Ways that Stacy Makes Money

Stacy Rowe sighed as she flipped through her copy of Runway, there were so many beautiful, fashionable clothes out there, and with the economy in the crapper she couldn't afford to buy things like that.

"Hell, if I was a teenager I'd have trouble affording the crap in Waif, or Val." Stacy muttered to herself in disgust.

Living in New York wasn't cheap, and her current job just wasn't anywhere enough to feed her passion for fashion.

She sighed again, "Guess I'll have to do some odd jobs. Again."

Job #1.

"Dolphin meat, dolphin meat," Stacy sang in the dingy backroom while sharpening her machete, "It's nature's tasty treat!"

In the makeshift tank, two dolphins made fearful squeaks as the strange woman stared at them with cold eyes, her face lit up by flying sparks.

Job #2.

Stacy smiled sweetly at the middle schooler approached her. In the kid's hand was a twenty, and in her hand was a bag of pot.

As he handed her the twenty and she handed him the pot, the poor kid didn't see the figure in the shadows approaching him.

Stacy watched with indifference as the muscle grabbed the kids mouth with one hand, while injecting him in the neck with an impressive cocktail of knockout drugs.

Once he was on the ground, Stacy swiped the twenty and helped her partner stuff the kid into a body bag and load him up into the van.

She was then handed her cut of the finder's fee and watched with indifference as the van sped away.

"Either some Arabic prince is going to have a new toy or some old rich bitch just got herself a new set of kidneys." Stacy thought to herself with a smirk.

Job #3.

"Meow!"

"Meow, meow!"

"Meow, meow. Meow meow meow meow... Meow!"

As Patrick Hackney the Sixth then paused in their game to get a drink of water, for the life of her the why of this kink eluded her.

"How exactly is just meowing in a made-up language supposed to be sexy?" Stacy pondered for the millionth time before resuming the game.

She was getting paid by the hour, and if she made past five she'd get three thousand bucks.

So she meowed away.

Job #4.

Stacy was lying on a table, rigid and wearing her best happy face.

Thinking about all sorts of things.

Like bunnies, or kitties, or bunnies and kitties trying to make skittles.

Silly, happy things.

Things that had nothing to do with the fact that she was on a table, wearing nothing but some leaves as a bunch of Japanese businessmen ate sushi off her otherwise naked body.

"I wonder if they'd buy my panties?" Stacy briefly wondered, after all if she could get an extra buck or two out of this then... why not?

Job #5.

Stacy slipped on the frilly pink little Hello Kitty panties and set the timer for ten minutes. With music playing in the background as a distraction, Stacy glanced at the plastic bags and shipping boxes, not even wanting to contemplate the small pile of underwear she still had to wear.

Much less what was going to happen to her unmentionables, or who was buying them!

Job #6.

"What are these little babies called again?" Her latest customer asked her, munching away on the little blue pills like they were running out.

"Just a little happy energy pill I invented," Stacy answered him sweetly, "I call them Stimutax. Catchy huh? It's mostly kelp with a special ingredient that'll give you all kinds of energy!"

As the guy handed her a hundred bucks for a whole bottle of the stuff, she did feel a smidge sorry for the hallucinogenic toads and the toxic fish she had killed to make the secret ingredient.

Then she remembered that cute Gucci dress in Runway and the guilt died a quick, painful death.

Job #7.

"...And then I have them put the drop of blood next to their signature." Stacy recited her instructions, "After that you'll take care of the rest. Got it!"

Satan smiled at his latest, and so far most promising minion since Jack the Ripper, "Exactly..."

"Wow!" Stacy moaned as she stumbled back into her apartment after a hard days work, "I didn't think dolphins could put up that much of a fight, getting people to sell their souls was so much easier."

She then laughed while flopping on the couch, kicked off her shoes and muttered, "That should be enough for a decent shopping trip this weekend. Look out Manhattan, cus Stacy Rowe wants couture and I'll gut a bitch to get it!"

The entire City of New York then suffered a mysterious tremor that would be mistakenly attributed to fracking in the upper east side.

Those who knew better did the smart thing by making plans to move somewhere safer.

Like the Gaza Strip, or North Korea.

END