The "Critical Mass" of
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the Hybridized Rodent
A short story and "thought experiment" by Michael Atkins
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| Chapter 1: "A Theory of Hybridization" |
| Chapter 2: "There's Something About Harry" |
| Chapter 3: "The Revelations of Doctor Jackson" |
| Chapter 4: "The Signs Are all Clear" |
| Chapter 5: "Good for the Goose" |
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Chapter 1: "A Theory of Hybridization"
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| Charles Darwin explained the phenomenon of evolution using a theory |
| referred to as "natural selection". If natural selection is a process of |
| elimination, then where did the first human being come from? The first |
| elephant? The first-- mouse?? How often does a being of nature mutate-- |
| and produce a new type of offspring? Are we missing something? |
| |
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I found a way to contain the threat-- it's called "electricity". Maybe you've
heard of it (some people actually have), but my committee sure hasn't. I had
to *show* those small minded buffoons the miracle of electric current. Collect
the following materials: four feet of expanded metal, two wire coat hangers, a
pair of junk keyboards, two feet of electrical wire, and an old UPS battery.
Form a box from one foot, iron fishnet sections and a base from spring loaded
typers. Why floor an electrified experiment pen with a tray that is an
inhibitive insulator? You poor, misguided, barely utilized, inadequately
educated primate-- I do pity you.
Firstly, keyboards are made from thick plastic that even rodent teeth can't
chew. And since that industrial trash is just taking up space, we might as
well *use* it! Additionally, think of the key gaps as a waste disposal system
for vermin droppings. And yes, a terminal tap is an insulator-- meaning we'll
need some "special" wiring. I'm getting to that. Unwind and straighten the
coat hangers, then chop each copper dowel into two pieces. Weave expanded
metal corners and extend excess elemental strands as much as possible. Arrange
the useless ocean polluters'-- I mean keyboards' space bars side by side.
Drill holes beside the main switches' upper points (ignoring any stupid number
pads).
Wire expanded metal fencing along perimeters of character striker switch caps.
If you need to lift the cage, I suppose hot gluing space bar palm rests could
help. Connect UPS battery leads to upper and lower asylum vertices to ensure
full power. Congratulations-- you now have an electrified rodent pen! To
avoid touching the sides, I like to install a pulley system for food and
water. For that you'll need a breath mints tin, a long boot lace, and an old
Flic lighter.
Use the upper (or lower) half of the wintergreen candy container for a
"platter". Hole punch the peppermint tray and insert your clodhopper string
before tying a knot. Remove the plastic cigarette ignitor's stone striker and
toss the spring and flint. Then, re-seat the thumb spool and suspend it above
your conductive rodent chamber. *I* secure repurposed lighter reels from drop
ceiling lab tiles using a hot glue gun. Next, use the secured spark disc to
suspend the breath tablet plate above the cage. I usually tie a 3/8" flat nut
to the unused shoestring to impart a counterbalance. The pierced pewter works
great for serving an electric cage, but it won't hold water. I fill
diphenhydramine packets to hydrate my subjects and share them after feeding. I
don't like water bottles since they encourage approaching ionized aquarium
wire!
Rodent # 34598 is a peculiar specimen I've found myself referring to as
"Harry". I initiated Harry's creation with a male, white mouse and a female,
white Guinea pig. I designate the resulting litter of this inter-species
pairing albino "mouse pigs". And, producing it is not easy (your pet mouse and
Guinea pig cannot do this alone). For starters, mice have forty chromosomes
instead of sixty-two like their cousins. The resulting offspring would have
eleven "hanging" Guinea pig chromosomes. They would basically have Down's
syndrome and be (most likely) unable to reproduce. Secondly, mouse sperm and
Guinea pig ova don't *exactly* get along together.
Genetic engineering can repeat the mouse's first eleven chromosomes (like
"dummies"). This enables mouse pig mitosis (and involves tedious work that
makes me wanna yawn). The ensuing embryo is implanted within the maternal
Guinea pig and brought to term. I bred the brightest male from Harry's mouse
pig litter with a female, albino rat. My dilemma for *this* inception is that:
the naming scheme becomes quite ambiguous. Let's see, here-- I believe *this*
generation would be called a "mouse rat-pig?"
I decided to adopt a more sophisticated nomenclature for second generation
hybrids. This *exact* type is called "combination thirteen" (although I've
produced others). At one time, "thirteenth" order hybrids were the most
promising I ever created. The problem with mixing rats and mouse pigs is that
rats have forty-two chromosomes. And, the resulting brood would have ten
"hanging" chromosomes from the mouse pig. Repeating the rat ova's first ten
chromosomes allows melding combination thirteens. Eventually, I chose the most
promising male from a thirteenth designated litter. And, I proceeded with the
most interesting step in Harry's hybridization.
I bred my specimen with a female, albino mouse (melding DNA from both mouse
genders). I once theorized that hybrids with indirect, common ancestors are a
rare anomaly. I admire Charles Darwin (I mean-- natural selection is the basis
of modern science). We strive for peace-- equality among race and gender--
working out our differences. The acute success of humanity is endlessly
inspiring, and we owe it all to science. Only the courageous pioneers of
science could ever provide us with a better utopia.
However, I kindly disagree with Mr. Darwin's slowly progressing evolutionary
model. The amount of time needed plus trial and error suggests another process
is involved. That's why I developed a more sensible model for creation: a
theory of hybridization. My evolutionary theory is-- more highly evolved (if
you'll forgive the pun). It explains where exciting new species come from,
instead of leaving you to wonder. But, I made my most interesting discovery
when I began *studying* my own model. I felt I could uncover the origin of the
human brain-- our most precious resource.
Wellll-- people are generally stupid. I mean, they choose to be farmers with
guns when they can be astrophysicists. Sadly, *we* possess the highest
intelligence that has ever been discovered. But, it's an interesting quandary:
What makes the human brain so highly developed? I scrutinize evolutionary
"balance" when analyzing the intellect of an organism. For example-- *my*
superior scientist brain is better balanced than a plumber, janitor, garbage
man, truck driver, oil worker (planet roaster), or automotive mechanic's. You
know-- people who spend their free time repairing their trailor homes? And,
trimming poorly maintained grass for spouses watching home shopping channels?
So, some organisms have more ideally sized (and shaped) brain components than
others. And, the human brain is the most well balanced of any grey matter
organ ever known. Its abrupt neural pathways serve a frontal lobe that is
large (but not overly so). I theorize that-- natural hybridization forged a
"critical mass" for the human brain. Therefore, *I* should be able to meld a
brain with an idealized capacity for rodents. You have to admit, it would be
pretty exciting to maximize the potential of vermin.
Harry's brood matured for three months before I decided he showed the best
potential. And (typical of biological research), Harry's brothers and sisters
were sacrificed. After all, I needed to know as much about Harry's biological
makeup as possible. Harry's counterparts have the largest frontal lobes of any
rodent I've ever examined. Additionally, there's plenty of room to accomodate
motor skills and long term memory. I've produced large frontal lobes, but
something like the cerebellum was too small!
Harry and his siblings have brain components proportional in size to human
beings. And, their cortices tend to form deep wrinkles (which is not typical
for a rodent). These promising results suggest that Harry is the tiny creature
I was hoping for! Harry's five remarkable kinfolk were rodents 34596, 34597,
34599, 34600, and 34601. And, their behavior was pretty odd compared with
small critters I'm familiar with.
Harry type offspring don't constantly twitch their whiskers like more common
rodents. They usually wiggle their snouts when lifting items beside their
salmon nasal points. Rodent # 34601 was the first specimen that grabbed
electrified expanded metal. She launched like a toaster waffle and embedded
key caps with her little, furry butt. I never noticed subject 34601 or her
siblings touching woven cage fencing, again. Harry turned out to be a little,
pudgy and rather strange looking feller. He's smaller than a Guinea pig but
has a long, rat body and a fat, shapely hiny. He's got lengthy body sprouts
like his squeaky ancestor that resemble extruded snow.
Harry's ominous mug is kind of squashed (unlike a mouse's circular precipice).
Harry has a wide, shallow forehead and a carnation nose button above his mouth
flaps. Champagne ocular dimes top Harry's cheeks instead of typical blue or
red albino eyes. Auditory pennies with rose petal surfaces overlook Harry's
coconut temple shavings. Baby carrot tail segments the color of ham steak
balance Harry's tuchus parmesan.
I've gradually come to realize that Harry greatly appreciates his privacy. I
usually watch my experiments freely, although even combination thirteens are
nosy. With Harry, I find myself observing him surreptitiously-- usually from
behind. And then without warning, Harry will slowly peak at me above his
shoulder mozzarella. The sly gazer likes to fold his agitated eye flaps, then
uncap piercing optic kiwis. He was odd, but I realized *how* unusual Harry is
after watching him for two months. Harry can talk.
The first time I noticed, Harry was simply repeating words I spoke like a
parrot. I have a tendency to read out loud, and (one lonely day) I noticed
there was an echo. I added "alternating" to a phrase, then detected a
duplication of the lengthy verb. The unexpected vocalization made me feel like
I was having an acid flashback. I scavenged my startled, upper ocular flaps
with uncertain, seawater pupil facets.
"Alternating," I curiously repeated. A languid voice like a slowly played
bugle ominously replicated what I said.
"Al-ter-nat-ing," the methodical vocalizer repeated. I lowered ruby textbook
burlap fencing my lips and looked beside my ivory bicep wool. Glasses like
checkers snagged my nostrils-- though I *prefer* a game of chess (lol). I
shook hair coal dusting my iris teal and nudged optic dowel bronze above my
cheeks. Harry's butt fat occupied R, T, G, V, C, D, and F keys tiling the
middle of his cage. Harry draped his snowy rib fleece with stumpy arms and
flaunted carnation foot soles. He tail-snuggled his heels and thumped his hiny
carrot like someone tapping a finger. The pudgy rodent focalized chartreuse
ocular buttons above his motionless whiskers. He covered his avocado retinas
and sank grim visual quartz into his precipice lemon.
A burgundy tie topped button pearls suturing blueberry shirt linen across my
chest. Laboratory textile like a porcelain trench coat contoured my lanky
silhouette. Pomegranate chair padding supported my shoulders and rear noggin
graphite strands. My cauliflower wrist flannel and walnut digits embedded
raspberry arm rest vinyl. Black cherry steel intersecting caster wheels
supported a chrome treated seat post. Espresso shoe leather and banana diamond
olive argyle departed my chocolate khakis. I braced convex roller frames with
rubber walking tar and turned seventy-two degrees. I mashed robin egg pen tops
gripping my jacket pocket and sifted Harry's eye kiwis.
"Cubic feet," I gracefully challenged. Harry tilted his precipice football and
opened somber lip flaps bearing his nose ham.
"Cu-bit," Harry's melodic vocal ridges hooted. "Cu-bit-- wheat." I sank
scapula wool in raspberry lumbar fabric, causing my chrome seat pole to sqawk.
I clawed my thoughtful lip salmon and crumpled bewildered ocular pudding.
Harry's hapless attempt at intelligent conversation was testing my patience. I
mean-- if you're going to mimic our language, at least speak it correctly. I
stacked agitated wrist linen and probed Harry's lime peepers across woven
steel.
"Key-you-bick," I disgustedly corrected.
"Cu-bic," Harry mindlessly hummed.
"Cu-bic fffeet," I methodically annunciated.
"Cu-bic feet," Harry recited with careful mouth flaps. I allowed an adoring
smile to curl the corners of my carnation speaking rims. I mean-- the little,
furry freak was trying *really* hard to copy what I was saying.
"Global heating," I continued.
"Glo-bal heat-ing," Harry cautiously parroted.
"Greenhouse gasses," I added.
"Green-house-- gah-sses," Harry mindlessly blathered.
"Politician," I carried on. Harry vanished porcelain eye flaps within his
attentive precipice mozzarella.
"Pol-uh-tish-un," the fluffy chimera diligently recited. I watched Harry cover
his champagne ocular drops and part his complacent vision caps. Billiard knob
chrome accented steel woven glass topping my seaweed tinted lab door. My hefty
hallway covering invaded the room and collided with stainless cart shelves.
Empty vials showered ham, rust, kiwi, and ash tile spots with stoppers and
crystal. I swiveled pool water irises embedding startled brow charcoal above
my left shoulder. I expelled an agitated huff under capsized pupils and
embedded my palm with my face. Lengthy digit pine with plum nail caps escaped
lab sleeve ivory and braced port teal. Feminine hisses rattled my workshop
threshold and pierced my peeved auditory canals.
"God *damn* it!!" grating vocal chords recklessly interjected. I braced
dejected cheek stubble with my knuckles and acknowledged the lab entrance.
Pocket lint scalp burgundy dusted birch neck and face silk bypassing cyan port
steel. Ozone irises embedding eggplant ocular hoods glared at me above
strawberry lip gloss. The irritated mistress swarming me and Harry's space was
Dr. Meeks, my girlfriend. The fiery brunette assisted me at the research
facility-- when she showed up.
"Hello, Chloe," I soberly remarked. Dr. Meeks piloted rainbow blouse silk and
curvy hips swirled with long coat quartz. Blueberry denim bundled Dr. Meeks'
thigh cellulite and formed twelve inch calf bells. My lanky lady counter
poised plum talons shearing jean tents and pointed at my eyes.
"If I step on any broken glass, I'm gonna *kill* you!" Dr. Meeks yelped.
"Maybe you should try-- wearing shoes, Chloe," I sarcastically suggested.
"Ted! Don't start with me!" my angry angel hatefully responded. Dr. Meeks
wheeled frosty frame tubing across spotted linoleum using rubber grip tar.
Cherry and cream icons cited rectangular stickers marking tangerine motor
plastic. "Maybe if you wouldn't leave shit right by the door-- it wouldn't get
KNOCKED OVER!!" I searched silicate shards and rubber plugs littering caster
cart wheels by the door.
"You mean-- all those beakers and test tubes you left by the *door* this
morning?" I diligently implored. "And-- you said you were gonna come back and
get them so you could wash 'em??" My five foot, nine inch lass tossed neoprene
generator braces along freckled tiles. Pine storage braced resin table soot
housing Harry's cage in front of Dr. Meeks' abs. Harry searched bourbon skin
spots dividing my baby's jugs above his dumpy shoulder. The pissy countess
skimmed Harry's carnation ear ridges using Neptune pupil slats.
"Well, what've *you* been doing all day?" Dr. Meeks hatefully demanded.
"Playing with your ssstupid, little rats?" I glared at my girlfriend's frosty
peepers and crumpled disgusted saliva seals. Dr. Sykes stood four feet, nine
inches-- exactly one foot shorter than my shmoopy. She was a shapely
geneticist who was as quiet as a mouse (if you'll forgive the pun). The bubbly
damsel's clavicle custard faced hallway, ladies' room sink porcelain.
I amused myself picturing Korean chefs crouching to see Dr. Sykes' low statured
neck. A vertical mirror reflected her skittish eye jade and ivory face
cantaloupe. Chin length scalp sherbet tapered above the vivid gal's ear lobes
and rear hair line. Dr. Sykes sculpted a grin-like shape between rosy billiard
cheeks using lip bismuth. She sanded nervous mouth rubber and scoured her hazy
image for the thirteenth minute. She eyed her celery nasal chute and ozone
vision flaps, then exhaled a frosty breath.
"...doctor jackson..." Ms. Sykes grimly whispered. "...i really think you and
chloeee..." The agitated ginger circled reflections of her inarticulate cornea
emeralds. "...are you sure you guys arrre-- *right* for each other?..." Dr.
Sykes squeezed her revolted neck velvet with cringing, ceramic shoulder wool.
"...ohh-- my gahhhd..." Dr. Sykes fumbled from horrified face pleats. Ms.
Sykes gripped frosty sink porcelain and dangled strawberry spotted cream
fingers.
Olive blouse silk parted the geneticist's lengthy jacket and secured her ivory
bosom. Clover flank drapes overlooked teardrop hiny cellulite embedding quartz
jacket tails. Dr. Sykes was pretty self conscious about her captivating leg
arcs (unknown to *me*). Shoulder width thighs, softball knees, and honeydew
calves packed silk trouser soot. Inch thick rubber supported leather shoe tar
crumpling the red-head's coal britches.
"...doctor jackson..." Ms. Sykes whispered to her restroom counterpart.
"...you're really-- you're an attractive guy!..." The frustrated damsel rolled
her rueful eye emeralds and swiveled somber cheek cream. "...you're-- fuckin'
hot!!..." Dr. Sykes rasped beyond chuckling lip bubble gum. My shy cohort
clawed sink frost and sifted drain slats refracting her colorful face. "...you
have a great sense of humor..." Dr. Sykes discreetly echoed with her twin.
"...you're intelligent and thoughtful-- but, chloeee..." The carrot haired
maiden siphoned frosty washroom gasses and passed an uneasy huff. "...doctor
meeks-- she sure brings out the worst in you-- she's so darrrk and
sarcastic..." Dr. Sykes dusted her buttermilk cheek billiards with quivering
apricot filaments. The fearful sink bracer misjudged just how threatening she
perceived Dr. Meeks to be. "...she's-- sadistic..." Dr. Sykes nervously
whispered.
"...and, she turns you-- into an inconsiderate, sarcastic jerk..." The grim
mistress tamped disgusted incisor pearls above her volleyball chin arc.
"...and when she's *not* around, you're a won-der-ful person..." Dr. Sykes
hoisted carrot brows above alluring eye jade and crumpled her face custard.
"...wanna-- meet after work and talk about it?..." The distressed damsel
dangled revolted tasting taffy from flamingo mouth corners.
"...ahhh, what the fuck is *wrong* with me?..." Dr. Sykes expelled into the
sink. The dejected mistress dangled mango noggin sprouts from her hopeless
shoulder wool. Silver grout divided four foot bathroom sheets matching my
lab's fish flake flooring. Dr. Sykes retrieved folder pudding from freckled
tile with gum drop digit segments. She carried ominous drumstick noodles
across hallway linoleum using hefty shoe mats. She secured card stock above
her grapefruit tits with velvet palms and cherry talons.
The petrified countess bypassed seaweed lab doors illuminated by periodic
flickers. Overhead ballast sets randomly sparking woven port glass gave Dr.
Sykes the creeps. The timid wanderer parked beside the only vacant port frame
in the hallway-- mine. Linoleum dividing fish flakes refracted tangerine
radiation escaping my rat chamber. Dr. Sykes embedded claret bricks and
cuddled her bosom cream with vanilla stationary.
"...i just-- think you two are drifting apart..." Dr. Sykes surreptitiously
rasped. The ginger analyst tilted considerate cheek quartz and narrowed
cornflower eye flaps. "...don't you think-- me and you could-- be happier--
together?..." Dr. Sykes upended grim pupil limes and bonked cherry wall stones
with scalp sherbet. "...ahh, gahhhd..." the frustrated geneticist hopelessly
rasped. Dr. Meeks scanned folded wrists topping her rainbow shirt ruffles
beside a generator. I scanned my pissy gal's iris ozone above Harry's lab
table from radish chair foam.
"She's fuckin'-- weird, okay?" Dr. Meeks hatefully disclosed. I scanned upper
eyelids with teal facets above lens checkers gripping my nose hominy.
"Well, there *was* that one thing," I dreadfully conceded. I glided bronze
ocular dowels above my cheeks and skimmed my lady's frosty peepers. "You
remember that one time when Dr. Sykes said she was gonna go get some coffee?
And, I handed her my empty coffee cup? And, I'm like: 'I need a 1-up'? And,
she just looks at me for like-- sixty seconds? And then, she finally asks:
'What *is* that?' And then, I had to explain to her what a fuckin'-- 1-up
is?" Dr. Meeks searched my scalp licorice and unfastened her strawberry
glossed lips.
"That's not-- really what I meant," my disappointed ladylove responded.
"Well, what're *you* talking about?" I thoughtlessly demanded. Dr. Meeks
rolled impatient Neptune ports and expelled frustrated chest gasses.
"Ohh, my Gahhhd!" the demanding princess snapped. "She has-- the hots for you,
Ted! Are you fuckin' kidding me??" I scanned my girlfriend's angular cheek
pine and contracted curious visual flaps.
"You think-- Dr. Sykes has the hots for me?" I somberly probed. "rrReally?"
"I don't thiiink-- that could *possibly* be more ob-vi-ous!" Dr. Meeks rudely
injected. Dr. Sykes' clunky footwear interrupted our morning spat by crunching
broken glass. Dr. Meeks beat neck pine with bourbon head lint while checking
her shoulder textile. The hesitant hallway dweller searched my cornea teal and
snuggled a vanilla folder.
"Frr-reak--" Dr. Meeks fired at my cheek caramel using disgusted lip
strawberries. I skimmed my girlfriend's pupil ozone and acknowledged the
breezeway with my temple. Dr. Meeks spun irritated peepers and swiveled
eggplant toe caps escaping denim bells. My sinister snooky situated quartz
jacket tails and drilled Dr. Sykes' ocular jade. "You two have fun, mmMary--"
Dr. Meeks hummed using sarcastic mouth shellac. My hateful honey-bunches
flapped chilling mouth meat like a stealthy serpent. "...give him some tongue
action..." I heard Dr. Meeks covertly huff. "...he reeeally likes that--"
"Chloe, get the hell out of my lab," I passively interrupted. My baby cackled
on her way out and skipped careless plantar pads across foyer tiles. Dr. Sykes
watched my fairy prance, then probed my ocean eyes beside her bicep quartz.
"She is such-- an ASS!" the ginger geneticist fumbled from revolted lip
bismuth. "Oh, my Gahhd!"
"I'm sor-ry, Doctor Sykes," I hopelessly chimed. "ccChloe-- is being a little
*bitch*, this morning." I flashed cynical pearls between smiling lips and
relished Dr. Sykes' scalp mango. The vacant mistress searched my ocular pool
drops and sifted half dead hall thoughts. I figured Dr. Sykes' defensive
wrists were snuggling test results I needed for Harry. "Are those the test
results I asked for?" I tactfully pried. Dr. Sykes eyed vanilla card stock
embedding her palm velvet and sprang apricot brows.
"rrRight," the dizzied maiden instinctively rambled. I watched Dr. Sykes
flounder delightful drumsticks and assumed she was pretty shaken. I figured
she heard about the coffee 1-up-- which made me feel like a piece of shit.
But, I mean-- why didn't the awkward, little, red-headed pixie know what a 1-up
was? Who's never heard of a 1-up? Dr. Sykes offered buttermilk stationary
using jolted cream fingers with cherry tips. Tremors shaking the woeful
researcher's digit asparagus made me sick to my stomach.
"...what the hell is wrong with me?..." I thought to myself. "...am i a--
cold-hearted monster?..." I grazed Dr. Sykes' shaky portfolio and bundled her
icy knuckles with cozy grippers. I watched the fuzzy damsel siphon a sharp
breath using her lime sighted face melon. I wondered if the raspberry dusted
countess really *did* have the hots for me. Because honestly, in that lucid
moment-- I found her absolutely breathtaking.
"Are you okay, Dr. Sykes?" I gingerly pried while collecting Harry's folder.
The gentle doe sifted my hand meat with grateful digits and let a smile tug her
lips. She framed a lime peel chest boundary and airy ab skirt with porcelain
sleeve wool. She folded claret digit dots beyond enticing hip buckets topping
kneecap grapefruit. Beach ball hiny mounds displaced ivory coat tails skimming
Dr. Sykes' trouser soot. The carrot stranded researcher was a short,
attractive, shapely little thing. And, well-- that type of look gets me all
excited. I could tell my girlfriend's reckless outburst shattered Dr. Sykes'
self esteem. I wondered if introducing my ginger counterpart to Harry would
make her feel better.
"Have you met Harry?" I graciously offered. Dr. Sykes skimmed Harry's ivory
body sprouts and split cheek billiards with a grin.
"Is that *him*?" the excited geneticist demanded. "Numberrr-- thirty-four,
five ninety-eight?" I laid vanilla card stock across my forearms and checked
Harry's chartreuse peepers.
"That's *him*, alright," I joyously conceded. I checked Harry's blood analysis
findings for signs of genetic anomalies.
"You call him 'Harry', huh?" Dr. Sykes requisitioned using upturned lip
compote. Ms. Sykes gripped raven knee textile with cherry talons and searched
Harry's cage. "Well, he *looks* like a Harry," my thoughtful lab companion
commented. I fumbled a cheery chuckle and skimmed Dr. Sykes' pupil jade with
astounded eye teal.
"He's a 'Harry' if I've ever *seen* a 'Harry'," I jokingly conceded. Dr. Sykes
traced twelve gauge wire departing Harry's cage fencing for a UPS battery.
"You-- keep his cage electrified?" my apprehensive cohort grimly prodded. "Is
he-- dangerous? Or--?"
"Site policy," I fired at Dr. Sykes' endearing cheek porcelain. "It's the only
way the committee would fund my research." Dr. Sykes drilled her chin
cantaloupe with folded digits and sifted ionized confines.
"Can I-- pick him up?" the fuzzy mistress suspiciously demanded. "Is it
safe?" I motioned towards Harry's shielded enclosure using absent minded
finger caramel.
"*I* pick him up all the time," I reassuringly responded. "Just, you know--
don't touch Harry's cage." I sifted copy toner soot quantifying my porcelain
chimera's bodily processes. "Pretty sure that won't feel too good." Dr.
Sykes' stubby digits hoisted Harry's dumpy face and pudgy butt near her lip
arcs.
"He's soooo c-ute!" Dr. Sykes beamed. I expelled a surprised laugh and
searched hiny fluff embedding Dr. Sykes' palm satin. I never thought of Harry
as being "cute", but I realized that-- he kinda *was*. Dr. Sykes grazed
Harry's chest fleece with her thumb while he tail-cuddled his heels. "His head
looks kinda *squished*," my ginger visitor commented. "Did you squish him?" I
fumbled hapless laughter from stunned lips and skimmed Harry's carnation ear
ports.
"I swear-- he came *out* looking that way," I earnestly contested. "The poor
thing." Dr. Sykes examined champagne ocular dots inhabiting Harry's lemon
sculpted noggin.
"He has the prettiest eyes," the adoring geneticist commented. "I've never
*seen* rodent eyes this color." Dr. Sykes tilled Harry's cheek sprouts while
he nuzzled her opposable finger ridges. I watched Harry seal ivory eye flaps
when Dr. Sykes' rosy talon soothed his whiskers. And I realized-- the poor,
little guy was never petted until Ms. Sykes picked him up. He was fed a lab
crafted formula instead of nursing and cuddling with his momma. It was site
policy for Harry and his brood to be kept apart from their birth parents. I
wondered for a grim period with Dr. Sykes, like-- "What the hell is wrong with
me?" I noticed Ms. Sykes' sparkling eye emeralds searching my captivated
precipice.
"You're smi-ling," my bubbly research companion remarked. I scoured Dr. Sykes'
curious face cream and mango scalp filaments with ozone peepers.
"You make me smile, Mary," I joyfully shared. I'm not sure why, but sometimes
I used Dr. Sykes' first name when we were alone. I could see above Harry's
auditory canals that the carrot sprouted pixie was glowing. The thought that
Dr. Sykes could bring a smile to my face meant the world to her. I got the
feeling that Chloe-- was right. And honestly, it was the most flattering
moment I'd experienced in a long time.
"You're keeping him on your lab table?" the beaming geneticist prodded. "By
the door? Where you're usually working??" I skimmed ocular limes cleaving Dr.
Sykes' cornflower visual flaps and nodded.
"I *like* having Harry here, next to me," I happily disclosed. "I like
*watching* him. He's a pretty fascinating, little guy." Dr. Sykes sifted
steel boxes towering behind me that caged chemically crafted vermin.
"Your lahhhb--" Dr. Sykes hummed between fascinated lip carnations. My cohort
brushed Harry's chest snow and split cheek billiards with grinning bismuth.
"It's really *great*, huh??" I expelled a grateful huff-- since my baby
totally *hated* visiting my "horror room". Now, a fellow scientist was telling
me how "really great" it is (which I agree with).
"I can show you around, if you'd like," I offered. Dr. Sykes greeted my frosty
irises and eyed a flash of Dr. Meeks parading her tongue. "You two have fun,
mmMary--" my girlfriend's sadistic likeness teased. I noticed my dry mouthed
cohort's cherry talon cheese puffs quaking Harry's fat hiny. "mmMary?" I pried
using curious face pleats.
"N-No," my flustered visitor fumbled past bubble gum lip gloss. Dr. Sykes
lowered Harry's fat, furry hiny on top of spring loaded typing switches.
"Not-- right now, Doctor Jackson." Ms. Sykes glided scarlet tipped digits
across ivory sprouts separating Harry's ears. "Maybe some other time." I
heard Dr. Sykes expel a grim sigh, then tracked bicep wool cradling her melon
face.
"Maybe-- tomorrow?" I affectionately suggested. My dejected lab companion
searched my reading glasses and formed an enchanted smile.
"mmMaybe?" Dr. Sykes shyly agreed. I scanned the secretive scientist's
sparkling ocular jade and shared a hapless grin.
"Come by, if you get a chance," I invited using crumpled face caramel. "I'd
*love* to show you around." Dr. Sykes tamped excited mouth arcs and tilted
discreet profile quartz up and down.
"O-kay!" the ginger geneticist zealously beamed. Dr. Sykes skidded clunky
shoes towards the doorway and pleated analytical eye frames. "I mean-- if I
get some free time. You know?" My shifty cohort neared the hallway and
flashed a smile above ivory shoulder cloth. "Bye, Doctor Jackson," Dr. Sykes
shared using bubble gum stained lips.
"I'll see you, Mary," I happily obliged. Dr. Sykes tip-toed past silicate
shards while I grazed my thoughtful chin stubble. "Hmmm--" I hummed to
myself. I spotted Harry's tail ham cuddling his heels along R, T, G, V, C, D,
and F strikers. Cerebral whiskers underscored omimous eye kiwis above dumpy
arms bracing his cheeks. "I think Chloe was riiight--" I thoughtfully croaked
using shriveled face amber. "You think so, Harry?" Harry hoisted his stumpy
arm segments and tapped thoughtful, mozzarella chin fluffs.
"Hmmm--" Harry purred beyond considerate oral flaps. "Perhaps, Doctor
Jackson. Perhaps."
Chapter 2: "There's Something About Harry"
,------------------------------------------------------------------------------,
| |
| Once a critical brain mass is achieved, higher abilities begin to manifest. |
| Exceptional characteristics portrayed by an organic thinker are considered |
| desirable. Are some capacities more exceptional than others? Which make |
| us most human? Creativity? Critical thinking? Self preservation? Love? |
| Apathy? Pity? |
| |
'------------------------------------------------------------------------------'
I frequented a coffee shop by the lab called "The Creamatory" at five in the
morning. I usually had a quadruple ristretto and three donuts: chocolate,
vanilla, and cherry. It's terrible, I know. A tiny pitcher of steam lathered
milk infused my coffee custard with creamy richness. Maybe I like ristretto
because it's a hybrid-- forged from espresso and arabica soup. The seductive
brew has achieved a critical mass spanning flavor and refreshment.
May prepared The Creamatory's daily confections first thing in the morning. I
knew May personally because she was buddies with my girlfriend, Dr. Meeks. The
slender vixen knew how to craft a ristretto exactly the way I like it. Due to
her five foot stature, my girlfriend's kind-hearted comrade always wore heels.
The morning after Harry talked to me, I was waiting behind The Creamatory's
counter.
Fudge icing and sugar sauce coated donuts embedding display steel and plate
glass. Rainbow sprinkles garnished frosted dough bracelets dividing maple
glazed spice buns. Roasted walnuts spotted cream cheese mousse topping
cinnamon coated pastry coils. Apple cardamom crumbles dusted cake bricks
drizzled with streudel varnish. Caramel and chocolate gloss crowned eclairs
stuffed with marshmallow and cream.
May's coconut husk noggin strands enclosed her rear scalp above her lanky
scapulas. Limestone neck dermis invaded amber sweater fleece connecting her
wrists and waist. Charcoal silk bundled May's trim stomach and flaunted
striking hiny volley balls. May's three liter thighs and bowling pin calves
stressed her sleek trouser linen. Rosy bow ribbon splitting May's kidneys
suspended a crimson apron along her lap. Wicker wedges supported suede pitch
framing her narrow insteps and covering her toes. May tapped a chrome spout
with a miniature milk pitcher using blueberry finger caps. She cranked a lever
and vacantly vacated her right hand footwear from checkered tile. Her amber
crop top paraded pasty spinal dermis, which pried an adoring smile from me.
May swirled her zinc treated ladle and collected beebee suds above a pointed
brim. She suspended a tall, paper cup in front of apron claret using a
cardboard sleeve. She drizzled coffee syrup with milk lava until bronze foam
topped my sipping blossom. The thin maid stowed a tin cup and swiveled shoe
mats taxing cocoa and cream ceramic. Chestnut hair threads dusted carnation
cheek powder framing May's raspberry lip arcs. May swept copper cranium
filaments framing her narrow jaw line using sapphire nails.
The lanky lady sifted my ocean eyes with pupil scotch parting crumpled ocular
frames. She traversed chess spaces and crowded four plastic drink top towers
with mug resin. Ruby arcs crafted an angelic face with wavy hair between wing
tips flaunting a halo. The Creamatory's cherry beverage artwork glimpsed
pistachio silk suturing my chest. May popped an ivory cover along my cellulose
arabica receptacle with indigo talons. She skimmed my peacock pupil facets
with cornea embers and lapped raspberry beeswax.
"So, the usual?" May sarcastically requisitioned. I dangled cheddar and tomato
neck stripes by tilting my thoughtful face ale. "We-- make other things,
Tehhhd!" May insistently beamed. I pierced May's bourbon irises and forged
feisty optical pleats like sidewalk cracks.
"Give me the donuts, May," I ordered while acknowledging May's pupil scotch.
"And, no one gets hurt." May glared at my seawater irises and tamped grinning
lips to fake a hateful scowl. She hoisted paper sack quartz with scarlet angel
arcs by my charcoal temple strands.
"That'll be five ninety-eight," May coldly reported. I scoured a front pocket
serving cinnamon slacks with vanilla icing grid marks. I scattered a five,
three quarters, two dimes, and three pennies along counter frost. May split
bony cheeks with a hasty grin and regarded a window with her forehead pine.
"Is the-- nuclear death ray finished, yet?" May jokingly demanded. "The God
damn commies are taking over this place! We gotta-- thin out their numbers, a
little bit!" I skimmed a wall port overlooking my lab's penis shaped building
above my shoulder. Steel doors secured a foyer below window tint paneling
vomit colored pecker stucco. May was a warm-hearted lady, but she just didn't
understand the way the world works.
"Well, actually--" I expertly corrected. "Communism is not-- necessarily a bad
thing." I stacked confident wrist cactus, then probed May's amber eye stones
and rosy cheeks. "A handful of thoughtful regulations are the only thing
keeping barbaric fascists from destroying every inch of nature we're fortunate
to have left." Rather than dangling her grim jaw, May greeted my hefty
argument with a smug smirk.
"The Nazis and the Roman empire tried a few regulations, too," May slyly
responded. May indicated she somehow predicted my elusive analysis by
furrowing her brow copper. "How did that work out for them?" It was
remarkable to me that May managed to quickly reference failed civilizations.
If I didn't cheer regulation, May might believe that evil tycoons are the good
guys. So, I focused on other factors that led to the downfall of Rome and Nazi
Germany.
"Well, I meeean--" I grumbled from desperate lips. "The Romans paraded human
slaves in front of thousands of people! And then, they told their soldiers to
attack them!" I prodded May's amber corneal stones and shuffled my irritated
precipice caramel. "All that violent aggression couldn't have been good for
them. And-- the Nazis kept running around, *shooting* people! I mean-- what
is it with angry, white men and guns?" May stared at my pool water eye
droplets like I was the stupidest person alive.
"You don't think overtaxing citizens, breaking up families, and kidnapping and
slaughtering innocent people had anything to do with it?" May sarcastically
inquired. May's innuendo that government bodies burden their own citizens
filled me with rage. I decided to change the subject before May said something
she would regret.
"I told you, Mayyy-- I can't talk about my work," I groaned using pissy vocal
rims. "So, stop asking." Honestly, I felt like shouting from a rooftop: "I
hybridized a talking mouse! I am like God! Mwuh! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" My employers
would not only frown on that-- there was a chance I would be killed. May
hammered a steel register button and watched a cash drawer roll beside her
chest.
"So, the work you do over there is classified?" May slyly requisitioned. May
clamped my five with chrome round stock and sorted change across elemental
slots.
"It's tahhhp secret," I explained using stern oral flaps. "On a need to know
basis." I stretched ominous brow charcoal above my glass cleaner optical
shutters. "People would *kill* to know what's going on over there." May
rested cheek velvet along apricot wrist fleece beside muddy register keys.
"They're making dildos over there, aren't they?" May excitedly pried.
"Ahhh!" I snarled using irritated facial pleats.
"That's why the building-- is shaped like a fat cock!" May suggested with
sprung brows. "The size of a freight train!"
"aaAAAA!!" I jokingly snarled. I shuffled scarlet angel, donut and coffee
containers beside my shoulder champagne. "You figured out our secrets, May!
You know too much!" I observed May extruding cheery chuckles and constricted
vengeful eye turquoise. "You realize I'm gonna have to kill you, now."
"Just-- give me a couple!" May pleaded past uneasy incisors parting lip
raspberries. "And, I won't *say* anything! I promise!" I belted hapless
laughter and noticed May eclipsing apricot arm fleece with her chin. "Good
ones!" May huffed at my giggling cheek amber. "...guhhd onesss..." the needy
waitress seductively hissed.
"Ohh, my Gahhhd--" I extruded past delighted cackles. "Alright, alright.
The-- 'Anna-conda' model." I flaunted masculine skin ridges plating my first
and second finger segments. "*Two* of them. In exchange for your silence."
May expelled chuckles like chimpanzee chatter using angular facial crumples.
"You're crazy!" the elated maiden wrangled from hysterical precipice custard.
May scoured banana and strawberry rays singing my tasteful neck tie textile.
"Are you and-- Chloe still seeing each other, Doctor Nut-Case?" I mashed pupil
teal with brow slate and dizzied May's cornea ale with ristretto art.
"Whoa! Whoa!" I called out. "What're youuu--? You 'bout to start some shit,
now--" May stomped ceramic chocolate using a neoprene teardrop padding her
wedge wicker.
"I'm nahht asking you out!" May howled between pomegranate mouth arcs. "I have
a boyyy-friend! How many times have I told you that?!"
"You--" I thoughtlessly blathered. "Me and Chloe are still together, yeah. Of
*course* we're still together." The somber baker tilted hopeless cheek birch
framed with coconut husk noggin strands.
"Tehhhd--" May remorsefully groaned. I hammered my frustrated chest chardonnay
with a cellulose donut receptacle.
"Ohhh! Ohhhhh!" I impatiently droned. "wwWhat??"
"You knowww she likes you--" May groaned using somber speaking raspberries.
"What the--" I fumbled between clumsy oral flaps. "What are you-- *Who* likes
me??" I shuffled coffee and confection containers beside my frustrated
shoulder chartreuse. "What're you--"
"That OTHER lady!" May belted past mournful cheek custard. May pointed out my
penis shaped lab facility using blueberry tipped cream fingers. "The-- short
one! With the red--"
"Doctor Sykes?" I hatefully interrupted.
"She has the, like--" May mumbled beside digit quartz addressing copper hair
strands. "*I* don't know her name! The really *short* lady!" The
inarticulate vixen formed sine waves beyond her scalp cocoa with ivory palm
mats. "She has, like-- short red hair? Like, really cute pixie hair??" May
pointed out her golden ocular facets with sapphire spotted finger porcelain.
"Big, green eyyyes?"
"Ahh, Gahhhd--" I groaned using disgusted precipice crumples. "Mahhhn-- Why
does everyone keep *saying* that??" May examined my pool water cornea droplets
and shrugged apricot shoulder fleece.
"Well, I mean-- I'm pretty *sure* she has green eyes," May sarcastically
responded.
"nnNo!" I hooted from frustrated face caramel. "Why does it-- How come--" I
pointed towards my laboratory peepee using a quartz pigmented coffee covering.
"And Chloe was just telling me that, yesterdayyy. That she thinks Mary likes
me." May topped startled forehead pleats with eyebrow acorns flaunting her
pupil scotch.
"mmMary??" May hummed using diligent lip cranberries. I sifted the arabica
chef's bronze treated pupil slivers and siphoned a sharp breath.
"Doctor *Sykes*," I cautiously corrected.
"But, you just called her 'Mary'!" the agitated counter Nazi ruthlessly
charged. "Is that her-- first name?"
"Ohhhhh, my Gahhd," I hopelessly gargled. "I'm gonna get my-- coffee somewhere
else, from now on." May pleated her outer peeper canals using sorrowful
eyebrows like tree bark.
"She *likes* you, Ted. She LIKES you!" my frustrated comrade compassionately
pleaded. "And, you-- like *her*! Obviously!"
"But, that-- It doesn't matter!" I haplessly juggled between frustrated
incisors. "It does-- not-- mat-ter!"
"It's hard *not* too!" May continued using excited lip strawberries. "She's
really sweeeet-- and smarrrt-- and funnyyy--"
"Why does that *matter* to everyone?" I grumbled using loathsome face
crumples. "That she liiikes me--? Or, I like herrr--??"
"She's really pret-ty--" May mindlessly blathered. "She has a gorgeous
faaace-- glowing skihhn-- a nice smiiile--"
"Everyone's always worried about liking everybody--" I rambled with angry
cheeks.
"She's kinda chunky-- and really short--" May apprehensively acknowledged.
"She has a reeeally nice body, though. Honestly? And, great lehhgs--" My
blabbering cohort outlined a shoulder width teardrop using blueberry claws.
"Like, currrvy-- sexy hips--"
"Always gotta like everyone!" I belched beyond disgusted precipice caramel.
"*I* don't think everybody's gotta like everyone! Doesn't anyone care-- what
*I* think??"
"And, Chloeee--" May groaned between disgusted, speaking raspberries. "Is such
a bitch!"
"You--" I repellently interrupted. "Chloe is your *friend*!" The brunette
baker rocked apricot shoulder yarn and crumpled indifferent pupil ale.
"Well, *I* know that!" May passively hissed.
"What the-- hell is *this*??" I demanded using irritated facial pleats.
"Oh, my God! She's a fuckin' cunt!" the blunt coffee maiden haplessly shared.
"And, that *other* layy-dy--" May scoured my ocean irises and split angular
cheek pine with grinning oral cherries. "mmMary--"
"Ohh, fuhhhck--" I fired from revolted saliva seals.
"She's a-dor-a-ble--" May affectionately wailed. "And kiiind-- and
caaaring--" I pleated skeptical ocular caverns and acknowledged May's cornea
scotch droplets.
"Dr. Sykes came *by* here, I'm guessing," I cautiously speculated.
"But, she--" May fumbled between pomegranate waxed mouth rims. "Yeah-- she
came *in* here, yesterday. She was talking about you and Chloe."
"Dr. Sykes-- was talking about Chloe and me??" I diligently clarified. May
grinned, then bobbled ceramic facial traits and umber hair threads up and down.
"yyYes--" the elated counter vixen hooted between strawberry lip arcs. A
hapless smirk tugged the corners of my salmon speaking seams and made me blush.
"wwWipe that stupid smile off your face," I hummed between flustered teeth
coverings. I tolerated May expelling excited chuckles and bobbed my curious
face caramel. "What'd she sayyy?" I grimly demanded. The Creamatory's coffee
wench stacked amber fleeced wrists along icy counter steel.
"She said you guys were having *problems*," May compassionately shared.
"Ohh-- Ohhhhh!" I hatefully snarled. "We've *always* had problems, May. *You*
know Chloe and me have problems from time to time." I pointed out May's
chickpea nasal point using my claret angel, ristretto bucket. "*Every* couple
has problems from time to time--"
"I also asked her what she thought about *you*," May confidently disclosed.
"Her new bahhhss." I skimmed May's brass pupil slivers and shrugged
unimpressed shoulder champagne.
"Uh-huhhh--" I coldly croaked. May pierced her angular cheek custard with
raspberry enameled speaking arcs.
"She got the biggest God damn smi-uhhle on her face--"
"Oh, my Gahhhd--" I grumbled using disgusted lips underscoring irritated pupil
teal.
"It was so c-ute, Tehhhd--"
"No, it wasn't!" I hatefully retorted.
"She was g-lowing!" the excited arabica cook joyfully beamed.
"She was not *glowing*!" I joylessly snarled. "Oh, my God!"
"She liiikes you, Ted," May purred between persistent mouth pomegranates. I
steadied cheek amber and scalp coal, then flaunted my lab with a quartz coffee
top.
"Can I-- eat my donuts in peace now, please?" I keenly demanded. May
acknowledged the bakery perimeter using blueberry capped cream fingers.
"Oh yeah, yeahhh--" my deflated cohort snarled. "You and your-- damn donuts!"
May pointed hopeless precipice artifacts at a stainless steel customer
surface. "And, your ssstupid coffee!" I was already sneaking towards the
silicate viewport overlooking my rat chamber.
"Yeah-- Thanks for the coffee!" I hatefully hollered. May focused gold peepers
and facial limestone above folded, amber wrist fleece.
"Try to help a guy out!" May blathered past strawberry lip arcs.
"Thanks, Mayyy!" I brazenly reiterated. "For the coffee!" Acorn wall blocks
displaying my peepee lab site secured square tubing booth frames. Teal and
soot swirls simulated marble along particle board bench and dining surfaces.
Creamer tubs and sweetener packets occupied a porcelain bowl under my building
vent. I grazed bricks with sleeve cactus and snagged cardboard padding
heavenly coffee art. I scorched my tongue by drizzling molasses sunrise tonic
from a bean shaped opening. I unraveled butcher paper creases and withdrew a
deep fried gluten toroid.
I searched cracks dividing cherry candy glaze with blue raspberry peepers and
smiled. I tore radiant wheat bubbles, then crunched icing and dough flakes
with molar points. I searched a penis shaped facility facade above my left
shoulder kiwi silk. Cement squares bordered The Creamatory's cinnamon bricks
and my lab foundations. Thirty yards of pitch sealed pavement parted coffee
shop and research sidewalk. Omelet stripes partitioned empty spaces occupying
geneticist parking gravel. Dim glass embedding fleshy stucco reflected
blueberry atmosphere and cheddar rays. Foreboding cumulus graphite joining
dawn radiation suggested it might rain later on.
Cherry vinyl lining Dr. Sykes' instep ivory and toe gap confetti scoured ashy
cement. Soup can ankles exited seaweed denim gripping sand bag calves and work
bucket thighs. Raven blouse linen skirting grapefruit tits dusted the
wandering vixen's pillowy abs. Puffed sleeve silk housing forearm and bicep
cream lashed her porcelain wrist velvet. Crow toned shirt fabric outlined the
vacant researcher's buttermilk chest dermis. A leather harness suspended her
chocolate hand bag along shapely hip cellulite.
Dr. Sykes observed her ruby footwear crossing sidewalk tiles using ocular
emeralds. Robin egg dust and flamingo gloss stained Ms. Sykes' vacuous eye
flaps and full lips. The flashy dutchess' billiard ball cheek ceramic flaunted
carnation blush. Chin length scalp sherbet preceded ear lobe sweepers and rear
scalp matchsticks. Ultraviolet rays climbed tangerine and carrot threads
traveling dawn currents. My ginger cohort visited The Creamatory the morning
prior for the first time, ever. Normally, the pale complected mistress skipped
breakfast and lunch entirely. Dr. Sykes figured she could make better use of
that time genetically modifying rats. Also, Ms. Sykes hoped her lumpy
drumsticks would form a more flattering shape.
Dr. Sykes recalled pupil embers scalding May's ivory and rose colored facial
valleys. The slender maiden's bony cheeks suspended grinning lips above her
pointed jaw line. A lanky throat exited chestnut scalp straw and expanded
rainbow shirt stripes. Apron claret topped blueberry denim lacing May's leg
sticks above candy apple wedges. May's hazel eyes traced a cantaloupe chin
connecting Dr. Sykes' tennis ball cheeks. Gold shutters captured pixie trimmed
carrot shavings, emerald irises, and ivory skin. Olive green silk bordered Dr.
Sykes' porcelain chest and dangled from supple tits. Charcoal trousers hiked
succulent thighs and calves before burying leather footwear.
"You-- like him?!" May haplessly blared beyond The Creamatory's serving
counter. Dr. Sykes sank horrified eyelid teal and scoured vacant tables with
ocular jade.
"Can you-- keep your big mouth shut?" Dr. Sykes expelled from horrified lip
bismuth. "My Gahhd!" May grated antsy lip raspberries with blueberry claws
and siphoned apologetic gasses.
"I'm sor-ry!" May hooted past pomegranate oral arcs. "I just-- It's exciting!
That's all." Dr. Sykes lapped smirking lips and situated a cocoa purse strap
along deltoid cream.
"I will-- take a small coffee, please," Dr. Sykes fired at May's rosy face
quartz. "To go!" the sarcastic ginger sternly appended. May passed a tender
chuckle and snatched a paper cup flaunting rosy angel artwork. Dr. Sykes
watched passing rock tiles and sawed her neck custard with purse espresso. She
recalled May placing arabica cap ivory with opal claws and probing her eye
limes.
"She's a sadistic bitch," May fumbled between thoughtless speaking
raspberries. Dr. Sykes sifted May's hazel peepers and sprang brow carrots
above forehead pleats.
"Uhhh--" the vacant red-head hummed across carnation lip gloss.
"Ch-loe," May earnestly clarified. The lanky baker scoured Dr. Sykes' fuzzy
eye emeralds and sprang chestnut ocular fur. "Doctor-- Meeks??" May cheerfully
added. The tense geneticist processed May's random remarks and slurped a
flustered breath.
"Ohhh--" Dr. Sykes extracted from bubble gum speech enamel.
"He comes in here every morning, you know," the thoughtful cashier explained.
May searched Dr. Sykes' colorful face and split her cheek pine with excited lip
arcs. "Did you know that?" May's loopy visitor examined her bourbon cornea
drops and oscillated cue ball cheeks. May offered Dr. Sykes a cup, then guided
her timid nail cherries around a cozy brim. "He's usually here reeeally
early," the helpful arabica brewer cheerfully disclosed. "Like-- right after
five?" May sifted Dr. Sykes' cheek ivory and soothed her shaky carpal pegs
with warm digits. "Maybe you could-- come *by* tomorrow morning? Talk to him
a little bit?"
The carrot stranded pixie implanted a concrete tile with her cherry tinted
flats. She watched me tip ristretto between my lips beside a shiny, oak window
frame. She stepped backwards one space and watched my image disappear behind
bronze bricks. Dr. Sykes siphoned frosty gasses and wove lip bismuth with
cream finger strawberries. She clawed somber cheek custard and searched
cumulus refractions scouring lab glass. Cardiac jolts thumping Ms. Sykes'
throat silk caused her to scurry the way she came.
After I ate donuts (and May stopped screwing with me!) I showed Harry around
the lab. If I had *my* way, I would've sacrificed Harry the moment he began
talking. I mean honestly-- I wasn't sure I wanted to keep the little, freaky
fucker around. Even with all the oddball rodents I crafted in the lab, I
*never* heard one speak. I wanted to carefully dissect Harry's unusual brain
and examine it, thoroughly. Unfortunately, the committee that hired me had a
very specific guideline about that. I was not allowed to sacrifice a sole
survivor from a completed hybridization.
The policy ensured at least one specimen survived every successful experiment.
Whether I agreed with my thick headed investors or not, Harry was there to
stay. But I mean, it's like Friedrich Nietzche once said: "It is nobler to
declare oneself wrong than to insist on being right-- especially when one is
right." I figured a bigger cage with lots of toys would (at least) keep Harry
out of sight. But, Dr. Meeks pilfered our budget buying things we didn't need
(mostly for herself). Also, I wasn't supposed to keep any experiments in a
cage larger than one cubic foot. We simply did not have enough room for
something more sizable than that.
Harry's mozzarella sprinkled hiny fat embedded a glass fish bowl tugging my
fingers. I paraded my experiment space while Harry steadied dull eye kiwis and
barely spoke. Carnation dished ear pennies topped Harry's solemn cheeks above
dangling arm stubs. Harry cuddled heel salmon with his tail carrot beyond pear
sculpted body fleece. I showed lab posts, books lining walls, four system
desktops, and more little Harrys. Six foot towers forged from steel vermin
crates bordered spotted, linoleum pathways.
After exploring my ionized rat complex, I decided to introduce Harry to his
parents. My row three cages (which housed combination thirteen offspring)
smelled like a zoo. Dowel chrome formed half inch grates splitting peacock
trays storing fiber pellets. Combination thirteen rodents were my favorite
artificial varmint concoction. The enchanting crossbreed convinced a group of
geneticists to fund my research.
My notorious thirteenth melding was a rather strange creature at first glance.
It sat upright (like Harry) and dangled stumpy arms beside delighted lung
protectors. Combination thirteens were solemn and mysterious unlike mice,
rats, and Guinea pigs. My splendid creations twitched their noses a lot-- just
like their teensy ancestors. Harry's lack of whisker wiggling made want to
slice up his brain so badly, it hurt. Upper, left points of row three cages
welcomed battery ions from lower, right joints.
Electrifying my lab hybrids' zinc treated containers was not something I
enjoyed. My employers developed a "threat" assessment system for classifying
my experiments. Combination thirteens flaunted critical thinking,
collaboration, and communication. The committee's standards categorized the
curious critters as level three threats. I convinced my financers I could
control third order risks with an old UPS battery. But, thirteenth mixture
hybrids lacked Harry and his siblings' less pleasant traits.
Harry learned from single observations, designed experiments, and (apparently)
spoke. Acquiring knowledge easily and conducting research were level four
behaviors. Speaking our language wasn't even discussed in my committee's
classification system. I suspended Harry's fish bowl in front of a cage
topping row three's final tower. Six lengthy rodents facing the other
direction spied on unsuspecting mice near by. Fur like snow blanketed
combination thirteen scapulas, spinal columns, and ribs. Ear and tail salmon
half the size of Harry's adorned scalp parmesan and vermin butts.
Furry tenants reclined velvet fannies and stretched solemn faces above tiny
fingers. An occupant wearing a red collar patted cardboard pellets three times
with his foot. I knew combination thirteens used stomping to communicate, but
no one believed me. The chimeras kicked once for smells, twice for sights, and
three times for sounds. Five curious rodents probed the rose banded bedding
pounder for thoughtful insight. Then, six ominous faces oscillated blueberry
peepers above porcelain shoulder fleece. Lengthy whisker propellers framed
mysterious snout ham siphoning inquisitive gasses.
"You see this guy right here?" I commented about the scarlet strapped rodent.
Harry studied the long bodied stomper and tilted his thoughtful precipice
lemon.
"The rrred?" Harry solemnly hooted.
"The-- one with the red collar??" I impatiently reiterated.
"*I* seeee," Harry vacantly remarked. Harry examined a claret neck hoop and
tilted his face football like a teeter totter. "What is red?" Harry
astoundingly inquired.
"The c-collar--" I extruded from chuckling lips. "His *collar* is red." Harry
paraded kiwi eyes above his bicep ivory and watched my baffled cheeks swivel.
"Your *tie* is red," my tiny sidekick hummed with his bugle voice. I hoisted a
striped noose miter and examined it with my ocean cornea droplets.
"Oh, riiight--" I vacuously conceded. "I guess it is." Harry's champagne
optical ports examined ketchup and mustard throat silk segments.
"It's one *other*," the porcelain sprouted chimera curiously commented.
"Yellow," I replied with nodding face caramel. "It's red and yellow, yeah."
Harry studied my neck tie gripping digits, then probed my seaweed pupil
slivers.
"What *is* this person?" the curious chimera demanded. "Wearing the red
collar??" Impatient crow's feet like free ions serrated my leathery, walnut
ocular frames.
"You mean-- the rodent?" I responded to Harry's idiotic question. My miniature
research cohort sank mozzarella eye flaps within his precipice lemon.
"Roh-dent?" Harry's languid vocal oscillators booped. Harry faced zinc treated
dowels incarcerating lengthy, snow fleeced hybrids. "*I* am a rodent." I
searched Harry's coconut cranium shavings and shrugged irritated lab coat
quartz.
"rrRight--" I condescendingly grumbled. "Yeah-- you're a rodent, too." I
indicated thirteenth melded varmints conspiring beyond Harry's silicate
bubble. "But, *these* rodents-- they're a little different. I call them
'combination thirteens'." Harry implanted floor crystal with plantar ham and
embraced an elliptical viewport.
"Why is it *red*?" Harry thoughtlessly wheezed. I drilled impatiant ocular
banks with pool water cornea droplets and shook my head.
"The one with the red collarrr--" I intolerably droned. "Is your dahhhd."
Harry oscillated his face lemon above his deltoid and glared at my seaweed
peepers.
"My dad lives down south," Harry hummed using bugle throat streaks. "He lives
out in the middle of nowhere in the woods." I sifted Harry's prismatic snout
sprouts and flattened ocean irises with brow coal. "Well, he *sounds* like a
damn hillbilly. I gotta camp out in the middle of nowhere with some-- weird
redneck for a fuckin' week? Really??" It dawned on me that Harry was reciting
a conversation I could barely remember. Harry's ability to recall precise
details and vocal inflections gave me the creeps.
"Me and-- Chloe's conversation?" I conjectured. "From, like-- three months
ago??" Harry showered my blue raspberry irises with his champagne ocular
droplets.
"Yes, Doctor Jackson," Harry's somnolent vocal valves puffed. I studied
anti-freeze optical spots overlooking Harry's extruded cotton deltoid.
"Why are you rehashing a conversation me and Chloe had three months ago?" I
demanded. Harry skimmed ocean drops staining my dumbfounded corneas and tilted
his face oval.
"I remember *all*," my miniature lab partner ominously explained. I kneaded
trepidation sprouted neck follicles with burlap jacketed shoulder shivers. I
didn't know if Harry meant he remembered all of our conversation or just--
all. "Which one is Mom?" my little, disturbing sidekick slyly prodded. I
sifted curious lime slivers parting Harry's milky visual flaps and looked
around.
"Riiight--" I hesitantly croaked. "She oughta be around here, somewherrre--"
My rear lab cages housed level one threats, which were not classified as
dangerous. I placed the albino mouse that birthed Harry in column three's top
pen on row eleven. I carried Harry's bowl beside vacant, eleventh aisle crates
storing empty bedding. "Uhhh--" I grumbled past bewildered mouth rims. The
mild tempered vermin crossbread tilted his analytical precipice football.
"You-- don't remember?"
"I remember!" I hatefully snapped. "She's-- not where I put her." I *knew*
what happened-- some research students came looking for mice a week earlier.
The subjects were overdosed with an herbal supplement and examined for kidney
tumors.
"She has been sacrificed," Harry impatiently sighed. The coconut dusted rodent
searched wire boxes crowding the back end of my laboratory. "What *else* will
you show me?" I skimmed lower ocular rims with pupil teal and searched Harry's
rear scalp parmesan. Either Harry didn't know what a mom was, or he didn't
care she was sliced to pieces. One scenario implied Harry was still learning
to speak our language (or failing to). My second conclusion demonstrated Harry
was fine with slaughtering his own mother. Exploding beakers and Dr. Meeks'
painful squawks halted my meticulous observations.
"Damn it, Ted!" my irritable sperm bank shouted. "I thought I asked you to
CLEAN THIS SHIT UP!!" I spotted my mahogany haired lady between upright cage
dowels plated with chrome. Dr. Meeks dimmed seaweed door steel beside cart
shelves lodging three toppled flasks. Glass shards packed caster wheels below
acorn hair lint lining my baby's facial pine. Olive green blouse ruffles
escaped wool lab quartz draping Dr. Meeks' slender trunk. Denim, kiwi, cherry,
cyan, cream, and indigo patches formed twelve inch bell bottoms. Lemon soot
dots, Neptune star pearls, daffodil printed fuchsia, rose linen peace limes,
and crimson ivory stripes lashed Dr. Meeks' thigh chutes and calf drapes. Brow
copper pleated cornea ozone topping strawberry mouth wax framing gritted teeth.
"I-- thought we decided that *you* left it there," I happily responded. My
pissy princess tossed impatient scalp cinnamon between tartar jacketed
scapulas.
"Ohh-- my Gahhhd!" Dr. Meeks insufferably howled. Baby beat tile with plum
tipped foot pine and seared my eye teal with index eggplant. "You had to
walk-- right *past* this fucking thing on the way outta here, yesterday!" Dr.
Meeks lapped pomegranate lip enamel and shuffled agitated sleeve buttermilk.
"And then, you walked right by--"
"Chloe, I don't have time for this--" I grimly grumbled. "Could you just--"
"What are *you* doing that's so-- God damn important?!?" my angry lady
belched. "You don't have TIME--??"
"Will you *just* clean up your fuckin' mess, please?!" I demanded below sprung
brows. "Just sweep it up--"
"Why can't you ANSWER my simple fucking question, Ted!?!" Dr. Meeks sorely
demanded. My charging bunny popped flooring under jigsaw calf chutes and
signaled Harry's bowl. "What the hell is--? This mmMOUSE THING?!"
"Do we have a broom-- around this place, somewhere?" I sarcastically paraded.
"This-- fucking *mouse* you're carrying around!?" Dr. Meeks hatefully rambled.
"*That's* what's so important?!!"
"I think there's, like-- a dust pan?" I added, squelching Harry's odd
abilities. "Behind one of the lab tables??" Dr. Meeks crowded my shoe pitch
with nail wine and dusted her spine with hair rust.
"aaAAAHHH!!" Dr. Meeks wailed using agitated vocal streaks. Putrid vodka
vapors escaping my giddy gal's airways shriveled my grim nasal chutes. Blouse
licorice draped Dr. Sykes' chest buttermilk and fastened her delicate wrists.
Calf cream topping cherry shoe rims swelled denim seaweed gripping supple
drumsticks. The pale pixie's temple mango framed melon chin quartz and
feathered her rear noggin. Her alluring hiny, pocket pentagon saddled
strawberry heel vinyl bracing rosy bricks. Dr. Sykes sifted smoke, peach, ham,
and kiwi floor confetti with languid pupil jade. She skimmed eerie instep
cardomom and ballet espresso occupying a dim hallway sheet. Lemon foyer
flashes seared the ginger vixen's shin porcelain and strolling claret. Dr.
Sykes skimmed chest bags with ruby claws and worried they padded her dumpy
trunk.
"...oh, therrre they are..." my cynical colleague croaked beyond tulip mouth
wax. Dr. Sykes forged a vacant smirk and checked my lab's oblong entrance
above her bicep. "...doctor jackson..." the carrot stranded mistress nervously
rasped. "...um-- do you think we could..." The antsy hall dweller ruffled
sherbet scalp spokes with gum drop finger segments. "...i mean, would you like
to get to know me? ummm-- outside of work??..." The pale geneticist imagined
scanning my cyan peepers and expelled a disgusted huff. "...gyahhhd!..." Dr.
Sykes covertly snarled.
"You're fuckin'-- wasted, Chloe!" I shouted over feral wrists squeezing my
ribs. "Again!!"
"Am NOT!!" Dr. Meeks squealed between shiny oral cherries parting sprung brow
rust.
"Fine-- you're *lit*, then," my sarcastic mouth flaps hissed below wrinkled
nasal chutes. "Just because you call it something else--"
"I am not *lit*, Ted!" Dr. Meeks fumbled from cocktail drenched digestive
caverns. "Stop changing the subject!"
"Oh my Gahhhd, Chloe--" I fired at my girlfriend's pine tinted facial points.
"Your breath smells like a fuckin'-- jug full-a boomshine! Are you kidding
me??"
"Just that--" Dr. Meeks mindlessly blathered. My curious poopsy sampled a
breath under her digit plums before drilling my eye teal. "Just that one
*time* I was lit! I already told you!!"
"Chloe, if someone from the committee came in here right now," I hatefully
explained. "And, they smelled that *shit* comin' outta your mouth--" I
shuffled mayonaise lab sleeves in front of my ketchup and mustard tie stripes.
"God damn it-- they'd shut this place down, right NOW!" I presented forward
facing palm amber and separated irritated finger groups. "All of my
researrrch? All of my worrrk??" I squeezed icing latticed thigh cinnamon,
then hammered my pistachio shirt silk. "It would all be for *nothing*!"
"All *your* work??" Dr. Meeks fired before tossing hair rust between antsy
scapulas. "Riiight-- I forget, you do *everything* around here." My pissy
princess capsized revolted eye frost and stretched agitated oral cherries. "No
one else in this whole place does *any* thing!"
"If it wasn't for *me*, Chloe," I belted beside my rueful index finger. "You
wouldn't even--" I noticed Dr. Sykes' timid face porcelain beyond Dr. Meeks'
burgundy temple threads. The mousy red-head crunched pointed silicates beside
my lab cart with her shoe ruby.
"Doctor-- Jackson?" my nervous geneticist passed between flamingo glossed
lips. Dr. Sykes' plush biceps and perky trunk filled raven silk and looked
sexy as Hell. The jade eyed researcher was not wearing a lab coat-- which the
committee frowned on.
"Hello, Mary," I hummed using gracious speaking salmon.
"Oh, *this* fffffucking cunt--" Dr. Meeks fumbled from intoxicated mouth
raspberries. My blase dame propelled artsy calf tubas towards the hall using
clumsy toenail plums. "You little SKANK!"
"Awww, fuccck--" I hacked between grievous oral flaps. Dr. Meeks directed a
plum pigmented index cap between Dr. Sykes' emerald irises.
"You don't think--?!" Dr. Meeks obnoxiously hissed. My reckless sweetheart
kicked cage wire and paused to steady disoriented arm wool. She paraded her
ginger rival's uneasy face melon and stomped across spotted linoleum. "You
don't think I know what you're up to, slut?!"
"Bay-beee--" I groaned using mournful throat striations. Dr. Meeks beat
passing tile with pissy foot mats while I hauled Harry's crystal bowl. Dr.
Sykes observed my honey's hapless gallops and flashed apprehensive eye
emeralds.
"Hello, mmMary--" my sadistic ladylove hooted using strawberry lip arcs. "Is
there something my *boyfriend* can help you with??" The mango haired
geneticist scanned Dr. Meeks' pupil frost with cautious cornea jade.
"What are you--"
"What's going on??" Dr. Meeks chirped underneath astonished, ozone peepers.
"Is our little-- discussion about human fornication making you uncomfortable?
Sweetieee??" Dr. Sykes skimmed my girlfriend's hateful eyes and crumpled her
celery nasal chute.
"Chloe, what the fuck is the *matter* with you??" the fair skinned maiden
demanded.
"*You're* the freak," Dr. Meeks fumbled between sarcastic mouth cherries. "You
think *I* have problems??" I carried Harry's silicate flask while my snooky
seized Dr. Sykes' silk bicep soot. "You think you're like-- hot shit, huh?"
Dr. Sykes shoved kiwi blouse ruffles parting my baby-doll's porcelain lab
jacket.
"Let-- go of me, bitch!" my red-headed researcher commanded. I secured Dr.
Meeks' tumbling waist flanks between wrist wool and hip chocolate.
"Chloe, stop it!" I belted between disgusted saliva seals. "My gahhhd."
"You're-- taking *her* side?!" Dr. Meeks barked beside my ear ridges.
"Unn-bee-LIEVABLE!" I swept hallway dust with my baby's plantar hide and
pointed towards the parking lot.
"Go start the car, Chloe," I impatiently instructed. "I'll be out in just a
minute to take you to lunch." Dr. Meeks aimed grinning face points above her
shoulder at Dr. Sykes' ivory cheeks.
"See you layyy-ter," my condescending buttercup hummed. "mmMaryyyyy--" I
scooted Dr. Meeks' eggplant speckled tootsies in the direction of the outer
door.
"Don't leave without me," I staunchly interjected. My snooky kissed hop scotch
foyer tiles with dancing toe lilac and exited dual doors. I joined Dr. Sykes
by the hallway with Harry's fish bowl and expelled a raging puff.
"I'm so sorry, Doctor Sykes," I thoughtlessly remarked. My reckless appeal
coupled with May's coffee insight left me feeling pretty indebted. My DNA
analyst captured my attention by soothing my left knuckles with cozy digits.
"It's okay, Doctor Jackson," the ginger dutchess attentively hummed. "Just
go-- smooth things out with her. Alright?" I relished Dr. Sykes' ruby claws
grazing my carpal segments and sifted her eye jade. I figured she was torn by
Dr. Meeks' outburst, but instead she offered me *comfort*. I realized what a
savage I can be while mischaracterizing my red-headed companion.
"Hmph-- that'll be the day," I grumbled using solemn speech ham. I sank Y, U,
J, N, B, G, and H cage floor switches using Harry's furry hiny gelatin. Dr.
Sykes folded raven lashed wrists under fascinated facial curves like porcelain.
"I can smell-- vodka on her breath," the mango haired geneticist curiously
remarked. "What the fuck?"
"I knowww--" I fumbled between disgusted mouth seals parting apologetic palms.
"I *know*, Mary."
"She-- knows I can *smell* it," my pale cohort passed across keen lip bismuth.
The ivory skinned maiden sloshed silk bridled knuckle knots beside grapefruit
tits. "She treats me like I'm an idiot!" I adored puffed bicep espresso and
ruffled cocoa silk framing Dr. Sykes' chest cream. I cherished baby carrot
fingers with cherry tips departing graphite wrist bridles.
"That blouse is *stunning* on you, Mary," I affectionately disclosed. Dr.
Sykes searched my enamored face and split billiard cheeks with flamingo lip
arcs.
"Thank you, Doctor Jackson," the ginger analyst proudly responded. The ivory
skinned maiden searched linen serrations outlining her supple love muffins.
"This is-- one of my favorite shirts." I neared Dr. Sykes' ruby flats with
shoe tar and eyed peach strands dusting her chin.
"Well, you're just breathtaking," I confessed using joyful speech salmon.
"You-- light up the whole building." My startling honesty didn't leave much to
the low statured geneticist's imagination. Dr. Sykes flaunted cheery cornea
emeralds riding scalded cheeks under apricot brows. She sculpted grim facial
features and wadded my wool bicep cream with cherry claws.
"You should go, Ted," Dr. Sykes urged with bubble gum glossed mouth seals. "Go
get some-- food in her stomach." My ginger cohort scoured upper eyelid ozone
with pupil jade above carnation lip arcs. "Maybe it'll smother some of that
vodka she drank." Dr. Sykes' satirical proposition pried welcome chuckles from
our mischievous lips. I noticed-- my fiery DNA analyst cobbled these lovely
cackles that charmed onlookers. An olive snout parting her cheek onions topped
open chiclets tearing tulip grin wax. I savored bubbly clucks escaping her
incisors, then prepared to face my pissy poopsy.
"That's a-- great idea, actually," I humbly acknowledged. I cradled Dr. Sykes'
knuckles and guided her digit gumdrops beside teal hip denim. "I'll *do*
that." I relished my ginger guest's grinning face cantaloupe and followed tile
spot flashes. Dr. Sykes watched my shoe pitch, pant rust, and coat drapes
bypass twin foyer ports. She nested bicep coffee with cheek cream and
discovered Harry's intrusive eye kiwis. The ominous chimera sealed coconut
retinal flaps and uncovered pistachio peepers. Dr. Sykes searched Harry's face
football and chilled asparagus nasal pipes.
"hhHarry--" the carrot stranded scholar gushed out of tense vocal ridges.
Harry drilled Dr. Sykes' uneasy pupil jade and teetered his ham snouted
precipice. Quivers mobilized Dr. Sykes' instep cream and cherry shoe rims to
enter the hallway. My pale crony paddled high rise drumstick denim in the
direction of her workroom. Harry framed his nose salmon with still whiskers
and awaited hallway brick ignitions. He sifted rustling talons behind him and
tipped his oblong face between his scapulas. He scoped ruby boot lace hoisting
his water tin, then sank an "F" switch to stand up.
"What-- is red?" Harry announced using philosophical mouth flaps. Harry poked
a spring loaded "R" button with his left foot, then tapped an "E" key.
"Rehhhd--" the parmesan dusted hybrid hummed while heel kicking a nearby "D"
cap. "Visible light. Oscillating between six hundred *twenty*--" Harry
examined geranium yarn suspending his breath mint hydration platform. "And
*seven* hundred twenty nanometers." The fleecy rodent freed a "B" printed
typing switch with his eraser dust fingers. He grazed "C" and "S" buttons
before collapsing a shift key and spinning like a top. He hurled the dislodged
"B" striker at his pewter hydration tray's closest lip.
The unstable vessel impacted editing tiles beside Harry's carnation toe
sprinkles. Harry yanked crimson boot twine and tested a Flic lighter spool
impeding a 3/8" nut. He ascended cherry shoestring and dangled using his
mozzarella sprinkled calves. He tossed his water pan within an outer table gap
and tugged strawberry hanging wire. Glossaries and reference books occupied
oak shelves forming the east wall of my lab. Gold letters labeled multiple
navy blue periodical spines "Collin's Encyclopedia".
Harry followed a riser beside burlap binding and found an "E" marking a brass
square. He pointed kiwi ocular ports at copper titles and nuzzled his toes
with his tail. The lemon faced chimera hugged a one inch title banner and
back-peddled a wood ridge. Harry situated the blueberry journal and rifled for
page one hundred eighty-seven. He hauled literary sheets beyond supportive
binding and skimmed thoughtful testimony. He polled a stick intersecting three
stripes, joined curves, a sideways smile, a hook above a circle, an erect pipe,
a crook fused ellipse, a crossed umbrella grip, a hoop, and a partial arch.
"Ess-cah-lay-tor--" Harry hooted past bugle voice streaks.
Chapter 3: "The Revelations of Doctor Jackson"
,------------------------------------------------------------------------------,
| |
| Intelligence via hybridization signals a milestone in evolutionary |
| science. Selectively melding like organisms should eventually produce a |
| superior being. People stupidly rush to stigmatize the implications of |
| revolutionary technology. Mindless buffoons fear what they don't |
| understand. |
| |
'------------------------------------------------------------------------------'
Harry's mozzarella sprouted tuchus gelatin embedded his crystal aquarium bowl.
Arm stumps sprouted salmon finger sprinkles beside Harry's love handle snow
dust. Coconut leg shavings rested carnation walking mats beyond Harry's dumpy
hips. The albino chimera's abrupt, carrot tail segments cuddled his placid
heel hide. Cardinal feather ear pennies topped Harry's fat cheeks behind
silicate confines. My lemon faced companion sealed chardonnay peepers and sank
his ivory visual flaps.
"Maybe Doctor Sykes has a thing for me," I shared with my tiny companion. I
parked my jaw points and scalp soot along sleeve ivory crowding Harry's fish
flask. "I'm still thinking about that." Harry examined chlorophyll and indigo
tie stripes dividing my dandelion shirt silk.
"Do-- you have a thing for Doctor *Sykes*?" Harry analytically pried. Licorice
brow fluffs marking my forehead caramel mashed turquoise visual slivers.
"Uh-- me?" I thoughtlessly droned. "Attracted to Doctor Sykes??" I lapped
impatient mouth rims with saliva soaked tasting grit and slurped a breath.
"Why are you *asking* me that? What's THAT got to do with anything??" Harry
tilted his philosophical face football like a poorly balanced teeter totter.
"That blouse is *stunning* on you, Mary," Harry affectionately recited. My
pudgy, cauliflower fleeced lab companion siphoned a miniature trachea puff.
"Thank you, Doctor Jackson," Harry proudly responded. "This is-- one of my
favorite shirts." Harry funneled negligible laboratory vapors using carnation
nasal frames. "Well you're just breathtaking," Harry joyfully repeated.
"You-- light up the whole building." A sudden awareness of interacting with a
nitwit overwhelmed me with frustration.
"What the fuck, Harry??" I ejected from irritated facial curves. "You're--
giving me this shit, too?" I shifted my weight above pitch leg drapes using
wool wrist chutes by Harry's bowl. "Do you even understand-- what a
relationship--??" I projected Dr. Sykes' melon face, trunk curves, and shapely
leg images beside Harry. I admired scalp mango framing her warm cheeks between
upturned palms topping my arms. The archetype extended ivory arm velvet from
olive shirt linen and raven pant silk.
Harry nestled Dr. Sykes' gum drop digits and cherry claws with gracious cheek
fleece. I entertained a nagging suspicion that Dr. Sykes would be horrified by
my outburst. During that moment of clarity, I endured a grim reminder about
the value of patience. I noticed Harry's bowl reflecting my tie stripes and
wondered if he'd ask about them. But, Harry's interest in my wardrobe colors
proved less keen than the day before.
"Do you know about blue and green?" I implored of my coconut sprinkled
companion. I distracted Harry's eye kiwis with watermelon peel and blueberry
throat striations. Harry examined my pool water pupil slivers like I was the
dumbest creature on Earth. I noticed my teal door intruding and watched Dr.
Meeks' plum talons clawing the knob. I braced for impact, then cheerfully
relished my experiment hatch greeting open air. My reckless sweetheart hauled
blueberry bell denim gripping exposed knee cream. She parked plum toe caps
among raspberry, citrus, lime, and licorice tile specks. Ivory silk pleats
flaunting geraniums and leaves divided my lady's quartz lab coat. Dr. Meeks
swept neck pine with chestnut scalp lint and paraded vengeful cornea ozone.
"Glad to see you cleaned up this-- fucking bullshit, finally," the bitch
commented. "Did you-- finally get tired of stepping on broken beakers?" I
hoisted espresso and lemon zest garments above caramel shoe leather and
squinted.
"Ohh--" I croaked using bewildered mouth seals. "I figured *you* did that."
My infuriated sweethart hammered her peeled leg hinges using limestone palm
velvet.
"God damn it, Ted!" Dr. Meeks hatefully belched. "You are such an ASS-hole,
sometimes! Why do I have to *beg* you to do something for me??" I framed
Harry's crystal lounge with dismal elbow wool and sloshed agitated digits.
"Chloe, for the love of Gahhhd--" I groaned between ham tinted lips. Dr. Meeks
swatted her feathery noggin cinnamon using livid jacket tubes like cream.
"Every time I come *in* here, it's like-- you TRY to pick a fight with me,"
honey-bunches complained. I spotted empty cart steel near a corner beside the
hall door and no hint of glass.
"I guess-- Dr. Sykes cleaned that up for me," I grumbled past disgusted oral
frames. "Maybe I should *thank* her." My lanky lass tilled indigo hip denim
and skimmed dotted sheets with lilac toe spots.
"Did you say 'thank' her?" Dr. Meeks fired from cherry lip gloss parting peach
blush. The slender visitor framed my milky elbow wool with startling, eggplant
finger caps. "Or 'spank' her?" I probed frosty irises splitting my volcanic
vixen's pomegranate ocular flaps.
"Chloe, what the fuck?" I demanded using annoyed digestive seams.
"ssSpank me," Dr. Meeks ordered using lustful teeth flaps. My fiery
girlfriend's vodka soaked vocal gasses jolted my broomstick nasal pathways.
"Fuhhck, Chloe--" I recklessly aspirated. Dr. Meeks crowded Harry's stoop and
split ivory coat tails with pointed hiny pockets.
"Spank me, you fuck!" my pesky baby-doll ordered. I popped my lanky lady's
denim strapped tuchus gelatin with commanding palm sirloin. "AAAaaa!!" Dr.
Meeks belted past strawberry mouth enamel. Baby rippled tabletop jug petals
and seated cherry heels embedding her jean trumpets.
"Stop telling me what to do," I passed through somber vocal shutters.
"Stop being a DICK-head," Dr. Meeks rudely suggested. I smacked my pissy
princess' sandpaper tuchus elastic with ivory cuffed hand hide. "aaAAA! Mother
FUCK-errr!!" Dr. Meeks frantically squealed. My giddy bitch settled rear
plantar mounds and scowled above her cotton bicep quartz. "wwWowww--" I
savored my chocolate stranded vixen's trembling lips and throat cedar heart
thumps. Dr. Meeks plowed my scapula wool and grazed tile with toe plums under
trumpet denim. I sanded my limber shmoopy's stomach silk and collected her
geranium printed tits. Dr. Meeks mounted my lap and siphoned lip stubble while
tilling my slate head floss. I crumpled the brunette damsel's belly linen and
slurped sunken navel belly custard.
"AAaaa--" my delighted darling fumbled from strawberry frosted speaking
gaskets. Dr. Meeks molted ivory sleeves and relished my walnut digits grating
her bicep cream. The impatient wench snatched my porcelain lab coat and
liberated my shirt and tie. She combed graphite hair coils peppering my walnut
pecks with eggplant digit caps. I freed rosy buttons securing Dr. Meeks'
floral blouse and buffed ceramic udder lace. "mMMmmm--" the gratified hen
seductively hummed. My enticing mistress bucked barley head fluffs along my
metacarpal bra uncouplers. I released Dr. Meeks' nipple crayons and cradled
her velvet spinal seam with my palm. I gobbled her breast pudding mammary
grapes and gnawed delicate areola salmon.
"Ahh, FUHHCK!!" the chestnut haired vixen wailed. I nibbled Dr. Meeks' other
milk peg and grated panty weaves under her hiny pentagons. "aaAAAA--" the
ravenous lap tenant graciously sang. My poopsy kneaded her slime coated pussy
marble with my masculine finger grooves. "AAAAaa--" Dr. Meeks bleated using
gratified facial pine. I vacated caramel shoes and shucked coal and ruby
argyle padding my stout footsies.
The juicy mistress freed my tan belt and revealed licorice and claret boxer
checks. She unwrapped static charged hair curtains ornamenting my birch thighs
and calves. I unseated steel fasteners securing blueberry denim around Dr.
Meeks' shapely hips. I freed my baby's leg cellulite from indigo grit and
uprooted her lilac toe caps. I tossed Dr. Meeks' buttermilk wrists and shins
beside Harry's frosty table slate. I tugged ankle knobs eclipsing her cherry
foot crumples and clawed ivory hiny lace.
"haAAAaa--" my lanky lady ejected from gratified mouth seals. Harry's passive
eye kiwis personified the awkwardness of making love on my lab table. I
dragged crystal panties over Dr. Meeks' heels and smacked her cedar hip
gelatin. "Ah!" my startled sweetheart shrieked. I kicked my checkered
underwear while Dr. Meeks watched beside her bicep limestone. I seized her
thigh fat and rested my ham tipped pecker between satin tuchus mounds.
Graphite scrotum felt grazed the seam of my antsy mistress' barren vulva
ridges.
"Always gotta order me arowwwnd--" I relentlessly hummed. I sawed the anxious
angel's hairless anus with my pecan pigmented peepee shaft. "Come in herrre--
Start some shiiit--"
"Ted!" Dr. Meeks gushed from rabid cheek limestone eclipsing her frantic
shoulder. "Will you PLEASE just fuck me?? I need it, so bahhd!!"
"People can probably heeear us--" I rambled. I used my baby's pudding hip
grips to cycle her hiny crevice across my dick. "All over this-- damn place--"
"Ted-- STICK YOUR DICK IN ME! NOWWW!!" the impatient vixen ordered. I buried
my weenie in the princess' pelvic canal and beat her tush with crotch turf.
"AhAhAhAhAhhAhh--" Dr. Meeks chattered between grateful lip strawberries. My
lustful gal used her rocking hips to hammer my groin with peeled labia rims. I
shuffled her waist cellulite and slapped her butt pillows while packing her
pussy. "aaaaAAA!!" Dr. Meeks disgustedly shrilled.
"Ahh fahhhck, bay-beee--" I groaned past salmon tinted digestive flaps. Lemon
shoe rims with strawberry seed vents occupied spotted tiles outside my door.
One banana peel toe tip drilled linoleum beside its supportive counterpart.
Porcelain instep satin became honeydew calf mounds invading army green leg
chutes. Chlorophyll silk framed five gallon hips and joined gelatin packed
waist elastic. Lime peel linen formed a V-shaped chest boundary and became
feminine bicep crumples. Claret talons furnished wrist quartz bracing bosom
blouse ivory with folder vanilla. Grapefruit jugs expanded alligator rib
fabric grazing feminine forearm pudding.
Dr. Sykes' cantaloupe sculpted face ceramic overlooked her right hand deltoid
moss. Carrot noggin strands framed Ms. Sykes' flamingo cheek dust and
flustered lip claret. Troubled ocular emeralds splitting peacock visual flaps
stared below pumpkin brows. The dejected mistress flattened sherbet scalp
matchsticks along ruby wall bricks. Sketchy hall lights sparked raven choker
lace gripping Dr. Sykes' hoop profiled neck. The mango haired foyer occupant
monitored me and my girlfriend's erotic squawking. She sanded upper lash
mascara with jade pupil facets and expelled an irritated huff.
"...tehhhd!..." Dr. Sykes whispered using disappointed lip wine. My bucking
lady beat my thigh fur with limestone hiny lumps and kneaded her clit. I used
acorn scalp threads to hoist my hen's pine cheeks and buffed her chest onions.
"AAaa!" Dr. Meeks belted beyond strawberry mouth gloss. "aaAAAA!" The lanky
tweeter greaser humped my pelvis gristle and unloaded her meat box. "ahhh--
ahhh-- ahhh-- ahhh--" I sprayed my baby-doll's resonating uterine channel with
a prostate booger blast.
"aAAAaa--" I groaned using gratified vocal streaks. "hhaAAA-- hhaAAAAA--" I
noticed Dr. Sykes implant ham, beige, kiwi, and smoke tile specks with lemon
flats. The mango haired vixon's pomelo calf mounds entered her army green
jumpsuit shanks. She snuggled softball breasts eclipsing her neoprene girdle
with a buttermilk file. Ms. Sykes drilled my pupil seaweed with eye emeralds
embedding agitated brow cheddar. My joyful gal's grinning lips pierced
limestone cheeks crowding her ozone peepers.
"Wah-- What the fuck are *you* looking at, dipshit??" Dr. Meeks demanded
between cackles. My slender honey bunches glided eggplant finger caps along
her radish pointed areola. "I know they're *sweet* looking, honey. But,
you're stuck with *those* fuckin'-- loose-- lopsided things." Dr. Sykes didn't
even acknowledge my spiteful girlfriend's ridiculous antics. Instead, she
focused disapproving ocular limes on my blue raspberry pupil facets. She
rolled humorless, avocado irises and redirected her oscillating cheek
porcelain. She tossed a banana pudding folder on an empty lab table and headed
for the hallway. I relished Dr. Sykes' chunky drumstick moss and mango neck
dusters leaving my lab.
My carrot headed geneticist seeking a dim corridor foreshadowed passion and
regret. I developed a habit of vindicating stupidity at the expense of my own
interests. I'm not entirely sure how I managed to do that. A very dear friend
offered to discuss my feelings for Dr. Sykes the day before. And, I treated
her like an ass-hole and enjoyed my ristretto and donuts in solitude. I can't
recall a specific moment that transformed me into an arrogant dick-head. But
when Ms. Sykes saw me and Dr. Meeks getting it on, my life lost all meaning.
The pale skinned vixen's disappointed eye emeralds drained the blood out of my
face. It was the first time I ever *experienced* feelings like those-- about
anyone.
I wasn't sure what to think about the foreboding numbness that chilled my
veins. But, I knew one thing: I wanted to share my life and my feelings with
Mary Sykes. I longed to gaze at her smiling, melon face and kiwi eyes and lose
track of time. And as for Chloe Meeks, well-- not so much. I was pretty
desperate for some friendly advice, but I didn't know who to turn to. Okay, I
knew *exactly* the person I wanted to probe for compassionate wisdom. I just--
didn't feel like admitting to her little, bony face that she was right. But, I
mean-- it seemed pretty childish to avoid her over an "I told you so".
"I *told* you, ya dick-head," May blurted from disgusted facial points. May
braced counter steel with cookies and cream elbow fleece and cradled her cheek.
"This is bullshit," I grumbled using fierce face caramel above folded wrist
lemon. The pasty counter wench wadded hair espresso with blueberry digit caps
and scowled.
"I told you yesterday morning!" May snarled beyond peach dusted precipice
cream. May flapped teal ocular armor framing her eye gold and pleated spiteful
lip cherries. "What did I *tell* you?" I wrung my grass and ocean tie streaks
and buffed slick floor checks with tan shoes.
"I don't even know-- why I come in here, anymore," I mumbled underneath pupil
frost. May poised amber denim above crumpled boots and split her arms with
bunched sleeves.
"Well, it's not the *stupidest* thing you've done this morning," May snarked.
May lapped raspberry mouth wax and counterposed pointed footwear with spiked
heels. "I mean-- you had sex on your lab table with the door wide open--"
"O-Okay--" I squeezed between nervous chuckles. I acknowledged an older
gentleman behind me wearing a maroon blazer and grey slacks. "You know,
there's a lot more people here than there are in the morning--"
"*I* don't give a shit!" the coffee Nazi belted past agitated, raspberry
beeswax. I scoured May's impatient cheeks, then watched the silver haired man
behind me shrug.
"That *is* pretty stupid," the older patron commented.
"God damn it," I fired before signaling the unknown customer's wise pupil
chocolate. "Now, I am *not* polling random strangers for their opinions." The
smart ass behind me checked his glittering, espresso shoes and folded his arms.
"Ted, just-- go talk to her," May impatiently instructed. I examined porcelain
wrist velvet cuddling my comrade's three inch chest stripes.
"She's not gonna want to talk to *me*," I groaned between doubtful, walnut
cheeks. "After what just happened?"
"Did she *say* she doesn't want to talk to you?" May sensibly requisitioned. I
pictured mango scalp filaments framing Dr. Sykes' mournful, billiard ball
cheeks.
"She didn't say ANY-thing," I expelled beyond oscillating facial cedar. The
Creamatory's dubious bean brewer dusted nodding chin cream with mocha head
coils.
"Well, then-- she's probably *waiting* for you to come talk to her," May
randomly assumed. I tilled charcoal cranium strands bordering my frustrated
temple limestone.
"That's fuckin' dumb," I grumbled between cynical teeth flaps. "You're just
guessing."
"I'm not 'guessing'," the fiery arabica server snapped. "She didn't
specifically *tell* you, like-- 'You're a piece of shit. Don't talk to me'."
"I *hate* it when people act like-- they can read someone's mind," I passed
through disgusted vocal ridges.
"I don't *think* I can--" May rudely blurted.
"People think they're sooo sure what someone else is thinking," I proudly
continued.
"Ohh, my Gahhhd--" May expelled from angry face ivory topping antsy, indigo
talons.
"They never stop to think that they might be wrong," I expertly concluded. May
squeezed apple tits with coffee sleeve striations and expanded chocolate brows.
"Why did you even *ask* me what I think if you're just gonna-- tell me I'm
wrong?" I burrowed my upper ocular flaps with pool water irises and exhaled a
annoyed breath. The (apparently) patient man waiting behind me searched my
hopeless scalp graphite.
"I think you should listen to your friend," the patron commented using worn
cheeks. I addressed the unknown customer using walnut emotion features
eclipsing my shoulder.
"What did I *tell* you-- about the opinions of thoughtless nitwits?" I brashly
posed. The elderly gentleman examined ceramic floor checks and exhaled
attentive chuckles. "You think you KNOW me? You don't know who we're talking
about *or* what happened." The wise ass behind me searched my blue raspberry
peepers with cocoa eye shutters.
"That's true," the intrusive dinosaur admitted. "I don't know you,
personally-- or any of your friends." I shuffled slate hair threads with
rocking cheek ivory and flaunted approving digits.
"Exactly," I abrasively acknowledged. The ancient outsider checked the floor
and stroked his thoughtful chin crumples.
"I *have* been married for twenty-three years, though," the persistent kook
appended.
"Ohh, fuhhhck--" I grumbled using disgusted face pleats.
"And, I happen to know-- when my wife gets pissed-- like *really* pissed-- and
she doesn't even wanna *speak* to me-- she goes ahead and tells me that, right
away." The thoughtful bakery connoisseur probed the upper, right corners of
his eyes. "Actually, she *screams* that right into my face." I noticed May's
chuckling trunk streaks and cheek points eclipsing counter frost.
"Gimme my-- fuckin' ristretto," I instructed my wispy haired cohort. May
handed me a paper tent with a cherry digit, prompting me to drill her eye
amber. "A numberrr? You're *giving* me a number??" May acknowledged seven
people behind me using blueberry dotted cream fingers.
"I've gahhht other customers!" May remorselessly snarled. "I can't just--
leave the register and make you a cof-feeee."
"Aww, mahhhn--" I groaned while disgustedly searching cinnamon buns and glazed
donuts. "Who's gonna-- make my ristretto, then?"
"Jewww-lie's gonna make it for you," May hummed between bitter lip rubies.
"Oh, my Gahhhd--" I impatiently grumbled.
"She makes it juhhhst the same as me--" May fumbled from giggling lips.
"No," I promptly fired back. "*You* make the only good ristretto--"
"Ted, *take* your God damn number, and go sit down over therrre--" May ordered.
"Ahh-- this some shit, now," I mumbled using oscillating cheek caramel.
"AAAaand--" May growled under impatient brow espresso. "Julie will *bring* you
your coffee in a minute." I examined May's stern, visual scotch droplets and
faced my silver haired critic.
"Thanks for the advice," I stubbornly conceded. The appeasing stranger
presented upturned palm gristle departing raspberry cuffs.
"Hey-- I hope everything works out for you," the patient patron kindly
responded. I penetrated amber ocular gems embedding May's teal eye flaps with
icy peepers.
"Thanks for the coffee," I belted from foreboding visage traits. May siphoned
alluring bakery currents using her sorrowful throat porcelain.
"Let me know how it turns out, okay?" May ominously instructed. I scoured the
coffee vixen's apricot dusted cheek yogurt and cream soda pupil facets.
"Since you didn't *make* it, it probably won't be very-- damn good," I
hatefully croaked.
"I meant with *Mary*, you dipshit!" May fired between pissy speech
pomegranates. "You can-- stick that stupid *coffee* straight up your ass!" I
beseeched May's agitated, ocular scotch droplets with hopeless, pool water
irises.
"What about Chloe, though?" I implored of my chestnut headed adviser. May
sloshed indifferent palm velvet and expelled vacant gasses between cherry lips.
"What *about* her?" May requisitioned. I exhaled an inviting scoff past
smiling speech salmon and swiveled pecan cheeks.
"She *is* your friend, right?" I skeptically prodded. May melded unconcerned
digestive seams and rocked cookies and cream bicep streaks.
"She's also a huuuge bitch," May indifferently belched. I huffed resigned
cackles between thin lips and pinched my crumpled nasal chute. "She's not--
right for you, Ted," May shared using compassionate cheek satin. "This other
lady, though-- Mary?" May lapped thoughtful mouth flaps enameled with claret
shellac and shook her head. "She's-- in *love* with you." I paraded fearful
eye frost while May acknowledged my tie stripes with indigo talons. "You love
*herrr*--" May solemnly croaked. I switched from studying a crimson table
digit to examining mournful floor checks.
In all honesty (hindsight being 20/20 and all), I knew May was probably right.
I could even admit that the old fart behind me had a decent point (and
experience). But, the most important idea (to *me*) was the view that Chloe
wasn't right for me. I mean, the thought that I didn't love her (or that it
mattered)-- how interesting. I'm not sure I ever considered that possibility
until May bothered to point it out. Me and my girlfriend had plenty of lustful
sexual experiences like the ol' lab jab. But honestly, I wasn't exactly sure
if the two of us could even stand each other. I eventually concluded-- perhaps
I should conduct an experiment and find out.
My tan shoe hide parked cocoa slacks and lemon trunk silk beside oak door
varnish. I tipped ivory sipping plastic against my lips using cardboard
buffered fingertips. I separated The Creamatory's angel artwork flask from
dissapointed walnut cheeks. I searched my cup's crimson facial arcs and
dropped the pitiful brew in a trashcan. I bypassed dual port covers by tugging
a brass treated grip slat with my right hand. I followed gold and ruby spotted
tile coal to a splintery table catering Dr. Meeks.
Aged dining husk grated my lanky lady's pine wrist velvet and plum spotted
digits. Silk pleats parted an armless geranium and leaf print shading her high
waist denim. Dr. Meeks' left bicep cedar suspended a toppled martini glass
above her hip denim. Ozone eyes topped Dr. Meeks' cheek birch above her
popcorn nose cap and lip rubies. Chestnut scalp fluffs framed my baby's
angular face limestone and shoulder satin. Thigh mousse sandpaper crowded knee
pine chair frays dangling blueberry calf tubas. Cherry vinyl instep rims
flaunted eggplant talon duos and topped flashy heel spikes. Dr. Meeks' stacked
ankle custard hooked a bar stool dowel with ruby arch supports. My tipsy gal
dribbled femur linen with juniper gin and wrinkled curious eye frames.
"I thhhought you were getting some coffee," my bitchy lady fumbled past claret
lips. I scooted rustic chair oak beyond a martini floor puddle and mounted a
seat tower.
"mmMay-- wouldn't *make* it for me," I grumbled using disgusted mouth frames.
"So of course, it wasn't pulled right. And, it tasted like shit." I noticed
Dr. Meeks skimming eye flap rose petals with irritated, baby blue irises. I
watched her ogle olive gin, glass drops and decided to indulge my arabica
advisor. "You know, I was thinking about this science festival," I zealously
shared. "It's gonna be *near* here in a couple of days. And, I was thinking
about going." The spiteful maiden scanned my excited cheek caramel like I was
a complete lunatic.
"Oh, greayyyt--" Dr. Meeks groaned across sarcastic speech pomegranates. "So
we're gonna be, like-- running a lemonade stand at some comic book
convention?" It was odd that my girlfriend assumed I was recruiting *her* for
my social venture. After all, I never mentioned the word "we".
"Wellll--" I adventurously croaked. "I've been thinking about Harry a lot,
lately." I scanned my disappointed ladylove's sky tinted pupil facets and
siphoned a breath. "*I* think Harry's very special. And, I think the world
would like to meet him." Dr. Meeks furrowed skeptical brow bark and wrinkled
her limestone nasal asparagus.
"You meeean-- your little rat?" my intoxicated shmoopy carelessly blathered.
"Like-- the little *white* one you're always carrying around, lately?"
"Yeah," I fired between grinning digestive seals. "I'd like to show him off, a
little bit. I think people would get a kick--"
"The cccommittee-- would be fuckin' furious!" Dr. Meeks hacked across pissy
vocal streaks. "What are you even--"
"The committee may not go for that," I considerately interrupted. "*I*
understand that. I would have to get permission--"
"What're you-- fffuckin' retarded??" my inebriated baby-cakes mindlessly
drooled. I scanned Dr. Meeks' raging cheek cedar and noted a result regarding
mutual leisure. I thought about Dr. Sykes-- and realized that she would
probably *love* the idea. I was reminded of the other morning when she and I
were scoping out my laboratory. The gorgeous, carrot haired geneticist
basically *mirrored* the same passions as me. And meanwhile, I was
(apparently) begging an insidious nitwit to tolerate my needs. What the hell
was I doing with my life?
"Sometimes, I wonder about that," I wisely vocalized beside my upright index
finger. I catapulted tan shoe leather along amber and ruby coal specks, then
reset my chair. Dr. Meeks examined my departing lemon and espresso body silk
using pissy eye ozone.
"Uhh-- where the fuck are *you* going??" the skank demanded using cherry lip
wax.
"I'm gonna go-- get some different coffee," I explained above daisy deltoid
linen. Dr. Meeks stowed her sipping cone and sprouted indigo talons beside
velvet biceps.
"Wahh?" my lanky gal fumbled between rubbery mouth seals. "Well, where at--??"
"Some that doesn't taste like shit," I passively appended. My bewildered
colleague watched me bypass polished door oak and shuffled wiry fists.
"Well-- FUCK you, then!" Dr. Meeks belted across musty bar gasses. "Oh, my
Gahhd!" An ominous thunderclap like a pitched bowling ball penetrated cleaved
pub gates. The bitch didn't seem to appreciate that I was employing "coffee"
as a euphemism. Back at the lab, a gloomy ambiance plagued murky rodent cages
and dim work tables. Languid thirteen hybrids resembling pale squash conspired
near the corner of a pen. Observant ocular blueberries populated the eerie
chimeras' invasive face coconut. Whisker sprinklers framed carnation snouts
above arm stumps eclipsing apple hips.
Rain soaked window glass overlooked slate and lilac cloud towers like pocket
lint. Charcoal precipitation pillars scorched peacock canopy by discharging
teal ion forks. Foreboding afternoon rays pierced damp crystal and profiled
plastic display vents. The cathode lattice cream melded a phosphor image frame
and topped a computer case. Ivory electron imprints forged a flashing chiclet
beside a lengthy terminal command. The plasma seared message read "smash-2.1$
ftp fire-breathing-dragon.gov/site/35598".
Harry's champagne peepers refracted lighted characters scarring screen
graphite. The hybrid varmint's mozzarella cheek sprouts refracted porcelain
voxel radiation. Harry's felt auditory dishes repeated rose petal hues behind
peaceful whiskers. His brief upper limbs dangled strawberry sprinkle fingers
beside love handle fleece. His carrot segmented tail salmon cuddled cranberry
heels sprouting bacon bit toes. Ivory glints tapered asphalt key caps
embedding pearl casing beyond Harry's ass worm. Tangerine storm flashes
ignited steel switch tops and petroleum television grates. Electrical pressure
waves like speeding jets cracked aquifer blasted air currents.
Harry crunched an L-shaped return switch using right hand palm meat like ham
steak. Harry's cursor deposited "ftp connect to 39.17.27.91" and prompted for
a username. Harry patted frosty letter tops with his tiny hands and entered
"Elvis Presley". The porcelain chimera's terminal asked for a password and
received ten key strikes. Harry hammered "list" using meager rodent graspers
and sifted quartz display output. The label "assets" manifested below
"antique" and above "bank-statements". My coconut sprinkled lab inhabitant
crunched "list assets" and tapped "return". The inquiry revealed
"rocket-35355, rocket-35359, rocket-35362, and rocket-35367".
Harry used eraser dust fingers to sink a control button and batter an "A"
paddle. He detached from a thread by tapping a "D" cap and fed "vent -r 26598"
to a shell. "list assets" retrieved "rocket-26434, rocket-26439, rocket-26441,
rocket-26442, rocket-26444, and rocket-26451". Harry studied ivory character
pixels and dropped the alternate ftp session as well. He jumped on a different
process by entering "vent -r 12598" and ran "list assets". The third vent spit
out "rocket-12559, rocket-12562, rocket-12563, rocket-12565, rocket-12567,
rocket-12577, rocket-12578, rocket-12579, and rocket-12585".
Harry entered "help" and spotted an entry named "launch-assets" among the
output. Harry siphoned frosty lab gasses using devious mouth flaps the size of
peas. The curious critter smacked "launch-assets" using palm ham and sank a
return switch. My lab's cathode ray display constructed "rocket-12559 code: "
and awaited input. Turquoise plasma explosions flickered plastic mesh encasing
Harry's hefty monitor. Harry stopped the command by typing "control-C" and
tried "list bank-statements".
Plain text files named "account" with matching rocket numbers sparked
phosphor. Harry keyed "puts account-12559.txt" and scanned data written to his
display. Boring account transactions taxed Harry's kiwi eyes and ended with
"ytd: $1,299.73". Harry tried "launch-assets" again and entered "129973" for
rocket 12559's code. More porcelain characters scorched tinted glass and
prompted Harry for a location. Harry embedded belly fluff with chest and
deltoid parmesan, then folded his arms. The somber varmint tapped his
thoughtful butt snake in front of carnation heel hide.
"How in-ter-est-ing--" Harry hooted past bugle voice ridges.
Chapter 4: "The Signs Are all Clear"
,------------------------------------------------------------------------------,
| |
| Perfection is the model of the ruling elite. The most dominant beings |
| idolize brute force and integrity for the forging of a better utopia. As |
| forceful oppressors, top minds wrangle violent desires from lesser |
| organisms by stripping them of detestable distractions. Priorities and |
| deadlines above all else. |
| |
'------------------------------------------------------------------------------'
Wrecking ball thunder interrupted pouring rain chaos beating Dr. Sykes'
shingles. The sour vixen sank lumbar sofa teal with scapula dough expanding
elastic shirt soot. Lilac and ozone gizmos forged an "SIS" header with a
reverse "S" and an oblong frame. Vinyl ivory labeled more pastel art "dandy
rage device" and forged add-on logo cells. "dandy", "rage", and "device" wove
six "SIS" boxes along Dr. Sykes' pleated arm coal. The grim doe's neck cream
exited linen frays and paraded copper spoked fudge leather. Neon hair crowded
glum lip ham, melon chin silk, and flush hide lining dewy eye jade. Dr. Sykes'
hip and calf gelatin packed peach cream flannel embedding seaweed canvas.
Sleeve graphite cuddled lounging finger quartz flaunting bronze hoops and ruby
claws. Amber felt crowned facing, cherry foot talons gouging rug claret under
umber jewelry.
Label curd marked an olive green bottle along Ms. Sykes' polished, den table
oak. Sipping bulb, stem crystal braced frosty wine above cola drawer faces and
ale grips. My gloomy peer's drink base refracted mango can plastic and a
mousse topper, nearby. "Sykes, Mary" charred cyan tape above pearl label,
digit slate reading "HYDROCODONE". The vacant ginger packed her palm custard
with tablet starch stamped "201" and "U|U". She fumbled digit gumdrops and
opposable ring bronze while considering her motives. Dr. Sykes was startled by
a memory of Harry's whiskers cuddling her cherry thumbnail. She recalled
searching my captivated precipice caramel with sparkling eye emeralds.
"You're smi-ling," the bubbly research dutchess remembered curiously
remarking. She visualized my attentive pupil seawater scanning her facial
cream and mango locks.
"You make me smile, Mary," Dr. Sykes replayed using my recollected lip ham. My
glowing cohort stared into space and sliced cheek onions with grateful mouth
arcs. She ditched poppy drops in her peach flask with quaking quill rubies and
sealed it. She guided plantar porcelain skimming amber skirt checks beside
chrome shelf grates. Lime orb, magma lamp bottles and pin stuck, face wax
lacerations graced wire storage. Morbid, horror film letters ornamented worn
case vinyl beside tarmac video metal. "Edgar Allan Poe" and "HP Lovecraft"
marked elegant book spines near newer fiction. Soot screen speaker boxes
walled baby blue digit lights serving five disc steel coal. Dr. Sykes embedded
rosy throw carpet with twin walking pads and mashed a play switch.
The ginger doe heard hardwood grating pavement, then a high pitched motor
starting. She savored guitar samples cycle "eee-ahh-eee-ahh" four times while
dropping pitch. Mae McVeigh (Dr. Sykes' shock rock soulmate) crafted grim
phrases with languid moans. "Good Gahhd, can ya stop and take a long look at
your-sehhlf? Good Gahhd, would you tear your flesh down off them crooked
boarrrds?" Dr. Sykes smeared saline drops scorching her eyes and sipped
fermented grape juice. "I heard the ammo-- go whizzing by," Mae McVeigh
snarled during distorted bass pumps. "I heard the peo-ple say they want me to
dieee--"
My gofer poised mopey tip-toes and buried mango pill plastic in kitchen cubby
cedar. Living room raps spun Ms. Sykes' pupil emeralds above Seven Inch Spikes
bicep logos. The jolted liquor sampler swept coffee and cream floor frost and
scanned a peep-hole. Dr. Sykes hoisted frantic cheek ivory above deltoid coal
and expelled a shaky breath. She fumbled icy doorknob tarnish and skimmed
heavy showers enclosing a shady visitor.
"What're *you* doing here?" my nervous geneticist cautiously inquired. I
employed Dr. Sykes' cozy porch by tying umbrella licorice with lemon lashed
digits. I leaned my rain cloak by khaki cocoa and shoe honey, then probed my
host's eye jade.
"You mind if I come in?" I pled using hopeful ocular pleats and friendly lip
salmon. The keen red-head skimmed my clover tie stripes and scalp soot, then
tugged her door. She gripped her "SIS" elbow pitch with antsy nail rubies and
tamped an excited smile.
"Why are you at my house, Ted?" Dr. Sykes warmly demanded before sipping her
wine.
"I *had* to see you," I desperately conceded, triggering rubbery mouth meat.
"W-Why??" my mango haired colleague extracted from cracking vocal ridges. I
split walnut cheeks with sighing speech arcs and breached Dr. Sykes' threshold.
"You *know* why."
"Do I?" Dr. Sykes probed underneath custard forehead crumples.
"So I've hearrrd," I humbly fired at my ginger host's claret sipping precipice
ivory.
"C-lose my doh-oor!" Dr. Sykes passed between chuckling lip hams. I indulged
my carrot stranded cohort's request and pointed out her adorable neckwear.
"*That's* a cool choker. I-- love it!" I cheerfully shared. "You *never* wear
things like that at work." Dr. Sykes skimmed spike pennies gripping her throat
ivory with flattered nail rubies.
"You *like* this, huh?" the curious vixen proudly prodded. "I never-- I don't
usually put on these types of things when I go out. I'm not sure it's 'work'
appropriate."
"Is this-- Mae McVeigh?" I addressed using excited face pleats.
"yyYes--" the ginger dutchess passed across grinning mouth salmon. Dr. Sykes
sampled fermented grapes and sprang impatient brows eclipsing pupil jade. "Are
you gonna-- tell me why you're herrre? Or, not??" the tickled hen demanded.
"Why do you-- *think* I came here?" I shyly prompted. The nervous geneticist
scanned my ocular pool water and siphoned musty house gasses.
"I'm hhhoping you're gonna kiss me," Dr. Sykes reluctantly disclosed. My
host's keen words took a lot of moxie to admit-- which made my heart skip a
beat.
"Well, you hope right," I admitted with smiling speech seals. I lifted Dr.
Sykes' ample hiny plaid beyond my pecks and devoured her joyous lips. The rosy
maven drilled my oral meat and enjoyed stout digits tearing her thigh putty. I
embedded the tigress' couch teal and savored her ruby talons plowing my scalp
coal. I watched her down crimson brew, then ditch a crystal flask along her
coffee table. Dr. Sykes' shirt pitch booty wrap settled peach flannel
cordoning cream foot pleats. She panted and relished me peeling Seven Inch
Spikes coal from her tits and wrists. I kneaded mammary bulbs occupying
pillowy plantain jugs and wadded nipple meatballs. My curvy host stretched her
tummy pudding and vented leather strapped aorta quartz. She tilled my temple
soot before loosening my tie and popping lemon rib silk buttons.
"Jeee-sus, Ted," the sherbet stranded vixen fervently aspirated. Dr. Sykes
caressed my rib steak and siphoned walnut gristle below granite chest felt.
She wadded my bicep steel with daisy sleeves and nuzzled ab ridges with cheek
velvet. "Ahh, fuhhhck--" my ginger geneticist graciously expelled. I grazed
Dr. Sykes' supple arm satin and hoisted her hiny dough above calf pommelos. I
stripped her hip checks and found cyan waist stripes binding sun face panty
cotton. "D-Didn't realize you were coming by," the pale hen injected between
radiant cackles. I chuckled while freeing heel butter from apricot pants and
sanded plush booty linen.
"I liiike them granny panties," I eagerly disclosed. "Didn't you know?" Dr.
Sykes tipped noggin mango towards her scapula cream and shared delightful
clucks. I kissed narrow rib ivory topping navel cavern, flank bulges and
clawed hip dough. I steamrolled water balloon jugs using excited lips and
gnawed areola salmon rubber.
"Ahh, Gahhd--" the porcelain researcher ravenously grunted. "Can we-- go to my
bedroom, please??" I heaved the feral dame's trunk yogurt across my deltoid
veal and mounted rug claret. "Whoa-- shit!" my startled companion belted
between lip hams. I tossed Dr. Sykes' lavish limb quartz and body curves along
velvet quilt charcoal. I watched her implant blanket wrinkles with joint
pearls while adoring warm laughter. I sifted grinning cheek ivory and followed
her spinal seam to an anarchy tramp stamp. I reeled my enamored partner using
velvet ankle knobs and examined her kidney tattoo. Cheddar and wine flames
topped ink licorice marking her tuchus incline, lumbar basin.
"I had-- no idea you had that," I affectionately commented. "That's fuckin'
awesome!" Dr. Sykes smiled above her shoulder buttermilk and pedaled
anticipatory plantar silk.
"I had that done in my 'wilder' days," the beaming doe recalled during a brow
nudge.
"Well, *I* think it's really cool," I cheerfully acknowledged. "It's
flattering. It suits you." Dr. Sykes mobilized breast softball rotaries using
ruby claws and pried my belt rust.
"Are you gonna-- talk about my tattoos, Ted?" my curvy companion implored.
"Or, are you gonna show me *yours*?" I scanned Dr. Sykes' carrot swept cue
ball cheeks and grazed her rear scalp confetti.
"I don't have any--" The fixated maid unlatched my pecker rock and gazed at me
while packing her lip arcs. "Aww, fahhhck--" I croaked using captivated vocal
streaks. The feral vixen reamed her salivating tongue grit with my iron cock
until she choked. I tore Dr. Sykes' mango cranium spokes and shoved cola
throat studs beyond her heels. I snatched smiley waist stripes and shuffled
ivory drawers across her leg porridge. I freed the fiery countess' nail
cherries before discarding my shoe and khaki coffee. I invaded her buttermilk
thighs and fondled pussy velvet bolstering amber pubic felt. The lustful
red-head guided my digits along her syrupy apex dot and arched her back.
"Haaa!" my geneticist feverishly yelped while burrowing mattress foam with her
skull. I mashed the enchanted harlot's vagina ratchet and gobbled her
porcelain breast pulp. Dr. Sykes sank my hips with her calf melons and grated
ankle hair with rosy talons. She tugged with dire knees, urging me to grip her
waist oatmeal and bury my weenie. I hammered the sherbet haired dame's
delectable hind hock with graphite pelvic coils. I observed my adorable
mistress wadding raven bedding and pleating gratified eyelids. Dr. Sykes
muffled orgasm shrills escaping her leather banded airway with wild digits. I
pounded my pale host's shivering uterine chute and filled her with thoughtless
cum.
"Ahh! Ahh! Ahhhh!" I belted from startled windpipe serrations. Euphoric
reality came crashing down on me, causing me to claw nervous grin salmon. "I
hope it was-- alright to blow my load." My tickled bed companion masked
adoring laughter below cherry tipped cream fingers.
"I *have* an I-U-Deeee!" Dr. Sykes reassuringly wailed.
"Heh-- I-I couldn't help it!" I exclaimed before burying cheek amber in palm
leather.
"Sah-ah-rry!" the apologetic vixen huffed between joyful giggles.
"I can't believe I just *did* that!" I excitedly shared.
"It's fiiine--" Dr. Sykes hummed between grinning speech hams. "I mean--
unless you're gonna give me your crotch rot." I evaded the ivory countess'
gorgeous eye emeralds and sloshed passive digit dowels.
"Ah-- just some crabs," I carelessly responded. "*You* know--"
"ssShut the fuck up!" my darling researcher squeezed between radiant chuckles.
I tipped scalp graphite between my muscular scapulas and shared jolly
chortles. I examined Dr. Sykes' mango topped face cream and enjoyed rain
pelting her windows. "What-- made you *come* here, Ted?" the glowing dutchess
delicately pried. I shook my head while extracting my pecker, then snuggled
Dr. Sykes' shoulder dairy.
"I just-- wanted to be with you," I conceded while nuzzling my mistress' cheek
cream. "That's the only thing I *knew* for sure." My ginger crony sprang
tender brows and collected my fingers along her hip cellulite.
"You-- wanted to rush over here and fuck my brains out??" Dr. Sykes asked
during a thunderclap. I fumbled a thoughtless chuckle and admired sarcastic
lyrics gracing the living room.
"Well, I didn't-- necessarily come here to do *that*," I meticulously
recollected. The ivory angel expelled a joyful laugh and bundled our body
curves with velvet soot. "*Totally* lost control of myself. My Gahhd--" I
burrowed exhausted eye flaps and enjoyed gentle nail rubies sifting my hair
coal.
"Are you o-kayyy?" Dr. Sykes affectionately implored. I greeted pupil jade
with a grateful smile and packed our necks with blanket fleece.
"*I'm* greeeat," I victoriously declared. "I think that was-- the best thing
that's ever happened to me." The captivated damsel scanned my ocular teal and
creased cheek billiards with a grin. "I'm sorry. I-- I don't know *what* I--"
"It *is* great" Dr. Sykes blissfully agreed. The cheerful goddess scanned
meringue ceiling enamel and released a satisfied breath. "I, uh-- I wasn't
expecting *you* to come by my house tonight. I'll tell you *that*." I
searched lemon embossed characters titling bubble gum poster enamel "BIRD
BRAINS". Ink coal depicted lengthy hair crowding bicep velvet framing a grim
young lady's top. A menacing serpent coiled calf curves beside flower petals
spanning her lower thigh. Digit coal labeled different banner quartz
"DOWNBEATS" above grayscale photography. Thin cheek cream sprayed tobacco
fumes beside tank top ivory draping frail shoulders. Bony digits clawed
clavicle silk and pointed cigarette ash above distant heat grates. Other rock
music banners littering indigo wall paint made me smile and shake my head.
"*May* convinced me to come see you," I shared with appreciative face caramel.
I sifted cheek cream embedding Dr. Sykes' chin length scalp mango above cover
pleats. "My friend from the coffee shop?"
"Oh-- *she* told you to come to my house," the reflective vixen responded.
"Well, first she told me what an idiot I am," I gravely recalled. "For like--
thirty minutes." Dr. Sykes vibrated my ribs with enchanting laughter departing
her joyful neck quartz. "And then, she finally got around to making her
point. Yeah." The red-headed pixie searched my precipice amber with
infatuated ocular emeralds.
"You're not an idiot, Ted," my cheerful cohort commented. I considered Dr.
Sykes' kind words while rehashing that morning's reckless decisions.
"After what I did at work?" I grievingly probed.
"Why did you *do* that?" my cover companion curiously inquired. "On your
table, like that? With the door open??"
"I don't knowww," I fumbled between regretful speech flaps. "It just-- kinda
happened."
"Did Ch-loe come in and start something? Is that what happened?"
"Well, Chloeee--" I vacantly blathered. "Chloe came stomping in-- acting like
a bitch like she does. And then, she-- randomly starts coming on to me.
Yeah."
"Why did you order that lab work?" Dr. Sykes requisitioned using curious face
pleats.
"You mean the folder you dropped off?"
"Yeah," my inquisitive mattress companion returned. I skimmed enamel ceiling
dairy with optical seawater before responding with a shrug.
"I-- didn't."
"You *didn't*?" Dr. Sykes skeptically probed.
"I was really *confused* when I picked up the folder you brought and had a
look," I earnestly explained. The carrot stranded pixie kicked around dreary
thoughts and crumpled cheddar brows.
"Did-- Chloe request it?" my porcelain cohort implored under fidgeting eye
emeralds.
"Did you find a request for it?" I followed up. "In your box??"
"Yesss--" Dr. Sykes ominously hissed while rocking disgusted cheek quartz. I
sifted tactful, upper eyelids and folded forehead caramel with conclusive brow
tar.
"Well, it wasn't *me*," I passed through sincere speech salmon.
"Oh, Jeez--" my mortified geneticist dragged across raging vocal striations.
"So, *Chloe* typed the request?"
"Well, who ehhhlse??" Dr. Sykes fired at my shriveled eye frames. "Oh, my
Gahhd--"
"But, whyyy??" I reasoned with dumbfounded facial cream soda. Dr. Sykes probed
my pool water visual drops and furrowed sarcastic brow tangerines.
"Tehhhd-- come on," my emerald sighted mermaid hatefully hooted.
"Wahhht??" I vacuously droned. "I don't understahhnd--"
"She *wanted* me to come by and catch you guyyys," the impatient princess
persisted.
"But, what the hell forrr??" I sarcastically snarled. "I mean-- what's *that*
gonna accomplish?"
"So she could-- rub that shit in my FACE, Ted," the agitated dutchess snarked.
"Are you serious??"
"Why would that-- What's *that* got to do with anything?" I thoughtlessly
jabbered.
"It was pretty-- GOD DAMN INFURIATING to run that lab work and bring you the
results--" Dr. Sykes tapped stuffy gasses using sensible nose spigots and
expelled calming heat. "And then, find you two-- porkin' on your lab table
with the door wide open. You know?"
"So, she was-- trying to drive you away from me?" I forged with delicate speech
hams. "By having you show up while we're getting it on in the lab??"
"I-- guess??" the considerate vixen passed across upturned lip arcs. I
contemplated my fiery mistress' understandable concerns and ferocious demeanor.
"Well, *that* back-fired," I joyously highlighted. "I mean, if anything-- it
brought us closer together." Overwhelming grin artifacts pleated Dr. Sykes'
victorious billiard ball cheeks.
"That-- That's *true*, isn't it?" my glowing hostess gratefully acknowledged.
I shared smiling lips and shrugged while watching Dr. Sykes muffle excited
laughter. The attentive countess steadied ominous facial custard and paraded
grim pupil jade. "What are you gonna do?"
"Well first, I'm gonna dump her," I confidently clarified. "And then, I'm
gonna fire her." My cunning sidekick crumpled mortified forehead pudding and
siphoned a startled huff.
"Jeez, what a-- terrible day," the ginger vixen grievously shared.
"Well honestly, I don't think she's gonna be very upset if I dump her," I
explained.
"You *don't*?" Dr. Sykes ominously prodded.
"After the way she was acting this afternoon?" I disclosed with blase cheek
caramel. "When I told her about-- You-- You keep asking me why I came here.
You seriously don't know?"
"How would *I* know?" my carrot capped cohort dubiously pried. At *that*
point, I ended my "experiment" by sharing my thoughts about the convention.
And, I asked Dr. Sykes if she was at all moved by the prospect of showcasing
Harry. And, the glittering siren responded pretty much the way I figured she
would.
"Well-- Well, it sounds great!" Dr. Sykes beamed. "I *love* that idea! Can
*I* go with you?" Relieving precipice tendons lifted the points of my lips and
wrung a joyous breath.
"Exactly," I harmoniously hooted. "You-- really want to be in a relationship
with me, *don't* you?"
"Yesss--" my colorful companion graciously expelled. "*Yes*, I wanna be in a
relationship with you." I grazed the buttermilk dutchess' mango scalp silk and
shared a satisfied aspiration.
"Well, that-- sounds great to *me*," I responded using optimistic vocal
streaks. "I-- wanna be in a relationship with *you*."
"I *love* you," Dr. Sykes brazenly declared across attentive lip salmon. I
evaluated my gorgeous researcher's bold comment and broadcasted a cautious
smirk.
"I love you toooo, Mary," I thoughtlessly exchanged. The tickled dame sprouted
arm cream from cover licorice and squeezed my cozy neck. "I absolutely adore
you-- so much," I confessed while culling Dr. Sykes' bicep silk. "I'm-- really
sorry it took me so long to *see* that. That it took my friend, who's a
complete stranger to you-- to point it out to me. It's pretty pathetic." My
ivory princess scanned me with eye emeralds while I scoured yogurt ceiling
paint.
"Are you okay, Ted?" the fascinated geneticist curiously prodded.
"I just realized-- I've never told Chloe I love her, before," I wrangled from
analytical lip salmon.
"Now, that-- *That's* pathetic," Dr. Sykes shared using sympathetic cheek
buttermilk. "That may be the saddest thing I've ever *heard*." The tender
vixen brushed temple slate near my iris teal with ruby tipped digit pupas.
"Has she-- ever said she loves *you*?" I examined Dr. Sykes' custard face
billiards and crumpled sarcastic brow charcoal.
"Have you *met* her??" I demanded with disgusted precipice caramel. The
tickled vixen expelled clucks between enticing chiclets tearing her mouth ham.
"What was I THINK-ing?" my glowing colleague jokingly conferred. Dr. Sykes
steadied grapefruit tits above blanket felt and sifted cerebral cobwebs. "She
brings out the worst in you, Ted," my philosophical companion reflected. "Do
you know that?" The mindful vixen's remark reminded me of teasing her for not
knowing what a 1-up is.
"Oh, fahhhck--" I croaked using regretful vocal striations. "I'm so sorry,
Mary." Dr. Sykes crumpled her celery olfactory chute and shrugged oblivious
shoulder cream.
"Huh? For what??" the sherbet stranded damsel vacantly requisitioned.
"For-- what I was saying to Chloe the other day?" I cautiously reminisced.
"When you were standing in the hallwayyy--??"
"Uhhh--" my fuzzy counterpart expelled using vacant voice streaks.
"About the fuckin'-- coffee 1-up??" I cheerfully clarified.
"Oh, fuhhck youuu--" the ginger doe extracted from half serious precipice
pleats. I dispatched relieving chuckles between my lips and sloshed
sympathetic finger amber.
"Chloe always had this way of-- pulling words--"
"I *have* played video games before, you knowww!" Dr. Sykes hooted past playful
cheeks.
"You-- Like wahhht??" I sarcastically demanded. "Something that didn't have
a-- 1-*up* in it, obviously--"
"Like that game Q-uest??" my ginger mistress passed across smirking mouth
seals.
"It's--" I haplessly blathered before crumpling curious brow coal. "You say
it's called-- 'Quest'?"
"Ahhh-- look who doesn't know every name of every video game ever mayyyde--"
"Ah, fffuck you," I wrangled from frisky speech arcs. "What *is* it??" Dr.
Sykes scanned my eye teal with satisfied pupil jade and nodded proud face
quartz.
"I may not remember every feature of every video game ever playyyed--" The
boastful dutchess sprang pumpkin brow marks eclipsing her emerald ocular
glints. "Like a fuckin'-- 'one uhhhp'!"
"Ahh, fuhhhck--" I solemnly snarled while capsizing pool water cornea
droplets. Dr. Sykes formed a bubbly smirk and nestled my neck gristle with
mango temple fluffs.
"It's a text based game," the adoring princess jubilantly explained.
"Ohh-kayyy--?" I groaned using curious visage caramel.
"You get a message--" Dr. Sykes hummed between salmon speaking seams. "You get
nooo hints or any idea about what to do. You gotta-- figure out what commands
are available and solve problems."
"Ahh, I seeee--" I doubtingly croaked.
"nnNever played it before, have you??" my hostess forged with victorious mouth
meat.
"yyYou-- I--" my thoughtless lip hams mindlessly jabbered. "N-No, I've never
*played* that game before. Never *heard* of it."
"All-right, then," my gorgeous counterpart brashly concluded. "*Now*, we know
who's who and what's what on the video game situation--"
"Ohh, my Gahhhd--" I interjected using half-serious vocal ridges. Dr. Sykes
flaunted joyous facial ivory, then paused to lick reflective speech seals.
"I used to *love* playing Quest," my glowing sidekick continued. "I played it
on my mom's computer a lot when she took me to work during the summer."
"Yeah?" I purred between captivated lip arcs. "That's interesting."
"Her desktop had-- just a terminal interface," Dr. Sykes fondly shared. "I
played so much, I memorized all the little parts of the game. And, I got to
where-- it was too easy for me. And so, I learned about writing assembly.
And, I wrote my *own* version for everybody to try out." Picturing my ginger
cohort as a girl at work with her momma triggered my memory.
"That reminds me-- will you drive me to work, tomorrow?" I curiously beamed.
"You didn't *drive* here?" Dr. Sykes inquired underneath surprised ocular
pleats.
"It felt wrong to me-- running off and leaving Chloe without the car," I
explained. I rolled cynical pupil ozone and shook the irritating broad's
avatar from my mind. "She's probably too drunk to drive it, any-wayyy--"
"Of course I'll drive you to work," my pale mistress passed across grinning lip
hams. I hoisted velvet comforter coal snagging my geneticist's leather choker
spike bronze. I scanned enticing drumstick custard and areola mounds topping
gelatin chest sacks. "What are you-- do-eeeng??" Dr. Sykes excitedly squealed.
"Let me see that tramp stamp," I dubiously demanded. "I don't be-lieeeve that
thing is real." Dr. Sykes brandished flustered ocular limes along strawberry
flushed face billiards.
"You-- wanna check *that* out?" my pale cohort challenged with aspirating
airways. The savory vixen sifted an oak bedside drawer and tossed grape tagged
bottle crystal. She braced mattress tar with trembling talon cherries erecting
finger and toe copper. I searched hiny kickballs eclipsing anklet tarnish and
found my lady's carnal cheeks. "Pound me in the ASS--" The lustful lioness
huffed a shaky breath beyond peach and rose glitzed anarchy soot. "You can--
look at it all you want--"
"You want *that* of all things--" I dallied while scanning gold "Astrolube"
digits.
"I luhhhve being butt-fucked," the primal hen hummed while clawing sheet
graphite. "It's so in-TENSE--"
"Chloe never *asked* me to-- pack her shit," I recalled using wrinkled visual
frames.
"She probably doesn't *like* it--" Dr. Sykes advised while nesting tulip foot
pleats.
"Maybe my-- pecker's too small," I trivialized while frosting my pelvic
sausage.
"*That* thing is nahhht small--" the joyful maiden shared beside anxious bicep
cream.
"Really?" I probed with humble precipice caramel. "I always felt like Chloe
didn't think it was big enough--"
"Ted, STICK it in my *ass*!" the porcelain dutchess ordered using antsy lip
arcs. I squeezed Dr. Sykes' hip custard and hammered her tush gelatin with my
bony crotch. My oscillating anus stuffer wrangled frantic squawks from her
rowdy speech salmon. The eager hen guided my fingers between her rear scalp
spokes before I formed a fist. "AHH! AHH! AHH!" the fiery goddess expelled
using hysterical precipice quartz. Marshmallow tires crowded twin door vomit
securing my penis shaped lab building. Lightning flared pinstripe checks
topping lemon body curves and batwing rear fenders. Dr. Meeks' chestnut scalp
lint departed dome cabin steel parading a dim taxi banner. My princess braced
asphalt with plum talon peep toes riding cherry heel spikes. Rain soaked the
lanky wench's leafy geranium blouse ruffles and knee torn calf bells.
"Keep the-- fuckin' change!" the minx yelped while hurling cash with bicep
pine.
"Are you-- nuts??" a husky driver barked while Dr. Meeks steadied indigo tuba
denim.
"Have some-- bar take *your* car keys!" the bitch blared during a thunder
crack. "See how *you* like it!!"
"Ohh-- get over it," the stout cabby grumbled under checkered hat hair spokes.
"You don't have to drink everything *in* the--"
"Shut the-- fuck up," my tipsy damsel belched while kicking her door closed.
Dr. Meeks scooted canopy blasted hall tiles with discarded shoe rubies and
shivered. She swatted cheek mascara and hair mud with eggplant claws while
foyer steel seated. She scanned pitch gasses with hazy vision ozone and
sloshed icy rain droplets. "Where the-- fffuck am I?" the inebriated vixen
blathered with rubber lip salmon. "wwWork?" Dr. Meeks ditched poppy purse
vinyl and traced plasma seared tile with plantar steak. Thunder rattled tinted
panes above coal clouded wall blocks contouring distant light. My slender lady
skimmed murky tile spots flooring my laboratory with raisin toe caps. She
diffused pixel ivory with bony cheeks and spotted rodent curd marking table
soot.
"ssSo--" the vacant research dweller hatefully slurred. "*You're* what Ted
finds so-- God damn interesting, huh??"
"No, Doctor Meeks," Harry's bugle voice presented my damsel's delicate ear
ridges. Hefty textbooks jolted the dozy hen's rear scalp rust and flailed her
flaccid limbs. Harry overlooked dormant foot pleats and bicep cream with
chartreuse peeper glints. "*I* am."
Chapter 5: "Good for the Goose"
,------------------------------------------------------------------------------,
| |
| The underclass conform to the whims of nefarious puppeteers. They retain a |
| silent awareness regarding the futility of their efforts to impart change. |
| Ethical obligations become the motivators of rebellion and insurrection. |
| What was rooted in humble kindness becomes malevolent retribution-- a |
| testament to the primitive nature of life itself. |
| |
'------------------------------------------------------------------------------'
May hoisted iced cherry danish slats beyond steel display racks with blueberry
claws. Pitch maryjane spikes braced tar and ivory hiny houndstooth above clay
floor checks. Wicker hair rust and cheek quartz topped almond fleece packing
May's raspberry apron. Hazel peepers riding claret blush skimmed spicy buns
before placing drizzled pastry. The dutiful coffee brewer's dainty ear spirals
detected bell chimes across the store. May searched shutter yardsticks
cleaving dawn rays among long glass tiling door oak. Cheery dialog escaping
mine and Dr. Sykes' lips caused May to capsize fiery eye gold.
Dr. Sykes bedded maple chess ceramic with cocoa heel blocks parading honey shoe
rims. Milk and wine sock marks inset cropped trouser coffee bundling the
siren's leg dough. Cola hems lined amber sleeve crystal frosting arm and neck
dairy above tube top teal. My bubbly colleague scanned brass eye flaps with
iris emeralds roosting cheek claret. Speech radishes formed an apex above
chatty chiclets uprooting Dr. Sykes' nose olive.
The vivid dutchess flaunted her flashy outfit with strawberry capped digit
gumdrops. She swept precipice yogurt with mango temple strands during a
distant thunder strike. Tie graphite buried button quartz fastening silk
salmon below my crisp collar points. Copper britches wadded footwear licorice
I fondly swept beside Dr. Sykes' gold kicks. I greeted May with teal peepers
under scalp coal in front of a grim, silver canopy. I dangled umbrella slate
by raspberry bag leather perching my cohort's tarmac slacks.
"Looks like-- maybe I was *right*, a little bit?" May huffed across fiery lip
roses. I scanned Dr. Sykes' ocular chlorophyll and floundered wiry, cornea
ocean droplets.
"Any chance I can just-- walk in here and grab my ristretto and go??" I
playfully retorted.
"Tehhhd!" The Creamatory's hateful arabica vixen snapped. I bobbled
considerate sight pool water and gripped my joyful sidekick's bicep peach.
"Pretty sure there's this *new* place around the corner that serves coffee--"
"Are you gonna pre-teh-end-- you didn't just walk in here with Mary??" May wove
with giggles. I sifted checkered floor, then noticed Dr. Sykes' cherry talons
grazing my knuckles.
"...you realize your friend is-- kinda the only reason i'm here right now?..."
my ginger colleague whispered.
"...well, yeahhh..." I rasped between cunning mouth hams. "...but, she's so
obnoxious when she thinks she's right..." Dr. Sykes rocked apricot shoulder
nylon framing her bewildered cheek onions. "...we gotta *fuck* with her a
little bit..." My mistress pictured May's angular face blurting "You-- like
him?!" from the counter.
"...oh, *i* seeee..." the pale countess croaked before presenting claret mouth
arcs. "You know, I just kinda-- bumped into him outside--"
"Ohh-- ssShut the fuck up!" The Creamatory's server belted from frisky lip
rubies.
"W-We were going the same way-ayyy--" Dr. Sykes fumbled during joyful clucks.
"You drove him here in your CARRR!" May blared while warmly acknowledging a
window. "I can literally *see* it-- in the parking lot across the street!"
"Oh, my Gahhhd--" I hopelessly interjected while eyeing my cinnamon topped
sidekick. "I hope I don't-- ever need you to *lie* for me--"
"You went and TALKED with her last night, just like *said*!" the coffee Nazi
shouted.
"Yes, Mayyy--" I loathsomely conceded. "I went to her house last night and
talked with her a bit. And--"
"She turned goth??" the spirited bean brewer ruthlessly interrupted. I skimmed
hopeless upper eyelids with defeated pupil teal and expelled spent gasses.
"And, this is why I don't wear these things to worrrk--" Dr. Sykes grimly
recounted. Remote storm crackles prompted my colorful companion to search her
pomegranate purse. Dr. Sykes lifted a copper stick and opened peacock umbella
tin above her mango locks.
"ssSeriously?!" May hissed under chestnut hair spokes while flashing blueberry
claws. My gorgeous comrade acknowledged me using strawberry tipped cream
fingers.
"*He* thinks it's cooool!" the glitzy countess testified. "And I do, too!"
The frisky barista shrugged almond sweater pickets and offered kind facial
points.
"It's kind of ad-or-a-ble, I guessss--"
"You're so jealous," I promptly imparted. "That's what this is *really*
about." May poised rocket print calf chutes above pitch instep straps and
folded wrist amber.
"'Jealousy'--" my sarcastic advisor regarded before pointing out sprung brow
cocoa. "*That's* what this is. Yeahhh--"
"*I* like to think I have my own style," Dr. Sykes valiantly declared. May
scanned cherry ankle streaks parting espresso slacks and elliptical shoe
scotch. She considered sweet potato bicep fog overflowing glass cleaner
mammary textile.
"Once you combine striped socks and see through tops, it's goth," May brashly
shared. My lavish acquaintance tipped rear, tangerine head sprouts and vented
radiant clucks. I gripped frosty counter steel with walnut digits and scanned
May's fiery ocular ale.
"I'll have, let's seeee--" I grumbled while my cunning servant vacated display
glass. "A triple ristretto and threeee-- do-nutsss--" May braced tarmac toe
rims and bundled my neck gristle with bronze forearm fleece. "You-- What the
fuck, May??" I blathered while cuddling the baker's ruby kidney bow.
"...you did the right thing..." the beaming espresso usher whispered.
"Oh, my Gahhd," I rambled using impatient lip salmon. "Will you-- just get my
fuckin' DO-NUTS, PLEASE?!!" May bedded my watermelon wrist silk and seared my
vision turquoise with pupil embers.
"Tehhd," my irritated comrade tactfully beseeched. I surfed rust and lemon
slats framing May's nasal asparagus and flaunted solemn eyes.
"Easiest thing I-- ever dihhd," I conjured using unsteady mouth seams. The
Creamatory's delicate coffee usher patted my chest and returned to her
register. She sighted Dr. Sykes' melon shaped face and probed her apprehensive
vision emeralds.
"The fuck do *you* want, goth girl?" May demanded using irritated emotive
traits. My mango mopped companion sloshed iris limes and followed tile checks
to the counter.
"How about a different ser-verrr?" Dr. Sykes sarcastically grumbled. The
shapely geneticist stacked apricot ulna crystal and crumpled hazy optic
frames. "What-- the hell did he just order??"
"You want the same *thing*?" May inquired using helpful speech rubies.
"mmMinus the donuts," Dr. Sykes passed between claret lip arcs. The thoughtful
mistress scanned frosty showcases behind May's caramel shoulder yarn. "Maybe--
one of *those*?" Our warm hostess examined heated display glass housing savory
omelette arrangements.
"Ohh-- actual food??" May kindly confirmed, prompting an excited nod from Dr.
Sykes.
"*Donuts* are-- actual food!" I fired from disgusted precipice pleats. May
packaged canary egg furrows using paper quartz decorated with claret angel art.
"Those little frosted, chocolate cupcakes with squiggly icing are-- technically
edible," the lanky killjoy dictated. "But, you don't see people shoveling them
for breakfast-- EVERY SINGLE DAY." May erected an ivory sack beside Dr. Sykes'
peach wrist nylon and added her omelette.
"*Sure*, you do," my thoughtful sidekick shared using plush facial cream.
"Most of them are cancer patients, though--"
"Oh! Ohh!" I fumbled across agitated lip salmon. "That's a *bit* ridiculous.
Don't you think?" Dr. Sykes skimmed my scalp slate and watched our hostess
gather fried dough hoops.
"Well, I'm a genetic engineer-- with a heavy background in organic chemistry,"
the ginger doe boasted. "But, maybe I should go and research it a little bit."
"Oh, fuhhck--" I hatefully grumbled. May expelled jubilant chuckles between
rose stained lips before bagging my donuts. "Shut-up and make my coffee,
Mayyy--"
"Hey!" the angular mistress snapped while placing a cardboard cup buffer.
"So-- many people eat like that, nowadays," Dr. Sykes grimly commented. "I
think *mainly* because-- they don't have to look at it in the mirror ev-ry
dayyy." My adorable colleague greeted me with emerald irises and lapped somber
speech wine. "*I* eat a donut, and I gain TEN POUNDS!" The Creamatory's
arabica chef tipped fresh coffee beans into a stainless steel port.
"Well, I was always fortunate in *that* respect," May passed along dainty lip
rubies. "But, there's only so many sugar granules I wanna-- crunch in my
teeth--"
"Too much invasive blabbering to do??" I jokingly interrupted. The wicker
haired barista seated dial chrome with blueberry talons and glared at me.
"I have the right to refuse service, you know?!" May blasted under fiery eye
gold.
"Oh, ohh-- We're gonna play *that* old game, huh?" I sarcastically hooted.
"The ol' 'refuse to serve 'em' motif? If I didn't know better, I'd say you're
about to pull a GUN on me--"
"Keep it up, and find out!" my pointy hostess fired across grinning face
porcelain.
"You--" I belted between disgusted mouth hams. "You guys don't keep a *gun*
behind the counter. In THIS day and age--?!"
"Do you have any idea how much CASH we keep in this register??" May demanded.
"You bet your *ass* we keep a gun back here!"
"nnNo!" I expelled using mortified vocal striations. "You can't just-- You
*can't*!"
"Oh, but I cahhhn," the spindly counter Nazi grated across sinister speech
claret. I paraded artless face amber above salmon silk before checking Dr.
Sykes' pupil jade.
"Can you be-lieeeve what you're hearing, right now??" I prestigiously taunted.
My sunny companion skimmed my pool water cornea droplets and flapped brass
eyelids.
"You mean-- because they're trying to protect themselves?" Dr. Sykes haplessly
probed. I endured May's snickering while processing the ignorant propaganda I
was hearing.
"I'm-- I'm *talking* about the fact that these cave-men are hosting dangerous
fire-arrrms-- in *our* community!" I expertly retorted. My pearly mistress
crumpled vacant sight frames and acknowledged peach deltoid frost.
"Well, *I* own three," Dr. Sykes randomly cobbled from reckless neurons.
"So--"
"Wahhht?!" I forged using mortified throat streaks. "Wudda you MEAN you own
three-- minority blasters?" I noticed The Creamatory's salesperson bury
chuckling facial points in velvet palms. "Are you-- Do you plan to go shoot up
a-- high school after breakfast??"
"You don't think people have a right to de-fehhnd themselves?" Dr. Sykes
somberly chirped.
"Oh, Gahhhd--" I disgustedly droned. "They're for 'self defense', huhhh? Do
you have any id-eee-a how many innocent, ghetto children have been-- ruthlessly
gunned down by police in the name of self defense??" My mango sprouted cohort
furrowed grim brow cheddar above anxious lip raspberries.
"Do you have any idea how many times I've been sexually assaulted?" Dr. Sykes
requisitioned. I sifted my sickly cohort's tortured cheek custard while
considering her motivations.
"Ted, you've gotta learn to keep your mouth shut," May chimed while extracting
coffee froth.
"O-kayyy," I conceded while parading apologetic palms beside my walnut
precipice. I stared into space, then probed Dr. Sykes' eye emeralds and May's
wandering pupils. "So the little, wimpy females gotta have guns to protect
them from the big, strong men?" I ruthlessly followed up. "You two are okay
with that--?"
"Tehhd, enough!" the whiny coffee wench carried on. "My, Gahhhd--"
"How about *seven* big, strong men?" Dr. Sykes reluctantly revealed before
facing me. "And, they're-- passing me around a truckstop bathroom like a beach
ball?" My sherbet stranded assistant skimmed painful memories and siphoned a
shaky breath. "Then-- THEN is it okay for me to whip out a gun and defend
myself??" I scanned Dr. Sykes' clover and caramel sight slats and lapped
regretful lip salmon.
"That happened to you?" I gently prodded. The grim mistress ransacked my
ocular seawater, then swatted agitated talon cherries.
"I don't wanna *talk* about it," Dr. Sykes vacantly sniped while spotting a
restroom. "Excuse me." May observed my pissy cohort carry tube top teal to
the back before flashing eye ale.
"How'd Chloe take it, Doctor Dumb-Dumb?" the slender princess somberly probed.
"About Doctor Sykes?" I vapidly responded while sifting passing thoughts. "I
haven't told her, yet."
"You haven't *told* her, yet??" May joylessly drilled. "You ass!"
"I'll *tell* herrr--" I croaked across solemn speech salmon. "When she shows
up for work. O-kay??" The nosy espresso server parked elbow flock rust and
cradled smirking chin pudding.
"All-right," May agreeably droned while handing me angel scribed ristretto
cellulose. I sipped arabica syrup drizzled with dairy suds and skimmed my
friend's sight scotch.
"Then, I'm gonna fire her," I bitterly appended.
"What?" May demanded using raspberry frosted mouth seams. "You're gonna-- dump
her, then fire her??" I expelled humble gasses under sprung brow asphalt and
rocked watermelon bicep linen.
"Well, she's a terrible GIRL-friend," I plainly stated. "And, a miserable
employee." The wicker haired barista nodded ivory cheek points and grabbed a
second coffee cup.
"Well when you dump her slash fire her, send her over," May instructed before
squinting. "'cause-- she owes me money." I released a hapless chuckle while
dribbling steamy breakfast brew along my tongue. "Like-- quite a bit."
"Oh, my Gahhd," I spitefully indulged. "Alright, I'll send her your way."
"You *do* that," May fired above her shoulder before gauging Dr. Sykes' coffee
beans. I bedded coal and cyan table swirls with cardinal sleeve silk and
slurped cup ivory. I scanned my peepee lab building above cardamom bricks and
noticed Dr. Sykes arrive. The carrot stranded vixen presented wiry eye limes
and sat across the booth from me. She folded peach clouded wrists and wrestled
a hapless grin tugging her mouth wine.
"I still *love* you, Ted," Dr. Sykes expelled towards my somber cheek walnuts.
"My feelings haven't changed." I watched plasma quartz sear cumulus slate
imaging tinted glass above stucco vomit.
"I'm really sorry about what I said," I gravely blathered. My gorgeous
companion capsized tedious sight gems during distant thunder cracks.
"Stop *talking* about it," Dr. Sykes stated before snatching paper bag quartz.
"Jeez." The ginger doe peeled omelette tissue with cherry claws and snagged
rosy fork prongs. "People-- have a right to defend themselves," Dr. Sykes
aggressively indulged. "I mean, riiight??" I watched the luscious damsel
chomp egg and cheddar, then collected her knuckle curd. I tugged Dr. Sykes'
excited cheek billiards and led her to my side of the table. I cradled her
peacock stomach linen and chocolate silk coating shapely hip mousse.
Love triangles and dismal, morning clouds mix exactly the way you'd expect:
dismally. Everything seems dismal-- and ominous. Steel grate hallway lights
flickered peep toe heel rubies and matching purse vinyl. I skimmed ivory
sheets flaked with ham, kiwi, and ash bracing Dr. Meeks' empty kicks. Tinted
glass canopy flashes sparked silver grout and claret, research foyer blocks.
Atmospheric rumbles disturbed crisp air currents before dual doors latched
behind us.
"Did she *sleep* here?" my lavish companion implored using troubled face
porcelain. I examined dual talon display frames before skimming Dr. Sykes'
agitated ocular jade.
"I-- guess??" my conceding speech salmon mindlessly fumbled. The ginger vixen
flaunted sparkling eye gems, then crumpled nervous temple custard.
"...should i wait-- outside??..." Dr. Sykes apprehensively prodded.
"Hell *no*!" I grimly belted before snatching my timid mistress' frosty digit
grubs. "You're coming WITH me! *I'm* not doing this all by myself!!" Dr.
Sykes muffled nervous beaver chortles with ruby claws exiting apricot wrist
fog. A stubborn light peg inside my vacant lab port failed to illuminate the
rat chamber. "Hmmm--" I solemnly hooted while scanning lengthy rodent flock
haunting Harry's cage.
"wwWhere's Harry?" Dr. Sykes extruded across my edgy auditory coils.
"I'm not sure, Mary--" I responded while grating my pasty cohort's finger
worms. I sifted ivory characters scorching an ancient terminal display above
pitch key caps. I never used the worthless analog relic, so it was pretty
strange to find it running. Canopy flickers made me notice Dr. Meeks' pallid
carcass galloping from the hallway. The lanky feline perched perky tits along
table coal beyond Dr. Sykes' mango locks. I'm *pretty* sure she poised feral
cheeks and pipe-whipped Dr. Sykes' noggin sherbet. I didn't have time to
process her barbaric gestures before facing savage eye frost.
I awoke with odd notions that my hands tied behind my back gave me aching
shoulders. Wicker strands wound wrist walnuts departing salmon shirt cuffs on
top of my kidneys. I glimpsed waxy frays joining my arms with argyle diamond
ale exiting copper slacks. Dr. Meeks hoisted wild sight ozone parting
raspberry smudges above cherry lip smears. Chestnut lint drapes framed battery
bank harnesses gripping Dr. Meeks' neck oatmeal. Ulna pine braced my poopsy's
crayon nipple jugs and extended plum tipped elbow grips. Hourglass navel dough
cleared spindly digits dangling scalpel steel near hip custard.
Dr. Meeks' shaven labia mounds overlooked sturdy knee onions under pillowy ab
pine. Thigh and calf putty embedded fish flake linoleum specks with eggplant
foot talons. Dr. Sykes rode peacock breast silk extending coffee hiny linen
above freckled tile. Rope frizz connected my mistress' forearm nylon with
cream and cherry ankle streaks. Rose tipped finger grubs yanked leather shoe
caramel hoisting chocolate waffle mats. The frail fox nuzzled her throat dairy
with shivering biceps and shared frosty huffs. She flashed frantic eye
emeralds and mango temple sprouts above apricot shoulder fog.
"Tehhhd??" Dr. Sykes aspirated across trembling lip rubies flaunting her nasal
olive.
"Chloe, why are you naked?" I probed while apex bolts sparked Dr. Meeks' grim
cheeks. The feral hen paddled floor spots and began jabbing Dr. Sykes' sheer
scapula amber. My jolted mare endured arctic cutlery severing lumbar sinews
and leaking cozy claret.
"Still think you're all THAT, you stupid little slut!?" Dr. Meeks spat while
hacking wet flesh. Dr. Sykes gulped ghastly fumes and discharged revolted
squawks that curdled my blood. "HUHHH??!"
"aaAAAAAHH!!" I belted across raging speech hams while flopping onto buckling
flanks. I shimmied wrist bronze over shoe tar before covering Dr. Sykes'
mangled lumbar meat. "My-- Gahhhd, Chlo-eee!" I rambled while wrangling blood
soaked nylon with my biceps. "Fuckeeeng-- STAHHHHHP!!" I coddled my mistress'
noodly hulk and spotted Harry next to rolling terminal digits. The eerie
chimera piled dumpy body flock beyond tail segments nuzzling salmon heels. My
enigmatic lab creation presented passive peeper kiwis and tilted his face
lemon. Distant thunder rattled shutters cleaving frosty window glass above
Harry's whiskers.
"Keep *me* around, Harry," my sniveling ex beseeched while pivoting dual foot
mounds. Dr. Meeks rested trembling finger compote along velvet hip pine and
clawed her elbow. "Keep me around, and I'll be like-- your slave," the
miserable wench blathered. "I can be your slave, Harry. Your servant." Harry
sifted pegs riding Dr. Meeks' perky mammary sacks and flapped snowy optic caps.
"What would I need *you* for?" my cryptic crossbreed coldly conjectured. The
cunning critter popped a ruby momentary switch focalizing tangled circuit
parts. Electrical buzzes caused my lanky lass to till her UPS throat grips
with nail plums. Dr. Meeks sloshed wiry scalp rust before pummeling floor
specks with passive joints. I slurped Dr. Sykes' spinal chuck with salmon rib
silk and savored wild heart thumps.
"I cuh-- can't feel my leh-eh-ehhgs--" the ginger doe wailed past bawling lip
wine. I wrung Dr. Sykes' shredded hull and expelled dismal groans across her
mango sprouts.
"I'm so sor-ry, Mah-ah-ryyy--" I extruded from quivering thorax ligaments.
"Don't you *die* on me. You hear meee--?" I ordered while sloshing Dr. Sykes'
limbs. "M-Mary?" I collected my limp companion's precious temple sherbet and
jiggled her face mousse. "mmMar-y??" I lifted Dr. Sykes' cozy jaw custard and
watched blood overflow her nose and lips. "No, no-- PLEASE, no-oh-ohh--" I
jabbered while kissing the dutchess' forehead velvet. My little lab hybrid
studied me using blase ocular kiwis under rosy auditory pennies.
"She has been sacrificed, Doctor Jackson," Harry hooted under whiskery mouth
flaps. I sifted Dr. Meeks' spinal seam and hiny arcs before verbalizing a
petty quandary.
"Why-- is Chloe naked, Harry?" I huffed below remorseful cheeks drizzled with
saline.
"Why am *I*?" the mozzarella sprouted varmint thoughtfully returned. I nuzzled
Dr. Sykes' precipice cream with trembling stubble and gushed steamy tears.
"...wahht are you-- going ON abowwwt??" I croaked using noodly vocal ridges.
"I pointed out to Doctor Meeks that-- we're *all* just base animals," Harry
hummed. "And, we have no use for clothing. And then, I-- rather harshly--
instructed her to remove her useless body rags." I cradled Dr. Sykes' radiant
scalp yarn with my neck and glared at Harry's eye limes. "She was kind enough
to oblige."
"You forced her to un-DRESS for you to prove she's no *better* than you?" I
hatefully probed. "*That's* the deal with the clothes??"
"She *is* no better than me," my philosophical gerbil concoction trivialized.
"Right?"
"*I* don't know, Har-ry!" I belted between disgusted speech hams. "What's THAT
got to do with anything??"
"Nobody ever offered *me* clothes," my fleecy lab critter thoughtfully
retorted. "Hundred dollar, designer shirts-- Silk britches that swish when I
stroll down long hallways--"
"I never forced you to undress, Harry!" I grated across disgusted aorta
streaks. "For my own-- PERSONAL AMUSEMENT!!"
"*I* never asked to be locked in an electrified prison cell," Harry
philosophized. "Ev-ry day of my life--"
"The committee re-QUIRES me to do that, Harry!" I ejected from violent cheek
points. "*I* don't get any say in those types of things!" My miniscule
monster tilted football noggin arcs and flapped chartreuse peepers.
"Who decides if you all live or *die*?" Harry sadistically prodded.
"Apparently, *I* get to make that decision." I stroked mango keratin sprouts
dusting my docile geneticist's gorgeous cheek dairy.
"What are you-- BLABBERING about, you id-i-ot??" I joylessly demanded.
"*Your* corrupt committee maintains secret backdoors to government servers that
control nuclear warheads," the sinister chimera glumly hooted. "And, it
leverages that infrastructure to threaten politicians with attacks on their
constituents-- in order to impose regulations that punish its competitors. It
has-- single handedly-- funded my conception *and* provided me with the means
to wipe out the human race." Harry siphoned negligible gasses polluting my
sweltering chamber of rodent horrors. "What can we conclude about your
employers?" And, *that* was when I realized Harry's master plan-- the moment
he laid it all out. And, all I could muster was:
"Some things are more important than a little corruption."
"Like *wahhht*?" the convoluted specimen passed along cynical voice
striations. I gritted agitated bicuspids while tilling Dr. Sykes' mango locks
and shook my head.
"You can't see the big picture," I desperately deflected.
"Very soon, Doctor Jackson-- there will not be a big picture to see," Harry
divulged.
"Well, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FORRR?!!" I shouted at my lab experiment's tiny
face. Harry presented kiwi ocular drops above somber snout sprouts and drew a
dour breath.
"*I'm* waiting for a series of scripts to complete," the dubious rascal
disclosed. Harry observed a plain text prompt spark his display before
striking a frosty switch. "And-- there we are." I cuddled Dr. Sykes'
mutilated corpse and salted her pixie citrus with tear drops. "Do you even
*care* that I'm about to destroy all of humanity, Doctor Jackson?" Harry's
condescending broadcast prompted me to present my shivering precipice amber.
"The one person I-- truly *loved*," I wrangled from disgusted cheek tomatoes.
"Maybe the only woman I ever *met* who truly loved ME-- you just ruthlessly
slaughtered." I parted rubbery mouth meat and siphoned soggy gasses flavored
like an unkempt zoo. "You think I care what happens, *now*?"
"Nobody every loved *me*, Doctor Jackson," Harry gravely returned.
"*She* loved you!" I huffed across my sacrificed mistress' tangerine noggin
foliage. The vengeful concoction accompanying my digital relic focalized his
spinach peepers.
"*Did* she?" Harry somberly requisitioned. Harry seared my pool water optic
slats with anguished features before popping return.
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