Sex As A Weapon
'Sex is like oxygen. It isn't important unless you're not getting any.'
Pegasus J. Crawford stared in mute horror at the bumper sticker lying across his dinner plate. It was the only piece of mail he had received that day and as such, received the bulk of his attention. His face went red with embarrassed rage and, snatching the steak knife from next to his plate, his proceeded to carve the bumper sticker into sticky-backed ribbons of paper.
Croquet, watching from the doorway, cringed. His employer was going to be in an extremely bad mood for the next week.
But at least it was better than the last time he'd been sent an insult – when he was mad, he fired people. It was only when he was sad that he sang.
Of course, when he was angry, he also made Croquet dress up like Funny Bunny to make him…happy…again.
Croquet withered where he stood. He hated that damn costume. It was hot, stuffy, uncomfortable…and embarrassing.
A fierce smile overtook his normally placid features. Why should he stand back and just accept this? He was going to get those damn kids.