125
R. Linda:
I hope I don't get crucified for this satire, but I can't help meself.
Chapter 2
I stood in the doorway, the air from the tunnel snapping me parachute pants against me well developed legs. It hurt, but I was too mesmerised by the sight in front of me. There on a huge electronic screen was the picture of the worse red rash I'd ever seen in me life. Underneath the rash were the words, "HELP ME SOMEONE PLEASE" in big letters, followed by an 1-800 number. Seeing me consternation, Cooler buzzed his wheelchair forward signaling me to follow.
The door swished shut behind me, nearly catching the extra fabric of me pants, but I was fast and moved away before I could be pinned in the door.
"This bizarre rash is being broadcast live to all the scientific communities in the world. We aren't sure who is broadcasting it and where from. But if you look closely you will see that the pustules are liquid filled. We first thought it was the result of washing too many dishes in harsh dish soap, that sort of thing, but on second glance, we thought it was winter burn from being up in the Alps too long. However, I noticed this anomaly that points away from that conclusion, look here."
"Oh my," was all I could muster at the disgusting mess I was looking at.
"Not any fungus or body part either. I realised this rash is caused by clothing not being completely rinsed of detergent. Therefore, making the skin itchy and rashy. AND further, it is not a hand, but testicles. Look here," Cooler said, as he magnified the rash and zeroed in closer electronically from his chair control board. "THAT, right there is some kind of small brand. You see it?"
I got a little closer, feeling the bile rise in me throat at the sight and sure enough there it was in small Gaelic lettering, the words, ditch the itch. I stepped back as if bitten by a snake.
"What does it say?" Cooler asked.
"Well, it's Gaelic. Says something like -- "ditch the itch."
It was Cooler's turn to jump back or well erm, sit back like he'd had an electrical shock or been in a car that jammed on the brakes.
"NO, not that!" He whined, raising his arms heavenward as if in appeal.
"Afraid so," I said biting me lip.
"Could it be that someone has resurrected that old Italian anti-inch medicine with a new Gaelic name to throw us off?"
"Wha . . . what?" I fumbled around in me immense memory for an Italian anti-itch remedy, but came up dry. Then it hit me, the words 'ditch the itch' were a slogan used by . . . oh no it couldn't be. I turned to Cooler, "You mean the Galileo's I'insettifugo? THAT?"
Cooler said nothing, just nodded in a dejected manner, and I must say for the first time in minutes, I didn't know what to say. I was gobsmacked I was. Galileo's I'insettifugo was world renown for curing anti-itching anywhere on the body, only it was taken away because the patent belonged to a secretive group of dermatologists in Italy, and for some unexplained reason, they took it off the market. Thinking out loud I said to Cooler, "It should be noted that in Scotland around the very same time the I'inssettifugo was taken off the market, a ban was placed on hunting haggis. It strikes me that that ban was why the anti-itch medication was pulled, and more importantly the secret ingredient was, yes, I am guessing here, was HAGGIS!"
I didn't get to say anything more because the door whooshed open and the most beautiful girl I've ever seen came floating in like a vision from Tele-Mundo.
"I thee you are looking at the rath on Otthie's tethicleth," she lisped.
I am sorry to say I stood there looking at her like "WHAT?" Yes I did. Head slightly bowed, eyes looking over at her, a confused expression on me good looking countenance, I had screwed me face up (but still looked grand doing it). I finally put what she said together. "Oh, oh the rash, ok."
She drifted over and held out her smooth white as marble hand to me.
"My name ith Thara Pignelli, niceth to meet you Mr. . . . "
Cooler coughed into his hand and I heard the word, 'Sara' over the blare of techno music and caught meself from certain embarrassment.
"Sara, I am Bobby O'Hooligan, so nice to meet you too."
"Mr. O'Hooligan is here to help us with the anti-itch problem, Sara," Cooler explained.
She had a cool hand (like marble), deep chocolate brown eyes, long lashes and the blondest hair I've ever seen on a Chinese girl. She noticed me observation and explained her mother was a Swede. That explained it!
Her eyes misted over and she looked at the screen and explained, "Thath ith Othy. Othy Othborne the famous maker oth Othborne thin cream. The haggth wasth for Othy but he dithappeared suddenly. He wasth making a new formula thin cream when . . . (she pointed to the screen) thath happened."
I had no clue she had been to the upstairs room containing the dead haggis. Suddenly without warning she was in me arms bawling her eyes out over the scene in the swirling dry ice. I felt like her curves fit nicely in every part of me body and . . . again, I'll save that for the ending, anyway, she was mourning the loss of the haggis, something Cooler surmised she was saving for dinner. Only she was secretly trying to save Ozzy by inventing her own itch cream. I thought to buy her another haggis, but this was Switzerland and I told meself to snap out of the sexual thoughts of her and haggis all in one meal or scientific concoction. That I reminded meself would make for a great ending.
So I patted her back and said, "there, there, it'll be all right," when suddenly she pulled away as Cooler took the wrong moment to announce he thought the Galileo's I'insettifugo Corporation was behind the testicles on the screen.
"They are taunting us with Ozzy's testicles. Can't you see?" He declared, his eyes shining like two shiny orbs of mercury suspened in air like . . . like antimatter.
"There ith one tube of Galileo'th I'inthettifugo in thith world." Sara said, "And I am the only onth that knowth where it ith. Follow me," she said as we stepped and rolled (respectively) beside her. "I've been tywing to duplicath the cream tho we can thave Mr. Othborne."
Out of the giant swooshing doors we went to another tunnel. Stopping at another door, Sara put her eye to the authorising lens and the door opened for the three of us like mouseketeers on a mission to save Mickey.We went striding through completely confident we could save Ozzy instead, since Mickey didn't seem to be suffering jock itch that we knew of.
With a coy smile at me Sara keyed in a code to a safe in the wall, but when she opened it she gasped.
There was no tube of Gailileo's I'insettifugo! It had been copped. We turned and looked aghast at each other. What to do?
End of chaper duo
Gabe
Copyright © 2005 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I hope I don't get crucified for this satire, but I can't help meself.
Chapter 2
I stood in the doorway, the air from the tunnel snapping me parachute pants against me well developed legs. It hurt, but I was too mesmerised by the sight in front of me. There on a huge electronic screen was the picture of the worse red rash I'd ever seen in me life. Underneath the rash were the words, "HELP ME SOMEONE PLEASE" in big letters, followed by an 1-800 number. Seeing me consternation, Cooler buzzed his wheelchair forward signaling me to follow.
The door swished shut behind me, nearly catching the extra fabric of me pants, but I was fast and moved away before I could be pinned in the door.
"This bizarre rash is being broadcast live to all the scientific communities in the world. We aren't sure who is broadcasting it and where from. But if you look closely you will see that the pustules are liquid filled. We first thought it was the result of washing too many dishes in harsh dish soap, that sort of thing, but on second glance, we thought it was winter burn from being up in the Alps too long. However, I noticed this anomaly that points away from that conclusion, look here."
"Oh my," was all I could muster at the disgusting mess I was looking at.
"Not any fungus or body part either. I realised this rash is caused by clothing not being completely rinsed of detergent. Therefore, making the skin itchy and rashy. AND further, it is not a hand, but testicles. Look here," Cooler said, as he magnified the rash and zeroed in closer electronically from his chair control board. "THAT, right there is some kind of small brand. You see it?"
I got a little closer, feeling the bile rise in me throat at the sight and sure enough there it was in small Gaelic lettering, the words, ditch the itch. I stepped back as if bitten by a snake.
"What does it say?" Cooler asked.
"Well, it's Gaelic. Says something like -- "ditch the itch."
It was Cooler's turn to jump back or well erm, sit back like he'd had an electrical shock or been in a car that jammed on the brakes.
"NO, not that!" He whined, raising his arms heavenward as if in appeal.
"Afraid so," I said biting me lip.
"Could it be that someone has resurrected that old Italian anti-inch medicine with a new Gaelic name to throw us off?"
"Wha . . . what?" I fumbled around in me immense memory for an Italian anti-itch remedy, but came up dry. Then it hit me, the words 'ditch the itch' were a slogan used by . . . oh no it couldn't be. I turned to Cooler, "You mean the Galileo's I'insettifugo? THAT?"
Cooler said nothing, just nodded in a dejected manner, and I must say for the first time in minutes, I didn't know what to say. I was gobsmacked I was. Galileo's I'insettifugo was world renown for curing anti-itching anywhere on the body, only it was taken away because the patent belonged to a secretive group of dermatologists in Italy, and for some unexplained reason, they took it off the market. Thinking out loud I said to Cooler, "It should be noted that in Scotland around the very same time the I'inssettifugo was taken off the market, a ban was placed on hunting haggis. It strikes me that that ban was why the anti-itch medication was pulled, and more importantly the secret ingredient was, yes, I am guessing here, was HAGGIS!"
I didn't get to say anything more because the door whooshed open and the most beautiful girl I've ever seen came floating in like a vision from Tele-Mundo.
"I thee you are looking at the rath on Otthie's tethicleth," she lisped.
I am sorry to say I stood there looking at her like "WHAT?" Yes I did. Head slightly bowed, eyes looking over at her, a confused expression on me good looking countenance, I had screwed me face up (but still looked grand doing it). I finally put what she said together. "Oh, oh the rash, ok."
She drifted over and held out her smooth white as marble hand to me.
"My name ith Thara Pignelli, niceth to meet you Mr. . . . "
Cooler coughed into his hand and I heard the word, 'Sara' over the blare of techno music and caught meself from certain embarrassment.
"Sara, I am Bobby O'Hooligan, so nice to meet you too."
"Mr. O'Hooligan is here to help us with the anti-itch problem, Sara," Cooler explained.
She had a cool hand (like marble), deep chocolate brown eyes, long lashes and the blondest hair I've ever seen on a Chinese girl. She noticed me observation and explained her mother was a Swede. That explained it!
Her eyes misted over and she looked at the screen and explained, "Thath ith Othy. Othy Othborne the famous maker oth Othborne thin cream. The haggth wasth for Othy but he dithappeared suddenly. He wasth making a new formula thin cream when . . . (she pointed to the screen) thath happened."
I had no clue she had been to the upstairs room containing the dead haggis. Suddenly without warning she was in me arms bawling her eyes out over the scene in the swirling dry ice. I felt like her curves fit nicely in every part of me body and . . . again, I'll save that for the ending, anyway, she was mourning the loss of the haggis, something Cooler surmised she was saving for dinner. Only she was secretly trying to save Ozzy by inventing her own itch cream. I thought to buy her another haggis, but this was Switzerland and I told meself to snap out of the sexual thoughts of her and haggis all in one meal or scientific concoction. That I reminded meself would make for a great ending.
So I patted her back and said, "there, there, it'll be all right," when suddenly she pulled away as Cooler took the wrong moment to announce he thought the Galileo's I'insettifugo Corporation was behind the testicles on the screen.
"They are taunting us with Ozzy's testicles. Can't you see?" He declared, his eyes shining like two shiny orbs of mercury suspened in air like . . . like antimatter.
"There ith one tube of Galileo'th I'inthettifugo in thith world." Sara said, "And I am the only onth that knowth where it ith. Follow me," she said as we stepped and rolled (respectively) beside her. "I've been tywing to duplicath the cream tho we can thave Mr. Othborne."
Out of the giant swooshing doors we went to another tunnel. Stopping at another door, Sara put her eye to the authorising lens and the door opened for the three of us like mouseketeers on a mission to save Mickey.We went striding through completely confident we could save Ozzy instead, since Mickey didn't seem to be suffering jock itch that we knew of.
With a coy smile at me Sara keyed in a code to a safe in the wall, but when she opened it she gasped.
There was no tube of Gailileo's I'insettifugo! It had been copped. We turned and looked aghast at each other. What to do?
End of chaper duo
Gabe
Copyright © 2005 All rights reserved
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