“Are you
Serious, Mr. Rivero?”
By RD
Rivero
**final
version**
Fade in
from black -- focus on a stately room, decorated with Baroque accents and
spider webs, lit only by candelabras. Eerie
harpsichord music plays background accompanied by drums and oboes woefully out
of key. The macabre orchestra rises to
a chaotic crescendo just as the camera conveniently pans to a scattered
desktop, to a chair, a pair of slippers, a bed -- cue cheesey fanfare --
virtuoso harpsicording announces, as with the drawing back of the blankets by a
disembodied hand, the host’s introduction:
“Meesa
wanna sleep-sleep, meesa no ready -- ahhh!”
The
bizarre-looking creature wails and covers its face with the ‘Count Dooku and
Luna’ themed sheets. The unusual hand
grabs the embroidered canvas of naughty positions and struggles to rouse the
weary host.
Cue
abrupt edit.
The same
ghastly crescendo replays but haphazardly for the instruments only just then
regained direction. The camera pans
from the empty bed to the side of a fireplace.
The creature sits on a fullback leather chair, crumpled and stained
tomes open on his lap.
“Hello,
reedies, meesa Jar Jar Binks and I don’t know what I’m doing here! I was
minding my own business in meesa room dees morning when -- boosh -- a big bang
of light and, oh my goodness -- meesa wasa falling through dees a place and
dere were lights!” It speaks so
frantically that its words cease to be Gungan or even English, but pure and absolute
gibberish: “Emplameesa wawa tarsa meesa
George Lucas blurpsa sausa meesa and, oh my ashlinga, it was a disaster! Now meesa trapped in dees story! Trapped!
Ani! Deesa madman wanna me to
read dees porns to you! Meesa didn’t
know you guys were such pervertos!
Doing a nasty deengs with your bodies!
Yeesh! Blaraka blarva mundana
gaga embarda gungag! Meeta
plantorblurpa! George Lucas
flamerskies!
It jumps
out of the chair, flailing its arms, running to the back of the room -- the
camera follows. It crashes through the
cheap plastic wall into an adjacent chamber where the Mutants are playing. Vultureman with an oboe stuck in his beak
struggling to take it out. Jackalman
trapped in a kettledrum trying to claw it out.
Monkian using his butt cheeks to play the harpsichord, whose keys are
turning a very dingy color. All the
while Slythe tries to conduct the group with an unwashed Tygra bone baton no
less.
“
“Shhh!”
the cat-like beast hissed. “I don’t
what them to know I’m lost in this fic -- Peachy will kill me! Oh, no!
Now they know it’s me! Ahhh!
What’s happened? What have I done? ‘Inappropriately-placed hand’? Oh, the scandals!”
“Calm
down, calm down! Yeesh! What a strange fellow. Are you trapped here, too?”
“Shhh! Why am I going ‘shhh’? It’s too late! Oh, where’s my pani? But
don’t you see? NO ONE is safe as long
as this fic goes unfinished!”
“Meesa
not liking dees! Why is dat hand still
on my no-touchie area?”
“Purrr,
relax,” another, smoother feline voice spoke, “it’s just me,” the unseen -- but
felt -- figure paused, “Tygra.”
“TYGRA!”
the breeches-wearing cat wailed.
“TYGRA! KEEP AWAY! KEEP AWAY!” He bolted out of the closet,
leaving a hole behind in the door of the shape and contour of his body.
Jar Jar
gulped: “You can take dee hand off --”
The tiger
winked -- the creature blinked -- somehow, even in the darkness, the flashing
sparkle in the Thundercat’s eye was acutely visible. “Deesa not looking good for me!
Maybe it’s safer if dee story just started already!”
....weeelll....IF
YOU INSIST!!!
“Ani,”
it whispered and collapsed, silent and unconscious for the next few scenes.
It was
midmorning mostly ‘cause it tends to be midmorning in stories like these. Romantic interludes take place at night or
on the beach during sunsets. Lustful
encounters and sex for its own sake, well, that can happen at any time,
no? So...what was I saying? Ah, yes, it was midmorning -- the perfect
time for a mad tryst!
Liono
and Purrsia were hiding in a spare bedroom, preparing for their
much-anticipated consummation. I say
‘preparing’ because, you see, after what happened to them last time they were
involved in one of my adult stories they realized...one of them realized --
nope, I bet they both forgot. Anyway,
for the purposes of this story they’ve decided to go through some great lengths
(!) to ensure that no one listens in on or crashes their, ahem, horizontal
dance, if you know what I mean.
“You’ve
been bad, Felino and I don’t want to hear it!”
Skat wagged a finger before the Thunderian. The male (?) cat was gagged and tied to a dentist’s chair. A dentist’s chair? Where did that come from?
“I told you to clean the bar. I
told you to be nice to the customers. I
even told you to respect HIM and you couldn’t even do that one, simple, little
thing.” She choked back a tear as the
images of his atrocities scrolled through her mind. “You don’t love me!”
“MMMARRR
SKAAAR!” The felinoid mumbled and shook
his body but the ropes only got tighter and the gag deeper. It was as if Peachy’s plants enveloped him
and kept him in place -- and though he struggled he knew he could not get away.
“I hate
you, too, asshole!” She giggled, for it
was that very part of his body that would be...oh, let me not get too far too
soon....
“Are you
sure we have to do this?” Liono asked, holding a modified spray bottle in his
clammy hands. “I mean,” he paused, “I
mean, I don’t know what I mean, I --”
Purrsia
stopped his lips with a finger. She
took a deep breath as if to explain something but said: “Ummm, I donno either.”
The lion
looked confused until the lioness turned to a poster board tackily fastened to
the wall. On its cork were numerous
yellow post-it notes. She grabbed the
first one she saw and read it: “And
remember to --”
“Remember
to what?” he asked, probingly.
“Sheesh! That’s all it says.” She crumpled the slip and let it fall. Taking another from the corkboard she
announced: “Oh, that’s right, you have
to spray the room with the dust to make sure Tygra’s not inside again.”
“Oh,
yeah, Tygra, the invisible, right.
Hmmm.” He examined the bottle he
had been holding in his hands for the past ten minutes and squeezed the plastic
lever. His face was sprayed with a
cloud of flour and in response he sneezed.
“Heh heh, strange, but if it’ll keep the tiger out,” he let the thought
drop -- actually, well, I guess you already know what happened to the
thought. So.…
He
sprayed mists of fine flour until the floor of the bedroom was an inch deep in
it.
In the
dark and dreary cavern that apparently was a dentist’s office (I’m guessing
that dentists around this Fandom like to hear the echo of their patient’s,
ahem, appreciations?) Skat and Felino resumed their scene. But now the rude dude was facedown on the
chair. His head was supported by an
instrument rack. His wrists and ankles
were kept in place with electrical tape.
And this time the white tigress was dragging a large, black box into the
light from the shadows. The contents of
that macabre container were drooping from its lidless rim -- multicolored
cylinders, a miniature head of Bin-Loser and bright metallic cords were clearly
seen by the bare and naked eye.
She
passed the box before him in a perverse effort to instill fear and terror in
him. Pleased, she smiled to see his
eyes widening, his neck tensing at the sight of what she had brought into play.
“BWAMANA
PRAMNA!”
“I’m
only doing this for your own good!
You’re going to learn how to be a good kitty, one way or another!” She let the box all but crash noisily next
to the customized seat of torture -- it seemed to cause her would-be victim
further anxiety.
The
cruel woman stopped and sighed, what work, what busy work. She counted the cylinders in the container
to make sure she had taken as much as she needed. Satisfied she looked upon the prostrate figure of her slave, I
mean, multiple, I mean, her, barman.
She couldn’t ignore his butt -- bare, it pointed up a bit. She eased her hand under it --
“CLAAA
HAAA!”
“Oh,
stop fidgeting, it’s not like I’ve never touched one of those before -- see, it
didn’t drop off.” Not yet, anyways.
She
pushed his butt upward even more until it was at a forty-five degree
angle. To what, I don’t know, I didn’t
measure it. Suffice it to say that it
was up in the air like he wanted it!
Man, I’m getting in to trouble everywhere today! But I ain’t done!
Skat
slapped his cheeks until they turned red to her amusement.
“They’ll
be turning more than red soon! Heh heh
heh!
And now
a quick scene just for the fun of it.
Quick because I totally forgot that I needed it and because it involves
Pu...Puma...Pu...erm, that other female Thundercat.
“Pumyra,
Pumyra, Pumyra you schmuck!”
“Argh! You don’t have to yell,” WileyKat said,
rubbing his ears. “I swear, all you do
is complain and nag all day!”
“Who is
she, anyway?” WileyKit whispered to Bengali -- all the Thundercats, well, all
but Liono and Tygra, were seated around the conference room table.
“I
donno,” the white tiger answered. “She
just, followed me around one day and before I knew it we were here.”
“Argh! I’m a Thundercat, damn it! You can’t just ignore me!”
“I say
we dump on Third Earth with the fruit-cake and hope the writers forget about
them,” Cheetara said, picking her wedge.
“Shhh! We’re still in season three I think,” Panthro
whispered as he adjusted his crotch to distract the others. “You weren’t supposed to give it away yet.”
“OOOPS!” Cheetara realized her mistake -- she dropped
her top in a vain effort to erase the men’s memories. Well, it always worked for Liono. Well --
Pu,
Puma, whatever, the puma woman she rolled her eyes and stammered out of the
room, yelling stuff about how Tygra was never around anymore, how she’d have
find him and how only he understood her or something. Really, no one paid much attention to her and just like that the
Thundercats resumed their conversation -- a meeting about hiring a nurse or
medic -- and just like that the scene and this part came to an end.
Or did
it?
“Meesa
so scared now...why are dees deengs happening?
Why do I feel my body weirdly?
Am I sick? No, you, you, sir,
are sick! Help you need! Help I need! Ani! Oh, Ani! My privatee place, why is it being
molested?”
“Purr!”
“Ahhh!”
She had
to find Tygra, she just had to. She
didn’t know why -- that female puma -- she just knew she had to find him. It was like instinct, like something someone
was willing her to do and she couldn’t fight it, she couldn’t question it. Yes, it was true. Tygra was the only one who understood her, the only one who
sympathized with her, the only one who remembered her name! Most of the time, anyway, when he wasn’t
drunk or high on one of his ‘medicinal’ plants. Which was another way of saying that he remembered who she was
0.25% of the time, but still! Compared
to how the authors and fans treated her, the tiger was like family.
And
sometimes, sometimes -- though she would never admit it -- in spite the very
forcefulness of her being, sometimes even she’d forget who she was!
But that
day was different! Never mind that,
that day would be different. She was
going to confess her endless love of him.
She was going to confess, to repent, to unchain from her immortal souls
the bands of forbidden flesh that connected her to the sins of her dark and
secret
OK, his
bedroom! Oh, so steamy! She had heard so much of his private (heh
heh) chamber, mostly from lemons and stories depraved fans tended to write. But when she entered, unannounced at that,
she found a boring, dull, dreary room, the kind of room that only someone of
Tygra’s rather bland personality would have.
The walls were adorned with Jar Jar Binks posters -- well, they had been
Jar Jar Binks posters but the figures had been cut out and pasted on the
plaster in new and rather obscene forms.
She didn’t bat an eyelash, though and figured he had only done that to
inflame her passions. Or the passions
of anyone unlucky enough to enter his quarters unannounced. The bed was a pile of hashish on the floor,
the litter box was kept a bit to close to the blankets -- indeed, part of the
pillow had fallen onto the sand and seemed soaked. A bad smell of something hideous and ungainly clung to the air --
it didn’t seem to originate from one place in particular but from
everywhere. From every last molecule of
that dreadful place. Egads, the ceiling
was covered with spider webs, complete with little, red, eight-legged spinners,
the floor was covered by dust.
See what
happens when you do drugs, kids! Don’t
do drugs, drugs are so...Tygra....
“I must
find an answer! I must understand
what’s been going on in his mind!” She
looked left and right but found nothing unusual, nothing that could point her
to what had happened to the red-tiger, what had become of him. Nothing but his computer. “Maybe he left something in the hard drive,
a journal --” man, she tends to talk to herself a lot. Wonder why?
Anyway,
she reached the desk and pulled back the chair -- it was wet, soaking wet. Someone had drooled their love juices all
over it! She gagged and flung a dry
pillow over the seat. She turned on the
PC and waited about a half-hour for Windows Inept to boot up. After the final screen shot of Bill Gates
mocking her and her inability to buy quality software had faded and before the
whole thing crashed, she did an immediate search of the last files and
applications Tygra had used. She found
several pictures of interest and displayed them --
“What
the f[deleted by censors]?”
On the
screen were Cartoon Network captures of them, the female Thundercats. Herself, whatever her name was again,
Cheetara and even WileyKat & Kit. A
couple of Mandoras and MummRanas were thrown in the mix -- quite an eclectic
array except they all had one thing in common.
They, the pictures, had been doctored.
Their eyes had been...deformed.…
“Must be
some weird fetish,” she said, again aloud.
Like anyone listened to her.
Sometimes even she didn’t listen to her.
Not
wanting to see how the images of the male Thundercats had been altered, she
turned instead to the programs he had run before his disappearance. It was something called ‘TouchMeXXX.COM” and
she had never seen or heard of it. She
double clicked it and watched in a mixture of curious horror as an image of
Cheetara, naked with eyes malformed, appeared on the screen. She was crouched, her legs spread open, her
bottom scantily covered with a miniature loincloth. Next to the head was a thermometer that read ‘COLD’, ‘WARMING’, ‘DRIPPING’
and ‘EXPLODING’ from bottom to top with the red indicator just under the ‘COLD’
label. The mouse, that had been a
rather unusual phallic shape, had changed into a red and black striped hand --
and, moving the pointer across the contours of the exposed cheetah, she saw
that its fingers were animations that twiddled as if fondling.
“What
sort of perverted mind dreams this stuff up?
Oh, that’s right.”
“And
what exactly are you supposed to be doing?” Liono asked a bit sheepishly. He was tad annoyed that he was doing all the
work. Just because he was the man --
or, well, he was supposed to be the man, right? I mean, this isn’t exactly the f/f pair in the lemon, is it? Jeez, now even I’m confused. Anyway, getting my mind out of his shorts,
he was annoyed. So be it.
“Why,
watching your body, of course,” Purrsia giggled.
He
smiled and eased his shorts down a bit -- truly, his body was his only
redeeming quality.
“Oh,
don’t tease me!” She wanted to see more
and reached out playfully but he sidestepped her eagerly-flexing fingers. He slid his blue underwear-type uniform down
past his crotch while he romped around the room like a
Although
he was exposed and angling his body in such ways as to let her catch
tantalizing glimpses of his Viagra place, she couldn’t see much beneath the
thin frizzy tan fur that covered him head to toe.
Silvercat
removed the biggest, baddest rocket from the black box. The crazy-looking implement of summer-time gasp
and awe had the face of Bin-Loser attached to its tip. The reviled countenance was complete with
bug-laden beard. Careful not to spit on
it -- for the adverse wetness might ruin the nitrates -- she introduced it to
Felino’s rectal area as though the two were a pair of puppets in a freak
side-show. Mangling it left and right
like she meant it, smiling and cackling like a mad tigress, she shoved it
through until at last only its tail end (!) and its cord poked out of the
orifice. Giving his reddened cheeks a
tight pinch, she repeated the procedure with longer and longer, wider and wider
rockets.
With the
infernal container nearly empty, she stopped to smile at her handy work. It looked like a flower of fireworks was
blooming out of his ass, with little firecrackers nudged between the gaps of
the big boys for emphasis. Indeed, the
misanthropic cat’s butt was completely and utterly masked by the ends (!) of
the rockets and their wicks that she had expertly tied together onto a master
fuse. His cheeks, which had been
several inches wide when the whole ordeal had begun had near the end been
reduced to mere centimeters of flesh.
She purred -- yes, it would be a lesson the incarnate multiple would not
soon forget!
Only one
rocket remained. Two feet long and ten
inches wide, it had a comical, almost cartoonish tip with a yellow smiley face
painted on it. That one she didn’t
shove into him -- there just wasn’t enough room, which was shocking, for she
had always thought that the size of one’s mouth was directly proportional to
the volume of one’s anus. And Felino
certainly did have one big mouth...heh heh heh. No, that last rocket she secured between his legs with industrial
strength Velcro pads stuck to his fur.
She spun
the dentist’s chair around, swiveling him like a chicken strung up on a spit.
“Now
you’ve got quite a package,” she teased, patting the rocket that protruded from
between his legs like the most demented phallic symbol of all time.
You have
to understand how lonely Pumyra was.
Without a real-live cat friend, she had to resort to a virtual
playmate. It was also a measure of how
isolated Tygra was since he was the only who created the x-rated game and
doctored the image to conform to his ideals of feminine beauty. It was in essence an easy game to play and a
hard one, too. First she used to the
strange hand to stroke Cheetara’s breasts but a pop-up (!) told her that she
best not go so quickly and the red in the thermometer actually dropped a few pixels. She went for the muchacha area and it
incurred and even sterner response from the program telling her not to go
there. Lastly she tried the hair,
fondling the mane from the forehead down -- it responded positively that time
and it occurred to her that there was a method to the madness.
She had
to start slow and stead and work her way to the naughty parts. Stroking the
hair caused the image to blush a bit and the thermometer to rise somewhat. She tried the breasts again and the warning
stopped her. So she went for the cheek,
the arm, back to the hair, stroking soft then hard, slow then fast. More and more parts of the image changed to
the stimulus. The nipples became
visibly aroused and it seemed, too, that the skimpy loincloth was getting a
little moist.
And so
was Pumyra! Now she knew why the chair
was wet! She was getting into the
game! She wanted to go further, she
wanted to see what would happen if she could get the red of the meter rise
above the ‘COLD’ area. Never before had she been so turned on by the female
body. Let alone such an ugly body -- a
deformed face atop what might be called a plastic, STD-laden woman. She thought she could stroke the breasts now
but once again the dreaded pop-up returned and told her not to go there so fast.
“Drats! Now I have to start from the beginning
again! There must be a cheat code! There just must be!”
She
loosened her top and fanned her face with a bunch of papers Tygra had left on
the table. The demented drawings of
“Maybe
she takes her loincloth off! Maybe she
starts fingering herself -- maybe the hand does it! Oh, I have to know! I
have to know!”
The
spare and unused bedroom had been sprayed with flour for any sign of the
cloaked Tygra. Its closet had been
emptied out just to make sure, you know, that there wasn’t someone, ahem, stuck
in it. (The only thing out of the
ordinary that they did find in it was a pair of Purrsia’s pom-poms, curiously stained,
too. It was as if someone had used them
as a sex toy. The very idea caused
immediate revulsion -- the closet was bolted shut and they promised never to
open it or speak about it ever again.
To think that one of the Thundercats could’ve been so perverted, so
depraved as to defile a virginal set of pom-poms like that. Outrageous!) So...oh, yes, the room was also sound proofed with a sticky foam
rolled onto the walls.
Yet,
confused as ever, Liono asked: “Um,
what am I supposed to do now?”
“OK,” she
led him to the bed with the leash she had formed of his soggy sausage. “Get the camera ready!”
“Camera?”
“We have
to tape it or else we’ll forget what we’ve done,” she read off of a note card.
“Oh,
oh,” he said, but the look of utter confusion remained painted on his face --
hmmm, let’s not mince words, confusion was tattooed on his face. She pointed to the instrument and he looked
-- the bulky contraption was mounted (!) on a tripod beside the bed. “I see -- but I might bump into it.”
“It’s
five feet from the bed.”
“Well,
it’ll be distracting.”
“Argh! Put it by the flowers. At the corner.”
Tygra
had planted flowers around a small, squarish window at the opposite end of the
chamber -- the architect had a thing for plants, rare and exotic plants. He had thing for burning them in pipes but
that was another matter. Liono slid the
camera-tripod contraption to the designated area and paused to take in the
sweet aroma of the well-cared-for vegetation -- but wretched at their foul
stench instead. The plants -- curiously
shaped like pointed cylinders -- reeked of sweaty privates.
Purrsia
scanned her palm: “OK, now get on me
and I’ll place -- oops, wrong hand, um,” she inspected her other palm. “Press record and make sure the lens cap is
off.”
“OK.” He pressed a red button, it wasn’t labeled
‘record’ but it was red and he tended to press red things. He heard the sounds of its internal gears
turning and figured that he had done the right thing after all. What else?
Ah, the lens cap. With a quick
flick the black, circular thing dangled from its cord and swung side to side
effortlessly.
The
young lord turned to the bed and walked to the awaiting lioness. He tripped on his shorts that he had let
fall to his ankles while he worked on the camera. Taking them off, he continued onto the object of his deep and
dark lustful desires, his now fully exposed teeny weenie spinning like a
pinwheel caught in the mercy of the current of his gait.
“So, now
what?”
“Um,”
she looked up at him, drooling.
“UM!” She glanced at the
corkboard but it was empty. She turned
her palms up but her sweat had blurred the words. “I guess we just shag, Thundercat.”
“Just
like that? No foreplay, no nothing?”
“If you
want --”
He growled
and flexed his chest muscles -- it was supposed to be a display of male
felinity but the effect only confused her.
His ‘muscles’ hadn’t so much as twitched and the very act itself tired
him. He tried flexing his arm muscles
but they actually turned limp and soft.
It didn’t stop him, though, from vainly kissing the non-extant bulges.
“Oh,
that’s enough of that!” She grabbed his
‘leash’ and jumped on him, crawling over him like a smothering --
WOW! HOT STUFF!
In a
garden in an undisclosed location whose name escapes me at the moment, the
mistress of the fortress sighed and sat amidst her prized and enviable greenery
to meditate. Being a Jedi, she needed
to clear her mind. Being in this story,
she needed all the help she could get.
“Ani!”
-- nope, not this time!
“Erm,
aaaaeeeemmmm,” she chanted, her arms stretched out like she was doing jumping
jacks sitting down. “Aaaaeeeemmmm,” at
once an image formed in her mind.
“Aaaaeeeemmmm,” heh heh, almost sounds like she’s clearing her throat,
doesn’t it? “Aaaaeeeerrrrmmmm,”
alright, that’s enough -- she saw, she saw...she saw Liono and Purrsia deep in
Cat’s Lair! “Aaaaeeeeaaaaeeeerrrrmmmm!” She saw them preparing -- “cheeeeterrrr!”
she exclaimed slipping on the Freud’s of her tongue. Whatever that meant.
“Yoooouuuu woooon’t get awaaaay.”
She saw the camera near the plants and, using her command of the Force,
she caused the pointy things that Tygra had created in a fit of Silky Fruit to
crawl forward, shift the tripod ever so slightly and obstruct its view with
their viney parts. “That’ll teach her,”
she said, getting up, turning to the business of revenge -- to RD Rivero
himself, the one who had helped Purrsia cheat her out of the prize!
“
Shuddup!
Skat
kissed Felino -- who was now sitting erect (!) -- on the cheek, near the
lips. Not so near the lips that some
not-so-innocent bystander might think it was a deep-throat kiss, but close
enough maybe to let pulses race and minds wander. It was another rung up the ladder of torture that the tigress was
skillfully, slyly perpetrating. Yet, it
wasn’t enough to let him taste the fruits he couldn’t have -- OK, so I just
added that to throw you for a loop. Heh
heh and if it gets Skat mad, I get five extra points!
“Do you
promise to be a good kitty from now on?”
He nodded his reply, his every movement, his every breath a measure of
absolute pain. “I know. I hate you, too.”
She
swiped a match across her rough fur and lit the droopy fuse that she had
perversely wrapped about his, erm, member (?) with the burgeoning mass of blue
flaming plasma. She let the
toothpick-sized stick fall -- the onrush of air blowing to death its
incandescent potency. Stepping back
from the adulterated dentist’s chair to the safety of the recesses of the
cavern, she watched with glee the fire working its way up and down and around
the fuse -- the multicolored sparkles twinkling in her eyes.
Meanwhile
Felino was sweating bullets.
SCREECH
-- the flames scorched the very-nether flesh and wandered onto the backside --
KABOOM -- Felino was sent flying through the air, sprouting colors from his
butt and yelling obscenities from his other cloaca hole.
Skat
waved her hands and the chair-instrument combo vanished. It was a convenient plot hole to have
around, no? She nudged the
inconceivable device into the relative safety found between her mounds of
blossoming womanhood. (ten points) Well, I said ‘relative safety.’ (ten points) She stared at the lightshow and smiled -- but -- the sounds of
something -- a disturbance in the Force -- aroused (!) her attention. She turned to see -- what began as a shadow
slinking left and right across the dusty floor revealed itself to be --
“Whoa!”
--
another lady white tigress emerging from the alcoves.
“Wait a
minute, what’s this?”
“You’re
not Skat, I’m Skat!”
Two
identical Skats faced eachother while Feliono flew -- and yelled -- background,
the Bin-Loser rocket in his ass slowly but surely emerging.
“Well,
there’s no point to this,” the one with the nitrate-stained fingers said, “all
the readers know I’m the real Skat.”
“Ha!”
the one with alcohol breath spat.
“There’s only room for one Skat!”
At once
another convenient plot hole emerged -- a group of assorted male Thunderians
materialized along with stands and a makeshift arena. The cats were quite, shall we say,
Meanwhile,
Felino was still up careening across the rocky ceiling.
“I don’t
think so, boys,” one of the Skats rolled her eyes. She reached for something over her forehead, tugged it and
brought it down. It was a zipper and as
she lowered it she split in half.
Rather, she didn’t split in half -- but the apparent and elaborate
costume she was wearing parted to reveal that she was, in fact -- RD Rivero?
“WHAT?” Felino choked back something but no one
heard him.
“And now
meesa supposed to be telling you about Pu -- Puma -- Pumara -- Pu -- oh,
whatever her name is.
“It’s
another leak from Tygra’s bedroom,” WileyKat belly ached. The big baby rubbed the spot in his mane
where the gooey drop had hit.
“What’s
he up to this time?” WileyKit looked -- a pool of clingy slick had formed on an
already browned and rotting ceiling.
Living
under Tygra they had gotten used to various body fluids leaking down from
above. Once a few drops of blood had
landed on WileyKit’s mattress and inspired a **very** special episode on the
workings of the female body called:
“Nitty Naughty, the Tale of the Anemic HO!” Of course, when the true source of the redness was revealed, the
episode was taken off the shelf and replaced with some drivel about vampires.
So....
“And
dees is a show for kiddies?”
Shuddup! We’re adults (?) here, damn it!
But
there was something different about the ‘fluids’ that time. WileyKat licked his finger: “Tastes familiar.” He looked at his sister (!) “Maybe he has a girl up there.”
“Tygra?” She tried but failed to choke back a snort.
“I --”
“I
cannot take dees, next scene, next scene!”
Alright,
alright! Looks like someone really
needs a --
“Annnniiii!”
“WOW!” Purrsia’s exhaled, blowing strands of mane
back with her hot breath.
“Argh,”
Liono drooled, looking -- looking like himself. Yeah. He was on her right
side, wrapping her with his left arm.
His eyes stared up to the ceiling -- where a puddle of wetness had
formed -- his mind (?) well - let’s be subtle about that and just drop this
whole ‘mind’ business.
“Was it
as great for you as it was for me?” she heaved her body up to his, their naked
flesh -- whoops, a big, black rectangle materialized above them, just as the
camera moved back, hiding all but their faces and maybe a few fingertips --
pressing, pounding their panted breaths into one another as if they were doing
the nasty just by breathing.
“Ummm,
yeah,” the lion said, as if, suddenly, remembering where he was. “It rocked my hoochie mamma thing --” Alas, the LFS Rex was so horribly stricken
that he’d forget what he was saying while he was saying it.
“I dink
you should shuddup! You, you! No one does the nasties in de Star Wars!”
Oh,
yeah? And just where do you think Luke
and Leah come from?
“Urmm...Ani! Say it’s not so!”
Yeah,
ha!
“We’ve
got to play the tape!” The lioness
sprung out of bed, dragging him by his soggy sausage. She stopped at the corner where the camera stood, pressed
stop/eject and removed the warm tape.
Here we go again with the plot holes!
A TV/VCR combo materialized and just like that she put the cassette in,
rewound and pressed play. “Oh, I can’t
wait, I can’t wait, I can’t wait!”
“Wow,”
the lion said, stroking his five millimeter stubble, “you weren’t even this
excited for the sex.”
“That’s
because I can’t remember it, silly. You
know how forgettable you are.”
“Oh,
yeah,” he faked enlightenment.
“Look, look!” She pointed to the screen, jumping up and
down anxiously. “IN THE NAME OF
The
red-haired cats gasped -- the camera hadn’t recorded their mad tryst at all but
the clear and unblocked view of the wall next to the bed. Thin, stringy, out-of-focus green things
were in the way, too. Not even their
voices had been saved. The only sounds
were of a laugh track: a single voice laughing its ass off over and over.
“A
laughing track!
“I can
do better than that!” The second Skat
-- now really the only Skat left -- copied the first’s motions. Unzipping her disguise, she revealed herself
to be -- Shark? The fish stood on his
tail fins awkwardly for he was still in his aquatic mode.
“Mwahahahaha!” the RD figure peeled back his green cape and
a larger, bulkier version of TW burst through the shell of a costume. “From man to lion, what’s this world come
to? And more importantly, where’s my
god damned bloody mace? :)”
Shark
gurgled and opened his mouth wide, distending his jaws and like a banana
peeling itself his outward appearance fell to the floor -- remaining on two
legs was -- Dr. Zhie? Shaking her head
in lament she spake: “I’ll write my own
lemons from now on!”
“I can
match that!” TW tore and shredded his
features and Smithered emerged from amidst that cloud of flying fur. The
repressed nerd pushed back his glasses:
“Doctor, urmm, fancy meeting you here.”
“But now
-- everyone thinks I’m closeted! I’ve
got to let them know I’m not like that!”
“There,
there, don’t you worry your furry little butt off. I’ve got my eyes set on RD, too and, oh, he’s gonna pay for all
those nasty, nasty things he’s said about you.”
“And
those pom poms! Didn’t you catch
that? He put pom poms in that
closet! Defiled pom poms!” He sniffled. “Of course they’re thinking pom poms + defiled = hani +
fetish. And in a closet no less!”
“He’ll
eat his words, just you wait!”
“Oh,
Chris,” he purred, “you’re my guy!”
Mwahahahahahaha!!!!! Another ambiguously gay scene --
“Wait,
isn’t dee Chris, I mean -- oh!
“WHAT!!! OH, NO!”
Chanur’s eyes widened. “NO! I didn’t mean to make it seem that,
ARGH!!!!” He ran away from the phone,
letting the receiver dangle by its cord.
“Chanur? Chanur?
What is it? Chanur! Are you in a box? Oh, no!”
And with
that the line and possibly RD himself went dead.
RD’s
ego...never stops growing, never stops expanding...erm, um, heh heh, I guess
that didn’t need to be written here.
Guess you all knew that already. So, well, heh heh heh, it’s official now -- but there’s something
you don’t know yet! And I won’t tell
you what it is until later.
Still
there, Jar Jar?
A
strange, mysterious (In an RD story when is something strange but not
mysterious? I only noticed this now, I
swear! I’ll have to work on it.) OK, so
that hand that appeared when this god forsaken lemon started, remember it? Yeah, well, it’s back and it’s moving around
the empty set. It goes left and right
twiddling on its fingers like some sort of spider but failing the act of
mimicry tripping on itself a few times.
Really, it’s quite creepy....
It’s
searching around the chair but it’s not going to find anything unless Gungans
can metamorphosize into beasties inches longs.
Egads, can you imagine such a horror?
No, I’m betting it’s not under the bed, either, Handie. (That’s what it likes to be called,
Handie. Don’t look at me, I’m only
writing this thing!) Try the
closet! The closet!
The
unusual hand-thing-creature, whatever, it stands on its ring and index fingers
and waves its thumb around as if it had eyes buried in the flesh there. Maybe under the nail. Maybe the nail is the eye -- not too sure,
haven’t thought it through yet.
Well if
you haven’t thought it through, why write it in? Sorry, folks, it seems this fanfic’s developed an ego of its own!
So...Handie
finds the closet but the door knob is like a hundred feet above the ground, as
far as it’s concerned. It stands on its
finger-feet again and taps its pinkie on the hardwood floor as it thinks. It seems to snap its thumb against its
droopy middle finger to announce it’s got an idea. At once it began to grow an ‘arm’ type of appendage. The psuedo-limb, attached to the floor
through a bundle of arteries and really gross-looking things that pulsate and
throb (!) expands and in so doing elevated the hand up to the knob where its
writhing fingers latch onto the metal latch and opens the door with a click.
Jar Jar
Binks and Tygra Thundercat emerge from the closet -- actually, they fall out of
the closet on their butts. Naked Tygra
hastily pushes up his leotard while Jar Jar screams and bolts having taken a
look at the absolutely insane and nightmarish hand, ‘arm’ combination.
“No, no,
no more! NO MORE!” the reject from Star
Wars protested. “Meesa not taking dees
sheeet no more! Meesa dinks dees is dee
last straw! Meesa quits!”
You
can’t quit, I control you!
“No you
do not! You, you, you sick, evil,
perverted, evil, bastard, sick, evil man!
You and your ego! You should be
banned from dee net! You should be
flogged!”
Mwahahaha!!!!
Big
anvils fall from the ceiling and crash onto Jar Jar, crushing and burying his
body in a sea of blood and iron. Funny,
you would’ve thought Tygra would’ve died that way but no, it was Jar Jar. He was getting a little too annoying, if you
know what I mean, we certainly don’t need any more Puritans. But what to do about Tygra? I can’t just let him live either? What should I do? What should I do?
I know!
Tygra?
“Um,
yes?” the red tiger said, speaking in a whisper. He was hushed let the sound of his voice betray his hidden
presence. He had ducked for cover the
moments the anvils had rained down.
I’m
letting you live, Tygra. I’m not going
to kill you in this story.
“Really? Are you serious?” The Thundercat emerged from under the bed and looked about the
vast chamber. The stately bedroom was
much as he had suspected it would be -- dark and gothic. To the left was the hand, ‘arm’ thing still
trying to make the appendage vanish. To
the right was the cemetery-like mound of iron-ore under which the now-late
Gungan was buried. “You’re really going
to let me go?”
Sure. I figure, with all the closet jokes and the
stuff Pumyra’s found in your computer, why, I’ve ruined you enough
already. So, you can go. You can go now. Bye! The exits are
clearly marked.
“I mean,
if you really don’t want to kill me and all --”
Bye! Laters!
You can skeedadle!
“‘Cause
if you’d -- AHHHH!”
The
silly tiger! He was so preoccupied with
not getting killed that he failed to notice the streams of blood and gore
coming out from under the hill of anvils.
Slipping on the Jar Jar juices, he fell forward and hit his forehead
with the pointy end of one of the instruments of blacksmithing. Isn’t it just like him, though? Who else would have the luck to land his
head on the pointy end of that? Even
the coyote gets the blunt end. Heh heh! Its shatters his skull and, well, I think
you can take it from there!
And I
wasn’t even trying to kill him, honest!
I’m
being truthful, really, I wasn’t actually going to kill him.
It’s
just that some tigers, well, they go around begging to be killed. It’s not my fault, really, I’m doing them a
favor. Yeah, that’s right, I’m doing
them a favor. Putting them out of their
misery. Hell, I should be given a
medal!
Well,
now that Jar Jar’s gone (Come on, admit it!
You wish Lucas had bumped him off already, too!) I’m going to have to
narrate this lemon myself! Not that I
haven’t been doing the job all along, it’s just official now, see. So, where was I? We have to go to that scene in the cavern with Feliono flying
around ‘cause of all those rockets in his butt. My, my, he had a lot of room in there!
“GRRR!” The cheetah doctor unzipped her disguise
from the top like normal. As if the
very thing was normal, go figure. And
-- oh, dear, she turned into Tygra?
Didn’t I just kill Silky Stripes?
What’s going on here? Oh, this
is wrong, so wrong!
Egads,
I’m sounding like Jar Jar!
The
audience got real quiet and even Smithers gulped. It was always a dangerous thing to be Tygra in one of my stories
(I bet you didn’t know!) but it was also equally dangerous to be in the same
place with him. Never know what might
come flying in or out of that general direction. And then there were a whole other issues too, mostly revolving
around the tiger looking or, heh heh, touching...
Meanwhile,
as Felino was careening about, the Bin-Loser rocket finally made it out of his
ass and, as it exploded into a stream of blue, the cat plummeted. He was too shocked by the sudden appearance
of Tygra to scream, though, he just prayed he’d land no where near him -- the
last thing he wanted was to be the cause of the Thundercat’s death since it
might also mean his, too.
“Hmmm,”
Smithers sniveled and unzipped his fly.
Little Mr. Burns poked out.
“It was
about time, Smithers, it was way too hot in there. Too hot and too empty.
Much like
Smithers
wiped a tear and looked away, as if in shame, as if he could be shamed.
Tygra
laughed -- he didn’t have a zipper, ‘cause he wore women’s clothes, of course,
he just spread his legs wide and invited all to lean in closer. And like lemmings approaching the sea they
did lean closer. And like the willing
participants in a study of absolute weirdness they reeled at the inevitable!
“Ice
cold water running through my veins!”
“AHHH!” Smithers yelled -- the audience stampeded
out of the cavern, nearly causing the place to cave in. Even Felino, half dead over a rock, groaned
and heaved, what little was left of his manhood shivered at the horror.
“Signs
on the land, signs on the sea, signs everywhere say, I’m destined to be!”
It was a
voice coming from Tygra’s crotch. And
it was singing. Rather, it thought it
was singing.
Smithers
wailed about the makeshift stage: “It’s
horrid, make it stop!”
Meanwhile,
thanks to Felino’s bustling about the ceiling, certain large sections of rock
had become, well, loosened. And thanks
to Smither’s high-pitched screaming, well, that only compounded (!) the danger. Bits of sand fell from above with chime-like
musics to alarm 2all of the impeding disaster.
The
Tygra figure looked up -- the boulders were coming apart. He sighed, knowing already what might
happen. He reached for his zipper at
the last moment out of desperation.
Smithers, who was watching his every move a little too attentively, if
you know what I mean, guessed that it was time for another switch and grabbed
his other zipper. Together they pulled
off their disguises -- their discarded clothes fell to the floor to reveal --
nothing!
There
was nothing left!
But the
boulders, they fell never the less, the rocks, they hit the ground, shattered
and bounced about the place with just enough range that the jagged pieces
battered Felino’s body. And then, as if
that wasn’t enough, from the hole the fallen rocks had left on the ceiling came
a spray of foulsome water -- sewage from castle Plundarr, which just happened
to stand atop the cavern. Convenient,
ain’t it? It doused what was left of
Felino with all sorts of chummy wastes! Now that’s what I call revenge!
Don’t you think so?
Felino: “MWERRMER GER” the half-destroyed and
drowned body gurgled -- the head of Bin-Loser floating by him.
Now back
to Pumyra. Notice I’m using her name
now, that gag about forgetting it, well, it shouldn’t be overused so much in
one story. Anyway, what was her name
again? Oh, yeah, Pumyra -- funny, her
name was right there in the previous sentence all spelled out and still I
forgot it. So, yeah, what was I saying
in general? Yeah, she’s still in
Tygra’s room, still playing that game.
Pervert. It’s always the quiet
ones too.
“Oh, oh,
oh! Oh, Jagga!” the puma moaned as she
shoved the mouse in and out from between her legs. She had been in several of my lemons already and knew better than
to use a knife or a SWORD or something.
Her, erm, juices (?) had short circuited the instrument but that didn’t
seem to matter to her. Out of the ten
levels the demented ‘TouchMe’ game had she had reached the ninth and could do
so again and again in no time flat.
Yes, she
had let herself succumb to the perversion but it was more than that. It was more than just a game. Any ol’ game could have had her fingering
the Cheetara image from the very first step onward, but that game was
different. It was real -- or as close
to a real lesbian encounter as someone as invisible as herself could ever hope
to get. Fondle a breast or a thigh at
the wrong time or when there wasn’t enough heat on the thermometer and she’d
have to start from the beginning. It
would be like a slap in the face, an insult to her very knowledge of the female
body, its needs, its intuitions, her notions of what a woman wanted. Being one herself she considered herself
advantaged in that department.
Oh, she
wanted it -- she threw her arms back, exhausted, her limbs just dangled like
strings of flesh merely stapled onto her body.
It was teasing her, the game was, each time she played it, it was
different. It was learning, learning
what her wants were and acting to curb them.
No, the image of Cheetara wanted it too but on her own terms and she --
the digital vixen -- was determined to cool Pumyra’s lusts, to leash her
passions and make them subject to her own, just as she would any man who wanted
to do the nasty with her.
Ye gods
what divine torture!
She put
the mouse back on the table to let it dry.
If, indeed, that three-by-four inch plastic hummer could ever be dry,
doused, as it had been, in her ocean!
To her shock and horror she saw that as she placed it back on the flat
table, its ball (Yes, the mouse on your computer has a ball.) had settled in,
it had moved, it had been altered from its previous position! It had caused the hand icon on the screen to
pass into that region between the cyber Cheetara’s legs. It dangled upon the edge of tantalization by
the gentlest pressure of her fingers that she had inadvertently placed too
close to the buttons. She gasped -- it
was just the slightest bit of pressing!
It was all -- the mouse, it clicked and --
“DAMN
IT! WHY DOES EVERYTHING WITH BALLS
SCREW ME?”
The
Cheetara on the computer giggled as it brought down a hand to slap the mouse’s
‘hand’ away. It was game over. It was time to start from the top. It was -- it was all interrupted by a series
of screams and shouts coming from down the hall!
“Get it
off me, get it off!” It sounded like
Cheetara. “Ahhh! What the hell is it? Where did it come from?” It did, it did sound like Cheetara.
Full to
brim with overflowing lust, the puma stormed out of the room -- actually, she
staggered out. Her clothes were so
saturated with her, erm, love potion, that they sagged and drooped. And her feet squeaked. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
“Cheetara,
I’m coming, I’m coming!”
Somehow,
considering everything, that has so many meanings! Heh heh heh and since I’m writing it, you can bet I meant it
all! All of it! Mwahahahaha!!!!
So...she
ran down the hall, passing slower Thundercats and pushing the kittens out of
her way. The cheetah’s screams were
coming from the conference room, the very place she had just been in, oh, I
can’t remember how many hours ago. She
crashed through the doors marked ‘Keep Out’ and -- screamed herself!
There
was Cheetara, her upper body over the circular table, her legs dangling in the
air violently. Holder her in place,
fondling her, molesting her -- was a hand!
A hand just like the one in that game she had been playing. A hand that was getting more action than
Pumyra...
LOL,
wasn’t that just messed up? Don’t worry
folks, this doesn’t have much farther to go.
The lemon’s almost come to an end.
It was nice --
“NO!”
Who’s
that?
“IT’S
ME! THE LEMON! I’M COMING OUT OF THE CLOSET!”
Oh,
oh. So, you’re the story I’m writing?
“YES AND
YOU WILL NOT BE FINISHING ME SO SOON! I
SHALL NOT BE FINISHED UNTIL I AM AT LEAST TEN THOUSAND WORDS LONG! I MUST BE THE LONGEST STORY YOU’VE EVER
WRITTEN. I MUST BE THE LONGEST STORY
EVER WRITTEN. I MUST GET LONGER AND
LONGER AND LONGER....”
“Oh dear
--”
“Are you
serious, Mr. Rivero? You’re not telling
me this story’s got an ego of its own, now?”
“I tell
you it’s true, you fool! Don’t you
see? Can’t you see? My ego is so unbounded, so ever-growing, so
--”
“Get to
the point already,” the man rolled his eyes.
“Well,
it was only natural that someday one of my creations would develop an ego of
its own.”
George
Lucas sighed: “And just how am I to
incorporate this into Episode Three?”
“Well,”
the madman looked at the sheets of his lemon -- a bunch of napkins and one
kitchen towel stapled together. “Over
here, with the Jar Jar death.”
He shook
his head and stood, walking away from his desk, “Jar Jar death, eh? That’s about the most ridiculous thing I
ever heard. Why, he’s going to star in
my next movie: Star Wars, Episode
Seven! The Purloined Gungan
Underpants!”
RD’s eyes
widened -- his jaw dropped.
“It’ll
be the biggest, greatest Star Wars film of all time! It’ll have non-stop action and battle sequences! It’ll have explosions and cheesey camera
tricks and flying heads and, oh yeah, it’ll have characters, too, maybe a story
line. Yeah,” his hair stood on end as
the thoughts, the very thoughts coursed through his brain, “it’ll have an
actual story line with a good script. I
wonder if the boys at ILM can come up with a way that --”
Unable
to stomach it any longer, the evil bad guy slinked out of the chair and exited
the door without a word.
“Now I’m
all for weird, but jeez!”
A
bruised and battered-looking hani, complete with pani stains on his tattered
breeches, approaches the microphone stand at the middle of Spartan stadium. Heh heh and it’s not the one in
He
clears his throat and takes a deep breath -- but too close to the microphone
and he jars the onlookers. “I just want
everyone to know that I was not, I repeat, I was not feeling up Tygra OR Jar
Jar. Yes, I was in the closet -- ”
RD pulls
the power cord.
AIN’T I A STINKER?
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