Lloyd Henreid got off the elevator at the top floor of the MGM Grand Hotel and walked down the long, tastefully tiled hall to the penthouse suite and stopped,a nervous expression flashing across his face. It was just past 4pm on a golden late summer day and Lloyd had spent most of the afternoon scrubbing Nadine Cross's guts off the concrete below. As he scooped her jelationous remains into a bucket, he was reminded of Trask back in Phoenix, and his stomach rumbled. When no one was looking, he snuck a piece of her spleen for old time sake. With a little salt and tabasco, it was ohmigod scrumptious.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door and the dark man called for him to enter. Randall Flagg, looking suspiciously like Billy Ray Cyrus in a Canadian tuxedo and a Tennessee top hat, stood by the bar mixing himself a Shirly Temple. His jean jacket was open to reveal his rippling Fabio-tier abs and his worn down cowboy boots actually touched the floor, meaning he was down in the dumps; the rest of the time, he floated around and made ghost noises to scare people. Barry Dorgan had already had three heart attacks and Whitney shit himself at least twice. Even Ratman would go pale when he heard Flagg going ooooooooooohhhh. Lloyd was the only one who wasn't afraid of Flagg. Seriously, the man's main power was shooting ball lightning out of his finger. Scary...until you just calmly step out of the way.

Today, Lloyd was afraid, however. Ever since Nadine yeeted herself over the side, flipping him off the whole way down, Flagg had been really glum and Lloyd was worried about him.

Presently, Flagg took a drink and sighed. "I just can't believe she's gone, Lloyd."

Lloyd clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at his wing-tipped shoes. Was that a chunk of Nadine's kidney? Too bad there wasn't enough to bake into a pie. Kidney pies were lit. "I'm sorry," Lloyd said.

"One minute she was here...the next gone...just like that."

Honestly, Flagg - and Vegas at large - had bigger problems than Nadine Cross falling and going boom. Trash lost his fucking mind because someone made fun of him for being a weirdo and blew Indian Springs off the map; that big blonde spy who looked like dude from Coach and sounded like Patrick Starr got away; and Larry Underwood, Ralph something or other, and two other assholes were walking in from Boulder to...well, Lloyd didn't know. Play the slots? Why those jackasses chose a fucking neighboring city, he would never know. They could have set up shop on the east coast and this wouldn't have been a problem, but nooo, they did it right next door, like the guy who stands at the urinal right next to yours even though all the others are free. Things were getting flaky and a lot of people were starting to skedaddle.

But Flagg didn't care.

The walkin' dude sighed deeply and said, "I'll never find another one like her." He looked at Lloyd, and his eyes, always black, glinted coldly.

Lloyd didn't like what he saw in them.

"Or can I?"

Lloyd gulped.

Five minutes later, Flagg bent over the glass coffee table. He wore a purple dress and a white wig. "Fuck me, Flagg," he begged in a high falsetto.

Clad in Flagg's jeans and jacket, Lloyd stood behind him looking unsure. "Uh...R.F., I don't think -"

"I'm Nadine!" Flagg cried.

Lloyd sighed. "Nadine, I -"

"Put your seed in me, Flaggy-waggy," Flagg said and gave his butt a tantalizing shake. "You know you wanna~"

Gross.

"I'm not -"

Flagg's face melted and morphed into something like melted wax. He was supposed to look like a demon but looked like a burn victim instead. "FUCK ME!" he roared.

"Okay!"

Gripping Flagg's hips, Lloyd thrust himself into the big guy's warm butthole. Flagg's walls gripped him and his muscles stroked his shaft. "Oh, yes, I love it when you do that, Hardcase."

Cringing and wishing Flagg had just left him in that jail cell, Lloyd rutted his boss's ass until he came. Spent, Flagg lay limp over the coffee table, panting for air. "If you can't get a girlfriend," Randall Flagg said breathlessly, "become the girlfriend."

Later on, after taking ten showers in a row, Lloyd sat at the bar downstairs and drank himself stupid, shuddering every time he remembred what Flagg made him do. Barry Dorgan came in and sat next to him. Noticing something was up, he asked, and Lloyd stared down into his drink before finally telling him.

Barry looked at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. "You're full of shit."

Just then, Flagg swished into the room wearing his wig and dress. Barry's jaw dropped and Lloyd cringed. "Shit, here he comes."

Flagg threw his arms around Lloyd and hugged him. "I'm Nadine," he said, "pleased to meet you, Barry."

Barry blinked. "I, uh...I gotta go."

Flagg sat in Lloyd's lap. His eyes were wide with madness; losing Nadine had driven him completely insane. "Let's go upstairs, Flaggy-poo, I wanna make you an heir~"

Word spread through Vegas and before long, the people who didn't dip in the middle of the night started calling Flagg Klinger behind his back, after that crossdresser from MASH. When Stu and the others got to town two weeks later, they found a ghost town of maybe fifty people run by a man in a dress, so they turned around and left, since literally anything they did would be an improvement. "Please take me with you!" Lloyd cried, but Flagg pulled him into the hotel to make a baby.

Finally, Lloyd couldn't take it anymore and jumped out the window. These days, Flagg plays with GI Joes, pretending they're his dead and fled friends. If you listen really closely, you can hear him doing the different voices.

It's pathetic.

THE END.