This past weekend marked the first time the
entire cast of Casa Lesbo was home for the weekend. Godzilla
was nested into the sofa the entire time. She’s still
recovering from her nasty bout with scale rot, and continues
to feel the need to share her anguish with the other cast
members. We are less than thrilled with this decision, but
none of us has the courage to confront Godzilla. Live cremation
is not among our favorite weekend hobbies. Fortunately the
weather was quite conducive to outdoor activities, so the
remaining cast members were able to spend most of their time
frolicking beneath the sun-drenched skies, far away from Godzilla’s
vapor permeation zone.
For amusement Godzilla has taken to locking the deadbolt
on the main airlock. The deadbolt has not functioned properly
since many moons prior to Godzilla’s hatching, and cannot
be unlocked from the outside. So, whenever it’s set,
Godzilla’s cavemates cannot enter without her physically
rising up from the sofa, dragging her tail across the cave
and summoning up all of her strength to turn the lock. Well,
in her current state, Godzilla chooses to feign sleep whenever
she hears her roommates clawing at the door. Poor Kenny was
the first victim. He arrived home at 2am Saturday, only to
discover the airlock was quite secured. Key access was in
vain. He was forced to………RING THE BELL!
He could peer through the window and see Godzilla’s
tail hanging over the back of the couch. Godzilla merely snorted
when the bell rang. He rang the bell again. Godzilla rolled
over and slapped her tail. He rang the bell a third time.
Godzilla showed no reaction. In time he could hear the hop-hop
of Skipper’s crutch as she hobbled to the door. Ken’s
heart was racing. In her current state, Godzilla could quite
easily mistake Skipper for a Dino-Treat. The curlers in her
hair would merely add a crunchy texture to the delicious little
morsel that we so dearly love. “Please God, let her
be safe! Do not allow Godzilla to awaken from her slumber!”
Click. The lock had turned and Skipper was safe. She whispered
her apologies for not keeping a closer eye on Godzilla. I
told her it was understandable; she’d already lost one
limb and must do whatever is necessary to protect the remainder.
They carefully closed the door, remembering not to lock the
deadbolt. As they tiptoed across the cave, Godzilla conveniently
stretched and awoke. Her sense of smell is obviously much
stronger than her sense of hearing. “Oh, hello.”
She cooed. “What are you guys doing up so late? Wanna
order a pizza?” Skipper and Ken were stunned. Neither
one of them ever actually witnessed Godzilla consuming her
prey, and did not even want to attempt the event at 2am. They
explained that they were too tired and would prefer to take
a rain check…. for the year 2089. Godzilla’s not
very good with numbers, so she didn’t catch on. She
scraped a few loose scales from her claws, snorted, and rolled
back over to sleep. Skipper and Ken darted for their rooms,
secured their airlocks, and hopped into bed.
The next morning Ken awoke to the faint sound of Skipper
whispering outside his airlock. “Pssst! Pssst! Ken!
Are you awake? I’m fixing breakfast. Wanna eat with
me?” “Sure!” Ken answered. The mention of
food at 2am had obviously stuck with Skipper the whole night,
and Ken was never one to turn down a home-cooked meal. He
quickly dressed and headed for the dining room. Godzilla was
nowhere to be seen. The warm dent and half empty pizza box
on the sofa meant she was still nearby. Probably just out
catching some fresh rodents to go with her cold pizza.
Ken sat down at the table and prepared for the feast that
awaited. Hmmm. He thought it a bit odd that he couldn’t
smell the pancakes baking or the bacon frying. The absence
of any home-baked scent whatsoever was puzzling. He could
smell coffee brewing, and Skipper was clanging pots-o-plenty.
What WAS she doing? And what was that tinkling sound, like
ball bearings being poured into a jar? “How’d
you sleep?” Skipper asked from the kitchen. “Fine.”
“Sorry about the lock thing. We just need to remember
that although she’s quite large, Godzilla’s brain
is about the size of a kumquat. It’s a scientific fact.”
“What’s for breakfast?” “My favorite!”
Skipper entered the dining room with two bowls of Cocoa Puffs
and two cups of coffee. “Wow! Did you pour all this
yourself?!” Ken was quite appalled, but kept his feelings
to himself out of deep admiration for Skipper.
“Thanks for joining me. I’m a lesbian and you
know I hate doing anything solo! I especially hate eating
by myself, and Barbie’s still quite comatose from the
Margarita-Birkenstock party at Midge’s place last night.
You’re such a pal, Ken!” Ken held his breath and
shoveled in a spoonful of the milk-laden chocolate pellets
swimming before him. Odd. The sound was not unlike that of
the bone-crunching echoes so often heard from the lower chambers
of Godzilla’s cave. The pellets weren’t all that
bad. “Coffee?” “No thanks, Skipper. I don’t
drink the stuff.” “God! Have you gone healthy
on me? I can’t live without it!” Skipper continued.
“Oh! You’ll never believe what happened to poor
Tank yesterday. He was scooting all over the house. It was
awful! We had to rush him to the vet. He’s gotten so
fat that his bowels have become dysfunctional…. they
had to give him an enema and put him on a diet! Can you believe
it?! Tank’s gotta go on Kitty Slimfast!” Ken was
unsure as to which was more unbelievable…. the Kitty
Slimfast or the mere fact that Skipper had shared this event
with him over Cocoa Puffs. He gazed down at the brownish liquid
in the bowl before him and insisted that Skipper change the
subject immediately.
“Oh, alright, if you insist! Hey! Barbie and I were
wondering…like, you know, when we use our vibrators
does it interfere with your television reception?” “I
don’t know honey, maybe if you gave me more of a clue
as to when you’re using your vibrators I could keep
a closer eye on the television!” “Oh! OK! Maybe
we’ll have to conduct a test, and like, start up our
vibrators close to the TV. Then we’ll walk away from
it, and measure how far away we have to be before the interference
stops.” Skipper was obviously suffering from Cocoa-overdose.
Just in the nick of time, Godzilla returned to her dent in
the sofa. Ken seized the opportunity immediately. “Godzilla!
Great to see you this morning! How the heck are ya?”
Godzilla coughed up a scale ball and grunted. “Man,
my lungs are still all full of shit. I wheeze constantly,
and I don’t know…I think I may have to spend the
whole day here on the sofa. Whatcha eatin’?” “Cocoa
Puffs! Want some?” chirped Skipper. “I dunno.
Milk products could add more texture to my phlegm, and I’m
having a hard enough time coughing up my dead scales as it
is. I’ll just knaw on my leftover pizza.” Ken
opted not to point out that cheese, too is a milk product.
Next the girls started arguing over the best movie of all
time. Skipper just loved “The Sound of Music”.
Godzilla gets moist everytime she sees “The Killing
Fields”. Imagine. From there they progressed to who’s
the biggest slut, whose breasts are real, and the fine line
between a “heavy” and a “light” day.
Ken’s head began to spin. It was a veritable whirlwind
of fish facts! His eyes crossed. He began convulsing. May
Day! May Day! He was going down. Cocoa pellets and tampons
were flying everywhere.
Ken awoke with a start. “Whoa Sue Ellen! You’ve
got to lay off the vodka!” he said to himself as he
attempted to focus. The afternoon sun was streaming down upon
him. He gazed down upon his chest. His personal training lessons
had begun to pay off quite nicely. Wasn’t it marvelous
how symmetrically his pecs had fallen into place? Ken shook
his head and sat up. He had been lying along the banks of
the Potomac and must have fallen asleep.
How much of his dream was real? Will Skipper ever perform
the vibrator-television test? Will Godzilla ever get off the
couch? All these and more answers than you ever really cared
to know will be revealed in future episodes of Casa Lesbo.
Y’all stay tuned now, ya hear?!!
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