“I can’t see ‘er,” whined Slimy Jack, squinting
through a pair of cheap dimestore binoculars. “Can’t see ‘er fer the life
of me, Dicky.”
“That’d be so, seeing as you’ve got them on upside-down, yeh
stupid prat!” snarled the overweight, sweaty man they called Richard Swine.
Together they peered out the grimy window of the Kremlin, their
old, beat up pizza truck which they had swiped from a pimply teenager on
his way to a delivery, crossing out the logo with spray paint they had
swiped from a different pimply adolescent boy as he exited a drugstore.
Dick had had his fill of pimply teenaged boys for the day and it did not
help that Slimy Jack, though well over thirty, looked quite alot like their
pimply-faced victims. Also, he was not as smart.
“’Snot doin’ anythin’ interesting.” whined sliimy jack again.
“Shaddap, stupid,” snarled Dicky, taking a swipe at slimy Jack’s
greasy red mop of hair, knocking him to the floor and chipping another
one of his teeth.
“Ey! Look what choo did! Ya chipped another on o’ me teeth!”
exclaimed slimy jack. “By the end of this story, all of my teeth will be
“Quiet! She’s coming this way. The lady said to watch how she
acted ‘round him.” As dicky stared, Stacy seemed to grow larger and larger
the way those people in movies do when the camera zooms in on them, and
soon she filled the whole screen and the storyline switched to her dialogue
Then, a passing libertine winked and cartwheeled across the story
“Oh Brad, let’s make a sand castle,” murmured Stacey like
she’d never made a sandcastle before.
“God, I want you,” said Brad.
“What?” said Stacey.
“I said, God, I want you.”
“Neat!” exclaimed Stacey, and began to fill her bucket
with pebbles (in a non metaphorical sense). Brad was busy filling his bucket
with pebbles in a metaphorical sense, then he got out the old nail file
juuust in case things got a little frisky later on, so he’d be prepared
Meanwhile, back at the lair, Natasha was busy filing her nails,
in a semimetaphorical sense, and then began to paint them magenta pink.
Natasha, by the way, is Brad’s exlover and arch nemesis.
Anyways, so Natasha was manicuring her nails and looking beautiful
and exotic, like a flamingo on a beautiful, exotic bicycle. She was contemplating
how to win back Brad’s heart, and wondering whether he’d age well. She
had just come to the conclusion that Brad would age pretty well except
for a a receding hariline, which he would attempt to hide with a toupee,
which she could tolerate, when she got a call on her cell phone. It was
“They’re making sandcastles. And the libertine is hittingon slimy
“libertine?” asked natasha. “he was supposed to be here ten minutes
ago!” she peered irritatedly at her fingernails. “well, dicky, you’ll just
have to distract them. use whatever means necessary. and...dicky?”
“tell the libertine that it’s all over between us and he can
pick up his paycheck tomorrow at noon.”
So dicky put on his thinking cap, which was tartan plaid and
stitched with the name, “agnes” across the brim, having belonged to a hairdresser
he had once dated in Soho. he missed agnes, she was a hip chick, a real
finally after he had fallen asleep twice and had to be awakened
both times by lewd acts on the part of the libertine (who refused to fuck
off in QUITE the sense that dicky and slimy jack had meant it when they
screamed it repeatedly) dicky came up with a plan; though, much to his
distaste, it involved the use of a pimply teenager.
“god. fucking. damn. it.” he said with feeling, and then located
a pimply teenager on his way out of the laundromat, where Slimy Jack had
been stealing ladies' underwear from unwary college students. Seizing him
by the collar and glaring menacingly at the boy's acne-studded face, Dicky
growled, "Gimmie yer laundry or I'll chop off yer tiny manhood and eat
it with me own two teeth!" in what he hoped was a sufficiently threatening
sort of growl.
"I'm a master in Judo," confided the pimply teenager, tearing
off his stained, greasy Marilyn Manson concert t-shirt to reveal an impeccably
laundered ninja's costume. Simultaneously, the object in his left hand,
which Dicky had previously perceived to be an ice cream cone, was revealed
to be a glistening, well-sharpened machete.
Hefting his load of clean jock straps and cargo pants above
his head, the teenager lunged at a terrified, cowering Dicky, smothering
him under his own tartan cap! Just then, in a speeding blur of elastic,
lace, and underwire, Slimy Jack shot out of the door to the Klean N Happee,
taking the teenage ninja by surprise and choking him with a black lace
The teenager disposed of, Slimy Jack and Dicky high-fived, then
retrieved the deceased's bundle of clothing, finding a large speckled muumuu
and a pair of flowered socks, those two essentials to any ninja wardrobe.
"These'll do," said Slimy Jack grimly, stepping into the muumuu
and putting on the socks. Then he took a pair of pink panties and put them
on his head. "Look!" he exhorted Dicky. "I'm Superman!"
Dicky stared at Slimy Jack in disgust. "Get a hold of yerself!"
he spat. "Distract Brad like we're supposed to."
"Right, right," murmured Slimy Jack, subdued; he marched purposefully
off to the beach, concealing the panties in his tennis shoes.
Slimy Jack pranced, in what he assumed was a seductive manner,
toward Brad's elaborate sand creation. "Hey there, hot stuff," he
said coyly, batting his eyelashes and looking every bit like a dressed
Brad squinted at the lanky intruder. "Mark?" he asked tentatively.
"Brad!" exclaimed Stacy, taken aback.
"Jesus," sighed Slimy Jack.
"Are we done here?" Jesus whined petulantly, donning his reflective
sunglasses and picking up his double latte. "I have a photo shoot in a
half hour, and then dinner with the Apostles. I'm supposed to turn a bunch
of wood slats into filet mignon. I swear to God, it's a thankless job."
He flounced off.
Suddenly, a seagull swooped down, his menacing red eyes clearly
intent on one target: Slimy Jack's left breast (which was in fact a water
balloon filled with tapioca pudding)!! It burst with a loud SWISHPLABWISHPURTLAH
as well as a resounding squish, and Slimy Jack, clutching his mutilated
chest, was forced to make an embarrassing retreat , running through a volleyball
game and knocking over five bowling pins as he went, after which he was
arrested by a nearby plainclothes police officer for having toppled a run-on
sentence in his haste to make an escape without further detriment to the
stolen muumuu, which he had grown to love, even as Zippy the Pinhead himself
loved his own polkadot muumuu, which he had won in battle with a ninja.
"What a creep!" said Stacy, "I can't believe he killed that
ninja just so he could have a polkadot muumuu!"
"Yeah, I know," responded Brad, "And the cross-dresser was an
asshole, too. Anyway...Stacy, there's something I need to tell you. I...I
really need to tell you it. It's so important that I tell you, it's hard
to find the words. Stacy, willya just let me tell you?"
"I-Brad, I" but at that moment Stacy's words were cut off by
Valerie screaming a few feet away from the shore.
"HELP! I AM DROWNING! AHH!" said Valerie.
"Valerie," said Brad, "that is a tidepool."
"AHHH" said Valerie. Brad sighed, then reluctantly stripped
off his shirt to reveal glistening bronzed stomach muscles, then dove in
and rescued Valerie from the tidepool, where she was in grave danger of
being attacked by and made the captive of a small horseshoe crab.
"Oh, Brad," murmured Valerie. "Your stomach muscles are so...glistening.
And bronzed." Stacy felt a pang of jealousy deep within her own sizable
Suddenly, Mark sauntered over, taking them all by surprise.
There was an awkward moment as his eyes, the rich, subtle hue of baked
beans, flicked lazily over the assembled. Brad looked away uncomfortably.
Meanwhile, in all the commotion, Slimy Jack had returned. He flicked lazily
over the assembled, too, then snatched Brad and stuffed him into the trunk
of the Kremlin, which he had parked nearby and hidden under a run-on sentence
earlier in the day.
Stacy noticed he was gone three hours later, when she and the
libertine, (whose name was Geraldine), were lounging in the tidepool, trading
hair tips and discussing the difficulty of finding truly classy evening
"Oh MY GOD!!" she screamed. 'Where's Brad?"
But it was too late. The Kremlin, Brad and all, was already
speeding towards Natasha's lair, heedless of Stacy's anguished cries.
Thus we conclude the second installment of Treacherous Net of
Passion. Tune in next time to find out just what becomes of Brad, Stacy,
Valerie, Slimy Jack, Dicky, Geraldine, Mark, the run-on sentence. Special
guests will include Monica Lewinsky, Dick Cheney, a sex columnist, the
INCREDIBLE HULK, Peewee Herman, and Chris Gilligan.