Ken decided to take a break from his weekend
Swahili lessons (taken on-line of course) and see what the
girls were up to. As we all know, Ken can quite easily amuse
himself at times. He had given himself hiccups over the discovery
that “grandmother” and “tomato” are
the same word in Swahili. Nyanya. (For correct pronunciation,
please refer to http://www.cis.yale.edu/swahili/sound/pronunce.htm).
The house had been noticeably quiet over the weekend. Godzilla
was out participating in a marathon bike-athon. Ken was amazed
by that…he had no idea they made sidecars so large.
Godzilla most likely had hers equipped with a blender and
fish bowl to keep fresh snacks nearby at all times.
Ken walked into the living room to find Skipper in her usual
prone position, nub braced against the back of the sofa for
balance. She was gazing longingly at the now cold dent in
the empty sofa next to her. She truly was missing Godzilla.
Cupcake wrappers were littered about her. Skipper had been
trying to console herself. The bits of frosting about her
mouth had become quite crusty…these were not the marks
of freshness. “Skipper, are you OK?” “Yeah,
I’m just a little tired. Wanna cupcake?” Skipper
dug into the sofa and produced a lint-laden cupcake from between
the cushions. The frosting was half licked. “No, I don’t
think so. You go ahead and finish it.” “OK!”
The cupcake disappeared instantly. “Are you sure you’re
OK? You’ve don’t seem like yourself. And all the
junk food you’ve been consuming, it’s not like
you at all.” “I guess I just miss my TV buddy.
Plus, I’ve been having ‘female problems’
again.” Ken cringed. Why is it that women always have
‘female problems’? Somebody needs to seriously
do work on redesigning their plumbing! “I went to the
doctor and it’s not cancerous, but…” “Skipper,
would you stop grossing out poor Ken!” Barbie arrived
just in the nick of time! “C’mon Ken! Let’s
go tune up your car and rotate the tires!” Ken happily
agreed. He’d heard quite enough of Skipper’s bad
plumbing stories.
The day was still young when Ken and Barbie finished their
dream-house chores. “Whattaya say we take the Dream-Vet
out for a spin, Barb?” “Nah, you go ahead though.
Skipper and I have lots of crabs, and we need to take care
of them.” “My God! Don’t they make shampoo
to take care of that?” “Ha-ha! I meant the kind
you eat! We’re having some friends over for dinner tonight
if you want to join us.” “Nah, no thanks. I’ve
had an insatiable craving for meat lately (which is quite
understandable given the abundance of seafood at Casa Lesbo),
so I’m gonna go out for a burger with a friend.”
“OK, but there’ll be plenty of leftovers so we’ll
save you some.” “Great!” said Ken. “Shit!”
thought Ken.
Ken made a few phone calls to see if any of his friends were
free to join him on an afternoon dream-trip. First he called
Mr. Buff. Mr. Buff was busy cleaning his gutters and sipping
martinis with Mrs. Cravitz. Then he called Mr. Olivetti, heir
to the keyboard fortune. Mr. Olivetti’s air conditioning
had gone out, and he had just finished packing himself in
ice. He was impaled and would be unable to join Ken that afternoon.
Then Ken called a few of his poker buddies. They were all
busy poking on their own. It was obvious that Ken would have
to take the Dream-Vet out solo. It wasn’t the first
time, and it wouldn’t be that last. He made one last
phone call to 1-800-Astrology to get a reading on his outfit
for the day. Mars and Saturn have collided in your house,
propelling several moons towards Uranus. It was obviously
going to be a plaid day. He donned his best plaid shirt and
applied a good base of sunscreen, packed a dream-snack and
headed out for the banks of the muddy Potomac. He spent a
leisurely afternoon basking in the sun, with a few brief interludes
of light rollerblading. Afterwards he worked out for a few
milliseconds at his gym, showered, and proceeded directly
to his burgerfest.
When he returned home later that night, Casa Lesbo was quite
the disaster zone. And the smell! The whole casa reeked of
fish. There were claws and legs strewn everywhere. The girls
had obviously had quite a time with their bushels and mallets!
“What in the HELL happened in here?!” Ken exclaimed
as he unsealed the main airlock. “You missed all of
the excitement! Did you know that crabs come delivered LIVE?
I thought they’d come all steamed and ready to eat!
When our friends arrived with the basket I opened it up to
take a look, and the crabs bolted everywhere! They were all
over the place, and we were chasing them with mallets to knock
them out. I guess we got a little carried away!” Barbie
pointed to the smashed claw on the kitchen floor. Ken was
nauseous. The fishy smell was quite overpowering. Not to mention
a health hazard. Everyone in Casa Lesbo, with the obvious
exception of Godzilla, was in danger. They would each undoubtedly
be permeated by the smell of seafood, and be transformed into
the ‘appetizer du jour’ on Godzilla’s plate.
Suddenly the house shook and the varnish on the living room
floor began to crackle. “Godzilla’s back! We’d
better get to our quarters and secure the airlocks immediately!”
whispered Ken, so as not to attract any undue attention from
the beast below. “Ah, we’re OK! She’s got
a bruised tail from all that riding she did over the weekend,
and she’s moving really slowly. We’re safe. Here,
wanna cupcake?” Ken cringed. Barbie too was obviously
having problems with her plumbing. “I think I’m
just gonna turn in for the night.” Ken excused himself
and quickly sealed the airlock on his chamber. He would need
to take extra precautions in the next few days, not only to
make sure that he scrubbed thoroughly (to remove the scent
of seafood from his loins), but also to avoid contracting
the dreaded plumbing disease, which so far had claimed two
victims at Casa Lesbo. |
