wrote:
The Pervert wrote:
< > wrote
How is what I said insensitive? Think about it.
If you stoop to their level then I won't give a ***** if you get
killed.
Your words. Think about it, Mr. Sensitive.
What's the problem? I already explained myself. You stoop to the
level of our enemies, you don't have my respect.
Civilian-murdering sniveler The Pervert lost mine years ago, although
it's probably still stuck in the folds of his vast anatomy somewhere.
Chapter XVI Amo, Amas, Anatomy of A Pervert. THE Pervert, to be
precise.
DCI was hovering around, trying to figure where he could next stick in
an oar, or another of his brittle limbs. A shiny object distracted him
which he paused to examine, then as best he could, destroy. Or at
least render humanly meaningless by his internvetion.
We shall leave DCI swatting at it - and it, in return, at him - for a
moment.
Meanwhile....
Mimi and The Pervert were virtually cavorting in Jafo's favorite love
seat, the one shaped like Jeff Gannon's bagpipes, apparently making
war-themed plans for their forthcoming nuptial soiree, when Dirty Uncle
Jafo himself approached.
Kitted out as he was in full Mulletary regalia: all business in the
front, party all night in the backside, Jafo The Rear Admiral of
alt.california saluted them and belched sourly. Then without further
ado, he cut in.
"Pervert," cursed Jafo tersely under his fetid Meth-breath, "Stain has
something he'd like you to look at in the kitchenette."
"As long as it doesn't involve his hate-filled laMaze classes!"
lamented The Pervert, "Can't it wait ? Does he not realize that
whereas, in the course of human endeavor Stain de STD aka omareno el
moron is merely with child, I and my 13.0 IQ are *with lady*, as it
were ? 'Tis not often I get the chance to rechew the cud of such
tender salad days with oil-and-vaginarette dressing. Indulge me that I
may tarry a while longer, forsooth!"
"Five more minutes, eh?" allowed Jafo with an evil glint in his
monocled but otherwise blind left eye.
"By the bye, Jafo..."
"Yes, Perv?"
"Not Perv, 'tis I, Mimi, channeling the pantyhose plonker Perv, whose
mouth I have temporarily superglued shut"
[shouts of "Could you make it permanent ? Please ? Please!" from the
audience]
"Imitation noted!" was all Jafo could squeeze out of his citric brain
at that moment.
"What is that rather engaging fragrance, of which one could swear you
positively test for HIV?"
"A little something I picked out of the Sears-Roebuck Male Order Bride
Shopping Catalogue."
"It's name, praytell?"
"Bob, I mean Mimi, I mean, Bobbbb - I mean, The Pervert - something's
really annoying me about you. I've been meaning to tell you this for
years. You can't apostrophize worth *****. You speak as you write and
you write like a fucking imbecile, all the while mouthing off about
your supreme intellect and your impunity for the murder of more Asian
civilians than you can count and that god exists but is a hypocrite,
the more you do which, the more preposterously untrue such claims as
yours ring."
"Why thankee kindly, Jafo. By the way, evasion noted."
"I am not fucking evasionizing, Bob - Mimi!" came Jafo's thunderously
wet, snarky response. Sniveling, even. Under his own style of
treatment, The Jafo was now on the verge of tears. Or maybe it was
the idea that he too could be adjudged a suitable case for Superglue
treatment, just like The Pervert . . .
[Audience: "Yeah ! GO AHEAD ! DO him, Mimi, SuperGLUE him Mimi!"]
"Yeah you are evading me, Jafo" commented she, tapping the glue-tube on
her manicured tentacles. "When I ask you what fragrance you are
wearing, I expect none of your saucy impersonation of Jeff Gannon's
mother taking the fifth. I should like an answer, or that you take a
buttock-shaped love seat right where I am about to drop The Pervert
from a great height..."
"No, no, I'll do anything--" began Jafo, "besides, you'd get my
colostomy juice all over your dress. Nice dress, by the way. If
that's indeed a dress you're wearing--"
"Jafo, shut up. Just tell me the name of your perfume and I'll let you
get back to being Stain de STD's personal gynaecologist and husband.
Or not, and I'll Pervert you to death. You know how many victim's his
body's been held responsible for?"
"No, but it's a lot ! By the way, apostrophe noted. Things like that
happen in a war, y'know!"
"But that's no excuse when there's unnescessary cruelty involved."
"Perhaps..." mused Jafo.
But Mimi stared the boob down, her SuperGlue Tube uncapped.
"It's . . ." Jafo's lip quivered, and a solitary alligator tear formed
in the corner of his snout.
"Yes?"
"I-I-It-It-It-It's ...Oh...I ca-ca-ca-can't..." bubbled Jafo.
"Yes you can. Go on..."
"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh D-D-De--"
"Fucking sober up, you sleazy old pedophile! Pull yourself together.
Even my imitation of acting like a Man is better than yours. Here,
have another hit of Spankodin!"
To which Jafo readily acquiesced. Boom. And moments later, he was
nattering away as usual, little realizing to the point of utter
ignorance that a wafer-thin slice of telling the truth for a change was
all that separated him from SuperGlue City. Or worse.
"You like my perfume?" he prattled like a closet gay waterboy. "A lot
of people have complimented me on my remarkable attention to hygiene,
and this only serves to accentuate it!"
"Jafo..." The stern tone in Mimi's voice was unmistakeable. "I'm
warning you for the last time. You are *this* close to becoming the
uniquely deserving victim of a mass terror attack by Mossad agents
disguised as Moslems between the ages of 17 and 40 if you keep on going
the way you're going."
But Dirty Uncle Jafo heeded not. Like so many others before, he
ignored these civil warnings and went on.
"I myself selected it from dozens of potential fragrances as my keynote
as it were, what sets me apart from so many failed, as in non-white,
cultures suitable for bombing with my peeny willy - the very essence of
ME!"
He abruptly came to a stop as Mimi jammed a gun she had pulled from
between the folds in The Pervert's thankfully mute anatomy right
between Jafo's eyes for what might be his final words.
"Jafo. Name your poison. Now." were his instructions. "What IS that
fragrance which so defines your personality, one the count of three.
One, Two, Thr--"
"All right allrightallright, OK... I-I-I'll tell you," Jafo once more
quivering like a loon in heat. "It's . . . EAU DE *****!"
<to be continued>
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