|The Story||The Authors|
|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.|
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...