CHAPTER 2
A lone drop of sweat, running from the man’s costume rat-head to the soaked collar of his costumed rat-body suit, grossed the girls out as they passed him and his overpriced balloons, until they finally made their way through the rusting pearly gates and down into the bowels of Castle ‘Chas Wizard’.
Cotton-candy, rat-ear hats, decks of magic cards that consisted of fifty-two Jack-of-Hearts, and fairy-dust sprinkled back-scratchers littered the commons. Each item sported a price tag that Knob figured had a 200-percent markup. They, she surmised, would need to be extra cautious, were they to protect their dignity and their meager allowances. Up a staircase Sam brought them, down a long hallway wallpapered with wallpaper and mirrored with mirrors, through a plastic kiddy-ride tunnel and along a Slip-n-Slide they went, ever conscious of being awake in a strange place. Much of the castle interior was a façade - often the trio passed numbered plywood modules stenciled with the words ‘NO LEANING’ on the inside. On the outside were gilded portraits of world leaders like Gandhi, Rosie O’Donnel, Jon Lovitz and Paris Hilton’s Chihuahuas.
Finally, to a great chamber they were brought - tall, plastic-laminated faux-wood doors met them and Sammy brought the group to a halt. He pushed on the doors and they creaked and groaned loudly on rusty hinges.
“Here we be finding the great Lord of the Castle, His Highness, His One-And-Only, Grand-Masturb-Debater-Flash.” Sam said.
“What,” muttered Muffy.
“HERE BE THE CAT THAT RUN DE PLACE.” Sam said. On Sammy’s head, at a cocky angle, Knob saw, sat a rat-ear hat embroidered in gold letters with the name… ‘Ralph’. The doors opened and the trio approached a large throne, which looked a lot like an over-sized antique camp-chair with an aluminum frame and plaid, nylon straps, and on which sat a small man, who, from far away, looked much, much larger. Sammy introduced them as ‘Two Girl-Like Beings from Planet Earthphat” to the Great Lord, who grimaced after a foreboding, forlorn glance at Muff’s heavily stained military-grade underpants.
“Oh, Great, Grand-Masturb-Debater-Flash,” Knob began.
“Call me… Bob,” the Lord said, “or Dave is fine too, okie-dokie, WonderCrotch?”
“Fine, BobDave,” Knob continued while staying the course, “well… we went to planet Crack-Cake to get our Marzipan contract signed by Germans but the animals ate them all up and then tried to eat us all up and then a guy from the Amazon which apparently is somewhere in Chad told us that Marzipan runs like rivers of chocolate here in Blue-Balls but it turns out it doesn’t and our debit card is maxed-out and we’re low on carpet tacks, beef stick and articles of clothing - especially the clean kind - and Lord Plebe is going to kill us and give us jobs worse than puppy euthanasia so we’re pretty much screwed.”
“You guys have some kind of roach problem there, my sweet LoveHound, in Earthphat?” Lord BobDave asked.
“How did you know?” Knob asked.
“I ain’t been voted President of our condo association for three years in a row cause I’m stupid, know what I mean, SugarPuss?” DaveBob said. “Were there lots of bones and Kaiser Whilhem helmets littering Crack-Cake? Did you see anything like that, SpreadLegs?” DaveBob asked.
“How did you know?” Knob asked.
“I ain’t a Castle Lord cause I have a single-digit IQ, SweetLips,” DaveBob said, “did the Amazonian guy have an Italian accent?”
“How did you know?” Knob asked.
“I ain’t sitting on a Throne and wearing a Crown,” DaveBob said, “because I couldn’t get past the first grade, if you know what I mean, HoneyMouth.” DaveBob said. He continued. “Damn Guido’s… always messing with everybody… Anyhooo…I just happened to have traveled to Crack-Cake myself, during the living German era, that is… you know, before the Krauts became hyena fodder, and, as luck would have it, I did procure an Annual 12-year Marzipan deal… all locked up - and a good one too - and at a good price - the almond paste is stored right there in a warehouse actually on Earthphat. You just show the contract and attached invoice to the guard, CSR and the sales guy and regular supplies of Marzipan will be delivered to your front door every two weeks.” Lord BobDave said. “Sweet, huh, LikityPuss?”
“Umm… would you mind terribly,” Knob stuttered, “not labeling me with monikers like…” Knob began when Lord BobDave interrupted.
“You interested or not, SwallowFace?” DaveBob asked. “Say yes or no, EjacuCheeks.”
“GREAT, WE’LL TAKE IT, THANKS!” Muff shouted. She then made her usual ‘yaak’ sound. Lord BobDave raised his brow to the wary Knob and gestured a question-like gesture.
“I guess so…” Knob said, “as long as there isn’t a catch…”
“Ahhh… TastyBoobs,” Lord Bob said, “that’s pretty much the rub, catchy-catch part, that…” he began, “what do you have to offer me for such a fine Marzipan contract?”
“Well, I wouldn’t really like to part with these things,” Knob began, coyly, slyly and with a bit of staged hesitation, “as they are sooo valuable, but… I guess I have no choice but to offer you this pair of sunglasses that are good for both light and dark, see how one side is for sunny days and the other is for nighty nights?”
“Looks like the lens just popped out to me… ButtMagnet,” Lord Dave said.
“Would you mind not calling me…”
“Get on with it, YummyHole,” the Lord croaked.
“And…” Knob continued with a wry, disgusted look on her pimply face, “This perfectly usable gas can, with no holes in it at all.”
“What?” said Muff, “I thought…” But Muff was interrupted but a hard stomp on her big toe, which had a bunion real close to it. All in the room waited patiently for the big gal’s screams to subside.
“That’s not going to do it, CrotchTater,” Lord Bob said, “if you want that contract you’re going to have to do a little job for me…”
The girls were ushered out of Lord DaveBob’s chamber and led to a small anteroom off the main hall by Sammy, who was still wearing his Ralph rat-hat. Sam walked the pair to a large oval table covered in Formica and painted light green or chartreuse. On it sat a large manila envelope, two brass-bound, unsigned, life insurance policies, an Inkjet printer with the low ink light flashing and a bottle of liquor labeled… Chartreuse. Sam slid the envelope and the policies to toward the girls.
“Your mission is to rescue Princess Karmen-Leea from the HagatyeSaks Dèbutante Detention Centre and bring her back to Blue-Balls and this here abode, ‘Chas Castle’ in one piece.” Sam said.
“Sounds like a George Mucus screenplay,” Knob said. Nothing was bothering the lanky underweight gal except for a nagging feeling that something was amiss. But she knew that she and Muff were in Dire Straights and that the band had been wrong - you never get money for nothing and chicks are rarely free and that they make a lot of chirping noises. She sighed, Muff burped and Sam coughed up part of a lima bean.
“In here are two tickets to planet HagatyeSaks, a picture of the Princess, a debit card with 12 credits on it, a plaid skirt, a voucher and a brand new, full box of carpet tacks.”
“Wow, when did you have time to assemble all of this?” Muffin asked.
“While you were enjoying the Masturb-Debating and his conversationality, of the Great aspirator and procrastinator, BobDave, of course,” Sammy said.
“What?” asked Muff.
“DURING YOUR TALK WITH BOB.” Sam said. “Now sign these documents, they mean nothing really so no need to read them… the beneficiary would be DaveBob, Masturbator and Lord of Castle Isn’t… yup… now initial here, and here, and here, okay, almost done, now sign here, initial here and here and here, just about to wrap this up, put your thumb print here, and here and initial here and here and here… there! That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The girls sighed. Sam continued. “Oh, and I’ll need that pair of sunglasses and that gas can, just to make sure you come back. Now…” Sam continued, “You’ll find the Teleport-Airport just two miles south of here. It’s a nice walk. So
… AM-SCRAY, ETARD-RAYS.”
“Jeeze,” Knob said to herself, “He knows the secret language of spies too…”
Once again Muffin and Knob were seated, boarding passes in hand, in a Teleport-Airport lounge with a six-hour wait to board a coach-class, non-smoking, non-negotiable, non-responsive flight to HagatyeSaks. Their status was again listed as stand-by. They had one Princess-Class return ticket voucher and their dwindling, precious supplies of carpet tacks and two half-eaten beef sticks.
“I’m depressed again…” Muffin groaned.
“Who’s depress-a-zoid in this fine InterGalactic Airporto establishment…”
“PISS OFF!!!” Both girls screamed together. The man, a Chinese immigrant who looked Scandinavian, quickly scuttled away. “Damn airport leaches…” Knob groaned. Again she assumed the ‘Thinkers’ pose, though she knew damn well it would do no good.
“I’m depressed again…” Muffin groaned.
HagatyeSaks and its famous little-known City-Centre was nothing if not a subprime example of urban decay, Knob mused as Muffin fitted her new plaid shirt around her waist. The garb was an extra large but only covered two-thirds of the girl. Better than nothing, Knob decided. HagatyeSaks’ gray buildings and gum-stained sidewalks beckoned the weary traveler to make a hasty retreat, but the pair had a job to do so they blazed their way through the glass enclosed Teleport-Airport hallway