Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Chapter Two.


“Less go, Rhonda! Less go! I gots ta find my Sword!”

Rhonda was hurrying. She had just finished beating a client with beef jerky and was cleaning up. “I’ll be there in two seconds, Louise! I just have to pick up all these feathers.” A chicken suit was also involved.

Downstairs, Louise was becoming impatient. She had a burning desire to hold her Dragon Sword, similar to her burning desire to get rid of the burning sensation on her thighs. Rhonda ran down the stairs wearing her finest street-walking clothes. A short vinyl skirt, a blue feather boa, and a Gerald Ford mask.

“Why you wearin’ your Gerald Ford mask? We ain’t lookin’ for guys! We're lookin’ for my Dragon Sword!”

Rhonda put the mask back into the mask trunk, right on top of her Button Gwinnett, a popular choice among southerners.

Louise and Rhonda went to the garage to get into their vehicle. Louise didn’t exactly know where they would go, but she knew they would find her Dragon Sword. She opened the garage door and climbed inside her car, which used to be a horse. It was hollowed out and filled with the internal parts of a Buick. It seemed to run pretty well.

Rhonda climbed in the passenger seat and buckled the intestine that served as a seatbelt. Louise started her up and the car responded with a loud, wheezy, Nheh-eh-eh!

She looked out through the anus and backed up.

Louise took her eyes off the back for a moment to ask Rhonda, “Hey, did you ‘member ta feed tha—“

She was cut short upon realizing she ran someone over. She hit them good; all four tire-hooves got some action. Louise ran to her victim.

“Oh my lawd! You okay, mista?”

“Oh, tally ho! No worries here, ma’am.” The man was wearing a tailored suit, top hat, and monocle. He was incredibly British.

“I think I seen you before,” said Louise. “You on that Monopoly game?”

“Am I…Oh, no! Dearest no, I regretfully am not the Rich Uncle Pennybags of your board game, although I am very wealthy.” He stood up and brushed his hands on his legs as if he had just put cookies into the oven, not been hit by a horse-Buick. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cornelius Penis.”

“I’m Louise Loupise. Wait, you say you’re rich?”

“Oh yes, ma’am. Very rich indeed. In fact I once ate a meal so expensive the 10% tip I left totaled forty million dollars.”

“That’s pretty rich. Wait, did you say your name’s Co’nelius Penis?”

“Yes, that is correct. Cornelius Penis, son of Eldred Scrotumhair, brother of Peter Tiptip. I come from a wealthy Dragon Sword manufacturing family.”

“Well then you need ta get in the car wif us, Mista Co’nelius. You see, me and my friend Rhonda here are actually lookin’ fo’ my lost Dragon Sword. You could help us.”

“A lost Dragon Sword? What a delightful mystery! You’re akin to a disgusting, disease-infested, whorish Sherlock Holmes.”

“Who?”

“Sherlock Holmes, the famous fictional detective!”

“Oh, like in books and stuff? You gon’ have to talk to Rhonda fo’ that stuff. She’s the smart one. She won some uh-ward at a contest fo’ bein’ the smartest prostitute in the world. She’s read two books.”

“What books were they?”

Rhonda chimed in from the car, “It was called What to Do with an Infected Taint. More of a brochure than a book.”

“And the other one?”

“Oh, I just read the one.”

“Well that’s delightful. And you, Ms. Louise, what distinctive traits do you possess?”

“I have a good nose. I can smell it when people are lyin’ and when people have gonorrhea or syphilis.”

“Excellent! And I have an umbrella that shoots applesauce. We will find your Dragon Sword at once. Now, please explain this horse you are driving.”

“Oh, it used ta be a horse, now it’s a car. My friend Texas Pete brought the horse in. Texas Pete’s a cowboy and a hot sauce man.”

“A hot sauce man?

“Yeah. You know how when you get hot sweat comes outta yo’ skin? Well when he gets hot hot sauce comes out. Last time he played basketball people followed him around fillin’ up bottles.”

“Fascinating! Let us get into your horse-car and find the missing Dragon Sword!”

And so they set off in the horse-car, Louise Loupise, Rhonda Fonda, and Cornelius Penis, in search of Louise’s lost Dragon Sword. They were armed with a peculiar nose, relative intelligence, and an applesauce-shooting umbrella. Cornelius sat down in the back seat and was having difficulty with his seat belt because it was made out of a horse’s scrotum.

“Just pull it real tight,” Louise said.

“Ah, of course. Our autos back in England are not traditionally fashioned with scrotum seatbelts.”

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