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Road Rage Continued (Story Tag)

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Dave S.



Joined: 29 Mar 2004
Posts: 480
Location: Philly burbs
Road Rage Continued (Story Tag)  Reply with quote  

Meanwhile, back in the Mister Coffee, Dayu is realizing that David had put himself into the line of fire. Dayu’s first instinct is to wallow further into the joys of the Columbian breakfast blend and forget his problems until he comes to two conclusions: his good life in the rolling kitchen might be over if he does not do something to save David and that this is his chance to be elevated from minor kitchen god to a god important enough to have a capitol G. Dayu springs from the Mister Coffee, hears a howl and shrinks back towards the coffee machine. “I’m just a kitchen god and a minor one at that,” Dayu thinks. Then he thinks again “The capital G gods didn’t get capitalized by hiding in appliances. What can I do?”

Back on the street things are going from bad to worse for Mac. He was close enough to losing control before, now he notices the homeless guy is howling and seems to be contorting in strange ways. Fucking great. I have a redneck and a goomba with shotguns, a yuppie fuck who won’t shut up, a partner who is squealing like a girl with a hooker with a wardrobe malfunction and now a crazy homeless man who seems to be having a seizure. At this point, Mac did the only thing he could ever think to do. He opened fire.

Calvin was torn now on whom to shoot the Goddamn Yuppie, the fruity pig, the goomba who had the nerve to call him a redneck, the crazy howling man or the car that is plowing toward the group. Calvin stands frozen while what little brain he has struggles with the decision.

Babs and Kali’s reunion was short lived as they both were distracted by the car speeding toward them. They were distracted from that by the approach of the bum who had been staring at Kali’s boob the whole time. What was most distracting about him was the fact that he seemed much hairier than before and was in the thrall of some type of fit. Just as he was about to reach them, he was distracted by the man he saw out of the corner of his eye. As all three turned toward Chad they notice his uncanny resemblance to Dean Cain.







^ By Alan ^
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Post Wed Jun 16, 2004 8:36 pm   View user's profile Send private message Visit poster's website
Elliot



Joined: 30 Mar 2004
Posts: 1676
Location: Seattle
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Edward Possum, formerly known as SPC Possum, Laid on the hospital gurney in the back of the parked ambulence about 50 miles away from The Boulevard. His eyes were drying up from his inability to win a staring contest with the roof of the ambulence. His arms lay at his sides palms down and his knees both faced opposite directions when his legs lay flat. His breathing was hazy and out of sync.

Suddenly the radio in the ambulence sprang to life. "CAB 237! CAB 237! Respond CAB 237!"

Edward jumped up and smacked his forehead on the roof of the ambulence. "OW! FUCK! Oh jeeze. That frickin' hurt! Beautiful Edward! Beautiful." Gripping his forehead he got up and stumbled for the radio in the front cab. "Last calling station, Last calling station this is cab 237 over."

The radio sputtered to life again. "Cab 237 this is Harrison Mercy hospital we have a bit of a situation and we need your help."

"What appears to be the problem Mercy?"

"Two miles from our location we have what looks like a possible 5 maybe 6 car pile up one being a cyclist and shots fired."

"Shots what?" Suddenly Edward remembered all the terrible things that had rushed through his head when he was deployed about to cross the border into enemy territory for the first time. He imagined himself shot dead on the side of the road with the magazine still dangling from his weapon cause he hadn't quite loaded yet when the enemy snuck up behind him.

"Shots fired cab 237." And that's all he needed was confirmation that people were in trouble, that someone out there needed his help, that people were getting hurt and he was the only one that could help them.

"I'm sorry I'm just a janitor you caught me during my nap I'll go get someone." His face went pale as he got out of the ambulence. He walked into the hospital through the back exit.

He passed by the janitors cart and headed for the main counter whizing by a room with a nurse inside. "DR. Possum" Shit! someone recognized him. His bolegged feet picked up the pace. The nurse stuck her head out the door and yelled, "DR. POSSUM!" Crap! Corner! Turn! Now! Edward turned and began to run in his hobbled way down the hallway. His breathing getting worse and worse with each step he took. By the time he got to the counter he was heaving.

"Huuuuu huu Huuuuu huu. Call Huuuuuuu Am hu huuuuuu bulence huuuuuuu crew."

"Are you all right DR. Possum?" Asked the angel of a nurse behind the counter.

"I'm *Weeeeeeze* fine." Edward dug out his asthma medication and took a deep breath. "I'll be *weeze* O.K. Mercy. needs. help."

"It's O.K. Doctor Possum relax. I'll give them a call." Nurse Lulu, behind the counter, picked up the phone and hit speed dial 3. "Hello Mercy this is . . . uh" Nurse Lulu had suddenly drawn a blank. Nothing like this had ever happened in the small little community before. It's the main reason Edward took this job. In a hospital with a location more equiped for a roadside motel, where the nearest town had a population of 56, action was less likely to be seen. Nurse Lulu shot Dr. Possum a look like a dog begging for a bone. But Dr. Possum was lost in his own thoughts. He shrugged not knowing what to say. She looked around the counter and found a memo. "Moore! Mercy this is Moore medical clinic. How may we assist you?"

While the telephone whispered sweet nothings into Lulu's ear, Edward day dreamed of a simpler day. When all he did was listen to a SGT chew his ass and his peers belittled him for his inability to conform to the norm. His mom was sooo right. He should have stayed in.

"Thank you Mercy. Uh huh bye." Lulu hung up the phone and Edward dreamed on. "Dr. Possum?"

"I am not a dork." He said peacefully trying to argue his case to his imaginary coherts. Suddenly he snapped to and then realised he had said it out loud. His eyes became large like saucer plates.

"O.K. then whenever you get outta your dream we have a little reality to come to grips with, alright?"

"No." he whimpered

"Mercy hospital dispatched all of it's avaible transports to a local catastrophe on the other side of town for the next four days and they need us to take care of a little problem they're having. We need to get an ambulence down to the crash site to help these people."

"Ok then. Whose on driving detail?"

"Dr. Possum, you are the only two on duty right now. Unless you count the imaginary janitor who was taking a nap in the ambulence that Mercy kept telling me about."

Edwards face went from a pale to pink and finally settled on a rosy red blush. "Oh hee hee. um . . . what about Dr. Tokyo? Dr. Boota?"

"You don't seem to remember the big party we had last night. Remember you were the designated doctor on duty, you told them you'd take over their morning shift."

"Oh yeah. Crap." And again Edward Possum was stuck between a place and a hard rock with nowhere to go but down the boulevard.
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Post Sun Jun 20, 2004 4:22 am   View user's profile Send private message Send e-mail Visit poster's website AIM Address Yahoo Messenger MSN Messenger
kjs237



Joined: 22 May 2004
Posts: 76
Location: Colorado Springs, CO
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[size=18]During periods of extreme stress Junior would occasionally experience something very odd. It was a sort of fracture of physics that allowed the universe to behave in defiance of the laws of time and space. While lasting only a few seconds in real time, for Junior it might have been an eternity. Outlines blurred as all movement around him slowed to a soft whirring, and then eventually stopped all together. Consequently, while the scene remained frozen, he could take stock of his situation and make a choice: Do I let the beast out? Or, do I keep him locked down?

In the shuddering and shaking of the impending change that currently crept upon him, time suddenly took that strange turn. He felt the shift as the air around him warmed, expanded, and then became still. As his raspy breathing slowed, smoothed and deepened, his head cleared and he began to examine the pieces of suspended chaos surrounding him.

First in his line of vision, still flashing an enormous boob, was the woman in the red Vette. A few minutes before, she had kicked him solidly in the groin and the pain had forced him to the ground. That’s when the beast started to rise. Now she was slumped back in the seat of the car, trying not to puke again while staring at the lady cop, whom she seemed to recognize. The woman in the red Vette looked like hell and reeked of vomit and stale cigarette smoke, but for some reason, he still found her compelling. Tough and jaded, she would never be seen as a damsel in distress but she projected a certain sense of vulnerability all the same.

Like prey.

When she kicked him, he’d reflexively gone into offense mode and the change started. He’d pulled himself back up to challenge her and that’s when the obviously gay cop’s wildly discharged bullet had struck him in the palm of his left hand. Originally, the pain in his hand had added to the intensity of the urge to make the change but now the pain was part of the distraction that allowed him to center on the events around him.

He looked past the woman and the lady cop and her partner and focused on the people grouped around the cars involved in the earlier accident. He saw an angry redneck, a wise guy with a shot gun, what looked like a dead guy in the trunk of a bashed Caddy, and a guy who might have been an extra from the movie Deliverance. The sun now blazed slightly skewed at an odd angle and a beam bounced off a glint of steel, revealing that Deliverance Guy was also wielding a shotgun. Go figure.

Off to the side of the gun club, a young man in an expensive suit seemed to be trying to make peace. Between the suit and the Lexus, Junior figured the guy was most likely a CPA or maybe a lawyer. In any case Expensive Suit looked too much like Dean Cain for Junior’s comfort.

On the fringes of the gathering crowd Junior noticed a skinny white kid dressed up like a Thug jumping and jiving, playing for the attention of a young man with a video camera who was more interested in filming the carnage on the Boulevard than the antics of the gangsta wannabe. His camera was now trained on the path of an ugly green Fiero that was barreling towards Junior and the woman in the red Vette.

The wolf would have to wait for his freedom. Now, it was time to move.

Suspended time and the ability to move with unnatural speed allowed Junior to leap from the path of the oncoming car, pull the woman from the red Vette and push her and the two cops to the safety of the ground about 10 yards away. He wasn’t sure why he’d saved her; it just seemed like the thing to do at the time.

Then, as quickly as it had come upon him, the shift lifted. Time returned to its normal restraints and the roller coaster ride continued. For now, the beast would remain locked down. He saw a look of confusion and shock register on the woman’s face as she realized she was suddenly someplace different than she had been an instant before. But, Junior didn’t stick around for the impact of the Fiero as it crashed through the red Vette, sending wreckage flying in all directions.

As he sped away from the crash scene he watched a small silver disk, a hubcap, gracefully gliding through the air. It sailed towards the gun club and implanted itself cleanly in the head of Deliverance Guy.

“Well, that’s gotta hurt.” Junior mumbled to himself as he nursed his own wounded palm and moved swiftly and unobserved through the milling crowd. Overall, the wound was healing quickly. He had amazing regenerative powers as long as the shot wasn’t silver. It would be nothing more than a memory in an hour or so.

More important than the dull pain in his palm was the need to ease it with the only thing that could. Caffeine. Somewhere in this mess the scent of rich Columbian coffee was riding the breeze. Junior decided he’d skip the Mad Dog for now and feed his caffeine fix first. If only he could track down the scent. Finally he focused on the source of the rich aroma. Up ahead was a small snack truck with Kurosawa Kantina painted brightly on each of its sides. Bingo. He looked around but didn’t see the proprietor. He had to have some coffee. He peeked inside, saw the coffee maker with the fresh pot of Columbian bliss and decided to climb aboard and help himself. He found the cups, poured himself one, and dug in his pants pocket for a couple of quarters to leave in payment. He was, after all, an honorable man.

Dayu the kitchen god was aware of the fact that someone other than David was invading his space. Excited by the morning’s unusual turn of events and dying of curiosity to see what was happening he emerged from the Mr. Coffee and looked around. He spied Junior and thought “I don’t like the looks of that guy.”

Junior seemed to sense the presence of another unnatural being and he looked around quickly expecting to see someone else in the back of the truck with him. Seeing nothing, he cautiously returned to his worship of the holy brew.

“Great.” Thought Dayu the kitchen god as he examined the strange silver aura surrounding Junior. “Another damn werewolf!”

So, the morning crept towards midday and the sun raged down with fierce intensity on the Boulevard players adding to the tension of the late morning matinee. In the distance a solitary ambulance, siren wailing, made its way toward the mayhem. Inside, Dr. Possum turned up the air conditioning, puffed on his asthma inhaler one last time and steeled for the carnage ahead, unaware of the fact that he would soon become the reluctant hero of the day.
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Post Tue Jun 22, 2004 9:05 pm   View user's profile Send private message Send e-mail MSN Messenger
Paul R



Joined: 29 Mar 2004
Posts: 1827
Location: Kiribati
I have to pass this time round  Reply with quote  

Sorry. I have only just read the previous chapters and i do not have time at the moment to contribute my turn. Profound apologies all around. Please whoever wrote the last chapter pick someone else and i will do the one after that.

cheers

Paul R
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'la putain et le moitier-voleur ont perdu leurs boucliers de gencives pendant le dessus-dessous'

Post Fri Jun 25, 2004 2:12 pm   View user's profile Send private message Visit poster's website MSN Messenger
Lauren



Joined: 07 Mar 2004
Posts: 1582
Location: Massachusetts
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Art Barnaby heard the the howl, the crash, the gunfire, and the nasty crunch of one of the ‘Vette’s shiny hubcaps implanting itself in (Art would soon learn) Calvin’s skull. But he paid them no mind. His right arm had gone blessedly numb while he was contorted into the shape of Tony’s trunk, so he couldn’t feel his broken finger. His toes and his shattered kneecap were singing, though. When he first regained consciousness, they had sounded suspiciously like Prince’s “Raspberry Beret”, but that had changed to something far worse once the yelling started. Now they were singing “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and with each of Cindy Lauper’s yelps (huh! huh!) they twinged in time. But he really wasn’t paying that any mind now, either.

What held Art’s attention, and pulled him away from his pain (huh! huh!) was a box. Now, one might expect to find a box in the trunk of someone’s car. Hell, sometimes the things you found in a trunk told you more about the person than you’d learn if you’d known them for ten years. For example, Art had, in the trunk of the ugly little Dodge Neon he drove, every issue of Martha Stewart’s Living magazine for the past five years. He didn’t read them, and wasn’t much of a home maker himself, but just couldn’t pass up an issue when he spotted one on the supermarket shelves. The supermarket cashiers knew his lamely stuttered “It’s for my wife” was bullshit, but they humored him.

Anyway, the box.

It was small, made of a smoothly polished, fine-grained wood. It wasn’t a particularly large box, maybe eight inches on a side. In the shadows of the trunk, back where the car frame and Art’s fucked-up body were blocking sunlight, it still gleamed softly. Art couldn’t see any hinges on it, not on this side, anyway. For all he knew, it carried the ashes of that creepy Tony Finger’s sainted mother or something. Weren’t mobsters supposed to be really weird about the dearly departed? But, he thought, but. It couldn’t be Tony’s mother’s ashes, or Tony’s favorite recipes for lemon squares, or Tony’s anything, really.

Art had grown pretty familiar with the interior of the Caddy’s trunk in the last hour or so. Tony was going to have a bitch of a time getting the bloodstains out, but then again, Art was pretty sure Tony hadn’t bothered to clean out the last victim’s fluids either. This car was going to stink to high heaven sooner or later. Tony didn’t take corners easily, so as he swerved through the streets out of Art’s neighborhood, the gambling principal had been tossed about the trunk like an overgrown ragdoll. A ragdoll in SpongeBob boxer shorts, at that. In his unwilling exploration’s of the Seville’s back end, Art was quite certain that he was the sole occupant of the space. Not even an emergency blanket or a crow bar rested in here with him. (He sort of figured the crow bar was around somewhere, though.) But no box. Definitely no box.

And now, between when he’d poked his head up to see Tony waving a gun at several other people and when he’d wisely decided to lay back down and hope Tony’s ass got whacked instead of his own, the box had appeared.

Tentatively, slowly, he reached for it. His fingers touched it, and he pulled his hand back quickly, in case it suddenly burst into flame or was coated with poison. Nothing happened. More sure of himself now, Art pulled the box closer, turned it around. No hinges, no openings, just a closed little cube. He rolled over with it clutched in his left hand to get a better look at it in the sunlight. When the light touched it, the box began to hum.

***

Outside of the Seville’s trunk, completely oblivious to the goings on within, chaos had erupted. Kali had recovered herself enough to see her ‘Vette suddenly transform into nothing more than a million flying pieces of scrap metal. She, too, watched her hubcap (shiny, polished silver with fancy little K’s engraved in the center) bury itself in Calvin’s head.

In his last moment of conscious thought, he’d decided to shoot Chad after all. Friggin’ yuppie. As his finger tightened on the trigger, the scenery had changed enough to distract him – the Tit Lady, the cops and the homeless dude were in their places one second, and several yards away the next. He decided he wasn’t hallucinating that bit, because the goomba muttered “The fuck?” at the same time.

Or maybe the goomba had been aware of the Fiero rocketing toward them. Fuck it, he thought, and checked his aim on the yuppie. Calvin didn’t flinch at the noise of the crash, just waited for Chad to turn back in his direction, so the fucker would see that you didn’t mess with Calvin fucking Culpepper. Chad did turn, and his eyes widened – not at the gun pointing in his face, but at the graceful arc of the hubcap. The hubcap that would save his life.

It hit with a thud (and a tinny little clang!), and Calvin’s finger tightened reflexively. Forunately for Chad, the shot went wide. The remains of Chad’s first cup of coffee decided to make a quick exit from his bladder, ruining the very expensive pants of his very expensive suit. He squeaked like a little girl as Calvin fell to the ground, the K on the hubcap growing out of his head and twinkling merrily in the scorching morning sunlight.

Kali wailed and ran to Calvin. “My hubcap! My car! Do you know how much those cost?” She paused, scrutinizing Cal’s face. “Hey, I think this guy was at the club last week. Cheap fucker didn’t even tip me. Oh, shit. He’s still breathing.”

And he was indeed still breathing. Calvin let out a moan that sounded suspiciously like “somnabitch” and fell silent again. The clang Chad heard hadn’t come from just the hubcap, but also from its contact with the plate in Calvin’s skull. He’d taken a tire iron to the head about ten years ago and had woken up in traction with a nasty scar winding along his newly shaven head. It was probably a good thing Tony Finger had lost some weight and got rid of the beard since then, or Calvin would have given back what he’d received in that long ago bar fight. Or maybe it was lucky for Calvin that Tony hadn’t recognized him either, because Tony had never forgotten the reason for the fight – the drunken redneck had glanced over at him in the bathroom and snickered – snickered! – at the size of Little Tony and directed him to the ladies’ room. Hell to this day, Tony usually kept some male-enhancement equipment in the trunk, but moved it under the front seat this morning when he went to pick up Barnaby. Which was probably fortunate for Art.

Kali looked at Chad, whose eyes were flicking between her tits and Calvin’s bloody head. She looked down and realized that now both of the girls had come out to play. “Fuck. Hey, you yuppie asshole. If you haven’t pissed all over your suit jacket too; how about letting me wear it so I can cover up?”

Dumbly, Chad nodded and began shrugging out of the jacket.

From Calvin’s head, or rather, from the hubcap protruding from Calvin’s head, came the tinny strains of A-Ha’s “Take On Me”. Kali wondered how to turn it up.

From behind them came the revving of the Fiero’s engine. Wolfgang wasn’t out of commission just yet.

And from the trunk of Tony’s Caddy, came Art Barnaby’s scream.
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Post Mon Jun 28, 2004 2:11 pm   View user's profile Send private message Send e-mail Visit poster's website AIM Address ICQ Number
Paul R



Joined: 29 Mar 2004
Posts: 1827
Location: Kiribati
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After Chad had left the house that morning, his trophy wife Karen had ditched the black lace garters, black thigh-high stockings and the pair of black heels. Her demeanour had changed the instant her moronic career obsessed husband had turned his car off the driveway. She removed the trappings of the trophy wife she displayed for Chad and with a quick glance in the bathroom mirror to admire her store bought body, she jumped into a steaming shower. Emerging refreshed 10 minutes later, she dressed in sober suit, put on about 1/8 less makeup than when she dolled up for Chad and grabbed her car keys.
Minutes later she was turning onto the boulevard.
Chad knew nothing of her double life. He suspected that when he was away at the office for hours she spent her time watching soap opera’s and chatting inanely with the other trophy wives of the men of the law firm. He imagined she sat around all day in uncomfortable lingerie waiting for him to return just so he could use her for the 5 minutes he usually lasted and then he could turn his attention back to his career. He used to joke about how dumb his wife was to his colleagues around the office and they would smile knowingly in return. Karen knew all about the things Chad and his co-workers at the law firm talked about. She never had any direct evidence of his dumbing her down, but she was not naive enough to think he spent his working hours championing anything but her body to his slick friends.

Karen was smiling quietly to herself as she motored up the boulevard. She had a very important meeting with her friend and business partner Harold Case. Chad knew nothing about her company. He did not care one fig about what she did when he was not around. As long as she dressed like he wanted and put out for that laughable 5 minutes when he wanted and as long as she said the right things at the law firm functions, he cared little about the woman that, after all, was his wife. So she had secretly formed a limited company with her old high school love, Harold. She knew Harold had problems with his wired son Justin, but he was also a very clever and astute businessman. They had formed the company two years ago and although it must be said that Harold did the bulk of the marketing and sales work, Karen was indispensable when it came to the final buttering up of clients. And today’s meeting was with the biggest customer they had ever tried to sign. If she could pull off this major deal, she would dump Chad like the piece of shit he was, sue him for everything he had (she knew all about his peccadillo’s with various company secretary’s. Hiring a top notch PI can do that for a lady) and squash him like the turd he was. Harold and his wife had introduced her to a charming English gentleman last year and though the two of them had seen each other on and off since then, they had never gone further than furtive glances over coffee at out of the way diners. She was not going to fool around, despite her rat fink husband’s way. She had class and she knew it.

Karen saw that traffic was slowing and eventually stopping. Cursing quietly she picked up her cell phone and dialled Harold. However she absentmindedly speed dialled Chad’s number.

Chad’s cell phone was in his jacket pocket. Kali heard it ring and in all the furious hub-bub decided that answering the slick yuppie’s phone would only add to the fun day she was having. She answered with a wobbly “hello?”…….
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'la putain et le moitier-voleur ont perdu leurs boucliers de gencives pendant le dessus-dessous'

Post Thu Jul 01, 2004 6:52 am   View user's profile Send private message Visit poster's website MSN Messenger
Lynn



Joined: 29 Mar 2004
Posts: 2295
Location: SF
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While Kali received a tongue-lashing from the Stepford Wife turned Harvard MBA, Gage was right back where he started that morning, at a standstill with the Troglodyte glaring.

Gage was used to The Boulevard, but at dead times like midnight and 10 am when he headed to and from his job as a DJ at a radio station outside the city. He stopped most nights to give a handful of change to a homeless guy who set up shop at one of the stoplights. He wasn’t prepared for morning rush hour, though. He was stopped about a mile short of the usual stoplight, and prospects didn’t look good. When shots were fired a white kid with dreads and jeans at his knees went racing past with a video camera. Soon, other people started getting out of their cars.

The traffic had been stationary for about 10 minutes when Gage smelled fresh coffee brewing somewhere outside his red Toyota Echo. He remembered his fatigue in the coffee shop, and a quick glance at the six lanes of city bound traffic convinced him he would exactly hold up traffic if he shut off his car, so he got out. Searching for the source of caffeine he noticed a loudly yellow Hummer blasting even louder rap music. He wondered how long this day could possibly last.

After a short search, he discovered the Kurosawa Kantina and, more importantly, the caffeinated beverages therein. He stirred the blessedly liquid creamer into the coffee and thanked the gods for small favors, which thanks Dayu graciously accepted. Then came the Troglodyte.

“What are you doing here?” Gage asked her.

“Well, Slick, I’d ask you the same question if I were too dumb to realize that you’re probably fucking stuck in traffic just like me.”

“You misunderstood. What I meant was, why, in the name of all that is holy, did I have to get stuck in traffic with you on this, of all mornings?”

Inside the Kantina, Dayu shrugged. That was a question for one of the capital Gods.

The Troglodyte wrinkled her nose, which was slightly distinguishable from her glare when Gage saw her from close up. “I don’t know, Slick, but I sure wish you’d stop acting like we have to make polite conversation.” She turned to leave.

Perversely, Gage wanted to make her stay. The prickly exterior was no less mystifying than the quiet glare, but it was much more interesting. He might even start calling her Troggie if he got to know her better. “You know I have a name. Gage,” he told her back.

“Good for you. And when I want to have a conversation with you, I might tell you that my name is Coriander.”

“What like the plant?”

“It’s an herb.”

She wrinkled her nose again and coughed slightly. The cough reminded Gage of the officious pricks who sidled up next to Joey when he smoked in public just to cough and move away. Gage didn’t like the smoke either, but he’d be damned if he’d go out of his way to show it.

Irritated, Gage asked her, “Do I smell or something?”

“No, it’s just . . .” She looked away then changed her mind and looked right at him. “You reek of werewolf.”

“What?” I thought she was just a bitch. Who knew she was crazy? Gage thought.

“I used to think you were one, but up close, I can tell it’s not you. You must just touch one every day or something.”

Gage stared at her.

“My mom had a magic shop in Chinatown when I was a little girl. She sold salves and potions, and people came in with crazy stories. Some people wanted to be cured of being a werewolf. I kind of got to where I could tell their smell.”

Gage stared at her.

Coriander pulled at her red hair nervously. “You know, Slick, you can stop that. I know it’s a crazy story, but get used to it. Little miss whiter than that queen’s cotton panties lived in Chinatown with her witch mom.”

“You glared at me because you thought I was a werewolf. You crazy bitch.”

“Fuck you!”

“You can stop calling Slick, too. Crazy bitch.”

“Lycanthropy.”

Gage and Coriander turned to see a tall, skinny man in a paramedic’s uniform holding an inhaler.

“What?” Gage said, annoyed at the interruption to crazy hour with the Troglodyte.

“Lycanthropy, being a werewolf. I’ve been trying to think of the word since I came over here.”

“Shouldn’t you be further up the road where the gunshots are, Buddy?” Coriander asked him.

“So he’s Buddy, and I’m Slick. How original.” Gage said and rolled his eyes.

“Well, I reserve Slick for my bestest friends, Slick.”

Both Coriander and Gage turned as the man took a deep breath from his inhaler.

“Well, that’s what I was trying to do, but I got stuck.”

He pointed to the median where an ambulance lay on its side, lights still flashing, but curiously silent.
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Lynn, Reading Kafka in a hospital is generally redundant. Better just to wander the halls randomly opening doors.
--Ginjg

Post Wed Jul 07, 2004 9:12 pm   View user's profile Send private message Send e-mail Visit poster's website
Miss Betty



Joined: 02 Mar 2004
Posts: 359
Location: Outskirts of Da 'Burgh
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Dr. Possum was just explaining how he hit the switch for the new lights & the ambulance died; when Art Barnaby abruptly quit screaming. Chad on the other hand, began to scream & point now at the empty spot where Art had been seconds before. Kali glanced over and promptly dropped Chad's cell.

Coriander, Gage, Dr. Possum & Dayu all turned look.

"Just what I need," thought Dayu and he went to find somewhere to hide.

A glow from the trunk now spread to the surrounding area, and a loud humming filled the air.

"A Dab?!?!" Coriander breathed in awe.

"Well da back at you, freak!" commented Gage.

"Not da, Slick - a DAB. I can remember hearing about them in Chinatown when I was young. I've never had to deal with one, 'case, well my mo never let goetias into the shop,” Coriander said thoughtfully. "I am a bit curious..."

Gage looked at Dr. Possum & they both shrugged. Someone had to ask the question.

"OK, freak, what the fuck are you babbling about?" Gage said, having been nominated by Dr. Possum.

"HUH? Oh right, a Dab is a kind of evil spirit. Actually it means evil spirit, it's not really, technically a type of spirit...and from him glowing and the screaming, and it might not be a Dab. It could be a Qlippoth." At this point she began to ramble to herself, and neither of them could follow.

"Nope - you're wrong," came a voice from next to the Kantina. "That's not a Dab or a Qlippoth. Look!"

They all glanced up again. To their amazement, a huge, blonde man began to step out of the trunk.

"It's an Archfay," said the gravelly voice to the side of the Kantina.

"Impossible," said Coriander said in a shaky voice, "all the Archfay's were imprisoned! Besides, the only creature that can tell the difference between an Archfay and a Qlippoth is a werewolf!"

Junior stepped from around the corner, into the light.

"Oh no!!!" Coriander cried in terror then promptly burst into tears. "We're all gonna die!!!"

"Yep," stated Junior excitedly, "and it's not gonna be pretty."

Gage & Dr. Possum just stood there looking back and forth between the two of them. "Someone want to fill us in," Dr. Possum inquired.

"Well," came a new voice from behind Junior. "He's obviously a werewolf," indicating Junior. "He's just a human," indicating Gage. "She's human, but," you could hear sniffing, "different." "You appear to be just human also," the voice said. “Me? Well, I'm what you might call a broker of sorts," the voice commented coming closer. "My partner and I deal with the strange and the unusual,” stepping forward. It was Karen, Chad's wife. "Yep, that's definitely an Archfay. By the way," she commented, "did you know there's a god in the kitchen?"

"Ok, now I'm surrounded by freaks!!!" stated Gage. "Could someone please explain what an Archfay is and why you're all so certain we're gonna die? And if there's really a god in the kitchen, would you please make some more coffee?!?!?"

"Well, where to start?" asked Coriander to herself.

"An Archfay is a, well lets just say, it's an -- an Archfay is...but they were all imprisoned about - oh I don't know - what 2000 years ago, it can't be an Archfay" Coriander began.

"Oh please," commented Junior, "I can see the difference ya know?!?! Ah, Werewolf."

"Right, yep - so it must be..." Coriander began again. "An Archfay is an evil kind of demon. I know what you're thinking, redundant much, but it's true. You're thinking, but all fays are evil. Well that's true too.... but the Archfays are really, really a bad kind of evil."

"Hello!!!" Gage shouted in a disgusted tone. "What the hell are fays, and why are you all acting like me & Dr. Possum here should know?"

"Right, normal humans - a bit on the naive side from the sounds of it, " sniggered Junior. "Bet they taste like chicken."

"Werewolves." Karen said, like that explained his off humor. "Fays are a type of evil; most people refer to them as demons. Archfays are at the top of the demon hierarchy. They're they kind of demons that mother demons tell stories about to make their offspring listen. Kind of like how human mothers tell their children about the witch in Hansel and Gretel. But on a much larger scale."

"Uh huh," commented Dr. Possum. "How much larger?"

"Well," Karen commented, "you know how in the Bible the snake tempted Eve with an apple & Adam & Eve were cast from Paradise?"

"Yeah," nodded Gage & Dr. Possum.

"An Archfay planted the apple," answered Karen.

"Doesn't sound so bad," commented Gage. “Just don't eat the apple."

"Nope," commented Junior, "not chicken, lobster." Junior cackled,” Naive doesn't begin to cover it."

"All the Archfay did was plant the apple in the Garden," Karen explained, "and humans were cast from Paradise for eternity. The first time an Archfay appeared, the world saw 40 days & 40 nights of rain - and a flood that destroyed mankind."

"Wait," commented Dr. Possum," I thought that was the Noah's flood & all that in the Bible?"

Junior fell onto the pavement laughing, "'I thought" he said innocently' -- oh - I - bet you are gonna melt in the mouth." Laughing uncontrollably now.

"Ignore him," Coriander commented. "Werewolves are impervious to the power of Archfays. Anyway, after the floods were over, the Oak from the Ark was cast into chests & the Archfays were imprisoned."

"The last time an Archfay appeared was on an ocean liner about the turn of the last century. You might remember it; they made a movie about it - the Titanic?"

"Are you saying an Archfay made the ship hit an iceberg?" Asked Gage.

"No," commented Karen. "There was no iceberg."

Coriander continies, "It was rumored that a chest had survived the sinking, and found its way to dry land. It was supposedly owned by a Jewish family in Russia. When the Nazis attacked Russia in the 1920's, it was taken by a young German. He thought the chest was pretty and liked the humming it made. He reportedly attempted to open the chest in the early 1940's. The rest, as they say, is history."

"Well who was the German guy?" Asked Dr. Possum - already afraid he knew the answer.

"Adolph Hitler," answered Coriander. "The chest was stolen from him while he was in Italy, and has never been seen again."

At that moment, the creature in question stood completely & stretched as if from a long nap. He was completely naked.

“He’s gorgeous!” thought Kali as she shrugged Chad’s coat off her shoulders, offering her newly inflated breasts to him. “And he’s humming & glowing all over.” Apparently all the booze from the night before had killed whatever inhabitations Kali might have had left, but had done nothing to the twetering libido left after the previous night.

The creature turned toward the flesh being offered, obviously aroused, proving then and there that all men are not created equal. It was harder (pun intended) to tell who was more aroused by the sight, Kali or Mac, or more shocked when the creature turned not to Kali, but to Mac.

“Did I forget to mention,” Asked Karen, “That all Archfays are homosexuals?”

Unfortunately for everyone in the vicinity, well except for maybe Calvin, the creature’s first steps sent the hubcap sailing through the air, this time imbedding itself into Wolfgang's baby. The impact caused a spark & the whole Fiero burst into flame.

Wolfgang regained consciousness long enough to realize he was gonna die. In a last ditch effort to prove himself, Wolfgang reached a hand forward & turned the knob on the radio.
_________________
Blessed are the cracked ... for they let in the light. - Maxine

Post Thu Jul 15, 2004 1:28 pm   View user's profile Send private message Send e-mail Visit poster's website AIM Address Yahoo Messenger
Hillary



Joined: 13 Apr 2004
Posts: 1767
(This is sort of dark, but hey . . . )  Reply with quote  

Living in a box had been the worst gig EVER.

Strug could recall a lot of uncomfortable things in his long life of chaos, mayhem, and disorder, but nothing – and he would swear by all that was unholy on this – NOTHING came close to living in a goddamned wooden shoebox. Not only was the thing incredibly tiny, it smelled like it had housed an army of dead haddock.

Or was that haddocks?

Strug really didn’t know. He always got screwed up with plurals. Was it cactuses or cacti? Penises or peni? He scratched his head, his eyes narrowing in speculation.

“He’s gorgeous,” he heard one of the meatbags say, and he stopped contemplating English grammar long enough to peruse his quarry. The shirtless meatbag was the one who’d spoken, her enormous breasts glinting like ivory bowling balls in the afternoon sun. Standing beside her - also awed by his magnificent countenance - was a bald meatbag with a blazing erection. Behind them, a meatbag with a big shiny metal disk in his head (was this one of the new fads? He had heard tattooing and piercing were back in) groaned like he was dying, while a pretty boy meatbag dabbed at something staining the crotch of his trousers.

And there were more . . .

Strug scanned the sea of faces. It was a never ending buffet of human flesh; there were meatbags by the dozens, by the thousands, by the tens of thousands, standing innocently by their metal carriages like lambs to the slaughter. He licked his lips, thinking of the depths of carnage he was about to unleash on mankind. After a few decades in a fish box, he would savor this destruction . . . one soul at a time.

He stretched a golden hand to the meatbag with the impressive trouser tent. He wanted to touch him, to bring him to him for a kiss (well, that’s what he liked to call it when he sucked their souls out of their mouths) when he smelled it. Strug’s foot crashed to the ground, sending something shiny whizzing through the air.

His gaze fixed upon the female exposing the gigantic nursing bags. “WHERE IS IT, MEATBAG!”

Kali practically cooed, hanging off of the Adonis's words. She suddenly felt a little happy in the thong, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “What’s that, sugar?”

“WHERE IS IT?”

“Where’s what?”

”THE DIVINITY, WORTHLESS FLESH!!!!” Strug roared, reaching out to grab her. Kali giggled as she flew through the air, thinking she was about to get some play. When she saw his mouth closing in on hers, their breaths mingling – his strangely scentless, hers a blending of puke, cigarettes, and bubblegum – she let out a girlish shriek, her heeled feet kicking. His golden power flooded over her skin, enveloping her in a hue of magic as her arms snaked around his neck.

Then their lips met.

Feeling the connection, feeling his power in place, Strug began to suck at her mouth. The female mistook his actions for a mating prelude (she didn’t know she lacked the proper yankstick to pleasure him) and she mashed herself against him. She was unaware that the Archfay had wrapped her soul around his tongue, twirling it like a stick in a cotton candy machine.

Kali’s last thought was Fucker’s kinky before the shrinking began. Her flesh collapsed into itself, like her core had become a vacuum. It took mere seconds for her to age. At first it was a few wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and then it was a whole passel of wrinkles that would have done a bloodhound proud. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Kali Greenberg was as ancient as time itself, and she didn’t even know it.

Strug watched her skin wither to grayish paper before falling away to dust.

It was over. Her flesh was owned by the Archfay known as Strug of the Dingy Heights. With another mighty yowl, he shook the skeleton off, disentangling its arms from his neck. He watched it fall to the ground, perplexed by the arrival of twin jellyfish (or was that jellyfishes) wobbling near his feet.

Strug kicked one of them, watching it smack into the head of a woman wearing an ugly business suit.

He advanced on the crowd. “WHERE ARE YOU, DIVINE ONE! I SMELL YOUR GODHEAD!” he snarled, searching for the pure essence polluting the thrall of human flesh. “I KNOW YOU, HEAVEN SENT. I . . . KNOW . . . YOU.”

And somewhere, behind a Mister Coffee, sucking on his tiny thumb, Danu began to shake.

He was just a god with a little g, not a god with a big G, and now . . .

Well, now he was up shit’s creek without a paddle.

Crap.

Post Thu Aug 12, 2004 11:33 pm   View user's profile Send private message Visit poster's website
Dave S.



Joined: 29 Mar 2004
Posts: 480
Location: Philly burbs
Interlude: How Gutterball got her name  Reply with quote  

Interlude: How Gutterball got her name

Our story is rapidly approaching its explosive end, and before it does; I want to make sure that the unanswered, loose end of a question that’s on everybody’s mind (especially on her partner, Mac’s mind): “How did Gutterball get her name?” gets answered.

We’ve got to go back, way back to a little over 16 years ago. Back before Mac was Gutterball’s partner. Back before Babs ‘Gutterball’ Bailey made detective. Before Gutterball took a .38 slug in the left shoulder, her second year walking the beat. We’ve got to go back to Babs’s first day on the force, fresh out of The Academy. She was so green, even the rookies were calling her rook.

Officer Babs Bailey was assigned to the worst beat in town, a crack-infested slum one half-mile north of the business district, called Gutton. Gutton was grimly referred to by most of the locals as “The Gutter” (If Gutton had ended up being an affluent part of the city, they probably would’ve nicknamed it “Glutton”). Gutton, or The Gutter as we’ll call it from herein, was full of smelly winos, scamming crack heads, bewildered thirteen-year-old pregnant runaways, systematic corner drug dealers, scrawny needle junkies, raucous jive-ass pimps, filthy five-dollar hos wearing transparent heels, pistol packing youths, switchblade wielding back-alley craps shooters and tons of grimy rats. The only legit places open for business were corner bars and gnarled pawnshops. The Gutter’s residential community consists of three section eight high-rise housing projects. The Gutter’s rat population usually outnumbers the humans. The Gutter’s murder rate has been consistently the highest in the city. Sometimes the rats themselves are responsible for a chunk of those murders, which may or may not have something to do with the overwhelming rat to human ratio.

Babs’s partner, officer Johnny Giovatti, got a 10-103m call on the car radio. A typical 10-103 is a disturbance call. 10-103m is a disturbance by a mental person. The dispatcher got back on the radio and said, “Make that a 10-103m with a side of 314.”
Johnny turned to Babs and said “Hmm… a 314. We don’t get those too often.”
Babs asked “What’s a 314, again?”
“Indecent Exposure.” Answered Johnny with a wink.
Babs smiled innocently at her new partner. ‘He’s kinda cute’, she thought as the car peeled around the corner of 8th and Bismark.

The car came to a screeching halt at the entrance of a dead-end alley off Bismark called Clarence Alley. As they got out of the vehicle, Babs noticed the perp, a hulking man of around seven feet tall and four hundred pounds. He had matted hair with a bald spot that looked like an electric razor accident. He had a Grizzly Adams beard and a huge hooknose. He was wearing an eye-patch, a ripped plaid flannel shirt and a pair of pants and boxers down to his ankles. The man was babbling incoherently, very loudly with cackles in between. He was spinning in circles, pants down to his feet, restricting leg movement. Babs noticed an old woman looking out her third story window from the Alley’s end at the spectacle with a corded phone in hand, probably the 911 caller. As they slowly approached the man, Babs noticed another unique feature on this giant. His penis was not in proportion with the rest of his massive body. As a matter of fact, his tool would be too small for a dwarf. The thing looked so odd, like a little peapod placed one third of the way up Mt. Rushmore, somewhere below Lincoln. She had a tough time suppressing laughter as they approached, the damn thing just looked so silly!

They both approached very slowly, very stealthily with their arms spread.
“Ok buddy, just take it easy. We won’t hurt ya.” Said Johnny.
The freak roared like King Kong upon his capture.
Babs chimed in, barely suppressing a giggle “Easy there, big fella. We’re friends.”
The giant did one of those little head turns to the side, like a dog that hears a strange sound, when Babs said the word “Friends”.
“That’s right,” Babs continued smoothly and calmly “Friends.”
The giant-beast-man-thing really started to calm now.
Babs repeated “Friends.”
The hulking freak smiled. Babs and Johnny never knew if it was her calming voice or that word: “Friends.” but whatever it was, it was working.
“Friends…”
Johnny was getting his cuffs.
“Friends…”
Just then a huge, ugly, oily rat slithered out from behind a dumpster and began to cross the path between the cops and the monster. The microscopic-shlonged goliath observed the rodent with wide eyes then screeched like a banshee with its nuts in a vice (if a banshee had nuts, of course). Unfortunately Babs has been a long time sufferer of suriphobia, which is an intense fear of mice and rats. She started to hyperventalate. The humongous mental patient turned quickly, recoiling from the rat and slammed into the brick wall by the dumpster. Johnny’s jaw dropped in morbid fascination. Babs was holding on to the side of the dumpster for support, trying to catch her breath. Our huge friend fell backwards off the wall, landed flat on his back, knocked himself out cold. Thr rat turned, got up on it's hind-legs and hissed at Babs. That finally pushed Babs over the edge; she feinted just then and landed right on top of the freaky beast. Johnny gasped as he noticed the compromising position that Babs fell into. The miniscule testicles of the unconscious wackjob were lovingly resting in Babs’s open mouth.

When it was all over, Johnny couldn’t help himself. He had to tell his buddies down at the station. He felt bad for Babs, but what he’d just witnessed was to weird not to tell. The cops at the precinct nicknamed her 'Gutterballs'.

Two weeks later, after the man-beast was re-institutionalized, he escaped from the mental hospital once again. This time the 10-103m call didn’t end up so lightheartedly. This time the beast-freak got hold of a weapon somehow and when it was over, the police ended up shooting and killing him. The coroner noted in the autopsy report that the perp just had one testicle. The cops at the precinct caught wind of this information and from that moment forward the 's' was dropped from Babs Bailey's nickname and she was forever known as 'Gutterball'.

So that’s how Gutterball got her name. Over the years the story of Babs and the uni-balled giant mental patient freak beast man thing died out, but her name 'Gutterball' lives on.
_________________
"All internet posts are true."
-Benjamin Franklin

Post Tue Aug 17, 2004 5:42 pm   View user's profile Send private message Visit poster's website
kjs237



Joined: 22 May 2004
Posts: 76
Location: Colorado Springs, CO
 Reply with quote  

Dayu was a god but his divinity was limited to kitchen magic. His magic gave the coffee of the Kurosawa Kantina its irresistible, crowd drawing aroma and made the special sauce on David’s Double Whammy Hamburger Deluxe addictive. Those were impressive things for a god with a little g, but not much in the over all scheme of the universe. He was powerless in the shadow of the Archfay, Strug.

He was terrified as he listened to Strug roaring in the crowd, knowing that the only other special thing he possessed was his little g essence, which if consumed by the Archfay, would make Strug indestructible for at least a century. He didn’t care so much about the consequences of an indestructible Archfay but it would also cancel Dayu. He would cease to exist. He crept from his place behind the Mr. Coffee and hid in the well of the deep fat fryer, sobbing as the hot grease popped and bubbled, hoping that one of the human’s outside would do something stupid and draw attention away so that he could find David, and get him to move the Kantina out of this place.

The small group outside the Kantina watched in fascination as Strug began to suck the life from the woman he embraced.

“What the hell?” Karen said, suddenly realizing that one of the men standing closest to the entity that was extinguishing the life of the topless bimbo was her husband, Chad. “What’s that little weasel doing over there?” She began moving with determination toward the spellbound mob around the Archfay.

“What’s she doing?” Is she insane?” Coriander asked no one in particular as they all watched Karen walk away.

“This is getting interesting again” said the werewolf. “I’m goin’ back in.” He followed, hands in his pockets. He had nothing to worry about; the Archfay wouldn’t bother with him anyway.

“Hey, aren’t you like, a paramedic or something?” Gage asked Possum. “Shouldn’t you be over there trying to help those people? That guy on the ground doesn’t look to good and the woman, well…”

“Yeah.” Dr. Possum said. He was really wishing he’d called in sick. The heat, the traffic calamity, werewolves, life sucking demons…he didn’t like the way the morning was going at all. He shrugged and sighed, “Yeah, I should, but that’s one scary looking dude. I’m not in a big hurry to become his second course, if you catch my drift.”

Neither Gage nor Coriander wanted to be the demon’s second course either. They didn’t blame him.

But a nagging voice (possibly his mother’s) inside Edward Possum’s head urged him to at least try to do something. He knew there was supposed to be a hurt cyclist somewhere in that tangle and while the guy who’d been in the trunk of that Caddy was gone (Had that poor bastard really been wearing a pair of Sponge Bob boxers?) and the woman in the grips of the demon was probably beyond his help now, the guy on the ground was still alive and far enough from the immediate threat of the Archfay that he might be able to get to him unnoticed for long enough to make a difference.

His decision made, he swore, ran back to the stuck ambulance for some gear, and headed toward the center of the mob.

Meanwhile, Karen continued with strong, determined steps towards her husband as the Archfay gripped the topless woman, who seemed to be dissolving into bones and gooey foam. Obviously she was some tramp he’d picked up on the way to work that morning, the one who’d answered the phone when she’d called his number by accident.

Bitch deserved to get the life sucked out of her, she thought.

In the confusion, Chad had noticed a woman approaching but failed to recognize his own wife in her real life costume. Karen was ready to start raging at him when she was struck in the face by what she first mistook for a water balloon. It left a huge red welt stinging on her cheek.

“Son of a…” she let the rest trail off as she realized that she’d caught the attention of the Archfay. She stopped, holding her breath, and stared at the ground. That’s when she saw a small, clear, pillow of colorless gel and realized what had actually hit her in the face. “Hmmm. Boob job.” She thought. That was Chad’s type all right.

The demon sniffed momentarily in her direction but he wasn’t interested in her yet. She was relieved to see his gaze move past her toward an attractive man, standing in awe of Strug.

The female meatbag, now consumed, was already forgotten. He needed the Deity. Strug started for the pretty boy meatbag in front of him. This one would take him to the god. This one would take him anywhere. He would taste lovely too.

As Strug reached for Mac, Babs snapped out of her stupor and jumped between the demon and her partner, gun raised. Strug barely acknowledged the interference, grabbing Gutterball’s head in one large hand and squeezing it until blood spouted from her nose in a torrent and both eyes burst and popped out. When she fell in a pile at his feet, he simply kicked her away and pulled Mac to him, staring into his eyes, his objective obvious.

“WHERE IS HE? TAKE ME TO HIM.”

Mac blubbered and drooled and said nothing but “Bluh?”

At least that’s what it sounded like to Dr. Possum who was now bending over Calvin a few yards away. The Archfay, intent on the possession of the Deity, didn’t seem to notice or care.

“God, do I have a headache.” Calvin moaned, trying to grab at his head, as Possum examined the gaping hole the hubcap had sliced there.

“Keep your hands down and stay still.” Possum said as the demon ranted on.

“Is that guy still breathin’? ‘Cause I’m hungry.” The werewolf said from over Possum’s shoulder.

“Shut up and make yourself useful” Possum said. “Get over here and hold his arms so he stops trying to poke around at this gap in his head while I work on getting this blood stopped up.”

“If he dies, can I have him?”

“He’s not going to die. And…Ewwww.” Possum said.

Junior the werewolf was disappointed, but he decided he didn’t have anything better to do at the moment, so he knelt down beside Calvin and held his arms in place at his sides.

Karen, disgusted by Chad, who had fallen to the ground in a sniveling heap after Strug crushed in Babs’ skull, decided to wait and rag on him later. She wanted him coherent and capable of understanding her disappointment in him, and of the punishment she intended to inflict. She backed away from the Archfay, and joined Possum and Junior as they worked on Calvin.

Strug continued to demand the location of the Deity from Mac, who was so dumbstruck by the demon’s magnificence that he couldn’t have told him where Dayu was, even if he’d known.

“He’s trying to find the kitchen god.” Karen whispered to the werewolf.

“That would make sense.”

“What’s a kitchen god?” Calvin asked, trying to sit up.

“Cut it out,” Dr. Possum said, “just be still and don’t move yet. I’m trying to get your head back together.”

Strug’s supernatural ears heard “Kitchen God” and he released the still drooling Mac. Mac looked as if he’d lost everything he’d ever had. In the grip of Strug’s enchantment, he’d wanted the demon to consume him. He began to cry. The demon didn’t care. He turned toward the group surrounding the meatbag with the slice in his head.

Dr. Possum, noticing the change in the demon’s focus, motioned to the others and waited. “This can’t be good.” He said.

No sooner had Dr. Possum spoken these words when Strug took two giant steps, plucked Karen up by her hair, and dangled her there, in the air. One sharp heeled black pump fell to the ground as she hung suspended. “WHERE IS THE GOD?” Demanded the Archfay, spinning her by her hair. “YOU WILL NOT DEFY ME.”

As she spun, she noticed her husband Chad cowering below, next to the wise guy’s Caddy, begging for his life. The wise guy was huddling there with him.

“Crap! This day just keeps getting better and better.” Dr. Possum said. “Look, you’re a werewolf right?”

“Yeah, so what?” Said the werewolf.
“Well, he can’t hurt you. So, couldn’t you at least try to slow him down?”

“Why? I don’t have any argument with him. And the suit? She’s just sweet smelling prey.”

Edward rolled his eyes, shook his head, and said. “Well, that’s just perfect. If you’re not going to help, is there any way you know of that I can stop him?”

“Not really,” said the werewolf, “unless you can get him back in that box and surround him by salt water. Archfays can’t abide salt water.”

“Why? Does it kill them?”

“No. But it messes with them. They’re allergic. Kind of like werewolves and silver.”

“Allergic, eh?” Dr. Possum said. “Hmmm.”

He thought for a fraction of a second about the risky thing he was going to attempt to do, got scared and changed his mind, (heard the nagging voice) then changed it back again. He stood up suddenly and called to the Archfay. “Hey! Dude! I know where your kitchen god is.”

The Archfay stopped spinning the angry female meatbag and turned attention on the new meatbag. He dropped her to the ground and moved toward Possum.

“YOU WILL GIVE ME THE GOD” He screamed.

“Hey, he’s all yours. Really. Actually, I’ve got him right here, in my pocket.” Dr. Possum pulled out his asthma inhaler and tossed it to the demon. “He’s inside that little jar, trapped like a djinn.”

“NO SHIT?”

“Trust me. He’s in there all right. All you have to do is push that button thingy on the end and suck him out.”

The Archfay, a mighty but rather stupid demon, picked up the asthma inhaler ecstatically. It was primed and ready to go. He closed his eyes and began to glow as he put the inhaler to his lips, pressed the plunger and inhaled with all his might.

There was a sizzling, burning sound and then the demon began to shriek…and to shrink. Soon he was nothing more than the size of a small rat or maybe a big fat toad.

“I’d advise you to hurry if you want to live.” The werewolf said. “Effect only lasts a couple of minutes. You need to get him back in the box he came out of. Its magic will bind him.”

“I’ll take care of the little bastard.” Karen said. She grabbed her lost shoe, scooped up the screaming demon and ran for the Caddy, hoping the box in its trunk was still whole. It was and she shoved Strug in the box, thumping him on the back of his tiny head just before she closed the lid. “That’s for messing up my hair.” She said, slamming the trunk shut. The box inside once again began its soft hum.

“Well, that was cool.” Said the werewolf. “What was in that thing?”

“Cromolyn Sodium.” Said Dr. Possum. “It’s an anti inflammatory agent in an inhalant form.”

“Salt water.”

“Yup.”

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