Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen
Special Delivery

Two pink-haired Tweeporans stood at the inside of an exterior door, armed with staves.

“What is he doing?” asked Companion Frabbbles

“What is he doing?” said Companion Spish, but with his finger in his ear. His eyes shifted. “He’s just standing out there pushing a button over and over?” He started to remove the finger but then thrust it back in his ear.  “What does the button do…? Nothing?” He turned to Companion Frabbbles. “Nothing.”

“Perhaps it’s a doorbell for the grocery store,” said Frabbbles.

“Good thinking.”

Frabbbles opened the door. “Hello, who is it?”

The man was barefoot and clean shaven with black suit pants, white dress shirt and three-tone blue visor. He stood behind a two-level plastic cart loaded, apparently, with cakes. “Delivery,” said Mr. Willis.

Frabbbles and Spish exchanged glances.

“Delivery for the cold department - ah - fridge department - dairy. Dessert department that is. Dessert Manager. Cold room. Cake aisle” He nodded and smiled. “Cake counter.”

“Do you have the appropriate documentation?” said Spish. He glanced at Frabbbles and shrugged.

“Of course,” said Bruce. They all continued to stare at each other. “Oh - I mean - well, not on me. Not on
my person. It’s all in the truck.” Frabbbles and Spish looked expectantly out into the yard. “Oh, the truck broke down - a few blocks away. I didn’t want this stuff melting while I - while I waited for a replacement vehicle so I just - you know - humped it over.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Spish.

“Humped it over?” said Frabbbles.

“It’s electronic. They’ll fax it - the documents - email - from the bakery. Dairy, that is.”

“Okay,” said Frabbbles. “You may leave it with us.”

“Oh. No - ah. I have to - you know - stock the - I have to inventory… the merchandise. I have to merchandize. Plan-o-gram. Quality control.” He nodded toward the long dark hallway behind them.

Frabbbles and Pish - wait a minute. Who the hell is Pish…? Spish. Sorry. Frabbles and Spish gave each other a look. “Very well,” said Companion Spish. The two backed apart and away and Willis smiled and pushed the cart over the threshold.

He started down the hallway, taking a good look around; especially at the looming darkness above. “I see you’ve been up to some renovations. Nice. Real nice.” The two sentries followed Willis along the hallway; featureless but for the subtle tiny rainbow undulations in the rubbery surfaces of the floor and walls.

He came to a fork in the passageway. The right fork curved away to the right; the left curved away to the left. Bruce looked back at his escorts. They offered no suggestion. He took the right path; following it’s curve to the right until he came face to face with two sentries identical to the others in every way.

“All done?” said Spish. Mr. Willis frowned. He looked behind him and saw the original fork he’d been earlier confronted with.

“That’s impossible,” he murmured.

“I beg your pardon?” said Frabbbles.

“Nothing. Sorry. I - I forgot something. One moment.” He turned the cart around and took the left passage this time. It curved around seemingly ninety degrees to the left but yet he came face to face with the two sentries again.

“Okay?” said Frabbbles. “All done now?”

“Sorry. No. I got turned around by mistake. I stopped to tie my shoe.” He then remembered he was barefoot and rolled his eyes ever so slightly. He then backed away from them slowly, keeping the cart between his feet and their eyes. When the curve of the path took him out of their sight he reached down between the two shelves of the cart, brought out a magnificent yellow and blue super-soaker toy which he had so recently purchased for his son and which had miraculously survived the class nine Zan-wave laser attack, and he abandoned the cart, striding backwards down the curving passage. Then he turned and ran…

… Right into Spish and Frabbbles of course.

“Dammit!“ he cried. “Okay! No more funny business!” He raised the super soaker, levelling it at one sentry’s head and then at the other while serving them each a menacing look.

“Is something the matter, cake man?” said Frabbbles.

“No more fun and games, Horsey Boy!” said Willis. “Where are the prisoners!”

“Prisoners?”

Bruce shook the giant gun furiously. “Don’t be cute with me, fucker! I will blow you to bits and pony pieces! Now where are they!”

“What’s that thing loaded with?” said Spish.

“Krypton!”

“Krypton?”

“Nite!” blurted Willis. “Kryptonite!” Frabbbles and Spish looked at one another. “Liquid Kryptonite that is!”

“Sorry, cake man. I have an itchy ear.” Spish pushed his finger into his ear. “Say again; what’s in the gun?”

“Liquid Kryptonite. Kryptonite plasma!” said Willis.

Cow’s milk and sugar for the most part, said the voice in Spish’s ear. Same thing’s in the cakes.

“What is it you wish us to do?” said Spish

“Take me to your prisoners!” said Willis

Put him in Detex One, said the voice.

“Right!” said Companion Spish. “This way, then!” He and Frabbbles set off down the right-hand fork and Willis followed.

“That’s right, my little unicorndogs,” Just cooperate and no one gets hurt.”

Somehow the passage did not pull its little roundabout trick this time and the trio emerged into a wider hallway with small workstations along one wall and several white-haired Tweeporans standing around in conversation. Wide metal grates lined one wall about nine feet high.

“Nobody move an inch!” Willis shouted, “Or these guys get vaporized! Not an inch!” The spectators all remained in place and silently watched the trio go by.

“Are we still on for lunch, Frabbbles?” said one of the standerby Tweeporans.

“You want lunch-frabbles!” Willis shouted, pointing the super soaker now at the speaker. “I’ll give you lunch-frabbles! I’ll give you lunch-frabbles right up the wazoo! With a side of Kryptonite plasma! Is that what you want, Mister Ed!”

The speaker frowned and gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

“Yeah sure, but I might be just a bit late,” said Frabbbles, coming to a stop.

“You shut UP!” screamed Mr. Willis, shoving the super soaker up against Frabbbles’ cheek. “Or so help me!” In his excitement, Bruce pulled the trigger just a tiny bit and a little squirt of Queen O’ The Dairy soft serve oozed out on to Companion Frabbbles’ face. It trickled down to the corner of his mouth. “Okay - that - that’s not the Kryptonite there! That’s the bit that comes out right before the Kryptonite! You got really lucky just there! That’s like - the seal. That’s what that is. It’s a new cartridge. You get it?”

“It’s tasty,” said Frabbles.

“Never mind! Just get moving. Get moving now! Take me - you know - where we’re going. Don’t say it out loud though.”

“Pluck a solar-pigeon. It really is tasty. Spish, you got to try it.” The three began moving again. A wide door awaited them at the end of this narrow room.

Spish suddenly halted. “I refuse to obey your commands, cake man!”

“Move it!”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Move it or die!”

“No.”

“I swear to Jehosifats! I will kill you where you stand!”

Spish stuck out his tongue. “Your mother was an army boot!”

“Fucker!” Willis cried as he sprayed soft serve all over Spish’s head. The Companion dodged about trying to catch the stream in his mouth. Willis finally stopped and backed off a step. He was red-faced and seething with rage.

“Oh my sugar-blossoms!” cried the goopy-white-faced Spish. “It’s delicious! It’s fabulous! Oh yum!”

Willis looked about wildly, trying to think; trying not to panic.

“Ahhhhhhh!” Spish suddenly wailed. “It burns! It burns!” He dropped his staff to the floor and clutched his throat in both hands and made a serious of squorking and snorfelling noises as he slowly sunk to his knees. “I’m dying! Errrrrrrrrrg!”

“See!” cried Willis, pointing the giant squirt gun back at Frabbbles who stood frowning at his dying partner. “Now get moving or you’re next! MOVE IT!” Frabbbles backed away toward the door as Willis followed, his gun pointed at the sentry’s head. “Through the door. NOW!” Frabbbles touched his staff to the door and it dissolved away like a passing rainbow. The two exited into another featureless rubber hallway and the door rematerialized behind them.

Spish then burst into laughter and so did all his peers as he picked up his staff and regained his feet. “It really was delicious though!” he said.

“Did we get the recipe?” someone asked.

“Central Scanning will have it.”

“What was that thing?” said another.

“Earth monkey, I think. Or a human maybe.”

“Human,” said Spish.

“Wow. They’re weird!” said another. “Kind of creepy.”

“Well, they don’t get out much.”

Hard to resist

I got sucked into a Sushi night with fellow gluttonnoshers Captain Vino, Empress of Catan, Ghost Whisperer and the Freckled Banker.

We ate scads and scads of sushi, faux sushi, miniature steak dishes and shrimps of every description.

We talked about the prices of things. We offered amusement over re-configured pop culture sound bites and cute giggly sex-puns and - that's really all. And then we paid the bill - or so we think.

I recalled the Steward of Gondor gobbling his feast while the sons of Gondor marched to their deaths.
.

Chapters fifteen, sixteen

Chapter Fifteen
Pest Control


“Captain, you’ve got Officer Fryppr on C-2,” said Fleaman Gaakk.

“Who? Fryppr?” said Vaugnobbler. The Ouija cube floated between them unobserved. The two each had their noses in separate Earth magazines.

“Maintenance,” said Gaakk.

“Seriously?” The captain fingered his ear. “Go for Vaugnobbler.”

Captain, this is Officer Fryppr; maintenance.

“Yes.”

We’ve got a stray human on the Tesseract Deck.

Vaugnobbler slapped the magazine closed and rolled his eyes. “Go on.”

That’s all, Sir.

“That’s all?”

Yes Sir.

“Maintenance Officer Fryppr, are you aware that I am the captain of this ship?”

Yes Sir.

“Well, Obviously then, I’m not the snork-piffling extermination department, am I!”

No Sir.

“Then why are you calling me!” Vaugnobbler made exasperated eyes at Gaakk who shook his head in disgust.

Well, Sir, I’m sorry Sir. It’s just that - it’s in such close proximity to the Dwingeloopian prisoner. I thought it might be of critical - ah - sensitivity.

“Dwingeloopian? What are you talking about, officer!”

In the detex chamber?

“How would a maintenance officer possibly come to know anything about detexees? Such information would be privileged and confidential, would it not!”

Um…

“Yes?”

I don’t know anything about - I mean… Um…

“Officer, is there an exhaust port nearby your location?”

Yes, Sir.

“Blow yourself out it.” Vaugnobbler rammed his finger into his ear and changed the channel.

Detex One. Go ahead.

“Captain here. Get me Officer Szhueeszscheezse.”

He’s in his quarters. Shall I-

“Get me the duty officer, then.”

One moment…

Go for Acting Officer Mythros.

“Vaugnobbler here. Are you aware of any stray human in the Tesseract?”

Yes Sir. We’re tracking it. We believe it was a third party incidental in the restaurant extraction. We don’t believe this guy knows where it is. It might even be a transient. It has no shoes. Shall we exhaust it?

“Where is it now?”

One moment... Ah - it’s at our back door, actually.

“No. Leave it be as much as possible. Just observe. Prepare a full report on its actions and have my secretary file it some place where I’ll never come across it unless I get really fucking keen. Is that clear?”

Of course sir.


* * *


Chapter Sixteen
Net Working

“Dammit!” said Pamela, staring at her personal device.

“Losing at Bubble Poker?” said Philbert.

“I’m not playing games, loser! I’m trying to get us rescued!”

“You’re not actually online, are you?”

“Yes!”

“What!” said Bleeekxpritzle. “You’re on the interwebs?”

“I think so. But facebook is the only site that works.”

“Let me see,” said the Admiral. One of his tentacles swiped the device from her grasp in the blink of an eye. He looked at the web page.


Pamela Baker
help! call FBI & CIA. Im trapped in piggly wiggly at n. broadway & chester. aliens r goin to kill me. not jking. hurry!
LIKE - COMMENT - SHARE

  Felicia Cairns
  WTF?? LOL!!! to much tekila last nite @ jj!! lolz!!!


  Brittany Boucher
  lol!!! wtf?? jenfer rat u out agn???


  Corey Bigjohnson Givner
  hey pampam got ur nelk nbmic wtf??? lol!!!


  Pamela Baker
  REPEAT: NOT JKING. CALL ARMY CALL WHITEHOUSE. I M CAPTERED BY ALIENS 4 REEL! PLEAZ HELP.


  Dawnella Jackson
  u 2? lol!!!!!! call me L8er


  Ken Fayer
  by me sum chetos thx


“What language is this?” said the Admiral.

“Duh! English!”

The Admiral looked again. “Curious dialect, this Duh-English. Still, there’s something rather dysfunctional with these people, isn‘t there?”

“Hey! Those are my friends, ass hole.”

The Admiral began adding a new comment to the page. “Don’t delete this, whatever you do.” When he handed the device back, Pamela looked and saw this:


Pamela Baker: 1QaZxSw@  3E  dCvFr$5TgBnHy  ^7 UjM,Ki*9Ol<.:p)-k{ITYD‘?\}  =3898hgU
B09 eDu5Glty7676   !qAzXs  W2#eDcV  fR4%tGbHnY6  &uJm  ;P0_[cvz“ Kgf
ED# $5  6kj  2wp[pohfd32DFjkPpk jDEDeY|  234\9 \7654|#rfHJ3  6  76 #k8^%o6o  yC34v5&


Pamela heaved a long sigh.

“Is something the matter?”

“My friends are going to think I’m a moron.”

“That’s nice. If you get any more comments, let me know immediately.”

Chapter fourteen... the plot revealed...

Chapter Fourteen
A Sad State Of Earthly Affairs

“What’s going to happen to us?” said Pamela. Tear tracks lined her cheeks.

“Us meaning this group here or your human race?” said Admiral Bleeekxpritzle.

“The human race,” said old Bill Blake.

“I meant me,” said Pamela.

The Admiral looked at each of them in turn.

“Don’t you think you owe us an explanation,” said Philbert as he approached the group. Bunny and Mickey sat huddled together about fifteen feet away. The pedestal’s diameter would afford no greater separation.

The Admiral’s three eyes seemed to examine each of the three humans individually. He nodded. “I suppose I do. You deserve to know for what you are paying this price. Though I can not promise you’ll find any of it believable.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Philbert, looking around the strange cavernous room. “My horizons have been somewhat widened today.”

“Very well,” said the Admiral. “I’ll be blunt. Your race of humans is the most notorious in the universe. You are infamous. There are more than nine billion super-intelligent civilizations in the O.U.C.H. and all but one-”

“O.U.C.H.?” said Philbert.

“The Official Universal Community of Humanoids.”

“Ah.”

“And all but one civilization is united in wanting humans exterminated.”

“Ouch!” said Pamela, frowning.

“Was it something we said?” asked Philbert.

“Basically your essential numbers are just way out of whack,” said the Admiral.

“Our essential numbers?”

The Admiral nodded. “Your procreation and territorial sprawl rates are out of control; right off the charts. It’s like all you humans want to do is screw and travel.”

Philbert shrugged. “Is that unusual?”

“More importantly your Blyxwhipple Ratio is two thousand and eighty nine to one favouring technological evolution to evolution of consciousness. Two thousand and eighty nine to one! It’s the worst ever recorded.”

Philbert frowned. “Exactly how bad is that?”

“Well, the second worst Blyxwhipple Ratio in the history of the universe was three to two. And every other intelligent species in the universe has evolved in favour of consciousness.”

“Pretty bad then.”

“Practically inconceivable. God knows how you’ve managed it.”

“How the hell do you measure something like that?” said Philbert.

“Easy. They just examine a package of standard possible evolutionary milestones. You’ve got nuclear bombs, automobiles, alarm clocks, the Nazi holocaust and two thousand and eighty five other atrocities versus… Woodstock.”

“What’s Woodstock?” said Pamela. The Admiral shook his head sadly.

“I’ll explain later,” said Philbert.

“Your Gazoo Equation is running an even fifty-fifty and the crux is drawing near.”

“What does that mean?” said Philbert.

“It means that your chances of self-destruction versus PTA is an even shot. And you’re not far off from doing one or the other.”

Philbert sighed. “PTA? Parent Teacher Association?”

“Post Terrestrial Ascension. What it all adds up to is this: By intergalactic standards you are at the eleventh hour. You’re either about to kill yourselves off through native resource depletion-slash-destruction or you’re about to make the interstellar leap, continue to furiously multiply and swiftly deplete the resources of the entire universe and kill us all. Understandably, seven hundred million trillion responsible universal citizens would prefer to limit your options.”

“By blowing up planet Earth?” said Pamela.

“Goodness child, of course not!”

“How then?” said Philbert.

“Oh, probably just a few covert interventions to ensure you stay on the wrong path. Divert your remaining major oil reserves to make them more accessible to you. Bankrupt the U.S.A. and, if necessary, any other nation that threatens to sufficiently back a useful space program and that would pretty much clinch it. You’ll have the biosphere destroyed in no time at all, with nowhere to go. You’ll be extinct and the universe will be safe from an incurable plague of zombies and psychopaths.”

“Oh please. You flatter.”

“Is anyone on our side?” said Pamela.

“There is a very slim majority, in just two galaxies in the entire universe, who would prefer another solution: To, in effect, make Earth into a stable but guarded asylum, so you could rot here indefinitely without threatening the rest of us; a position of extraordinary generosity if you could manage to see it from our perspective. They are the Twin Dwingeloo galaxies. That is who I represent.”

“Wait a minute,” said Philbert. “Why aren’t we part of the Official Universal Community of Humanoids?”

“It’s only for sufficiently intelligent humanoids. If it’s any consolation though, you’re current intelligence ratings place you high enough you’re on the official watch list for possible promotion.”

“Well this is all bloody insulting.”

“And so are your dolphins, actually.”

“Dolphins? They’re on the list too? Seriously?”

“Very much so.”

“How far behind us are the dolphins?”

Bleeekxpritzle winced. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re ahead!”

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“The dolphins are ahead of humans! They don’t even have feet! Okay, wait now! Wait. How can humans not be part of a group whose very title includes the word humanoid! It comes from the word human!”

“The actual word is not humanoid, Philbert. I’m translating all this into English in case you haven’t realized.”

“Oh,” said Philbert. “Damn. I guess I should have figured that out for myself.”

The Admiral shrugged.

“We really are stupid, aren’t we?”

“Hey now, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ll always have Woodstock. Oh, and facebook.”

“Facebook?” said Philbert.

“The other reason humans are infamous. There are tens of trillions more users than Zuckerburg knows about. If he was getting the royalties he really deserves, he could buy half the Milky Way.”

“Mister Bleek - ah - I mean, Admiral?”

“Yes, Pamela?”

“What’s going to happen to us?”

“Oh, you’ll just continue to graze and die as always. You’ll be completely unaware of the existence of extraterrestrial intelligences and their covert tinkering with various cause-and-effect mechanisms here on Earth or that your ultimate destiny is controlled by powers you have no means to relate to. And if by some miracle you start to evolve consciously and your Blyxwhipple Ratio reverses, well, you might one day be invited into the interstellar community and learn how to live meaningful lives. There’s always hope, I suppose, slim as it may be.”

“No, I mean… what’s going to happen to us - here on this pedestal?”

“Oh. Well, personally, I’m up the creek, frankly. They will certainly assassinate me. But there are others who will carry on with my work. The rest of you will probably be let go after your memories are erased; once they realize how dumb and inconsequential you all are.”

“Thank goodness,” said Pamela. “I feel so much better now… I think.”

“Actually it would be less trouble for them just to cut you all loose in a 4D exactor loop. It wouldn’t cost them a single Unero and you’d never get out. To a 3D creature it would just seem like an eternal empty labyrinth. You wouldn’t age but you’d eventually die from the consequences of extreme insanity.”

Pamela and Philbert looked at each other.

“Yeah. Now that I think about it,” said Bleeekxpritzle. “I’m sure that’s what they’ll do.”

“Couldn’t you - I don’t know - call someone? To come rescue us? Your green alien friends?”

“Got a telephone?”

“Yes!” Pamela pulled a device from her pocket.

“I’m kidding. It won’t work here.”

“It’s always worked in grocery stores before.”

“Darling, we’re on a spaceship; not in a grocery store.”

Pamela pushed a couple buttons and held it to her ear. She frowned, hit a couple more buttons and listened again. “You’re right. I cant get through to anyone.” She sat and fiddled some more.

Chapters twelve and thirteen

Chapter Twelve
A Trip To The Grocery Store

“Well, that’s enough diplomacy,” said the Scorekeeper when finally he settled his laughter. He turned to his octet. “Bag them.”

His accompanying footmen then poured into the dining room with their staves held forth and with them shot streams of energy at the Earthlings and the Dwingeloopian. Each of the targets immediately then found themselves in very awkward positions; each cradled tightly into some kind of individual energy sack. They then found themselves floating through the air in this highly uncomfortable manner, seemingly directed by the staves of the Scorekeeper’s soldiers. In this manner they were delivered down the curiously quiet and empty street to a Piggly Wiggly grocery store which appeared to be most normal and open for business, though with no staff or customers present, according to the view through the great front windows.

But once inside they found the landscape not remotely in line. The environments within were dark with walls and floors all bearing a rubbery look and with colour patterns, if one examined closely enough, resembling the rainbow effects in the surface of an oil and water mix. No ceilings came into view, but only a yawning darkness above.

They saw dark rooms and dark halls; gates and grates and sturdy vault doors, and everywhere these unicorn people in military style uniforms.

Still they floated seemingly at the direction of the soldiers and now they entered an enormous chamber where they drifted toward a great pedestal surrounded by a circular channel offering no view of a bottom. The six captives passed over this pit with varying degrees of terror and alarm and once above the pedestal, were unceremoniously dumped onto its surface. Bill Blake Senior, by design or otherwise, landed squarely on the very pliant belly of Admiral Bleeekxpritzle and was thus spared any breakage of old bones.

The six found themselves sitting up and observing their surroundings. Beyond the moat-of-sorts several single-horned blue-haired Tweeporans sat at workstations or some things of that ilk, some singularly; some in pairs.

The teenager in Pamela name tag and golf shirt, now hatless, looked around, giggling in a soft way. She then lay down on her side, closed her eyes and went to sleep. Somehow her chewing gum had migrated to her shoulder.

“Is she okay?” said Bleeekxpritzle.

“I gave her Valium,” said Bunny.

“Is everyone else okay?”

The others looked wearily at the Admiral.

“Well I for one,” said Mickey, “Couldn’t be better. I am having the adventure of a lifetime. I am so delighted that Green Goblin here has dragged us into this monumental shit storm of fucked-uppedness, well, I could just shit golden butterflies! All of the thank-you cards in the world can not express how ecstatically grateful I am. Thanks Shrek. Thanks so much. And if there’s anything I can do for you in return - hey - don’t hesitate. You know what I mean, pal?” He glared at the Admiral, his ear-do so canted it looked like it was about to fall off his little mouse head.

The Admiral stared back at him calmly. “You seem so much more sincere on TV,” he said finally.

“Blow me,” said Mickey.

The Admiral pursed his great wide lips and blew.

“Whooah!” cried Mickey as the gust pushed him, flailing and hollering, almost to the edge of the pedestal.


* * *


Chapter Thirteen
Bathroom Hog


Bruce Willis (of no relation to the Hollywood film star) sat on the bathroom floor, his cheek firmly against the door. When all had been silent a short time, he untied his dress shoes, removed them, and his socks, and then quietly slipped out the door to find the ruined dining room empty of life. Through the wide window openings he spied a strange entourage of fifteen individuals moving down the street; six of them curled like macaroni noodles and floating through the air; the others horned, with staves and long flowing hair. He watched them proceed to the grocery store and enter. He nodded thoughtfully.

He turned and began searching what was left of the ice-creamery. The glass doors had been shot out of the wide upright freezer but the multitude of ice cream cakes within appeared relatively intact. He nodded at this. He found Pamela’s visor on the floor behind the counter and he put in on his head, ditching the chauffer cap. He tried the door to the back area and was appropriately surprised to discover the gaping black void instead. Another door, however, revealed a large closet interior which was still intact. A great slop sink was there and a cleaner’s cart and mop bucket. He nodded again.

He pulled the car keys from the pocket of his dress pants and proceeded carefully; alertly out to the remnants of the limousine. The trunk had thoughtfully been blown open for him so he put the keys away. The large box within had been badly charred by laser fire but he ripped it open and discovered that very thankfully, the gift he’d procured for his ten-year-old son was perfectly intact. Bruce surrendered a half grin as he peered inside the box.

Chapter 11: The Scorekeeper

More NaNoWriMo first draft fun...

Chapter Eleven
The Scorekeeper

“Anybody home?” came a cheerful voice. A unicornish biped humanoid with long red hair and enormous horn; nearly three feet long, appeared at the front door carrying some kind of staff. And on the staff was a headpiece which looked very much like an unsolved Rubik’s cube. Behind the visitor stood an octet of very similar creatures, with the wide flat noses and big eyes, but these all with brown hair, and each their own staves; these devoid of fancy headpieces. They had the horns also but theirs were shorter.

“How DARE you!” cried Bleeekxpritzle, casting his ice cream aside. The old man snorted and awoke. “This is a diplomatic mission as you very well know! What is the meaning of this murderish offense!”  

The red-haired beast who stood nearly seven feet high, turned to look behind himself and then came about again. “I’m sorry. Are you speaking to me?”

“Do you see some other conscienceless psychopath around!” warbled Bleeekxpritzle.

The newcomer nodded and made a brief show of casting his eyes in a brief arc. “Indeed,” he said. “Seven billion or so.”

The Admiral snapped his fingers. “Damn. You got me there. But that is no excuse for your deplorable behaviour!”

“Whatever do you mean, Green Man! I only just arrived. Did I forget to wipe my feet at the door? It’s not like you’re up to snuff with the housework. Look at this place. You could have picked up a little. Even a little scurryfunge might have helped.”

“I have no time for your nonsense, Scorekeeper.”

Bunny was now peeking over the counter at the goings on. She and her companions looked on, bewildered.

“Ah,” said he who had been called Scorekeeper. “You would be incorrect in that assumption. You are likely to have quite a whole lot of time on your hands: for my nonsense, for tic-tac-toe, for picking your nose, twiddling your thumbs and whatever further pastimes you are yet to discover. Sudoku perhaps.”

“Gads! Never!” cried the Admiral.

“So we shall see. You will be brought to justice either way.”

“I’ve broken no oath or convention!” cried Bleeekxpritzle. “And you are no hand of the law! Release us at once!”

“Us? Oh my! Hello Earthlings! The red-haired cubist looked to the others. “Fear no longer. I have freed you from the clutches of the Green Monstrosity. Allow me to escort you to our Hospitality Lounge so we can assess your needs and get you back to your various states of normal as soon as possible! This way please!”

“I will finish my sundae before going anywhere,” said old man Blake.

The Scorekeeper smiled tiltedly and blinked his eyes in twice succession. “And good afternoon to you sir! I am Officer Joneybaloneybingdingeldeedoodleycrackers. But my friends call me Officer Jo. And you are?”

Editor’s note: [Tiltedly…? Really?]

“Bill Blake Senior. And you are interrupting my dessert, Mister Baloneydiddler. And if you are responsible for putting the baseball through the window then you’d better hope there is no glass in my ice cream or you and I will be having a little sit-down.”

“Enchanted,” said Officer Jo. “But we can afford no precious time for pleasantries I‘m afraid. This area is unstable. The Hospitality Center awaits. This way please!” He gestured toward the doorway with his staff.    

“The only hospitality I require,” eeked Mickey Mouse, stepping forward, “Is some consideration in terms of the replacement of one 1954 Rolls Royce six-seater. If your people would please see to that with due expedience, you can then contact my people at Walt Disney Studios to arrange delivery. That is all. Now if you will step aside, My hare friend and I have urgent appointments to keep. I am indeed Mickey Mouse, as you have no doubt observed. And I know that my dear friends at the American White House and at the Pentagon will all be very grateful to you for rescuing me from this Green Monster and for setting me free so promptly. Favourable rewards are yours, Scorekeeper!”

The scorekeeper raised one bushy eyebrow as he regarded the mouse. He then released an involuntary guffaw and then another. Then finally a great peal of laughter burst from him, followed by more and more. Mickey’s face reddened.

“Do not heed the spinnings of this horned trickster, my friends,” said Admiral Bleeekxpritzle. “You see here the face of the enemy of all Earthkind. His people plot solaricide!”

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten
The Calm After The Storm


“Well,” said Philbert as he raised his head and peeked out the absence of a window. “You’re definitely gonna be shopping for a new limo after all, Mickey-boy.”

All the commotion had settled and all was very strangely quiet. Much of the Queen O’ The Dairy lay in ruins though all five dwellers of the dining area were left unscathed. Mickey, Bunny, Philbert and Sir Admiral Premier Gleeg Bleeekxpritzle were now all risen from the debris-ridden floor and carefully peeking out the shattered empty windows. Six giant mechanical beasts lay in smoking heaps as did two limousines; one formerly white and one black; now one black and one extra-black.

“Start talking, Shrek,” squealed Mickey Mouse. “What putrid swamp o’ Dante’s ninth hell did you come slithering out of and who in all of creation turned this restaurant into a rip-roaring climactic scene from some apeshit Star Wars flick?”

“Inquiring minds want to know?” said Bleeekxpritzle.

“Fess up.”

“Much of that information is not fit for public consumption.”

“You pompous green land squid,” said Mickey, shaking his head, his googly eyes narrowed with malice.

“Don’t have a cow, mouse.” the Admiral gurgled.

“What do you expect I should do instead?”

“Run for the hills! They’ve blundered this attack but they’ll try something else in very short order.”

“Is this the end of the world?” said Bunny.

“No. That’s a little way off. Right now, they just want me dead apparently. Unless this was just a warning; unless they bungled it intentionally.”

“Who are THEY?” demanded Philbert.

“If I said, Elton John and Bernie Taupin, would you believe me?”

“No.”

“If I said, the rest of the universe, would you believe me?”

Mickey and Philbert exchanged glances. “No,” said Philbert.

“Then what would you believe?”

Philbert shrugged. “The North Koreans?”

Bleeekxpritzle smiled ruefully. “Then why ask?”

“Were you made in a secret government lab?” said Bunny.

“I couldn’t say,” said Bleeekxpritzle. “That sentence doesn’t really translate into my language.” He peered around through the windows. “I don’t know if you want to stick it out for the bonus round but I for one am getting the hell out of dodge. It’s been a slice. Live long and prosper!” With that he waved his hand and marched out the front door…

…Sort of.

He certainly seemed as if he were about to depart through the front door but instead he very suddenly halted at the threshold. His squirmy blue-green tentacles moved about before him in some form of extraterrestrial mime routine. “Shiver me timbers,” he said, and turned around.

“What!” said Mickey.

“What indeed,” said the Admiral. The rotund green alien bobbled over to the nearest window and thrust out his feelers. Two of his three eyes, on their stalks, turned to the others. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

Mickey ran to the open front door. “Careful!” cried the Admiral. Mickey was not. He hit the invisible force field head-on and bounced back, landing square on his little mouse butt.

“Oh, Mickey-Sweets, are you okay?” Bunny ran to him.

Admiral Bleeekxpritzle stared at his ruined limousine. Between him tearing himself out of the contraption and the fine mess the Zan-wave lasers had made of its remains, there was little the shell of an auto was capable of hiding from the Admiral’s eyes.

“Mr. Willis…” he murmured.

“Blake,” said the old man. The Admiral seemed not to hear.

“Where are you, Mr. Willis?”

“Blake. I’m right here.”

“What?” said the Admiral.

“Nothing.” The old man tediously returned his spoon to the cup where his half-dessert had become very soft and milky.

Mickey had risen to his feet with Bunny’s assistance. Philbert was reclined on a bench, slumped, his arms crossed. Bleeekxpritzle turned and surveyed them all. “My chauffer is gone,” he announced.

“Join the club,” said Mickey.

“The Mickey Mouse Club?”

“Never mind.”

“Something smells fishy in the town of Denmark,” said Bleeekxpritzle. Mickey and Bunny looked at him. “He sold me out. That bastard sold me out.”

“Huh?” said Philbert, looking up.

“My chauffer is suspiciously absent. I conclude that he is some informant who made possible this ambush. It’s elementary my dears.”

“Are we trapped?” said Philbert.

“Come look out this window,” said the Admiral.

Philbert rose. “What?”

“What do you see?”

“Dead laser gun machines?”

“What else?”

“Stores, houses, streets. Clouds. That one looks like an eggbeater.”

“Fascinating. What’s missing?”

“Eggs? Oh - sorry.” Philbert stared for a moment. “Cars. People.”

“Indeed. And what about the light?”

“Huh?”

“The sunlight.”

Philbert frowned. “It’s not quite right, is it? It’s like a couple shades off or something.”

“We are looking at an illusion,” said the alien. “We’ve been taken. The whole building has been taken.”

“What!” yelped Bunny. “But I have a nail appointment this aft. Mickey! Do something! What about my nails?”

“Sit down here, Baby. I’ll think of something.”

“Will we be rescued?” said Philbert.

“By whom?” squorbled the Admiral.

“By whoever shot up those machines; whoever saved us from the laser attack.”

“Ah. So that is how you see it? Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to hope. Whoa! Soup’s on!” said Bleeekxpritzle. He had suddenly noticed five large-size blitz cups standing on the serving counter. “That looks like my breakfast! Come and git it afore I slop it to the hogs!” He marched straight to the counter and picked up a cup of rather unadorned and half-melted ice cream. It immediately screamed the ungodliest of screams at him and he dropped it back on the counter as he jumped an involuntary step backward.

But then he realized that the scream had more likely come from the teenage girl who lay on the floor behind the counter in a foetal position, next to a cup which lay on its side in a fine puddle of dairy. She turned her head to peek again at the three hovering eyeballs gazing down at her from the ends of three green stalks and again she screamed.

“I think someone should comfort this child,” announced the alien. “But I may be the wrong candidate, frankly.”

Bunny and Mickey came forward. Bunny went to the girl while Mickey went to the door to the back area. “I’m gonna find a phone,” he squeaked. He pulled open the door and immediately closed it again. “No, I’m not,” he said. Bunny gently pulled the girl to a sitting position and sat on the floor beside her, holding her hand.

Bleeekxpritzle went to the door and opened it for himself to discover nothing but a black void on the other side. So he took his cup to the old man’s table to find the old man half-canted in his seat, his eyes closed. The Admiral sat across from him, took Mr. Blake’s bony little wrist and felt a moment for a pulse. Satisfied the codger was only sleeping, he then took up a random spoon and attacked his breakfast. It was disappointingly plain. Clearly the Tweeporan attack had interrupted the preparation of his meal. And he knew very well that only the Tweeporans could be behind it. And just to remove all doubt, there suddenly came a knock at what was left of the front door.

The Lurker Above

Chapter Nine
The Lurker Above


The C.H.B. Lurking Vulture was a Class VII ‘Invisiship’ reconnaissance vessel from the Crafts ‘R’ Us SpaceTrans Company of the planetary system Tweepora Major in the constellation of Orion. It was noted for its cloaking and holographic functionalities but more primarily for its multi-dimensional Tesseract Deck. At the time of the telling of this illustrious tale, this model of spacecraft was only available to the Tweeporan military.

Captain Vaugnobbler and Fleaman Bigbiggerpants sat in the frontal lobe of the ship with a rotating Ouija Cube hovering between them. The two officers each had tall pointed ears, wide flat noses, long flowing wavy blue hair and single horns resembling that of a unicorn. The Captain had the longer horn. Each of them held their palms toward the floating spinning cube and moved their hands in slight gentle undulations.

“We’re so fucked,” said Captain Vaugnobbler.

“She’s coming,” said Fleaman Bigbiggerpants.

“Her gait suggests agitation and incontinence.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Sorry. Not incontinence. Superciliousness.”

“What?” said Bigbiggerpants.

“Priapism?”

“I think your C-3 nodule has become deflibwaggled.

Captain Vaugnobbler stuck his long index finger into his ear and fiddled for a moment. “You were correct, fleaman. Thank you.”

“Gesundheit.”

The hatch spiralled open and a similar looking creature marched in. This one had a horn roughly eight feet long; a length 133% that of her height. “Stop monitoring my gait!” she snapped.

“A thousand pardons, Commander Taumb.” said the captain.

“What the spleen is going on down there!”

“We’re losing the battle sir-ma’am!”

“How - I say - how… is that possible?”

“Bleeekxpritzle and his crew are returning fire. Damage to five out of six Drones-of-Salvation range from serious-critical to critical-alarming. The other is graded worrisome.”

“This was never supposed to BE a battle! I can’t afford to lose five drones!”

“The drone graded worrisome has now been re-graded doornail,” said the fleaman. He shook his head sadly. “Sorry.”

The captain winced and looked nervously at the commander. “We’d had no intelligence suggesting any existence of a Dwingeloopian support team nor of unearthly weaponry, until now.”

“Where in the liverschnitzel did they come from!” snapped Commander Taumb.

“The crew or the arms?”

“Either!”

“I can’t fathom, sir-ma’am.”

“What are Bleeekxpritzle’s vitals?”

The fleaman frowned. “Jaunty, sir-ma’am.”

“Jaunty? He hasn’t been hit even once?”

“No.”

“What kind of weapons are they using against us?”

“Class nine Zan-wave lasers,” said fleaman Bigbiggerpants

“Check again fleaman,” said Vaugnobbler. “The Zans belong to us.”

“Sorry” said Bigbiggerpants. He squinted and frowned at the Ouija cube. “Sirs, I assure you: The Dwingeloopian is also using class nine Zan-wave lasers. There’s no doubt about it.”

“I’m not hearing this,” said Taumb.

“Oh no,” said Vaugnobbler.

“I am NOT… HEARING… THIS!” said Taumb.

“Oh sweet Jiminy Christmas,” said Vaugnobbler

“What the holy high-flying solar-pigeon plucking formation have you got the drones in!” the commander wailed.

“They have the ice creamery encircled, sir-ma’am.” said the fleaman who was just beginning to look terrified. “Um… All fire has now ceased.”

“Oh, what a surprise,” said Taumb.

“Commander, I’m profoundly regretful,” said the captain.

“I want this fleaman scrubbing the emergency poop-drive accelerator for the remainder of this mission,” said Commander Taumb.

“Yes sir-ma’am.”

“Is the entire Dwingeloo crew inside the ice creamery?”

“Affirmative.”

“Take the whole restaurant and put it in the Tesseract Deck. Leave a mootcopy in its place.”

“Yes sir-ma’am.”

“And if you snork this up.”

“Yes?”

“Life as you know it will be over!”

“I understand, sir-ma’am.”

“For starters I will make you watch every… single… episode… of Married With Children.”

Vaugnobbler shrank back in abject horror. Commander Taumb brought her head around so that her elephantine horn pointed straight at the Captain’s eyes. She then turned and marched out the hatch. It spiralled shut behind her. Vaugnobbler clasped his cheeks in his hands and wailed the wails of the damned.

Finally he quieted and wiped the tears from his face.

“Are you okay, sir?” asked fleaman Bigbiggerpants gently.

“Get out of my sight, poop scrubber.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“You can’t put drones in a circle formation and fire at will, you fart-snorting piffle head! Don’t you get it? They destroyed each other!”

Ice Cream, Screams And Laser Beams

Chapter Eight
Ice Cream, Screams And Laser Beams


“Take your time, Guerrero.” said Mickey. “It’s not like I’m in any way important or have anything remotely useful to do with my TIME!”

The driver tried for about the twentieth time to turn over the engine and received the same mechanical fart in response. “I’m sorry sir! Let me have a look under the hood.” He opened the door and rushed out.

“By all means, have a look under the hood,” said Mickey at the departing driver. “Fire his ass the moment we get home.”

“Yes sir,” said Philbert.

“And bust a kneecap. Just one though.”

“Mickey!” Bunny blurted.

“I’m not a thug, Mr. Mouse. I’ll do no such thing. Besides, the car is fifty-eight years old. You didn’t really think it would last forever?”

“The car is fine, Tubby. And if I wanted your pudgy opinion I’d ask for it.”

“You should get something newer. With a larger fridge.”

“And you should know when to shut the hell up, Fatso.” WHAM! Something made a loud booming noise and shook the Rolls Royce. Mickey, Bunny and Philbert stared at one another. “What the fuck is he doing out there?” Mickey demanded. “Go fire him now. Right now! Baby, call us a cab.”

“Call one yourself, you beast,” Bunny snapped. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Five more booms shook them.

“What the f-” Mickey started.

A series of high-pitched bursts then filled their ears followed by the sounds of minor explosions and the tinkle of broken glass. The door beside Bunny was suddenly yanked open and the driver appeared there, his eyes just about bursting forth on springs.

“What the hell’s going on out there!” Mickey snapped.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god!” he explained. And these were his last words. Another high-pitched burst was accompanied by a bolt of blue light which passed through the driver’s body, leaving him collapsed and crumpled over the threshold of the car doorway. Mickey and his companions screamed their very finest screams to date and then beat each other near senseless scrambling to be the first out the opposite door.

Mickey was first out of the Rolls, which proved not to be the cleverest strategy after all, as he tumbled to the ground followed by the others who landed precisely on top of him. Bunny was the last out and was thus the first off the top of the heap and the first to run screaming into the presumed safety of the Queen O’ The Dairy Restaurant And Ice Creamery.

As Mickey followed Philbert along that same short path, terror and disbelief rose in him, flooding him like the worst acid reflux attack ever. He glimpsed giant mechanical beasts looming, a criss-cross of brilliant blue light beams, piercing noises, shattered glass and a glimpse of some beast; some giant green tentacled monstrosity in colourful shorts. Can’t be real can’t be real can’t be real! I can’t die this way! Oh momma I’ve done peed my britches!   

The old man drew the spoon slowly from his lips and savoured the cold creamy yumminess on his tongue.  He gave all his attention to his taste buds. He felt at one with yumness. He scarcely noticed the sound of breaking glass until shards of it skittered along his table; a piece caroming off his dessert cup.

“Oops,” he said. “Billy Junior’s put the baseball through the window again. He’ll be up here in a jiffy, head hanging like a hound dog; the little rascal.” Blue laser beams flashed overhead, unnoticed. One of them passed right above his cranium leaving two holes; an entry and exit, in his so recently pristine bowler hat. The glass front door burst open. “Here comes Billy Junior now…” he said. But instead there arrived a young rabbit in red dress along with the man in black suit and goatee who’d so recently departed, and then something else which he presumed to be a small child in Mickey Mouse costume. They came flying through the door in most chaotic of fashion, yelping and hollering and then they dove to the floor at his feet. “All right then,” said the old man. He ignored them the best he could and continued manoeuvring his spoon back down toward the cup.

What few windows remained in the Restaurant And Ice Creamery were now being blown out by laser beams. Most of these beams were passing through one window or another and exiting through another window at its opposite side of the dining room.

The front door banged open again, nearly coming off its hinges as a giant bluish green mass came bursting through. Mickey, Bunny and Philbert launched into a whole new screaming sensation as they scrambled up against table and chair legs, adding inches to the distance between they and this new threat. Laser beams crashed all around the beast in pretty shorts. His tentacles and eyestalks waved frantically as he too dove for cover, shouting, “Aye Karumba!” in a deep gurgling warbled voice. A table was battered into some kind of instant modern art sculpture as the beefy Admiral crashed into it.

“Do something! Dammit! Do Something!” Mickey screamed as he leapt atop his man, Philbert and wrapped his little three-fingered hands around his neck. He squeezed with all his mousy little might. “You are PAID..! To PROTECT ME, You BITCH! Use your freaking GUN, you fat tub of SHIT!”

The Admiral frowned at this and shot out a tentacle. In an instant it wrapped around the mouse’s neck and yanked him clear of his gasping employee. Now Mickey was the choking one. He spat and sputtered, his eyeballs bulging as Bleeekxpritzle’s tentacle turned His Mouseness to face him, though from ten feet away. “Hey!” said the Admiral. “Peace out, little dude! He’s not even fat!” With that he sat Mickey back onto the floor and released him. The mouse and his companions sat staring wide-eyed at the great squirmy beast while laser beams continued to fly; while the sounds of explosions reverberated outside, and while the old man calmly dined on his strawberry sundae in slow-motion.

“What the fuck are you?” said Mickey.

“Sir Admiral Premier Gleeg Bleeekxpritzle, Fifth Colony, Twin Dwingeloo Galaxies Federation at your service.” The three continued to stare at him. “And who so what the fuck are you, good sir!”

Mickey and his delegation all looked at one another and then back at Bleeekxpritzle. “I’m the single most recognizable celebrity in the history of televised entertainment… bitch!”

“I knew it! I knew it! Mickey Mouse! M-I-C…! K-E-Y…! M-O-U-S-E! I just didn’t wish to be presumptuous!”

“God forbid,” said Mickey.

“Mmmmmmmmm,” groaned the old man, drawing the spoon from his mouth again.

“Someone ought to warn him what’s going on, don’t you suppose?” said Bleeekxpritzle, nodding toward the white-haired old man; the only dining room inhabitant seated on a chair and not low on the floor.

“How about you start by telling us just what the hell IS going on here!” Mickey snapped.

The Admiral glanced up at the passing blue bursts of light. “Ah. Well. We seem to be under attack.” This was punctuated by the crash of a light fixture which had been blasted off of the ceiling and onto the floor.

“Oh, You don’t say? Well then. I‘m glad that‘s settled. Let‘s have tea, shall we.”

“Only in Canada, you say?” said the Admiral. “Pity!”

Mickey turned to Philbert. “Give me your gun.” said Mickey to Philbert.

“I don’t have it on me,” said Philbert.

“You’re fired.”

“I quit.”

“Fine. Get out.”

“Out?”

Mickey pointed at the battered doorway. “Get… out.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“That would be unwise,” said the alien.

“Oh, and why is that, Admiral Bleak Pretzel?” said Mickey.

“Bleeekxpritzle. Ah - he wouldn’t survive the laser blaster attack. Those are class nine Zan-wave lasers. They’re rather unforgiving.”

Meanwhile, Back At The Ice Creamery

Chapter Seven
Meanwhile, Back At The Ice Creamery

Pamela carried the strawberry sundae to the table where the old man was very busy getting his skinny old butt in place on the bench seat; his rollie walker within arm‘s reach. She held a spoonful of peanut sprinkles in the other hand. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t clear if you wanted the peanuts or not.”

“That would be splendid and enchanting,” he replied dryly. She emptied the spoon over the sundae. “But no. I’m allergic.”

“Oh, come on! Are you shitting me!” Pamela tore the visor off her head and thumped it onto the table. “I quit. Honestly. I quit.” She stormed away a few steps, halted and turned. The old man was slowly shakingly delivering a bite of sundae toward his open mouth. “Hey, no!” She rushed back and knocked the spoon from his hand. He sighed forlornly. and raised his eyebrows at her. “What are you doing! I thought you said you were allergic!”

“I was joking,” said the old man. He tipped sideways and looked down at his spoon sitting on the floor in a small puddle of ice cream.

“Well, it wasn’t funny.”

“I want another spoon.”

“Oh, you want another spoon? You can have another spoon alright. I‘ll get you another spoon!” She stormed back to the service counter, reached over, grabbed a giant cup full of plastic spoons, marched back to the table and overturned the cup so the spoons spilled down over the dessert. Several remained on the table while many bounced and skittered off.

Those remaining, the old man fingered through, before finally selecting one.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. He sat there among the sea of spoons and began the arduous process of delivering himself a bite. Pamela drew a cell phone from her pocket and snapped a photo of this. She then grabbed back her visor and returned to her station where she went about updating her facebook status.

A shadow then appeared on the glass doorway followed by a man in black suit and goatee entering the ice creamery. He approached the girl.

“Welcome to - dammit. Thank you for choosing Queen O’ The Dairy Restaurant and Ice Creamery. How may-”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” said Philbert.

“Huh?”

“This wasn’t my choice. I have a question. Tell me: Is there real cheese in your strawberry cheesecake blitz?”

“Well, it’s real cheesecake.”

“So yes, then? There is real cheese?”

“No. There’s real cheesecake.”

“And real cheesecake is made with real cheese. No?”

“I doubt it. Not around here, mister.”

Philbert sighed. “You don’t know for sure?”

“You think I eat this crap?”

“I don’t care what the hell you eat. My butcher may be a vegetarian for all I know. But I damn well expect him to know what he’s selling me!”

“Corn oil,” croaked the old man at the table. He slowly turned his pale old face to them. Philbert jolted backward, thinking this the face of a vampire before him, with a string of red liquid snaking down from the corner of the old man’s mouth. A glance at the man’s strawberry dish then comforted him.

“I beg your pardon, old-timer?” said Philbert

“Corn oil!” spat the old-timer. “Your butcher sells you meat. This place sells you modified corn oils. It’s a chain restaurant; a corporation. That’s how they do things. It’s not profitable to sell real food. If you want real cheese, go to a market or independent grocer.” He then turned ponderously around and began to arrange another mouthful of dessert onto his spoon.

Philbert eyed the girl behind the counter, who looked back tiredly. “Good day then,” he said. He turned his back to her and departed the store.

Pamela squinted, looking through one of many wide windows at the gleaming white Rolls which the black-suited man approached. “Officious prancing snot,” she said aloud. She had no idea what officious meant but she had heard this phrase uttered once in a movie and it had made her giggle. She was then distracted by a new vehicle pulling into the lot; a long sleek black limousine. “Uh oh,” she said. She put her cell phone device away and immediately began assembling a row of six large cups.

The familiar chauffer in black cap came through the door, glancing at the old man, then giving Pamela a perfunctory nod.

“Hi Bruce,” she said. “The usual?”

“Yeah.”

“Three peanut butter chocolate; three cookie dough?”

“No. Your six most popular. One of each.”

Pamela chose to interpreted this as the six varieties most easy to make; in other words, the six most popular with her. She began filling the cups. “So who you got in that limo, Bruce? You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word.”

“You ask every day,” he said, shaking his head.

“When are you gonna tell me?”

“Trust me. It’s no one famous,” said Bruce. At least not yet. He leaned against the counter, looking through the window at the pair of limousines; old and new. Pamela continued filling cups with ice cream. “Who’s in the Rolls?” said Mr. Willis.

“I’m not telling,” she said. Bruce half-grinned and nodded. “See!” she said. “See how I can keep a secret! Come on. Tell me. I know it’s like - a whole family or a famous boy band or something.”

“Nope. One guy.”

“No one guy eats six large blitzes for breakfast every day.”

“This guy does. And if you saw him, you’d believe it.”

“Oh my god! It’s Cee Lo Green!”

“No. But you got the colour right - in a manner of speaking.”

“So he’s black.”

“No more clues. Excuse me. I’m gonna use the can.”

Two reasons I love my job

I wrote almost 4000 words during a 12-hour shift last night. Not bad at all. It was my eighth of ten shifts in ten nights. Very rare for me to work so much. I'm on chapter 21 of the Bleeekxpritzle fiasco. A zany story born of three random jokes told to me at the corrections centre about two weeks ago. And yet it also has a useful message. I think the story gets better as it goes. It'll wrap up in a couple chapters and then I'll move on to something else.

Speedy came to the "front desk" window of the security office for his morning meds around five this morning. He takes a lot of pills. The tenants all have different schedules; different ways of coping. He's excited about this week coming.

"Hey guys, Did you hear I got a job! At least for a couple of days and then we'll see."

"Yeah. We heard."

"I'm gonna be getting a pay cheque! I'm gonna have something for you guys."

"What do you mean?"

"You guys have taken care of me. Rich, you gave me that coat, remember? And Sam, you got me that heater when my room was cold, remember? I don't forget those things. I'm gonna take care of you guys. You'll see!"

I shook my head. "No, Speedy. You just take care of yourself, okay...?" What's that look? Have I hurt his feelings? "Hey, If you really want to go shopping then buy something for your nephews!"

Now he smiles. "Yeah, I will!"

"Yeah," says Sam. "Buy them a couple of squirt guns."

"And then teach them how to rob banks," I say, and we all have a chuckle. Speedy never robbed any banks. He's here for other reasons but we don't need to keep those kinds of details straight at the moment.

I remember six months ago. A previous milestone. I was doing the 1:00 AM head count. I quietly turned the key and opened Speedy's door. He was in bed but awake.

"Hi Rich," he whispered.

"Hey, how are you?"

"Good. I had my first day pass finally!"

"Good for you."

"Did you know I'm an uncle?"

"I didn't know that."

"My sister just had another baby. I got to go to her house for the day. She let me hold the baby."

"That's awesome!"

"Yeah. It was amazing. He's just a little guy. I got to hold him as long as I wanted." He folded his arms to show me how.

"I'm envious. I'd love to be an uncle."

"You know what else, Rich?"

"What's that?"

"I'm done with breaking the law."

I nodded. "Well... Maybe that's a good idea."

"Yeah. I really am."

Chapter Six: The Coach Revisited

Just want to point out that all this stuff is first-draft. There's a lot of cleaning up to do, especially with the course language. What can I say? I find dumb people swearing at each other to be funny. I can't help it.

Chapter Six
The Coach Revisited

Mickey Mouse arrived at the lobby, exiting the stairwell. He was sweating and his black dual-spheroid ear-do again lay crooked. People rushed to and fro, looming over him. He smacked a briefcase out of his way as a businessman rushed by, not noticing the mouse below. “Jackass,” said Mickey. The man looked back in brief horror.

Mr. Mouse emerged onto the street and whistled. A brilliant white and chrome 1954 Rolls Royce with windows tinted near-black then hummed to life and advanced to pull up in front of the clothed rodent. The rear door opened seemingly on its own and Mickey climbed aboard. Immediately the sparkling auto pulled away.

In the rear seats, a black-suited man with goatee sat facing Mickey, while beside the mouse sat a young rabbit in tight red dress and high heels. She immediately grabbed his hand. “I missed you Mickey baby! Gimme a smooch!”

Mickey rolled his large googly eyes. “Bunny, grow up for a minute, will you? Philbert, pour me something bubbly and cut some gouda, will you?”

“Come on, Mick. Smoochey smoochey!” Mick ignored her.

The man opened the mini-fridge. “We’re all out.”

“Dammit. Some Swiss then. Or provolone. Something whiffy.”

“Of cheese, I mean.”

“What! I’m not in the mood for a Monty Python sketch, Philbert. I want some cheese!”

“Well, you ate like an ornery raptor the whole way here this morning.”

“Yeah, and then you finished it off the moment I left, didn’t you? You know you’re putting on a few pounds there Philly. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Of course, if we took a bigger limousine, we’d have a bigger fridge,” said Philbert.

“I pay for your protection among other things, lest you’ve forgotten.”

“Bigger fridge; more cheese.”

“You gonna be quick on the draw when I need you to be?”

“Bigger car; bigger fridge; more cheese…”

“Eh tubby?”

“Simple relationship when you think about it.”

“Do I need to put an ad in the classifieds?”

“Cause and effect, really.” said Philbert.

“Of for fuck sakes,” said Bunny. “Here we go again; you two.”

“Strawberry cheesecake sir!” barked the driver suddenly.

“What the hell are you on about!”

“That sign in front of the Queen O’ The Dairy. Something about a strawberry cheesecake blitz! Do you suppose there’s real cheese in that?”

Mickey looked for a moment like he would explode. “What the..! Do I look like a fucking ice cream aficionado here! Do I look like a - like a - a polar bear or something..! I pay you fuckers to know these things..! Where’s my bubbly!”

Philbert took a bottle of champagne and began tearing at the gold foil. Bunny selected a flute for herself.

“Should I turn around sir?” said the driver.

“Yes! Turn around! We’re gonna have to go find out, aren’t we! Jumpin’ butt crickets! Where do I find you people? I thought you were from Mexico!”

“Yes sir; Guerrero.” The driver slowed and made a sharp u-turn. Philbert was cast to one side as the cork he’d struggled with blew off. Foam gushed onto his dress pants.

“I thought you Mexicans were all about the ice cream! What the..? And I’m not your Guerrero, hombre! You call me sir or Mr. Mouse. Got it!”

“Yes sir, Mr. Mouse!”

“Sack him tomorrow,” Mickey said lowly. Philbert nodded.