Contribute to the Neverending Fragrance Story... - Page 5

Tibbe felt like he was peering through a dark fog of confusion. Did he really see Mjx galloping off on a flaming giraffe into Loch Ness? How in the hell did they even get to Loch Ness? Not to mention the mermaids he was attempting to fight off. It had been a long time since Tibbe had dabbled with hallucinatory drugs but obviously the bottle of Angel he grasped tightly in his hand should have had a bio-hazard warning on it. Damn, what he had been missing out on all this time when he had considered Angel too mainstream for himself. That damn Thierry Mugler was a bloody genious!

I do occasionally try to get a little work done during the day, you know? Bread on the table ... roof over one's head, that kind of thing.

And i don't want this to become a story between just two or three participants. If that's the case, then i think your last post is pretty good closure, honestly.

I think people think this is a lot harder than it really is. All one has to do is throw in anything they want from a combination of their own lives, things they've read, seen, heard ... and string it along coherently. Easy.

PS: I'll be sure to get my picture taken in the Galleria when the day comes.

PPS: Ah so. Just as i hit 'save' on this i see tdi stopped on by. How nice. Haven't read it yet ... a bit later. Have to go for now.

<sigh> Oh, ALRIGHT, if you're going to engage in bourgois pastimes like eating and not dying of exposure


I know what you mean; I keep hoping it'll pick up again, but, partly, I figure that even two or three poeple writing may keep the thread alive, and eventually people will get back into this... partly it's still fun; for me, anyway. Okay, yeh, I admit it, I'm sitting here surrounded by ramparts of used tissues, so I'm easily amused.


Closure? Mjx has just galloped a flaming giraffe into Loch Ness; Tibbe thinks he may or may not be hallucinating; even though he heard the sirens, he's surprised by the mermaids... so much potential, so much potential. And what of the moustache? And the hair-ribbons? And the fact that you now know how to say "mjx" without your computer screen looking as though you've just completed your free online German introductory lesson, hm?


Agreed, 100%

Meesh, if we stick to the surreal (or is that ir-real) channel, we'll lose our subscribers! Let me try this instead to draw in a few.

Okay, those reading: let's try two choices. I apologize in advance to those who are not on high-speed, but i need props. View the links.


1. Meesh is sooty from riding a flaming giraffe, and the waters of Loch Ness can't hope to wash it off. Tibbe undoes the 'unibrow' she gave him and puts the mustache where it belongs - under his nose. Meesh & Tibbe shower together.

--> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ikluLG_j_hk


2. Meesh & Tibbe need to get out of Brooklyn and since she's already responsible for wrecking one of his helicopters, they take the subway. Tibbe undoes the 'unibrow' she gave him and shaves clean. Perhaps they'll run into Inspector Grafferty!

--> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNAdgXXqzXA

Your vote are your own stories which drive the choices.


PS: I have a number of things i must do this evening, but we'll see if there's interest in continuing this thread. If not, it deserves to be buried and the tombstone carved "Fuori piove un mondo freddo". Catch you all later!

"Psychedelic drugs," said the most beautiful woman Tibbie had ever seen, legs to the sky and breasts that still stood up proudly like smooth cherry covered ice cream mounds. She just appeared from no where out of the mist. "Now you have my interest," she said. "Let me have some of whatever it is you have been using." Tibbies mouth hung about his chest as he tried to mouth the words.........

A, an, ang. Feeling hopeless, he feverishly searched for his Angel. Could anyone ever believe what that good dose in the face had done to him, he wondered.

A collaborative story might be an interesting effort. It'd actually have some sort of plot instead of random unconnected words. The world's already filled with useless things. No one thinks so?

Yes, but I'm not entirely certain that I can qualify a good laugh, or fifteen minutes worth of intense reflection (comp.time ) as useless.

He got up quickly tripping over his pantyhose still wrapped around his legs. Crawling to the living room he saw three arms reaching in the front door. "Pi! VI! You're back; oh thank goodness," he cried as tears drenched his face. "Come in, please tell me what is happening to me. I don't know who I am any more, and what's even worse. Why is Carnal Flower so popular?"

Refers the reader to the last un-interrupted post ... and the postscript.

Tibbe watched Meesh gallop into the lake. There was a wistful smile on his face.

<He has his pack of smokes, his Chanel Egoiste, a fistful of dollars, and a pocketful of kisses ... what more could a man possibly want?>

He snapped his fingers.

A stallion of pure jet, hooves aflame, snorting smoke and fire, mane and tail ablaze, appeared. He mounted easily, in a familar motion. The stallion stomped on the ground. The earth cracked and opened ... a dim red glow shining from the depths. And past things made war on him, and future things also ...

Tibbe playfully gave the mount a slap, "Chucky, that's not where we're heading today, dummy."

The nightmare reared and rose towards the sky ... words echoing back, "Tibbe, who's that? My name is ... "

<... and so i bow out ...>

Felix threw off his stockings and shot into the kitchen for the lime and salt. When he got back, Vi had already polished off the entire bottle of Curious. Pi had found his stash of Curious IN Control and downed it in one long gulp.
Felix seeing what they had done scrunched up his face and asked, "Are you ladies ok? Don't you want to bite into this lime to kill the taste some?"
"What do you think we are, thithies?" asked Vi.
"We can handle it, no problem," said Pi before she hit the floor face first.
"Well," said Felix a little worried. "What do you say we take a cold shower and go out for a night on the town? How about some Chinese for starters?" In the back of his mind was the thought of finding Sydney with Hung lo.

"...Shirley." Some little distance away, Mjx seemed to be having a bit of difficulty with the giraffe, which had arranged itself into drinking position. In the distance, and closing rapidly, enraged square-dancers could be seen, the sirens keeping up with them surprisingly well, considering their seal-like progress over dry land. They appeared to still be loudly singing a Britney Spears medley, which perhaps accounted for the olfactory hallucination of Curious IN Control that wafted toward the turbid loch. But WAS it mere hallucination? And was it not, actually, issuing from the seismic fissure that threatened to turn the loch into a massive cloud of steam?

As the waters disappeared more and more rapidly the stench became stronger. That was when Nessie raised her long scaly neck letting out a roar that shook the earth and smelled of loquat fruit, midnight orchid, creme brulee, black vanilla bean, tonka crystals, sugared sandalwood and musk.

Hastily, Mjx revived him by the simple expedient of snatching the fiddle from the startled grasp of the square dance caller, and slapping Tibbe briskly about the head with the instrument. Deprived of direction, the dancers quickly shifted to slamdancing, combat boots and spikes making a piquant contrast to the ruffled denim and gingham pinafores.

It was beween three and four in the a.m. when Felix was jerked out of his sleep. Vi and Pi were snoring peacefully on either side, smelling vaguely of Putain des Palaces. He NEVER woke in the middle of the night. Except for their breathing, all was silent. The kind of silence that you can hear, the kind of stillness that has weight and mass. He had the strangest feeling ... and words came into his mind. Adora Pinch. Candy. REVENGE!

<... first person ...>

The phone rang. Using two hands, Felix got it to his ear.

A gruff voice said, "<CENSORED>?"

"Yes."

"This is the local Internal Revenue Service office, <CENSORED>. We were just making sure we had your correct address." He hung up.

I swung off the bed. Ouch. Why would the IRS be interested? I had never filed a return in my life! That (bleeped) Miss Pinch? Was this blackmail? Could she be keeping some evidence in a safe?

Nothing for it. She had to die. Both she and Candy Licorice.


<He would be gone from New York. It would be a near thing, touch and go, the way he planned his escape. Remembering that the route from Turkey to the U.S. lay through Rome, Paris and London, and remembering, too, the way they gouged tourists in those places, he needed cash.

There was only one way to get it. To torture the combination to her safe out of Miss Pinch and then to murder her in the most gruesome and grisly way imaginable. There was no other choice: he was far too weak and shaky to rob a bank. But the Apparatus trains one and prepares one for such emergencies. He knew how to do it.

Actually, he would have liked to omit that evening from his confession. It was too horrible. Murder should not be advertised to the young and this confession might someday fall -- gods forbid -- into the hands of the immature. Even a Justiciary was likely to pale at what he planned. But in all honesty, Felix would carry on, even though the next few hours might fill him with remorse. In all his crimes and escapades, this would be the worst.

He knew where, in New York, he could procure the weapons -- a supermarket.>


I got dressed as best I could. I hobbled down and got a cab. I had it drop me a block away from Miss Pinch's apartment. Zabar's would have what I needed.

Guile was the watchword. There is an Apparatus technique called the "Lure-Kill". It pretends affection as a mask for murder.

I tottered along the shelves and found what i wanted in the condiments section - a big, glaringly labeled box of McKormick's Red Pepper. I crept to the flower section. As Christmas was just up the line, there were huge bouquets of white chrysanthemums to be had. Despite the expense, I bought the best.

At checkout, I prevailed upon the teenager not to crush them into a sack, but to actually wrap them like flowers with an open top.

I went outside and found a dark place. Putting a thick handkerchief over my nose and tying it as best I could with my bandaged hands, I then took the red pepper and, with care, worked it under every petal. Time consuming.

That done, I threw the empty pepper can in the trash and closed the top of the bouquet with a single fold.

With glee, I contemplated what would happen. Miss Pinch would open the door, holding a gun as usual.

I would say, "I heard from Tibbe that you might have work for me, and I bring this to express my affection."

She would say, "Oh, how charming!"

And she would take the bouquet, pull back the top flap to see what it was, behold flowers and sniff! That would be all I would need. I would have her gun as she convulsed in sneezes. I would hit her over the head. I would drag her to that bed and use every torture implement in the place until I had that safe combination. Candy? I would just gut-shoot her and laugh as she writhed.

Since it was winter, it was dark already. The rush hour had ebbed. I limped along the darkened street with grim determination.

The basement areaway was pitch black. I had to feel my way along. I went down the basement steps. I made sure there was no one behind me.

I rang the bell.

There was no answer with the first ring so Felix pushed the button gingerly again. it had been a long time since he had been this pleased with himself. Since there was no answer at the door Felix slinked around to the side of the house, remembering there was a door there that was generally left unlocked. He was being exquisitely careful to avoid crushing his lethally spicy flowers when he caught a sickening scent in the air and it seemed to be eminating from the basement of the house. Felix pondered briefly that either Miss Pinch was now operating a Meth lab full throttle or someone had set fire to a vintage case of Avon Sweet Honesty. Just as Felix was trying to wrap his brain around those thoughts the door was flung open.

A large gladiolus strode briskly out, blood dripping from its stamens. Slowing only to give Felix a passing squirt of Just Me from the rubber chicken pinned to its calyx, it stode muscularly off into the blue dusk, chortling softly.

Footsteps!
Success!
It was Miss Pinch!

She was dressed in mannish pants and shirt. And as I had suspected, she was carrying a revolver.


... then the outer grill. She stood back.

I said, "Miss Pinch, you have reformed me from being a beastly male and I bring this to express my affection."

I held out the flowers.
The play didn't quite go as planned.

"Flowers?" she said. "Why, you dirty (bleepard)! You're trying to steal Candy from me, are you? Well, to hell with that!"

She seized the wrapped bouquet.
She jabbed me backwards with the gun.
She slammed the flowers down on the dirty floor of the areaway!
She stamped on them with her heel!
She kicked the lid off a garbage can! I flinched at the violence of the clatter.

Without taking her eyes or gun off me, blocking my exit up the basement stairs, she scooped the destroyed bouquet up and threw it in the garbage can.

Then she halted.

She sniffed slightly. With a hand, she flapped a careful sample of the air from the top of the garbage can to her.

"Red Pepper!" she snarled. "You dirty (bleepard)!"

In vain I tried to tell her it must have been on the discarded fish. Making motions that seemed to indicate she was about to pistol-whip me, she drove me inside.

She locked the wrought-iron grill and door behind her.
She fired a shot so near my head, I felt the powder sting.

"I will give you to the count of ten to get out of your clothes!" she snarled. "And after that I am going to shoot off your (bleeps)!"

"ONE!"

I hastily got out of my overcoat.

"TWO!"

I shed my jacket and my shoes at the same time.

"THREE!"

I was undressed. I couldn't see why she was still counting.

"FOUR!"

It was my hat. I had forgotten my hat! I flung it frantically away from me.

In no time after that she had me wrist- and ankle-cuffed, spread-eagled face up on that Gods (bleeped) bed!

When she finished the last cuff, she threw the gun aside. "So you like red pepper, do you?"

She turned and called into the other room, her voice lilting, "Oh, Candy dear, we're going to have Mexican red-hot tamales tonight!"

She began to hum a wordless tune. I thought i recognized it as "Praise of a Traitor". This did not bode well.

She took off her shirt. She took off her shoes. She stepped out of her pants. She shucked off her underwear and stood naked, still humming.

Candy tiptoed shyly in. She saw what was coming off and began to strip, halting halfway and saying, "Oh, dear Pinchy, make him look the other way."

Pinch did with a backhand slap. Then she went on humming. Slap or not, I watched in growing anxiety.

Miss Pinch opened a drawer and got out a small white apron about three inches wide that covered nothing. She put it on. Then she got a cook's hat, tall and stiffly starched. She put it on at a rakish angle.

Then she got a little gingham napkin and hung it around Candy's neck and tied it. It didn't even cover her now naked, bulging breasts. She sat Candy down on the sofa where she waited, knees apart, watching with eyes that were gradually getting hot.

They evidently used the torture-implement fireplace for barbecuing. It had all the long forks and tongs and needful tools. But Miss Pinch was putting those to one side. She was looking through a pile of kitchen utensils.

I knew it would not do the slightest good to protest. But my body was already so bruised and beaten, I knew it was impossible to do much more damage to it, so I took heart.

I shouldn't have.
Miss Pinch found what she wanted.
A cheese grater!

She tested the ragged sharpness of its jagged teeth. She cut herself slightly and stopped humming long enough to curse me for it.

Then, humming again, she approached the bed.

Very lightly and with artistry, she began to draw the cheese grater down my chest!

It was sharp. I bit my lips. I would not scream. But she was paying little attention to that. All her concentration was that of a chef's. And Candy looked like a hungry diner!

She shifted her target to my legs. She drew the cheese grater down along the insides, making a wavy pattern of scrapes very carefully.

I could see small bubbles of blood rising in the raw scrapes.

She put the grater aside. She went to a torture rack and opened a cabinet under it and got something out!

A can of red pepper!

Holding her face away, she put some in her hand and began to massage it quietly into the wounds!

Sheer pain!
I let out my first scream.
I choked it back.
More red pepper and more massage.
I screamed!
Candy yipped!

Miss Pinch seemed to think that was enough red pepper. Half a can. She went and got a three-foot wooden spoon. She carefully turned it to the bulging side.

WHAP!
She began to beat the pepper in!
With all her might!
Agony!
Scorching, sizzling agony!
I lost control. I began to scream.
Candy began to scream.
I could see her, naked, bucking about on the sofa.

"Take me, Pinchy, oh God, take me!"

Miss Pinch scooped her up, carried her into the bedroom and slammed the door shut with her heel.

The pain didn't stop,
I kept screaming!

After how long I do not know, Miss Pinch came back. She had lipstick on her apron.

Candy came out, breasts rising and falling.

They had a beer.
Candy had a joint.

Miss Pinch apologized to Candy for having forgotten the dinner music. She put on some Satie Gymnopédies & Gnossiennes, and Candy said it was nice. But she was still hungry.

"Oh, that was only the first course," said Miss Pinch. "We mustn't be too greedy. This is a gourmet dinner."

I had just begun to be able to support the awful torment of that pepper without screaming or writhing.

Miss Pinch retied her apron. She adjusted her cook's hat. She went over to the cabinet and took out something.

"This is what we need now," she said, showing Candy. "It will titillate the jaded palate. I can't stand bland food, can you, Candy dear?"

She came over.

TABASCO SAUCE!

"Yesss.. Tabasco..."
Felix turned his head away, staring glassily ahead, not shifting his gaze even when he felt the gliding tug of the long-lasting, glossy colour (http://www.ecrater.com/product.php?pid=727530) distributed over his lips.

Clearly, he reflected, humiliation was part of the plat du jour. As he mused bitterly, wondering what they were waiting for, he heard a soft pop, and a thud. Slowly turning his head, Felix noted that the saucily positioned toque was no longer atop Miss Pinch's head, having been knocked off by the two-metres lateral displacement of most of the right frontal, left parietal, and entire left occipital bones. Ahh, someone had access to a silencer and soft-nosed bullets... interesting. The shrill screams issuing from the next room terminated abruptly with another soft popping sound, suggesting that any grief that Candy may have been experienced was, at least, not prolonged.

A familiar figure stood in the doorway, looking damp and exasperated.

Salvation!

... but then her eyes narrowed.

"Think you can leave me, damp and exasperated on the shores of some lake in the Scottish Highlands, do ya?"

Perdition!

Mjx went and got a rolling pin. She used it to rub a mixture of tabasco sauce and mustard in.

Then she began to use the rolling pin to beat it into me!

I was clever. I managed to get my head in the way and get knocked out!

I came to a long time later. A resident doctor at the NYU Medical Center had me in the shower, working at the wounds in a most painful way to get the red pepper, Tabasco and mustard out.

As he worked, he said, "Tch, tch, tch. With all these injuries, we certainly must be running with a rough crowd."

Mjx was standing a few feet away. She was dry. She was dressed. She did not look unfriendly.

Felix grinned, "Did you at least have the sense to nick the contents of the lockbox?"

"There are actually a few of these little fellows left!" she laughed, "and they're all yours... I went and got a Murciélago LP640 with about a third of the loot." Mjx couldn't stop beaming, and Felix forced himself to not say anything about the cost of insuring a luxury car.
"I know what you're thinking... insurance, right?". Felix nodded mutely.
"Well, it's okay, it's just that I've always wanted to learn to drive in a Lamborghini... I figured you wouldn't mind playing with it, either... If it's in one piece after that, we can just sell it, and split the cash."

Felix blinked. Teaching Mjx to drive, in a car that handled that heavily... Treating a Murciélago as a passing fancy...
He attempted to adjust his thought processes by pressing the sides of his head, and succeeded in generating a combined feeling of panic and... o no... not THAT. He assumed that Mjx had some sort of private life, but he had a very clear sense that attempting to go there would lead to her disappearance. And he wasn't the only one who wanted to keep Mjx about, just to see what happened next.

Felix slowly shook his head from side to side. Twelve cylinders displacing 6496cc with max power of 471kW (640 PS) at 8000 RPM. He was getting damp, and there wasn't even a lake anywhere in sight. Well ... 'Every Weapon Needs a Master', he s'posed.

"And just what were ya thinking? 32L urban ... 15L extra urban, i had one like that once - completely undoable! Wait ... what color? No, no, this definitely won't do. Matching, ARMORED mini-Coopers with racing stripes are far more practical in Manhattan! I know a guy across the Verazzano ... but we'll have to get through Bay Ridge first and they know me there. Luckily, the LP640 is inconspicuous and won't draw much attention ..."

Felix winked. 'Ready to ride?'

"Oh, no worries, I want to enjoy this a bit before driving with a beginner." Felix replied gloomily. He gulped, paled, and found himself vividly recalling teaching his almost half-witted cousin Florian "Skippy" Sinclair to drive. He shuddered, the recollection of the suffocating cloud of Polo still as vivid in his mind as the feel of his still fairly fresh wounds. He sighed, and wondered if anything could be as bad.

Five hours later, as dusk fell, he found himself desperately trying to remain awake in the driver's seat, as they continued to circle the empty parking lot. It had begun with figure-eights around lamp-posts, then Mjx had decided to try this in reverse. They were now doing this at approximately 120 kmh, but the increase in speed had been so gradual that is didn't seem alarming. At least, not until Felix was snapped back into wakefulness by the discovery that it had begun to rain, and that Mjx had gleefully seized upon this opportunity to practice various cornering techniques.

Felix discreetly wiped a bit of dribble from the corner of his mouth, and tried to look authoritative.

Felix shook his head and tried to appear authoritative, but it was clear he was faking it. Much like the school deep in the jungles of Brazil where all women go to learn the skill, there is one deep in the forests of Siberia where all men go to learn its counterpart. In fact, he was quite impressed by this skinny waif in combat boots and her choice of transportation.

With mock disapproval, he said, "This thing has a single exhaust so large you'd have to check it for bums (homeless persons) in the morning. You forgot this is New York City. Now, woman, important questions. You did, of course, opt for the carbon-ceramic brakes and skipped the e-gear sequential, did you not? It has an appetite for clutch plates. Also, this thing has no stability control system, so it's down to you to keep it tidy."

Mjx looked at him blankly. "Huh? Just look at the exquisite lozenge-shaped stitching on the upholstery! They call it 'Q-citura' ..."

Felix concentrated on the muscles controlling eye movement and stopped them from rolling. His effort was undoubtedly assisted by not-so-distant memories of a certain rolling pin.

"There are only a few things you need to know to drive properly in this city. They are:

1. Turn signals will give away your next move. Never use them.
2. Speed limits are arbitrary figures, given only as suggestions.
3. Carry loaded weapons to help ease a heavy traffic problem."

Mjx nodded, paying close attention. She was clearly impressed by this wealth of practical knowledge.

"Okay, one last thing. No vehicle in America is allowed to roll off a dealer's lot without what is known as a 'bumper sticker'. It is far more important than the registration, insurance, temporary tag, or license plate. In fact, we'll be immediately spotted in this 2007 Lamborghini Murcielago LP640 with the retina-burning paint job - unless we affix one speedily. The goal is to blend in with the natives, remember?"

Felix handed her a bumper sticker which said in capital letters, GUNS DON'T KILL PEOPLE. I DO.

"Kindly affix this next to the gun rack, would you m'dear?"

Mjx stood, frowning slightly, then rummaged inside a cargo pocket at her hip.
"I hope you don't mind, but... I kind of had my heart set on this..." She was crouching down, carefully smoothing another strip of vinyl onto the bumper. She stood back, and the surveyed her handiwork. Felix made a peculiar strangling noise; in large orange letters that precisely matched the orange of the bodywork appeared to float the words: "NUKE A GAY WHALE FOR JESUS".

It wasn't that he minded her sticker, but he knew then that she had seen his sticker hung slightly tilted right above it, "When I die, Bury me Face Down so that the Whole World can Kiss my A$$."
They headed straight to the drug store with Felix getting more and more excited. Once inside he watched as MJX headed toward the perfume counter. She had picked out the largest bottle of Tabu he had ever seen, $9.99. Well, why not, he walked briskly over trying to hide his excitement and picked up half a dozen large bottles. You just never know when you might need a back up.

.., visibly shed fifty years and whispered in a voice that was becoming more vibrant and resonant with every word, "My youth ... what a marvelous gift you've given me! A gift beyond price ... here, please take this."

She handed Felix a blowtorch.

"How did you know? That's exactly what I needed!"

Stepping out to the car, Felix played the torch over some snow, made it into mud and splashed the result on the license plates where it froze instantly. You couldn't read them!

"You don't mind if I drive this time, do ya Meesh? But first ..."

Felix rooted through the glove box. Ah, yes, well-stocked.

A dart that causes people to grow warm and itch so they will disrobe and you can get divorce evidence.

A device that puts picture, sound, and emotion delusions in the brain so that the person believes he is crazy.

A perfume that makes a person say yes to anything: pre-antidote capsule for user, accessory extra.

A search device which up to one mile reads through clothes and makes the person appear naked, camera attachment for lewd photographs, accessory extra.

An ear-relay device to furnish a person with answers, recommended for lawyers whose clients are undergoing torture.

A case of emotional perfume bombs that cause people to react with emotions that make them say the required things: packs of eight assorted emotions.

And on and on! Dozens of different types of items!

"Ah, there it is." At the bottom of the pile, covered by dust, was a bottle of FMJ's Full Metal Jacket.

"... no hollow points this time around. I have a feeling we'll need the sort of penetration that only this can deliver. Right, off we go then."

Two sprays, and he tossed the bottle out the window.

The Murcielago's truck-like amble at low revs gave little clue as to the apocalyptic power delivery that awaited. Felix snicked 3rd with with a small lift of the long-travel accelerator and reacquianted it with the bulkhead. There was a quick surge at 3,000 RPM which gathered at 4,500 as the exhaust cleared its throat, followed by the AWD shuttling torque to the rear, and the most magnificent feral yowl pegged at 8,000 RPM. Felix grabbed for next gear and felt the accelerative Gs weighting his fingertips, the tall buildings exploding through the widescreen windshield.

"I haven't decided how we're getting across to Brooklyn yet, we'll play it by ear. Let's cut east!"

He dropped two gears while giving the ceramic brakes something to consider.

"Look out for that pedestrian!" screamed Mjx.

"Don't worry about it - he can't see our plates!"

A darkened cruiser parked at the curb flashed on its lights! Donuts were jettisoned out the windows, a wail of a siren was heard!

"Uh-oh, it's the fuzz ..."

Mjx was enjoying this far more than she had any right to, and as Felix watched her leaning at a dangerous angle from the window, he felt annoyed. Curiously, however, the pursuing cruiser was slowing, as though its accelerator had been abandoned, and the cops were slumped forward in their seats, motionless.
Mjx sat back, and gently agitated the large empty flask she held. She looked immensely satisfied.
"I've never known the male of any species to survive that heavy a hit of an Obsession knock-off,", she laughed. "and I got this entire bottle on eBay for $8. Including shipping from somewhere in Bali." Felix felt a bit light-headed himself, and slowed slightly, in order to better negotiate the trunks of the huge mushrooms that dotted the upcoming stretch of road.

Yeah, MJX had always been a puzzle to Tibbe. He remembered that last day at Aunt Rose's like it was yesterday. It had been a typical day. When they walked into the brocolli smelling house, Aunt Rose was sitting in her old blue chair with that ever present stack of Kleenex sitting beside her.
Oh, boo hoo, hoo, she'd grab another kleenex. What that man had done to her, oh, boo hoo, That S.O.B. had ruined her life. She'd even developed psychological problems because of "him". That bastard had ruined her life, boo hoo, woe is me.
Never once had Aunt Rose taken responsibility for any problem in her life; it had always been "that man".
Tibbie and MJX had been sitting on the edge of the blue couch trying to keep the doily in place, Tibbie knowing that if he could just stomach to listen to her dump for another half an hour, that she would give up another one of her vintage perfumes.
Then all of a sudden, MJX had jumped up, strolled over, doubled up her fist, and knocked Aunt Rose across the room.
Auntie Rose had splatted into the wall back first, her flowered blue dress slightly hiked showing her support hose rolled to her knees, her nurses shoes tied properly.
What really got to Tibbie was when that Autumn colored orange flowered lamp had landed on Aunties head. It was just so wrong with those winter colored blues in her dress.
Well, Tibbie didn't think he'd get his vintage perfume this day and decided it best to head out.

Felix deftly navigated the mushroom stalks while listening to stories of auntie Rose. Some of the stalks still had caps attached. The caps were red with white spots.

"Well, she's surely carrying a lot of baggage ... but perhaps she'll meet a man who's tugging on a carry-on of his own - and they'll help lighten each other's load."

<Off-topic: People, people, people. Yes, i know my libido is out of control, it's ALWAYS been out of control. Don't try to dampen it (you can't), just WORK with it! I won't be de-railed!

We'll need to re-make Mjx in THIS image, please:
--> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0vfF3F_EYs

Required viewing and listening i ask for! Mongoose, Mjx already has the initials and you've seen the film, i know you can do this part. So shall we try this again? >

"G'day, MJ! My name is <CENSORED IS>, now would you take your clothes off please?"

<Haha! I've been saving that one up for a long time. It rhymes!>

"Bali, huh? Here," Felix tossed her a satellite phone, "call John Hardy and tell him to get the next batch of black sapphire shinies out on the market, would ya?"

The terrain seemed to shimmer and change ... Felix was still in the altered state pressed upon him by the cheap knock-off. It no longer seemed a street with mushroom stalks - but a pebbled, dried-out stream bed.

The pebbles rose to their feet, revealing remarkably hostile faces and a formidable weapons array.

Felix shook his head, succeeding only in making it ache a bit. The sunlight gleamed palely off the Mjx's back as she stood, head slightly lowered, gazing at the hostile figures, the front one of which ground out:

"You will not leave this place alive."

Felix nervously clutched the bundle of Mjx's clothing, absently sniffing the mix of Zagorsk, Musc Ravageur, and Jicky. He knew what was coming.

Mjx slid a sword from each armpit, and said, quietly,


"Watch me."


Over her shoulder, she hissed, "for chrissakes, FELIX, stop snorting my knickers!", then closed in vigorous and elaborately choreographed combat.

Felix set the fabrics aside. He was deviant all right, but day-old laundry wasn't doing much for him. Obviously, he was not this sort of deviant.

He grumbled. Women! They steal your mice ... get hopped up on codeine ... ignore an automobile filled with enough weaponry to sink a battleship ... pull cold steel from unscented armpits, and close in hand-to-hand combat!

Inwardly, he was grinning. She certainly was extraordinary, was she not? If he had three nuts, he'd gladly give one up. He enjoyed the slaughter awhile ...

... and stepped out of the car. He no longer looked like Felix, but something else.

A wetness splashed across his forehead. It felt stickier and warmer than Trouble.

"For god's sake, you're six and a half inches shorter, compensate! Use bludgeoning weapons. You got blood on me again!"

Smiling encouragingly, Felix tossed Mjx a pair of studded iron gauntlets and steel-shod Progression boots in men's size 5.

He looked in front of him at the ranks of black-clad and yawned. Why exactly was the leader down on one knee, head bowed?

He heard words uttered with precise diction, words that obeyed the laws of music, that were a mimic of the sound of grinding glass, or the sound made as sand becomes glass when struck by lightning.

" דעמאנל, lord שמיחזה requires parley."

"Rise, and let me look upon your ridiculous face."

The figure stood erect and unfolded all of its limbs.

Felix laughed and looked smug. "Grigori! Watchers! Ha! Lord, is it? I give not a shit for the self-bestowed titles of his pigsty choir! Tell that upjumped foot soldier that if he wishes to speak to me, one expects a more civilized invitation. Yeah ... and dinner, too."

He pulled a Nemesis model minigun from the trunk and patted it on the side. Keeping this thing clean so that the action is beautiful sure was a bitch, but hey, some things are worth it. External source of power to cycle the weapon. Reliability, controllability. No misfires. No recoil-actuated counterpart can stand up to this!

"You'll be seeing him shortly, oh yes, you will."

Felix activated the loop ... UPROAR! The singing of metal like multiple tuning forks! The sound of ripping linen! CHAOS! ... a gout of flame from the muzzle ten feet long stabbing forward, playing across the street in an arc. Body parts, debris, chunks of concrete, glass, feathers, tar! Destroying 200,000 of the armies of Sennacherib wasn't anywhere near this kind of fun! Times change, he mused.

An odd, strangled sound came from behind. He turned and saw Inspector Grafferty running towards him, huffing and puffing, waving a summons. "No littering!" he was shouting in a high-pitched voice, gasping for breath.

Felix bent the laws of time and space, taking the form of Mini-me whilst transforming Grafferty into an Austin Powers.

--> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZExTL-jWek

Half-way through the fight, he exchanged bodies with him, towards the rightful conclusion, and resumed his normal, familiar form.

He then remembered Meesh, "How're we doing, Mjx? Almost done? We need to get over to Newark, there's this garage run by Dixie Normous, everyone just calls her 'Babe'."

"She's connected if you know what I mean, and we'll need new wheels after this mess."

Mjx looked blank, but re-sheathed the second sword in her armpit.

"Connected?" Then, realising that any explantion was likely to be lengthy and involved, she waved it aside, and addressed a far more critical issue.

"Have I got anything in my teeth?" she asked, baring them for Felix's inspection.

"Uh, no... But you've still got puppy-ridges... WEIRD. How old are you?" He could feel the heat coming off her body, which was unsettling, to say the least, as she hadn't even the decency to stink a bit.

Mjx sighed, and pointed out that Felix was hardly in a position to accuse others of weirdness, as, apart from a certain gestalt, the only still-familiar features he retained were the distinct scent of Polo DB, and a few shreds of a hot pink thong clinging to one hairy thigh.

"Aren't I a bit nude for a social call?" She stepped over Inspector Grafferty, who lay quietly, wondering if he was going to have to cancel his balalaika lesson. His teacher was in impatient sort, whose punk antecedents enabled the combination of balalaika and chainsaw instrumental sessions, and ongoing balalaika construction.

What none of them could possibly realise was that Dixie Normous, AKA "Babe" was not only a gifted mechanic, but Inspector Grafferty's music teacher.

Off-topic:

Think i saw a John Galliano boutique on Vlamingstraat in Bruges when i was there. Him, or some other couture place that impressed me. Since i'm still enjoying the Ra(e)miel-ness, i could translocate you there for a bit of shopping, haha! How about this, short stuff? (kidding ) Would that work for you, d'ya think?

http://www.style.com/slideshows/fash...WAY/00080m.jpg

Now, 'Babe' is 'connected'. What i mean by that is ... she might associate with people who speak a little funny and have noses a little out of joint.

She'd probably be wearing something like this (it's her style):

http://www.style.com/slideshows/fash...WAY/00380m.jpg

PS: Here's a slideshow for a look-see if you want: http://www.style.com/fashionshows/po...house26&page=1

Why not? I'm adaptable


Aha!


Well, thank god for her taste in clothing; I can borrow some of her stuff, perhaps; I'm tired of my arse sticking to the car seat. Prefer a derby or topper, myself, though.

<Tosses Babe a bowler hat.>

http://www.movieposter.com/posters/a...n/20/A70-10276

Agreed. But we keep her as is other than that, i rather like.

Re: Mjx ... mine was only a suggestion. And i WAS rather enjoying the nudity, but you're right ... this is really your opportunity to play dress-up. If she'd rather be sporting something else, let's see it!

<Bows> Why thank you, good sir!



Mjx is GAF, so this is excellent

GAF? What number on the scale?

Must we have labels?

No, indeed, we must not.

But what we must have is more participants in this thread. It has over 4,000 views and we're not the only ones viewing it.

--------------------------------------

<Time to fix our location. We are on the S.E. corner of 59th and Park next to 499 Park. Not so far off is the 59th Street Bridge.

--> http://www.hines.com/toolkit_images/...e_lres_web.jpg


Felix took out a very special can of spray paint; it sprayed whatever colors he chose, at will. He spray-painted the side of the Lamborghini:
'... this is the new (bleep) ...'.

"I'll explain that later, Meesh." He smiled.

He then spray-painted:
'<CENSORED> wuz here!' on the side of 499.

"I'll never explain that one, though." He grinned.

"Now ... Babe is 'good people'. It just so happens she's having a little gathering, and we're invited of course."
--> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndsn5SaAROY

And, to reinforce:
--> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzE6yhrLfwk

Without further adieu, Felix climbed up into an alcove and assumed a comfortable pose. He was more than willing to wait a good, long time for more people to show up. The street was strangely empty.

--> http://www.marilynmansonimages.com/vs45titns.htm

Suddenly Felix sensed the odor of Zagorsk. Around the corner came a squat, well-dressed, middle eastern appearing middle aged man, impeccably turned out in leather and tweed.
"Hello," bade the swarthy gentleman. "I'm the ex-primate of Constantinople. Would you care for a back rub?"

<The street began to look a bit more lively, this was a good thing ...>

Felix leaned in a bit to get a better look and laughed.

"Say, does that sample come in adult size?"

Abruptly, the fake-n-baked figure fell forward with the exquisite grace of a felled dromedary. Felix, turned, exasperated, but mjx pushed by, glowering fiercely, and muttering to herself.
"So THAT's where my Zagorsk went!" she snarled, uncapping vials, and swearing in several languages. Felix found himself blushing.

"He offered to tutor me in Aramaic, at an excellent rate... I saw him gazing at my gunbelt, but never dreamt, when he appeared to have a narcoleptic attack, that he'd sink so low. I think I'll mace him again."