike did not see fit to at least call then she would not worry herself to death, besides mother was coming for a visit this week, it will be hellish enough trying to entertain her. From the corner of her eye Meredith thought she detected a sudden motion coming from corner where the geranium stand sat--what the hell!!; before she had a chance to respond she was swimming in a web of darkness as her body slammed into the hardwood floor. | |
| "Nyuck-nyuck-nyuck-nyuck-nyuck," chortled Mr. Tickles, emerging from behind a potted palmetto holding the end of the tripwire. | |
| With nimble claws, the brown and grey tabby cat bound Meredith's wrists and ankles with the phone cord. Satisfied with his work, Mr. Tickles unzipped the cat suit and dropped it to the floor. | |
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In the cat's place stood a tiny man. He sniggered. He stepped from his orange jumpsuit as fluidly as he'd stepped from the cat suit. Beneath it, he was naked. | |
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At, that, the dwarf formerly known as Mr. Tickles, the Cat, growing erect to the proportions of a Greek Priapus, began to gyrate his hips in a most unsettlingly lewd manner while chanting: "Lit-tle knows this Roy-al dame That Rum-pel-stilt-skin Is my name -- Ha-ha!" At which, taking his enormous clublike penis in his hand, he prepared to ravish the helpless, bound, unconscious Meredith. | |
| "Har, Har, Har" laughed the naked dwarf formerly known as Mr. Tickles the Cat. "The time has come for the little pussy you tickled to do a wee bit o' pussy tickling himself." and with this he burst into another hearty round of "Har, Har, Har"s. Meredith's blood froze. This simply couldn't be happening to her. She had her Mother coming for the weekend, a meeting with the Ukranian consulate and a photo-op with a pack of Rhodesian land mine victims at four. She struggled vainly to free herself from the intricate network of knots that bound her as the the Dwarf nee Mr. Tickles edged nearer swinging his yard arm stiffly in her direction and singing "Barnacle Bill the Sailor" in a cracked tenor. | |
| "That does it!" Meredith shreiked and with super human strength she broke free of her restraints. "You're making me late!!!" she shreiked so loudly all the windows in her apartment shattered. She grabbed the Dwarf's engorged penis and swung the little bugger over her head like a lasso. The former Mr. Tickles was unconcious before he even hit the ground. | |
| Realizing she put the ultimate pain on a male - just short of 'Bobbit'-izing - she knelt down over the poor dwarf, wondering if he would ever recover. Meanwhile, the Dwarf just wished he was dead. What good is a member-less Dwarf, he thought. Looking down at the L-shaped willy, Meredith wondered how traffic would be at this hour. Her 'John' would be waiting impatienltly behind the 7-11. | |
| When she got behind the 7-11, no one was there."That's strange..." Meredith thought to herself, while perusing the alleyway, "The guy already paid me. Where could he be???" | |
| " That hippy has to get here soon to pick up his new bellbottoms, Elvis CD, picket sign , peace shirt and sandals!!!!!!!!" "He paid more than $500 for these things." Little did she now that the guy was there and then all of the sudden bang!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! | |
| As she looked absently down the alley way, something strangely familiar caught her eye. She walked towards it and realized it was a Lincoln towncar parked behind a small, rather decrepit old house, with a chain-link fence encompassing the backyard. "That had better not be who I think it is", Meredith muttered to herself as she walked towards the car. Mike saw Meredith before she saw him, and ducked around to the front of the house, tucking the dime bag into his front pocket. "Do you really think smoking that shit will keep me quiet?" the shrapnel sneered."You're forgetting who's in charge here." "Look, can't we get along?" Mike whimpered, "It's not like I invited you into my life you know. I do everything you tell me to. Isn't that enough?" he aksed hopefully. "It will ever be enough! Never!! Do you understand that?!!" the shrapnel screamed. | |
| Mike rolled a joint as quickly as his nervous fingers would let him. The shrapnel continued to threaten him and Meredith was heading down the alley toward the car. Mike knew that if he didn't subdue his shrapnel, they'd all be in a shitload of trouble. He lit the joint and took a long deep drag off it. He held his breath for a few seconds, exhaled and then took another toke. The shrapnel stopped spewing insults and was quiet for a few moments. Then it began to hum. Just then Meredith approached the car. "Mike!" she screached. "are you in there?" "No, baby," the shrapnel said in a deep, sexy Lou Rawls type voice. Mike kept his face in the shadows. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else." Meredith apologized. "It's okay, baby. Let's get it on." the shrapnel said. Mike bit his lip. "Excuse me?" said Meredith. "Let's make love, baby. Ooh, you are so sexy, woman." the shrapnel began to sing. Meredith was shocked at first but then found she could not resist the sensuality of the voice emanating from the Lincoln Towncar. "It sure is a warm night." Meredith said unabashadly. Mike began to pinch his groin in an effort to get his shrapnel under control. If Meredith saw him here, he'd be dead meat. | |
| But no matter what Mike did he couldn't control his sexual urge to grab Meredith and release her from her state of virginity. | |
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But Meredith thought only of Chef. Since the first time she'd watched South Park, and every Sunday night since, she dreamed of a tall black man in a chef's hat. She found herself humming his songs to herself all week at work. "One -- two -- three -- simultaneous lovin'..." she'd sing. Oh, it was absurd, wasn't it? The man was a cartoon character, a figment. And yet he touched her -- his voice, his pudgy little body, his way with the ladies, the sweet or spicy little touches he added to otherwise bland and non-nutritious school lunches -- he touched her in a way that no man of flesh and blood ever had. Little did she know that that same rich voice, whose haunting basso profondo, so resonant with sexual vibrato, had so inflamed her loins -- little did she know that this same aphrodesiacal presence had been the hero, the surrogate father, nay, the only empathic role model, the only candle of guidance and understanding which Mike's shrapnel had known during those difficult formative weeks when it had first found itself lodged in such disturbing proximity to Mike's rarely-wiped anus. To top all of this off, Little did Meredith also know that she hung in stasis between the flawed electromagnetic fields generated by not one but by two men with damaged genitals. Hidden in the shadow of the 7-11's dumspter, tenderly cupping his broken member in one tiny hand, dwarf-about-town Mr. Tickles, impersonating a kitty with a broken front leg as he hopped forward in the cat suit, narrowed his eyes in bile-yellow hatred as Meredith climped into the Lincoln's spacious backseat, already fingering the top button of her blouse... | |
| "I'm almost there." the dwarf muttered to himself, feeling sick from the pain emanating from his injured groin and spiriling up into his belly. He got to her just as she leaned forward. It was all Mr. Tickles could do to push her. Hard! She hit her head on the car door jam and slumped unconscious to the ground, her fingers still entwined at her throat near the button. Mike couldn't believe his good fortune, and pulled the door shut as Bertram hit the gas, and they squealed away. In the rear-view mirror, Bertram noticed what appeared to be an orange cat on his hind legs, leaning over Meredith's body suspiciously, but decided it would be best to keep that to himself. His gaze shifted to his boss in the back seat, who had pulled out an enormous bong from who-knows-where, and was taking hits so large, that when he exhaled, Bertram could barely see out the windshield. The shrapnel was feeling pretty mellow now, really not saying a whole helluva lot. Mike couldn't get his mind off his boss, no matter how stoned he got. "When did she get so damn sexy?!", he muttered quietly to himself. | |
| "Meredith been the finest piece o' ass this side o' Tuscalusah all along, you jus' been too preoccypied to notice, white boy," replied the shrapnel, now as stoned as a greedy agave worm. | |
| Bertram rolled down the windows to let out the cloud of smoke that was interfering with his vision. When the air cleared, he noticed a flashing red light in the rear view mirror. "Damn!" he said gritting his teeth. He contemplated making a break for it but decided he could just play it cool and maybe the cop wouldn't notice all his outstanding warrants. Bertram pulled the big black car over to the curb. He watched the policeman approach in the mirror. Officer Pencilthinmoustache shined his flashlight into the car and on Bertram's face. The cop didn't recognize the chauffer thanks to all that plastic surgery. Then the cop shined his light in the back seat and saw Mike hitting on a bong. "It's okay," Mike giggled. "I only smoke this to keep my talking shrapnel from seducing my boss." "Step out of the car,sir." said Officer Pencilthinmoustache. Mike obeyed but tripped while trying to get out of the car and fell to the ground, bloodying his nose. "Police brutality!" shouted the shrapnel. "Police brutality!" | |
| "Oh you’ll have to do better than that," chuckled Officer Pencilthinmoustache, "I’ve got a video camera in my car recording every stop I make, the sound isn’t bad either" Bertram struggled to his feet as the last cloud of smoke billowed out of the big black Chevy Caprice. What was he going to do now? | |
| What Officer Pencilthinmoustache didn't know about the piece of shrapnel was that it could trace its ancestry back to a long and distinguished line of samurai swords wielded by Ninji kung-fu masters. That, combined with the shrapnel's predilection for 1970s kung fu and blaxploitation films like Enter the Dragonand Shaft, had resulted in an encyclopediac knowledge of street fighting and martial arts. All the shrapnel had to do was transverse the millimeter separating it form the base of Mike's spinal cord and it could take over, much like the rudimentary second brains at the bases of dinosaurs' spines. | |
| But for all it's vast knowlege martial arts and eastern philosophy, the shrapnel in Mike's groin could not explain how the Lincoln Towncar had suddenly morphed into a Chevy Caprice. "Wasn't this a Lincoln Towncar when I pulled you over?" asked Officer Pencilthinmoustache. "How the hell did you do that?" the cop demanded. "I had nothing to do with it, man." Mike said. The shrapnel decided that it would be good time to take over Mike's body while the cop was distracted. With all it's might it jumped a millimeter to the left broadcasting a pain such as Mike had never known before. He collapsed to the ground wailing in agony. Bertram decided that it would be a good time to beat a hasty retreat while Officer Pencilthinmoustache was further distracted. The shrapnel was successful. It was now lodged at the base of Mike's spinal cord and it easily took over Mike's weakminded body. Mike jumped to his feet with a shrill "Hiya!" | |
| "Well, Hi to you too. Just what the... Hey!" screamed Officer Pencilthinmoustache as Bertram hit the gas and sprayed he and Mike with gravel. Mike whirled into action and knocked the distracted officer off his feet with a clumsy flying kick to the head. For all his knowlege of kung fu techniques it seems that with Mike's rather flaccid reflexes the best that the Shrapnel could manage was the fighting style of Wilt Chamberlain in that post-mortem Bruce Lee movie. But at least it worked. Officer Pencilthinmoustache was on his knees and another kick to the head put him moaning amongst the weeds along the chain link fence. Mike didn't need the shrapnel's urging to beat a hasty retreat up the alley. It was definitely time to flee. Away from the downed cop, away from Meredith, away from his job, his sorry sex life, and away from Bertram and his shape distorting spycar, It was time for Mike to start afresh in a new city. he could change his name. He could finally start life over free from the inhuman bondage of his own personal hell. He could barely feel his legs as he ran. His reefer addled brain swirling in thoughts of a sorely bought freedom. he could do it. He still had most his looks and charm. And a few credit cards. he could He could make it. "But first," soothed the still rather mellow Shrapnel,"we've got some business to attend to." | |
| He was them maimed by anal-probe welding aliens...leaving him unable to sit for 3 weeks. | |
| Which he thoroughly enjoyed, being homosexual. He was then murdered by homophobic nazis. ~La Fin~ | |