A PUNGENT PURLIEU FOR BOA BASSINETS
By Quillon42
PART TWO
Mostly the greenhouse had been cleared out so that the farmer-cum-father could design and devise as many experimentations on the solution to the pouncing problem that prowled along the surface of the Earth at present. Lee had been so certain that the syringes he was engineering could render redolent any kind of rectal odor output, such that a whiff of same would not for once attract the vaulting varmints that plagued the planet.
He had been attempting to explain this to his older son Marcus as they were coming back from the cesspool a few miles off. Only there could anyone express something strong-smelling from his or her nether node and not suffer the murderous consequences encountered anywhere else. The boy found the experience to be rather cathartic, after so many months of holding in such a digestive symphony. For certain, just as Long Island has been…er, has had a network of cesspits for so many years, so too did this section of the States in which the Abbotts had resided.
Lee found it a release on his own to relate to his elder son the frustrations he endured regarding his daughter Regan. "I insisted that the Ass Steroids would work against the invaders," he began, "and, as you know your sister can only speak by signing, like, I kept jabbing my thumb against my rear then spread my arms across the sky to emphasize that the world would open up to us once again with these needles…but she gestured back, you know, 'It. Won't. Work.' with stressed fists into her palm. I don't know, Marc, I'm doing all I can…"
And then the oldest Abbott stopped dead in his tracks at the figure he espied a second in passing. It was a young and somewhat attractive woman of ridiculous recognition this day and age, her stage name sounding like an abbreviated version of the alternative to "Cardiologist A." At her feet were the ravaged corpses of past lovers of hers such as Tommy Geez, King Yella, Offset, Onset, Inset, and so many other gangstas whose absence would be felt and missed and mourned in the wake of so many crises of necessity in this time.
Very carefully Lee trained a look upon this second in the line of Cardi, and he motioned with and index and thumb upon his nose, and then used his other hand quietly to cover his rear.
She looked back and met his gaze for a few tense instants then…but decided in that concourse of sensations that existence no longer worth undergoing. Bunching up her face very tightly, the ever-exposed and overexposed performer buckled inwardly another beat…and then
[BAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRNNNNN]
it was all Lee could do to gather Marcus up and hurry off, the incoming Stiths already cantering in and clutching the Cardi Beta with their claws. When the creature-conspiratorial slaughter had concluded, the enemy then set its sights upon the Abbotts. Fortunately for the latter, though, the two had scampered off such that despite the fact that there were in the hills hopping homos both sapien of the States and sexual of Space, the former was far off by the time the latter had so discovered their presence. As such the Abbotts absconded successfully and soon father and son found themselves safely scent-sensed-less again back at the farm.
It was a few more minutes in passing when the rural rex had heard the brief report of Greg's rear and consequently, heroically intervened in the manner that he so had. Shaking off Lee's importunings, however, the abstemious Asian was resolute in reaching the toilet that had been all but mothballed these past months.
Above the din of Abbott protests, Lydia once more: "Greg, if you think your plan is going to work, then I am with you absolutely all the way." She gathered herself up to escort the incontinent man to the recently-unused-yet-completely-restored restroom.
"Oh, what is this, like, your good deed for the day?" piped up Douglas from across the den.
Lydia let in, then out a long sigh to this. "My darling Doug-Bag…being married to you has been my good deed to the universe for a lifetime."
She then went into the lethal lavatory with the other man, leaving the door open so that her dapper Dougman did not raise any suspicions (Greg, of course, didn't swing that way anyway so it wasn't really an issue). Lyds emerged a moment later and softly secured her husband's legal rival inside.
Greg was certain that if he just strapped himself down to the bowl, the sounds and smells would be contained underneath and that no untoward organisms would thus detect him. He strained against the self-imposed bonds of BDSM, did this BD Wong of another world…his eyes turning browner by the beat as he perpetrated all of his pent-up poos…
[BAAAAAARRRRRRNNNNNN]
…
…
…
[SLLLLLAAAAAMMMMMM…]
…
…
…[Tong, Tong, Tong, Tong, Tong, Tong…]
And then in broke the remainder of the survivors, they all scandalized to see naught but a toilet with its tank lid totally gone…and what apparently was the nastiest rabbit hole ever as inside said crapper top was a hollow conduit leading way down, well into the noisome soil of the Earth's depths.
Out in the rec room, a wryly-wrought advert played on the television:
"Do you ever have days where one second you're happily running errands around town, then the next seeing something that makes you want to suddenly swallow a bullet?
"Are you ever relaxing at home all carefree one moment and then the next looking to run full speed at and then out your second story window?
"Have you experienced countless occasions standing around in front of oncoming trash trucks looking sad-sackily depressed at your preggers sister lying in the middle of the street?
"Well, kiss those discouraging days goodbye, because now there's BIND BOX!
"Just apply the tears of Isaac, the infamous incubus-eliminating infant with the insanely Providence-proselytized mother, every morning before leaving the house, and you'll be looking around at ordinary outside air once again without the hassle of supernatural solicitations of suicide!
"Keep those pesky…we don't even know what the hell they are because we've never seen them…always at bay, every single day!
"BIND BOX…because while Isaac's tears don't cure cancer…at least they can keep you
from impulsively fucking killing yourself in the blink of a grainy-grayed eye!"
Once more out in the hinterlands of the hoary American desert, those left in the family so motley of Malorie and the children were slogging through as best they could. Tom was already lost to them, having made such a glorious sacrifice when surrounded by the 'supials on a certain dune. Mal wondered why she had heard so many slurping sounds at night, seemingly coming from the other room on the part of her latest boyfriend, when he should have been sleeping at her side. At one of the most critical moments in these sands, the semi-Sandra would find out.
"I've been holding this back from you and from everyone else so long, Mal," said her man, herein this most truculent of Trevantes,
"…Nuclear…Enema…"
He whipped out a somewhat shiny container from a century past or so.
"Predator…threw this to me…before I went and fell out of his ship."
Malorie shook her head in utter confusion, failing to comprehend (especially that last remark and such), and threw her hands out to her man in an attempt to stop him.
He reared back with his rear raised. "…Go…get them to the sanctuary…"
Then Tom took his matchstick against the tarnished box and, for the first time in recent human history, swiping on tinder proved to be something actually productive and beneficial to society.
[BAAAAAARRRRRRNNNNNNNNN]
[BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM]
Both the cries of the heroine and the horrifying hoppers could be heard in the wake of the raucous explosion, as the hardy hero who ignited his haunches had ended up elevating himself into the stratosphere with smoking flames beneath him, not unlike the most rancid of Rocketeers of ages past.
Excited negative utterances issued from the human sista and the Stiths, the former rolling down the humongous dune in her cart with the brats and the boas, she shouting the American version which was one standard beat in length:
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
And then the latter becoming swept up somewhat in the malignant mushroom cloud that Tom commenced, the aliens yelling the Australian rendition which this author has always perceived as taking on average ten to fifteen syllables to say:
"NAEHAEHAEHAEHAEHAEHAEHAEHAEHAEHURN!"
Even in midair, one roo rued: "Thees ain't what was s'pposed to haippen!"
Another chimed in with abject despair: "I wennt ta geau HEAUIMMME!"
[NB: Just ribbing those from like OZ and NZ and all here; in all honesty this boring-ass American author wishes that he could just travel to such lush and exotic places at some point in his dull-ass existence…also not to plug other stories but, by the way, mentioning Wellington as a "wasteland" in the "Job Offers/Jetpacks" X-Men story a while back only happened because this author associates New Zealand with Mordor from Peter Jackson's The Return of the King. Anyways…]
Malorie had to admit that she felt the same sentiments as she trundled along hours and hours later, she still there with the children Zecks and Swhye amidst all these unending gritty grains. She was about to utter encouragement to them as well as their scaly fanged familiars when of a sudden:
"Someone…has to see…it soon…
"Someone…must see…"
She whipped out a pistol, she scrying the horizon with her eyes to see where the voice was coming from. Before she could find the source, he was already upon her.
"Please…you must see it now!"
Intense was the struggle between the two as Malorie reached into her cart, past all the breathing bundles within, to get at the secret weapon.
"Someone has to see it!"
Scraggly was the man who had accosted her thence. He somewhat resembled that famed sidekick of the silly Will Ferrell, he of Talledega Nights and Step Brothers filmic fame.
As Malorie raised her blades, she realized that it actually was that same actor, was that Dewey Cox indeed, was that Chest Rockwell in fact.
"You have to see Holmes and WATSSSSSSAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!"
But Mal had already laid into the man with her Freddy Krueger claw (just as random as the Jason Voorhees machete she wielded in the source film here), she slicing away at him with a bit of shock registering on her face as she realized that it actually was him.
As he receded now into the landscape, he muttered sadly: "Someone…has to fucking go see it…at some point…"
And then he so disappeared forever into the desert sands.
Back at the farmhouse fulgent with hope for the humans, Evelyn Abbott was trying on various boas with Jessica Hayes. The former flaunted an imperator, while the latter slid on a sabogae, and each complimented the other on how well her respective snake slunk around her waist. (For certain, any boa upon the former looked better than the vaginal-looking lavender threads that her real life counterpart just wore to the Screen Actor's Guild Awards show this year (2019); and this author didn't even have a joke planned for this paragraph before, either—thanks, Emily!)
Nearby, Lucy was looking to slink away herself with a magnificent man whom she met only moments earlier. A void had yawned within the coquettish constable after her fling with Felix had faltered, what with the latter having exploded and everything last chapter. She thought that the latest supply run to the North American gag shop Spencer's Gifts would lift her spirits—after all, that's where Malorie discovered the unexplainable nest of boas…
"Who the hell keeps snakes at a Spencer Gifts?" cried Charlie, who had just recently been promoted to store manager at another location for the same chain.
"Who the hell keeps parakeets in a freaking supermarket?" replied Cheryl.
…But nothing…even the realization that the slight compression of the serpent against the midsection suppressed the urge to manufacture fartage…nothing made the alluring lawwoman feel any better, especially since she never even managed to get to first base with Felix (in this much more gratifying version of her story).
Then he came, and he instantaneously went and swept Lucy off her feet. He told her he knew where they could find something to whisk them far off from this awful smell-sensitive situation, and she nodded ready assent to go with him.
So it was that Lucy and this author skipped hand in heartwarming hand to the field adjacent to that of Evelyn and Jessica, the latter pair not even detecting the former gallivanting around.
A small sliver of a lad, though, a boy named Beau in fact, did notice the doublet of devoted lovers as the endlessly undouchy author strained stressfully to pull up a sprout to unearth a Super Mario Brothers Part The Second Rocket that the child had planted some months previous.
Eyes locked a second and the alleged adult between the two males quivered a bit.
It's alright, signed Beau to this author with his tiny hands. I have at least three rows of Rockets to harvest in the coming season.
With that, Lucy and the love of her life saluted the stripling and climbed into the semi-conical capsule, they quietly blasting off with a Toyota-Prius level of efficiency and exhaust such that not even the most toot-attuned Stith invader could divine a vapor or vibration therefrom.
TO BE CONCLUDED