Phillip Colville DeVille was busy tending his garden with his nurturing hands. He grabbed a clump of dirt and inspected it for worms to eat. Upon not finding any, he let the warm, dark fragments fall between his slender alabaster fingers. He loved the feel of dirt underneath his fingernails that were just a little too long to not look all garbagey. He finished weeding all of his plants and noticed that the sun was going down. He decided that he should go in and start getting ready for the big Klitzkrieg show tonight.

Phil stood in front of his full length mirror that was trimmed with holiday lights and artificial feather boas. (real feathers would be cruel.) He teased his hair and put on some makeup in preparation for the big Klitzkrieg show tonight. As he applied foundation to minimize sheen when he perspired, he thought back to the first time he wore makeup. It was on the set of the diaper commercial when he and Lillian were in their infancy. He recalled the makeup lady putting that big brush full of blush in his face. Then she held up the hand mirror to them. He gazed at his reflection and thought, "This feels right." He smiled at the thought that he had always been a little femme. He couldn't help but wonder if he and his sister's hormones had gotten a little mixed up when they were in the womb. Whatever. He was proud of who he was.

His thoughts began to wander. He was bored, and if he was honest with himself, a little lonely and depressed. Everyone wondered why he was such a cockblock. Well, the truth was that he was a little petty. If he didn't have someboday to call his own, he didn't want anyone else to, either. So he would do things like stand next to Lillian and Kimantha's bed when they began their heavy petting and begin to argue with his sister about something stupid, like who their parents loved more. Lillian would have to stop giving her mattress of a girlfriend "The Business," which is what she called her strap-on, and argue with him. The arguments would oftenly last into the wee hours of the afternoon.

However, the CB tactic that he loved most of all was breaking into the Sexitorium. That's where all the really cray-cray shit went down. He'd entered the Sexitorium mid-coitus so often that everybody had taken to locking the door (he always ignored the scarf on the doorknob.) Sometimes he was able to break into the room, but more oftenly than not, he had to use the viewing window. He noticed that Stu always managed to pick the lock and barge in at the worst (or best, depending on who you asked) best possible moment. He was really good at that ever since he attended that online lock-picking siminar given by that guy named T-Dawg. He made a mental note to hit up Stu for some tips later. He stopped applying his eyeliner for a second to ponder a quandary: wasn't it strange that he derived sexual pleasure from keeping others from climaxing? Whatever. He was proud of who he was. He finished up his makeup and took a good long look at himself. "You're one sexy fucker," he declared triumelephantly, just as his self-help tapes had told him to do. Now it was off to the big Klitzkrieg show tonight. Hopefully, he would find himself someone to get jiggy with tonite.

He met up with all the other 'Rats in the common area. Lillian and Kimi weren't there because they had already left and Tommy wouldn't be attending this evening's performance because he needed to put the finishing touches on his latest film, "Pancake." They all left to go to the underground club where Klitzkrieg would be playing their big show tonight. Well, it wasn't so much a club as an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, because they're hipsters, so nothing can ever just be normal.

At the club, Klitzkreig took the stage and Lillian led off with a short dedication. "This song is dedicated to my brother, Phillip!" she unnecessarily screamed. Fill felt honoured and for the first time, he felt no animosity toward his sister. "It's about the Patriarchy, and how they're always trying to keep me down, just like him!" Well, that didn't last long. Phil immediately regretted his decision to be here. But he was stuck here for a while because the next horse-drawn hay wagon into town (fucking hipsters) wouldn't be here until after the show. Philliam turned his back to the stage, dejected, and his honey-coloured peepers fell upon the most androgynous dreamboat he'd ever seen.

They stood about 6 feet tall and had a magnificent golden wavey mane cascading down their glorious shoulders. Their beautifully shaped eyebrows were studded with piercings as were both ears. Through their strong roman nose was a large, heavy bull ring. Underneath their supple bowed lips lips lips lips was a celebrated patch of hare. Perched upon their pallid bust of Pallas—I mean, their head—was a monumental fedora. They were dressed in a polka-dot t-shirt, a musical piano key tie, long horizontal stripped shorts, argyle socks, and smart unisex loafers (that had pennies in them!).

"Geez, Louise," Pihl said out loud, like a stupid fucking idiot. What was this feeling that had taken over his entire being? Not only was his boner more engorged that it had ever before been, but his heart was pounding against his chest. It was either a myocardial infarction, or he had been bitten by the love bug. The latter was much more likely, as Phillip did not shower very often and was therefore covered in bugs.

He went over to introduce himself.

"Nice to meet you, Phil. I'm Leslie" The dreamboat asserted in a powerful whispery voice. Phil and Leslie conversed for a short while before setting down their glasses of absinthe and heading to the broom closet for a quickly quick quicky.

9 months later, a bastard in a basket showed up at the Pickles' door. Phil picked up his spawn and cradled it genteelly. He brought the kid with him into his garden while he gardened and gardened with the new-borne babe near him. Then he went inside and forgot all about the child. Luckally, Spike took care of the neonate until the gummint came and took it, due to Phil's lack of parenting skills. So, Phil was a shitty dad. Whatever. He was proud of who he was.