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Sunday dawned picture-perfect, Walton-esque at Casa Lesbo.
Ken awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and golden rays
of sunshine streaming through his window. As he lay in his
bed he began to plan is day. The week ahead would bring many
challenges to Casa Lesbo. The entire cast had made their mid-Summer
resolutions, and Diet Week was about to begin. Ken had vowed
to limit his Sunday consumption of vodka to no more than three-quarters
of a gallon. PVS (Post Vodka Syndrome) had begun to noticeably
affect his< Monday hairstyles. Ken would have to plan his
day accordingly, so as to prepare for the shock of LVS (Low
Vodka Syndrome) that he would undoubtedly experience later
that evening. A low stress day was definitely in order. Another
trip to the Connie Francis would be a good start. The miraculous
healing powers of the Connie Francis were known far and wide.
The chemicals were sure to cleanse his every pore, purging
millions of harmful toxins from his body and lightening his
hair at least sixteen shades. Yes, the Connie Francis was
definitely in order. Today's smashing outfit would consist
of a striped spandex, black and aqua boxer cut swimsuit. The
outfit would be coordinated with black sandals and the ever-present
yellow towel. A genuine Jackaroo bonnet, hand fashioned by
natives from down under, and Rayban sunglasses, hand-crafted
in Taiwan no doubt, would top off the international ensemble.
Ken scrunched his eyes as he tried to remember what the girls
were giving up during Diet Week. He remembered just seconds
prior to his face becoming permanently pruned. Skipper and
Barbie always did everything together and therefore had the
same resolution. Both had vowed to cut down on sweets and
fat. "Bor-ring!" Ken said to himself. Godzilla had
vowed to cut down on uncooked rodents. "Now that's what
I call a real challenge!" He thought to himself. Apparently
the little demons had been the cause excessive gastro-internal
disorder. The entire cast of Casa Lesbo would be grateful
for a good night's sleep again. Far too many nights they had
awakened to the sound of violent eruptions bellowing forth
from the caves below. Aftershocks usually persisted for several
days. Killer and Tank were continually on edge. Tank would
also be joining the cast in their Diet Week adventures. His
weight continued to grow logarithmically, and he now required
a crane to be lifted on and off of the sofa.
Later that morning Ken sat down to breakfast with the girls.
Skipper and Barbie were chirping away about the great time
they had had at Butchina's Lesbathon. The party had apparently
been quite a success-everybody got spanked and sent home with
a complete set of socket wrenches. The ever-omophagic Godzilla
was sulking as she gnawed her morning rodent. She was still
quite distressed about the lizard that had gotten away the
night before. Hopefully she would take this memory and use
it to her advantage during Diet Week. Ken opted not to bring
up the subject. "So ladies, what's on the agenda for
today? It's the first day of Diet Week, so we all need to
take extra precautions so as not to induce shock and forfeit
our vows!" Chirped the ever-chipper Ken. "You just
had to remind us, didn't you?" Grumbled Barbie. "Skipper
and I are going to take Tank to the vet. It's time for his
monthly flushing. The vet's gonna be really upset at us...he
hasn't lost any weight and at the rate he's going, pretty
soon his colon's gonna just stick shut!" "Well,
that oughtta take your mind off of sweets!" "Exactly!
After we take Tank to be flushed we're not really sure what
we're gonna do. There's a sale going on at Bra World, we might
go check it out." Ken turned to Godzilla. "What
about you, Zilla? Any plans?" Godzilla did all of her
bra shopping at Jupiteria, so Ken knew she wouldn't be accompanying
Skipper and Barbie on their adventure. "Yeah, there's
a tractor-pull out at Flannel World. I think I'm gonna go
check it out." Ken was quite pleased with his decision
to spend the day at the Connie Francis Memorial Pool. "Well,
I think I'm just gonna go hang out by the pool. I figure if
I meditate and relax enough, I won't miss my vodka tonic one
bit." Said Ken. "In fact, I need to go get ready
now. I'll see you later!"
Sunday's crowd at the pool was much more relaxed than Saturday's.
Sunday was the day you could actually wear last season's ensemble
and not be criticized. Ken had indeed worn the fabulous aqua/black
international ensemble many times in the past. No one would
publish the fact, it was just understood. Sunday was, after
all, a day of rest. Large sunglasses and big hats were the
order of the day. It was a day to relax and rejuvenate. Ken
spread his towel and aligned it appropriately with the suns
rays, so as to obtain maximum exposure. He smoothed the towel
and lay down. It was a perfect afternoon, and Ken enjoyed
just basking in the sun while eavesdropping on all the latest
scandals. His hair was lightening quite nicely. Soon he began
to drift off, dreaming nothing but happy thoughts. Key lime
pie. Vodka tonic on a summer afternoon. Backrubs. Mr. Ambrosia's
flawless skin.
All too quickly the sand had completely run through the hourglass.
It was still early, but Ken didn't want to risk UV intoxication.
Godzilla was living proof that too much sun did indeed result
in excess scaleage. Ken had vowed long ago that he would not
fall victim to the harsh rays of the sun. He ate raisin bran
regularly-he knew what the sun did to those poor little grapes.
He stretched and gathered his thoughts. What to do, what to
do. He glanced at his watch and noticed that it was early
enough to attend one of Madame Sashimi's yoga classes. Ken
loved Madame Sashimi. She had a way of making everyone feel
so relaxed and good about themselves. He packed the dream
tote and headed off to Gym World, where Madame Sashimi held
her Sunday yoga sessions.
At the gym Ken ran into Mr. Ambrosia, looking as stunning
as ever. By now Mr. Ambrosia had recovered from the horrid
fish-in-the-sauna incident, and he and Ken had rebonded. They
exchanged greetings and knowing glances. Mr. Ambrosia always
brought a smooth, calming affect over all those he encountered.
He was like Buddha with a body. Ken sighed and relaxed completely.
"What a perfect prelude to afternoon yoga." He thought
to himself. All through his yoga class Ken envisioned Mr.
Ambrosia and his lovely skin. Ken kept a hand towel nearby
to wipe his drool. Soon the class was over, and Ken was at
peace with the world...ready to begin the diet that lay ahead.
All too suddenly Ken's mood swung around 180 degrees. As
he was leaving the gym he bumped into that most hideous of
creatures, Steroidicus. No one could identify the sexual gender
of Steroidicus-it was simply not possible. It could be a man,
it could be a woman, it could be both. Steriodicus had the
head and hair of Tina Turner, plopped on Arnold Schwarzeneger's
body. It was truly hideous. Ken had often thought of setting
up a sparring match between Godzilla and Steroidicus. The
only problem was that the combined effect of both of their
toxins together in one spot would surely kill all forms of
life within a 17-mile radius of ground zero. The resulting
carnage would not be pretty, and Ken would be forced to live
out the rest of his life facing each day with immeasurable
guilt and depression. The match was destined to remain a fantasy.
Steroidicus nearly toppled over poor Ken on its way to the
drinking fountain. All of Ken's happy yoga thoughts vaporized
immediately. He began to tremble and realized that there was
only one cure-Vodka Land. It was the only known cure for Sterioidicitus.
Ken reminded himself that he had only vowed to cut down on
his vodka consumption, not omit it. The Dream Vet knew the
way-it was number one on the autopilot selection list.
Vodka Land was as splendid as usual. Ken didn't stay very
long-he was determined to stick to his diet. He limited his
consumption of vodka to somewhere between a quarter and a
half-gallon. In no time at all every trace of Steroidicitus
had vanished, not unlike the ice in his glass. Vodka always
had that affect-it could vaporize any substance on contact.
"Hmmm...somebody ought to check out the depilatory qualities
of vodka. And the waters of the Connie Francis for that matter."
Ken thought to himself. Across the bar Ken spied none other
than Linda Tripp, once again in man-drag and out for a night
with the boys. He knew it was time to go. Were he to stay
any longer Linda would certainly force him to exceed his allotted
quota of vodka for the evening.
Ken returned home to discover Skipper snuggled on the sofa
clutching a stopwatch and a fork. On the coffee table in front
of her was a large coconut-frosted, butter-cream drenched
white cake of unknown origin. It appeared quite fresh, hermetically
sealed in an impermeable plastic container. Perplexed, Ken
asked her what she was doing. "Well, as you know I'm
monitoring my fat intake this week. I'm only allowed so many
fat grams a day, and today I've already exceeded my limit.
But if I wait until after midnight then I start all over again.
So I can have a piece of cake and it won't matter-all the
fat will be thrown over into tomorrow's count. I'll do better
tomorrow, I promise!" "Girrrrrl, you're a MESS!"
Replied Ken. "I know, but what can I do? I was born that
way. Why don't you go get a fork and you can join me!"
"Great! I wonder how that would taste with a little vodka
tonic to wash it down. I still have at least a quarter of
a gallon left in my allowance, and midnight's really close!
I can start counting all over, just like you!" "Oh
goodie! Let's try it and see!" Seven hours later Barbie
came into the living room to clean up the aftermath and wake
up the insubordinates for work.
Diet Week at Casa Lesbo would be no easy feat. Only the strongest
would survive. Who would be the first to perish? Stay tuned
for future episodes and tawdry details.
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