The "Critical Mass" of
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the Hybridized Rodent
A short story and "thought experiment"
by Michael Atkins
,--------------------------------------,
| |
| 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" |
| |
'--------------------------------------'
Chapter 1: "A Theory of Hybridization"
,--------------------------------------,
| |
| 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? |
| |
'--------------------------------------'
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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