shrug, shrug

shrug, shrug some more
ooze more chi, yes, like this,
converge on some last morsel of care

shine is coming off my eyes,
it is so dry, it burns, I want it gone
for good, there is NO PROTECTION

single line barcoded instructions
never a question, not a care in the world.
Make up rationales, yes, like this,
cradle some last morsel of hope

shrug, shrug some more
ooze more blood, yes, like that,
learn to bathe in tepid
lavender shine, it is ending

Comment Whoring

My comment whore is a 36-22-34 105 lb strawberry blonde with 36DD breasts, huge blue eyes, beekissed lips and a forked tongue. She demands tribute.

Strangeness in a Strange Land

Have any of you been waiters-waitresses? Because I am writing an article that I will sell to magazines here about the impact of taxing tips. They are about to do that here and nobody has any idea what it will do.

So. If you have a short comment, comment. If you have something longer, send me an email.

Interestingly, in Hungary, tip translates to Wine Money. That made me think of what the term TIP is derived from. Yes. It is grossly sexual. It is derived from hot monkey sex on table 12 between the mysterious stranger in the black coat and the absurdly hot large breasted redhead in the cute waitress uniform (vaguely thinking this imagery might have its roots in She-Hulk's blog).

Actually I found it what it means. http://www.worldwidewords.org/qa/qa-tip1.htm
Even the reality has sexual overtones. I prefer to think of it as 'lightly being felt up'. So when you are a waitress and you get a tip, you are being lightly felt up. So slap that bastard and stomp your foot!

waiting

please, please, please
i beg you, surround me
i am sinking into the ocean
just a single touch
just a single touch
please

lavender shine
is blotting out the lights
all over, all over,
hold me but once,
please
just once

I suppose I live here... That is my favorite statue in the whole city - the little jester. He sits on the rail by the river. 

Coolest Girl's Name EVER

I got a translation job I am working on... the name of the woman at the translation firm nearly reduced me to tears... The funny tears. I don't dare to write it out in Hungarian (what if she googles it? I might want to sleep with her!) - in Hungarian, her name is short and does not sound totally weird - but in English! WOW.

In English, the NAME is: ENRAGED LITTLE-RED-RIDING-HOOD

Update

I spoke to a leading oncologist who is convinced I have what amounts to spinal-cervical cancer. He asked for a bunch of tests. I am sort of imploding. Maybe I will document the process. I mean, seriously, if this does not make Movie of the Week, what does?

Dump

I will try to write this out again.

I will not have my head carved open with a hand operated saw (again) so they can stick a footlong needle into my brain, followed by a fishing line with a radioactive isotope, while I am watching, AWAKE. Not again. The chance for serious brain damage the second time around is much greater. So if this PET scan is positive, I am not going under the knife.

Of course, without surgery, I would die, well after I turned into drooling vegetable, slowly but surely as the tumor grows. This is not something I will accept. I have pretty much determined to go out quickly while I still leave a good looking corpse and I still possess the faculties for a graceful exit.

Summary: you might want to download the archives if you are attached to them.

Good looking corpse note: By the time I am scheduled for my PET scan, for the first time in my life, I will actually have perfect teeth! If I am exhumed, I will totally turn on the good looking, sexy coroner...

Freakout

My neural surgeon prescribed YET ANOTHER P.E.T. (positronic emission tomogrophy) scan since he is freaking out about the protein count derived from my lumbar puncture. Is this NOT supposed to FREAK ME OUT? Because I am totally flirting with implosion. Is randomly crying NORMAL? I think not.

I hung out with SDW (Smiling Devil Waitress) and her blonde friend (Tall Intrigued Girl – TIG) last night and we may have smoked some pot on the square next to the Basilica of Saint Stephen at 2 in the morning. Wow that was (I mean would have been) a total blast. They asked me to come and hang out on Saturday night. I am not really expecting to score with them, they are just fun people. This cafe is sort of custom designed to appeal to me. It is very friendly, looks great, is not very expensive and it is stocked with girls who (1) are totally my type (2) and seem to really really like me. Inexplicably the grand total of my friends in this country are six hot chicks.

I can’t get my laptop fixed. This really totally sucks ass. Now I have to buy a new one – one that does NOT have all my music that I can no longer access… Because I am really swimming in cash. Oh well. May this be the least of my problems.

The Basilica - King Stephen's mummified hand is kept here. 

I am so going to have superpowers

The Winged Pig is receiving the following injection directly into his spine tomorrow or Wednesday:

Volon A 40 mg Kristallsuspension-Spritzampulle

I am thinking Pyrokinesis with occasional bouts of Super Strength when I get riled.

Oh my god

I just found this article about this guy who was at the same hospital where I am being treated. Oh my god. Translation from the Hungarian is as follows:

The investigation is likely to conclude on Friday concerning the forgotten corpse in the ER of Saint John's hospital. They simply forgot about the 42 year old man after they determined he was dead, and did not transport him to the morgue freezer. They only started to concern themselves about the missing corpse after three days, when the relatives could not find the remains in the hospital's morgue. Hospital management does not wish to make a statement until the investigation is complete, but they already stated that the examining doctor is not at fault, as his job is simply to save the life of the patient, after which (if unsuccessful) after registering the death, it is up to the sick carriers and the coroner to cart away the corpse. Nepszava (this daily) has been informed that the unfortunate man was brought in at the end of April from another hospital's psychiatric ward where he jumped out of the window. After he was admitted, they wanted to do a CT scan, but his condition deteriorated extremely quickly and he could not be saved.

This was the whole article. What creeps me out is that I KNOW THIS GUY. This was his second jump. He was two beds from me in that same hospital room where I was treated. This is the second dead man I know of from the SAME BED.

I am going to make some coffee.

My Cartoon Post

Robots and chicks figure prominently in my favorite cartoons.

***** Voltron: This was great. First of all, the dogs (ok, they were supposedly lions) were cool. You turned them on with a key and they merged into a big nasty robot with a gigantic sword. This was also the only cartoon I have ever seen where the pilot episode KILLED OFF one of the good guys. Furthermore, the Princess was just absurdly hot with a tiny waist and luscious boobies. So she was mostly useless. So what. She was great eyecandy - without her that team would have fallen apart.

*** Transformers: This was okay in the beginning. No chicks though, and later on the whole thing just became plug stupid.

**** Robotech: Now this one was great. First of all, it did not even try to disguise the fact that it was just a soap opera with robots. It had a beauty paegant in space, for God's sake. The series is particularly fabulous because Earth keeps getting annihiliated with the hope for starting over somewhere else totally fucked due to the lack of protoculture (sort of a soylent green of the soul used as gasoline for starships).

** He-man: Ok, no space or what not... But Evillyn was just so hot in her tight spandex black and blue outfit and perfect nails. Unfortunately, I cannot support a show wholeheartedly where the main character is a total pansy with a cat.

***** The Smurfs: I love these guys. And girl. I love her. I like the villain. I like the houses/mushrooms. I like the plotline. Wow. I like the themesong. I just wish it was the other way around. One guy, 48 chicks. Oh well.

Hmmmm.

I am going to write this thing out of me because it is necessary. None of it will be funny. My thought processes are rather slow because I popped some xanax. Quite a bit of it, in fact. Not enough to warrant panic, I think, just enough to permit me to function with a semblance of rational thought.

I did not get into the New School. They finally got their act together and re-sent my rejection letter. I don't blame them. 8 months ago I was a hack. Too much grandstanding and shimmering stars.

This leaves me in a strange place, thinking.
There were two reasons I was drawn back to America. One of them was attending The New School. The other was OOYMFETAI. I know. I know. TWP is stupid.

Both are gone. Both are gone, off the table. My friends seem to have faded away. Most of them, anyway. My ex still sends me letters burning with longing for me. Carefully disguised, friendly loveletters. I would have to deal with that if I went back.

So, in summary, I am faced with a choice: Going back to America, temping in some basement to make money to make ends meet while I reapply to the new school and struggle to find enough time to write another book, all in the meantime smiling through gritted teeth as I cope with OOYMFETAI's relationship.
or I can stay here, attempt to heal fully, and write another book or two, surrounded by family and hot chicks.

This would be no contest if I could make decent money here and I still would not have feelings for OOYMFETAI. Thus far, I am netting 1100 dollars a month. Not enough. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I can't get HER out of my head.

I cannot write like I used to because my laptop (a dell inspiron 8500) has a broken thingie in it (the voltage regulator, the thing right where you plug it in inside the machine). This is not helping me. Not helping me that I lack my main therapuetic outlet. If anyone reading this can get me that part (one of those fake motherboard integrated things) I would be eternally grateful. I already found a technician to install it.

I am starting a steady treatment of shots into my spinal cord to reduce inflammation, conceivable caused by BRAIN CANCER. On the 26th I am going to a spine facility on the 26th, so I will be off the web for a few weeks.

Jesus I am getting sleepy.

Of course, none of this has any relevance at all if I still have living tumor cells. I do not fear death. I fear becoming a drooling vegetable.

I think I am going to take a nap.

Roasted Elf with Wasabi-Marjoram-Peach Sauce

Ingredients (for 5):

.15 lb of Wasabi
2 cans of peach halves
.22 cups of marjoram (preferably freshly picked)
.07 cups of poppy seeds
5 rosepetals
salt and pepper
5 onions
.5 lb of butter
.5 lb of flour
2 bright red chilipeppers
1 pomegranat or date
1 elf, boned (excepting skull)

Scoop out innards of elf. Put the innards aside in a bowl (for soup) later, or freeze them in a plastic bag.
Chop up the onions with a large kitchen knife. Halfway sautee them in butter until they are not quite transparent.
Mix the wasabi, the marjoram, the salt, the pepper and the flour. Take the elf and roll in the mixture until completely covered.
Take the rest of the butter and lightly brown the elf in a large enough skillet (sizeable goblins with lots of meat require a deep cast iron skillet. For small winged fairies, a wee omelette type skillet will do)
Place the onions in a shallow baking dish. Place the elf on top of layer of onions.
Take the rest of the flour-marjoram-pepper/salt mixture and mix into some butter and the juice from the cans of peaches. Mix over a low flame until you get a nice brown sweet sauce.
Lightly pour the sauce over the elf until it is covered completely (excepting the head)
Take the peach halves and cover Elf completely, (excepting the head).
Bake at 412 degrees for 40 minutes or until the Elf is clearly tender.
Using an icecream scoop, carve out the eyes and the lips. Replace the eyes with the red chilipeppers and the mouth with the pomegranat (in case of a larger eldritch creature) and the date in case of tiny winged beast of magickal nature.

Serve with mashed potatoes or buttered broccoli.

Recommended wine: A strong cabernet sauvignon has a tendency to overwhelm the delicate flavor of the Elf. Something bland is recommended, like a shitty merlot or rose.

No, I did not have sex

It is true.
You would have thought it was a gimme.

Actual text message between TWP and BCW:

TWP: So where should I meet you to go to the movies?
BCW: Why don't I show you my new apartment? I will meet you at the metro.
TWP (staring fixedly at LCD, punching buttons): Okay.

(5 minutes later)

BCW: Change of plans. Just come straight up to my apartment. (address info)
TWP (staring fixedly at LCD, punching buttons): Okay.

Please do not ask how I managed not to get any. Let us just say that she is wounded right now, and I am not a bottom fisher. I have been there, and I did not like myself. So there.
Having said that, I had a really good time.
Now I have a horrible, horrible headache, due to 120 proof Transylvanian plumb brandy and priceless Tokaj (that is a really fine dessert wine).
Can I just lounge around and pop non-prescription drugs and Danish beer all day to kill the pain?
NO.
I have to translate 9 pages of stuff on Youth Unemployment by dawn tomorrow. Personally, I am in favor of youth unemployment. There is plenty of time to work when you are old.

I am going over to BCW's apartment and hang with her all day, painting furniture, going out for pancakes (okay, they are crepes) and in general flirt all day. It should be fun.

Oh, I got to pet a horsey! SO CUTE! He ate apples out of my hand and licked my hand and let me pet his head. I did not ride him, since I did not wish to pull a Christopher Reeve with my herniated disks. Maybe after my treatment I will go and ride.

Deep Suspicion Deepens

Phone rings. It's BCW.

BCW: "Hi!"
TWP: "Hello!"
BCW: "What are you doing tomorrow?"
TWP: "Uhm, I am going with H2C to her hometown... I am coming back on Wednesday."
BCW: "That sucks, I wanted you tomorrow."
TWP: "Ugh?"
BCW: "Well, how about Wednesday?"
TWP: "Sounds good... I have to teach these two English ...people ...on Wednesday afternoon, but afterwards I am free."
BCW: "Great. I will call you on Wednesday to confirm."

Maybe I am imagining this, but somewhere along the way H2C sort of sharded off from this Drinkathon?

Deeply Suspicious

So I am now deeply suspicious.
I went to the language school up the street because I was bored and my laptop is still dead. I thought - hey, I will sign up with them, do some translations, make a quick buck.

They had no translations for me. All they had for me is an emergency fill in to teach HUNGARIAN at this company nearby.

Actual conversation between teacher who came down with the flu (TF) and TWP:

TWP: "Hi! So what kind of students are these?"
TF: "Normally it is two girls and a guy, but the guy is totally snowed in so it will only be the two girls."
TWP (after an infinitisimally short pause): "Go on."
TF: "They are both English, very attractive, in their late 20-s. One of them is in HR the other is in marketing. They are very consciencious, they speak pretty good Hungarian already. Did they give you the textbook?"
TWP: "Yes, I am looking at it now."
TF: "Don't worry about the grammar. Just concentrate on roleplaying the situations, the vocabulary, and give them homework."
TWP: "Sure, I can do that. What chapter...?"
TF: "We just wrapped up sports. What chapter comes after sports?"
TWP (totally deadpan and staring at chapter in book): "Dating."

Actual roleplay from textbook:

"Oh no. I must get ready! Szemes (this village) is coming up."
"Is that so? Time flies when I sit next to someone as hot as you."
"Oh stop it! You are such a flirt!"
"You will at least permit me to visit you in Szemes? I will take you sailing."
"That will be great."
"In the meantime, be well! ... Wait, I will help you get off."

I am taking the train to this town west of here where H2C is taking me to a party. I am also going horseback riding with my herniated disks before I return the next day to be devoured by hot english chicks. So something has GOT TO GIVE.

Positive developments

1. So I sent out my book to the publisher in London. Wheeee!!!! Filthy erotica!!! I am hellbound, but not hellbound like NORMAL people are hellbound. I am going to have a box seat somewhere on the second level, surrounded by really hot evil chicks.
2. I do not have to translate the horrid excel spreadsheets at all, since the entries are truncated. Wheeee!!!
3. I bought cigars for the drinkfest with the hot chick drinkathon I am going to be experiencing early next week. I also bought chocolate. I am a great gift giver!
4. I found yet another picture of Julietta (sweet, sweet Julietta) and I feel a compunction to share HER ETHEREAL beauty with the world.

Just because I think there should be a high demand for this picture. 

Mr. Fox and Rabbit - Part 14

“WHERE IS YOUR FINGER?”Heather assumed the position and Benny began to bring it home. Rabbit, Mr. Fox and Dr. Bear quickly put on pajamas and gathered around the fire, excited as kittens as the squat freak began to relay the Story of the Z-Magic Fingerpuppet of Doom.
“Oh yeah. It was Z Magic time at the Magic Tower, Benny the Man ensorceling the ladies, as usual. I was practicing my latest Magick, the Spell of Vibrant Hardness, on the Z Magic wand. How do you like the Z Magic wand, HEATHER Lady Fair?”
“Shut up. Come already.”
“Oh yeah, liking to bring pleasure to the Z Magic Man. No worries little Lady. I shall make you mine, oh yeah. So I am pleasuring this little lady when my wand misfires – no worries about that anymore, little lady – and I accidentally ensorcel my finger!”
Heather swiveled her head 180 degrees. Her compound eyes glittered with insectoid malevolence. “What do you mean there is no danger of your… wand …misfiring anymore?”
“Relax, little Lady. I shall bring you unimaginable pleasures, courtesy of Z Magic time.”
Dr. Bear’s terror was overwhelming. “WHERE IS YOUR FINGER?”
“So anyway, I accidentally cast my spell upon the digit.” Benny raised his four fingered hand and wiggled the stump.
Rabbit closed his eyes and emitted a tiny, helpless whimper. Fox jumped into the aquarium and buried his head into the sand. The little pirate statue fell over his furry little ass. Rabbit realized this made the little plastic statue into a butt pirate.
“WHERE IS YOUR FINGER?”
“So I was pleasuring myself, stroking the Z Magic Wand with my newly ensorceled hand – you like that, don’t you, HEATHER, you tawdry little minx? – as I was viewing a pictorial of that political pundit Goddess, Ann Coulter – when my finger decided to get some action himself. I can’t really blame him. I mean, would you…”
“NO. Under no circumstances.”
“WHERE IS YOUR FINGER?”
“He took off. I suspect he is dating Ann.”
“YOUR FINGER – YOUR FINGER IS WITH ANN COULTER?”
“No… I suspect he is IN Ann Coulter.”
Dr. Bear whimpered and hugged himself, crooning softly.
Mr. Fox got up and busied himself in the kitchen. “It’s time for a healthy helping of cocoa for all!”
Heather yawned. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” She glanced at Benny with undisguised exasperation. “Are you gonna come or what?”
“Had the Z-Magic tunnel of love tied off to…”
“What?!” Heather immediately slid from the Z Magic love tunneler. She stared at Benny with an utter lack of enthusiasm, full of imminent violence.
Rabbit smiled. He tossed a piece of paper at Benny. “Sign this.”
“What is it?”
“Last will and testament. I suspect you have… Hmmm… 12 lines to go.”
Benny frowned. “This says I leave all my worldly possessions to your issue.”
“Taxes, you know.”
“What do I get?”
“Uhm. Well, you get to nail my sister. Who is really really hot. Just sign this. Quickly.”
“Why quickly?”
Rabbit counted out loud. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…”
Benny chuckled. “Relax Rabbit. Are you counting lines?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what are you counting?”
“The number of ants entering your ear. I lost count after seven.”
Dr. Bear gently covered the collapsed stage magician under a blanket of fine Mongolian horsehair. The vague sound of insectoid chewing could be heard, a susurrating, mellow background symphony to the general hustle-bustle of the tree.
Mr. Fox brought everyone large, steaming mugs of cocoa in friendly blue earthenware.
“Succulent!” Rabbit closed his eyes and breathed in the chocolaty vapors. “Dammit, he did not sign. Yet.”

Waste is a thief.

I am stealing Digitalicat’s idea about random crap slapped together to make a single blog entry. I steal it because WASTE IS A THIEF.

Pubby pub pub tracking the reefer:
I went to the spine specialist’s office in the outskirts of Budapest. The actual clinic is in this little town in western Hungary – he rents a doctor’s office in Budapest twice a week to receive prospective patients at the clinic. He was running late so I waited at the Cafe-Drinkbar-Casino nearby (yes – nifty neighborhood). When I entered, there was an oddly fat bartenderess (this is nearly painful in Hungary, nation of rail thin large breasted women) and some guy downing brandy with beer chasers at 10 in the morning. I sat down at the bar and stared at this tin can. There was a sheet of paper taped unto it with the following message scrawled thereupon:

Poor bucket
was hit by a car! The operation is necessary,
but it is very expensive!

Please help us with the collection!

Thank you on
behalf of Bucket!!!

An additional alcoholic entered the pub while I waited silently, sucking on my coke. He begged the fat woman for a glass of ’drink’. She served him out of a plastic jug labeled WINE. It was completely white and I somehow doubt it had ever seen the vine. But I digress.

The Chair:
Actual conversation between alcoholic pub patron and fat bartenderess:

„The chair is broken.”
„I will weld it.”
„It’s made of wood.”
„So?”

Delightful snippet from the light rail:
(overhead speaker crackles into life) „This train will not stop at the seasonal stop of Tolgyes.”
(cute kid with puzzled frown, addressing mom) „The train will not stop?”
(mom) „No.”
(kid, looking scarred for life) „Ever?”

Floating Over a Shimmering Velvet Chasm Hissing Red

I am translating.
Or so I thought.
What I am actually doing is coming to terms with the numbing realization that those two goddamned wee charts are actually tip-of-the-iceberg excel spreadsheets with tons and tons and tons of fragmented sentences therein. The kind of spreadsheets that are unprintable because they would require bedsheet sized sheets of paper.

LOVELY.

I am somehow OK with this. I am OK with this because I am working. I am OK with working because it provides me with immediate funds (unlike my book) which further allows me to hang out at my favorite cafe.

I am OK with hanging out at my favorite cafe because my favorite cafe contains SDW, BRDDTG (Blueyed Redhead Drop Deadgorgeoushot Tattooed Girlwaitress), and frequently BCW. Incidentally, BCW, H2C and myself are going drinking. To BCW's condo. Which is where we are going to crash. For the night. After drinking. A lot. H2C can't handle her booze, so she should be out like a light by 11.

This leaves TWP sadly vulnerable against BCW's inevitable come-on. So sad!

I am Magneto

It's true. The one difference between The Winged Pig and Magneto is that Magneto attracts iron, I attract 18-23 year old hot chicks. In every conceivable situation or environment. How did this happen? I really have no idea.

By God, life is good.

Cocktelligent Design

...Kansas, where State Board of Education hearings begin Thursday on evolution and intelligent design, a carefully marketed theory that challenges accepted understandings of Earth's origins in favor of the idea that a creator played a guiding role.

I AGREE COMPLETELY. However, it was not the Creator who played a guiding role. It was a 27 mile long, hairy penis, practically bursting with grainy goodness. Within the head of this monstrosity was a networked computer, constructed of beechwood and gorgonzola cheese. This incredible machine extrapolated all life, intelligent life, the development of newts and witchcraft, the development of blogs, the development of The Winged Pig, and his development of this post.

FURTHERMORE, the HAIRY PENIS constructed the ENTIRE UNIVERSE to generate a pretty twinkling backdrop to this poem by The Winged Pig. The Universe has no other function, really.

Giant cocktelligent design

Yes. You got it. That was the whole fucking poem. Three words, a single line, one of the words completely made up and vaguely obscene. You were waiting for some great apotheosis epic Gilgamesh ripoff, weren't you. Well, it kind of sucks to be you.

Teeth Whitening - the Male Answer to Breast Augmentation

I saw this documentary once (simply a clever way to show large breasted trophy wives during prime time news) about this breast augmentation technique that allows women to add or subtract from the amount of gel inside their implants AFTER surgery. Nearly all women chose to INCREASE what they already got - their modest C cup went to D or DD without having to have another surgery.

I am doing that teeth whitening thing because I went through all this dental work and braces and all as an adult and I am simply not going to settle for anything short of perfection. Also, I noticed that chicks are just suckers for perfect teeth. I am a sucker for chicks, so there. In any case, I am whitening my teeth, and I came to realize that I am becoming a tooth whiteness slut. It simply cannot be white enough for me. Like a woman who looks at her new D cup and realizes that it simply is NOT LARGE ENOUGH, I am staring at my teeth in the mirror and I am displeased. I suspect I will only be happy if I apply WHITEOUT. I am hereby instructing all who work in an office environment to procure whiteout to meet my needs.

This reminds me of this rather attractive paralegal I used to work with - your stereotypical office decoration with long blonde hair and ...teeth ...which appeared to gleam like Luke's first lightsaber. She got that laser thing done to her teeth and you had to shield your eyes when she opened her mouth. Is this what I am going towards? Save me!

I think I am just doing it because I am bored and I am getting a crown on a front tooth and I want the color to match my existing teeth... which are a touch too dark for my taste. So don't worry - I am not becoming a silicon twit.

God, this is a retarded entry. Maybe it is the massive infusion of strange witchdoctor drug. Add the immense quantities of fluoride I am swallowing by virtue of the gel I have to brush my teeth with for the next two mornings and the development of superpowers is pretty much a gimme.

Drugged Out of My Mind

Weehee!

Mum brought me this strange drug that this witchdoctor swears by. There are 120 pills in a single bottle. It activates this magical subsystem in my body that fights cancer. Do I have cancer? Maybe. Even if I don't, activated subsystem GOOD! This thing is called Culevit.

I have taken THE FIRST PILL. I feel STRANGE. Sort of like I have been hit in the head with a lava hammer. Very calm, though. Nifty!

There are 120 pills in the bottle. Now you might think - hey, that should be enough for a good while! Say a few months!

Naw. Try 4 days. One to two pills AN HOUR.

Am I COMPLETELY INSANE for taking massive doses of something that might turn me into a NEWT? YES! Stand by for some really wacked out posts... or none at all... gotta fly now to the paper goods store for address labels and to the pharmacy for vitamin C.

Mr. Fox and Rabbit Announcement

The Adventures of Mr. Fox and Rabbit are now easily accessible thanks to Digitalicat. On the lower right of the sidebar are the links to the first 13 episodes. So there. Thank you Digitalicat. I will be forever (23 hours 11 minutes 12 seconds) in your debt.

Mr. Fox and Rabbit – Part 13 (Where Benny Protrudes his Proboscis)

Heather sobbed and protruded her proboscis.Rabbit paled. Mr. Fox pedantically sang to the tune of Money Money Money by Abba. "I had no idea ANTS had a proboscis... Had a proboscis..."Dr. Bear lumbered closer. "So these voracious females... Are they hot?"
“Eeeeextremely hot…” Heather cooed. “All you have to do is partake of my …uh …beauty …and there will be an entire ARMY …bevy of half bear half ant babes patrolling… I mean looking for hot action all over the forest.”
The stylish deep thrum of some motor vehicle halted with the violent screech of overwhelmed brakes.
Rabbit’s right ear swiveled to focus on the new disturbance. His eyes suddenly bulged, acquiring a sudden crimson sheen. “Fuck me! It’s Benny!”
An oily voice floated into the tree “Oh yeah. It’s Z Magic Time, Ladies.”
Dr. Bear squinted at the short, Mediterranean intruder. “Uhm. Who are you?”
“I am Benny the Man, the Z MAGIC MAN, strutting my stuff… My ride is equipped with the Z MAGIC babe detector. Where are the luscious, well lubricated LADIES I am dying to make the acquintance of?”
Heather sidled up to the squat intruder. She gazed up at him with large, innocent eyes, each of her supple, long legs delicately extended past the thorax. “I am HEATHER.”
Benny drooled. His eyes glazed over nearly immediately (this is strictly a function of the name HEATHER. As everyone knows, all males are honor bound to fornicate at least once in their life with HEATHER. Looks, species, age, these are all irrelevant in the all consuming need to NAIL HEATHER.) Benny whipped off his baseball cap and closed his eyes, concentrating. Waving his left hand over the cap, he dipped it inside and removed a business card, handing it over to the puzzled insect.
“Wow. You are like so cool.” Oozed Heather. “You are ready for everything. Business cards kept in your hat and all.”
“No… It was magic…”
“Yes, yes… Tell me more about yourself, Benny.”
Rabbit’s ears flattened themselves against his skull, wrapping twice around his chin, lending him the look of a bandaged mummy.
Mr. Fox meandered outside.
He stared at the blue corvette which immediately transformed into the

Autobot Tracks

.
The 18 foot tall mechanical monstrosity smiled with pompous self importance. “We must procure more energon to defeat the Decepticons.”
Mr. Fox smiled and considered the problem. Obviously, the Autobots could not be allowed to establish a bridgehead in the forest. He tossed a hand grenade through Tracks’ window and calmly returned into the tree, cutting off the sound of the explosion by violently slamming the newly rematerialized front door shut. Inside, everything looked normal.
Heather was hanging off of Benny’s zipper, trying to drag the impossibly heavy object down so she could breed her army of insectoid conquerors. Rabbit looked on with detached interest, while Dr. Bear ate olives from a perfectly oblong turnip.
„I am Mr. Fox.” Mr. Fox smiled toothily. Benny stretched out his hand. The handshake began with an instant look of puzzlement which grew to near panic. For a moment, the furry red forest creature looked completely freaked out. „Rabbit… Shake the nice man’s hand.”
Rabbit shrugged and obeyed. His eyes bulged out until there was a loud popping sound. He yanked his paw from the human’s wildly incomplete appendage. „FUCK…! YOU SUBHUMAN FREAK!”
“I can’t believe you would mock someone for being different.” smiled Mr. Fox. He was shaking, and wiping his paw against the bark of the tree. “We should treasure diversity in all of God’s creatures. There is a whole spectrum of colors and flavors for every palette. Nearly every palette.”
Dr. Bear stared at Benny with the beginning of an icy, nearly incomprehensible wave of fear, the kind that starts from the tip of the paws and culminates in blood curdling heart attacks and recriminations. He whispered so loud it cracked the blue pot from Maine, the one with the white spots. “WHERE IS YOUR FINGER?”
Heather screamed. “My arms are getting tired! Are you gonna unzip those pants and knock me up, Benny?!”
Benny blinked and looked at the Queen attached to his zipper. “Well hello, Lady Fair! Always room for another fan on the Z Magic X-press!”
“WHERE IS YOUR FINGER?”
Heather assumed the position and Benny began to bring it home. Rabbit, Mr. Fox and Dr. Bear quickly put on pajamas and gathered around the fire, excited as kittens as the squat freak began to relay the Story of the Z-Magic Fingerpuppet of Doom.