Monthly Archives: June 2017

Toilet Gator First Draft Complete!

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5 months.  147,373 words.

And now, the first draft of Toilet Gator is complete.

I learned from the mistake I made last year.  I wrote a great first draft of “How the West Was Zombed” but that story turned into a multi-volume series and right now, I just need to get a few one and dones up onto Amazon just to start building that fan base.

As you can see from the Epilogue, the door is open for a Toilet Gator sequel, but also, shut just enough in case there isn’t a resounding demand for Toilet Gator 2.

I learned a lot.  Specifically, comedy is my best stuff, because it keeps me interested, makes me laugh, have fun, and most importantly, I can break the rules, rules that can never be broken in other genres.

Now all I have to do is get it polished up and edited.  Thanks for reading, 3.5 readers.

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Toilet Gator – Epilogue

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Flanked by the secret service, President Stugotz entered a top secret government lab. There, he found Professor Lambert standing over a table covered with Skippy’s tail and a bunch of disgusting alligator chunks.

“Well,” President Stugotz said. “Can we rebuild him? Do we have the tech…”

Professor Lambert raised his pointer finger and pressed it over the President’s lips. “Shh! Don’t finish that sentence. It’s most likely a copyright violation. Or maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. All I know is that no one has ever pissed off Lee Majors and lived to tell the tale.”

“Blech,” President Stugotz said. “Don’t put your dirty finger on my pristine lips. I don’t know where that finger has been.”

The Professor sniffed his finger and shook his head. “Come to think of it, neither do I.”

“So what’s the good word, Professor?” the President asked.

“Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said. “I was honored when you asked me to participate in this project. Really, I was, but now that I have had the time to learn the end result you’re hoping to achieve here, I have to say, this initiative goes against everything I’ve spent my entire life fighting against.”

“I’ll add three more zeros to your check,” President Stugotz.

“And my morals just went out the window,” Professor Lambert said.

The professor lit up a doobie and puffed on it.

“Should you be smoking around the samples?” President Stugotz said.

“The samples?” Professor Lambert asked. “Oh, you mean all these gator chunks? No, yuck. We can throw them away. They’re useless.”

“What the hell, man?” President Stugotz asked. “I thought you were just going to sew all these gator chunks back together and make me a great big beautiful Frankengator, you know, a monster of my very own that will obey all my commands and pop out of the toilets of my enemies to devour them hole.”

“With the CIA’s help, I found something much better, Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said.

The professor punched a combination into the door of a refrigerated vault, then pulled out a small vile filled with a frozen liquid.

“Is that what I think it is?” President Stugotz asked.

“Indeed it is, Mr. President,” Professor Lambert answered.
The two men laughed in a profoundly evil manner. “Muah ha…muah ha…muah ha ha!”

When they were done laughing, the President turned to the Professor. “I’m starving. The First Lady has me on a new diet. Nothing but kale cauliflower. I’ve never been more regular. Believe me, there’s no one as regular as I am now. But screw it, I’m hungry, want to get something to eat?”

“On the way here, wherever ‘here’ is, I saw a fried chicken stand next to a titty bar out of a tiny slit in the bag the CIA put on my head,” Professor Lambert said.

“Professor,” the President replied. “You had me at chicken and titties.”

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Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #12

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NATALIE BROCK: Witnesses on the scene reported that the ghost haunting the abandoned tuna fish factory was, in fact, an elderly real estate speculator engaged in elaborate scheme to drive down local real estate prices via an elaborate rouse. The suspect’s last words just before the police beat him senselessly and tazered him in all of his body cavities? “I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for those pesky kids and their dumb labradoodle.”

(Natalie shuffles some papers and turns to a different camera angle.)

NATALIE BROCK: In other news, the war in No-One-Can-Pronounce-This-Shitty-Country’s-Name-istan has come to an end, for now. Peace negotiators say that both sides have agreed to stay on their respective sides of the country and stop hacking each others’ taints up with machetes and to stop shooting rocket propelled grenades up each others’ butts. According to the newly elected prime minister, Buko Tuko A-doobie Doo, “No-One-Can-Pronounce-This-Shitty-Country’s-Name-istan will now and forever be a bastion of religious tolerance, a place where every man, woman, and child can worship God in whichever way they see fit, but seriously, everyone better start doing it my way quick if they don’t want to drown in their own tears and vomit as they watch all of their first born sons’ skulls get crushed underneath the powerful weight of my vast army’s tanks…Muah ha ha ha! Also, everyone keep voting for me or die. Thank you.”

(Natalie turns to a different camera.)

NATALIE BROCK: Good morning, USA. If you’re just tuning in, Kurt Manley, formerly America’s Favorite Anchorman, has retired from the news game to participate in an extensive, six month sex addiction rehab center, where we can only hope his testicles are snipped off and stored in the back of a high security vault where they can never annoy anyone ever again. I’m your new anchor, Natalie Brock.

(Natalie shuffles some papers.)

NATALIE BROCK: Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’m not the type of woman you are used to seeing on Network News One. I don’t have blonde hair. I don’t have big titties. I’m not even, quote unquote “hot.” I mean, I’m not so ugly that the mere sight of my face makes tiny school children cry, nor am I so attractive that you need to change your shorts every time you see me. I am, like most of you out there, average. That’s OK with me, and it should be OK for you, because I’m not here for you to fap to and yes, you sir, yes you, the man in Scranton, Pennsylvania with your hand down your pants. Yes, I’m talking to you. Put that thing down immediately.

(Natalie switches camera angles)

NATALIE BROCK: I’m not here to be fodder for your wet dream fantasy. I’m here to tell you what’s happening in the world, and to do that, you don’t need to be a hot ass blonde chick with big titties. You just need to be an experienced journalist with a nose for news and that, my dear friends, I am. Now, don’t get me wrong. We’re not getting rid of the Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties that you’ve all grown to love.

(A man off camera yells out, “Thank God!”)

NATALIE BROCK: Shut up, Dan. No, we aren’t getting rid of the Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties but in the name of diversity, I’m proud to announce that we will be adding Hot Ass Redheaded Chicks with Big Titties, Hot Ass Brunette Chicks with Big Titties, Hot Ass Black Chicks with Big Titties, Hot Ass Asian Chicks with Big Titties and yes, we will continue to add every color of Hot Ass Chicks with Big Titties imaginable until our network is one great big breasted rainbow.

(A man off camera yells out, “Dr. King’s dream is finally here!”)

NATALIE BROCK: Nobody likes you, Dan. No, viewers, we won’t take away the hot chicks with the big titties, but NN1 owner Roscoe Whipplethorpe has empowered me to make a few changes around here and so it is with great pride that I announce that this network will also be adding plenty of average women, women without big titties, women with average and yes, even below average looks, women who will be able to captivate you not with their looks but with their minds.

(A man off camera yells out, “Boo! Lame!” Natalie Brock points off stage.)

NATALIE BROCK: OK, you can go now, Dan! Yes, I said go! Go stand in the corner and think about what you’ve done.

(Natalie looks at camera.)

NATALIE BROCK: I know it will take some getting used to, but after all, Network News One is America’s premiere source for news, information, and titties and as I told Mr. Whipplethorpe when he promoted me to this illustrious position, ‘Shouldn’t the titties attached to the women who bring you news and information on America’s premiere source for news, information and titties look like the diverse, melting pot of titties found throughout America on any given day?’ I think so.

(Camera pans out to show Walt sitting at the anchor desk next to a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.)

NATALIE BROCK: Coming up in the next hour, our very own NN1 cameraman Walter Kincaid will be interviewed by a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties about a book I co-authored with him about our award winning coverage of the toilet gator murders. I can hardly wait.

(Walter stares and drools all over the big titties.)

WALTER KINCAID: Me neither.

NATALIE BROCK: And you know what, while we’re making changes around here, I’m not going to make you wait through a bunch of crummy commercials, then sports and weather just to find out which one of the household products you use everyday is going to kill you, so here it is. Shoe polish makes your dick fall off. Don’t ask me how. A group of Canadian scientists have issued a study indicating that fumes from shoe polish can go up your nose and create a negative chemical reaction that literally makes your dick detach from your body, fall down your pants leg, and roll out onto the floor before coming to a full stop like a sad little lump of clay. Brubaker’s Magic Shoeshine Polish is the brand to avoid so if you want to keep your dick, stay away from Brubaker’s. Please enjoy these commercials and after that, we’ll be back with sports and weather. For NN1, I’m Natalie Brock, and I’m an average woman with medium sized titties.

ANNOUNCER: You’re watching Network News One. The hottest and also the smartest regular looking women whose titty size is none of your business! Oh yeah, and we’ll reporting the news and shit a lot more from here on.

 

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 114

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Over a hundred shirtless men had crammed themselves into a dimly lit basement. They swilled beer and cursed without a care as they held up stacks of dollar bills.

“Give me fifty on Bruno!” one man shouted.

“I’ll take a grand on Stanley!” another man cried.

Rusty, himself shirtless and sweaty, strolled through the ring, collecting bets. “Have I got all the action? Yeah? Then gentlemen, to your positions!”

Two absurdly obese and ridiculously hairy men entered the ring. They leered at one another and growled.

“In this corner,” Rusty said. “Weighing in at four hundred and twenty eight pounds, Bruno the Bear!”

The crowd cheered.

“And in this corner, weighing so much that he broke the damn scale, Stanley the Stallion!”

The crowd cheered again.

Rusty stood between the two men. “Alright. You know the rules. You know what I expect them to be followed. Now get out there and give it your all, gents!”

The redheaded man exited the ring and joined a shirtless Moses and a shirtless Felix at the judge’s table.

“This was an inspired idea, Moses,” Rusty said.

“Yeah,” Moses said. “But Felix did all the legwork and you did all the promotion.”

“We’re a good team, aren’t we?” Rusty asked.

“You better believe it,” Moses said.

Rusty picked up a microphone and stood up. “Gentelemen, are you ready?”

The crowd of surly, booze addled men shouted, “Yeah!”

“I can’t hear you!” Rusty said.

The crowd shouted even louder. “YEAH!”

Rusty turned towards the competitors in the ring. “Begin!”

Bruno and Stanley paced furiously around the ring, locking eyes, each man waiting for the other to make a move until finally, they smashed their big bellies together, wrapped one another in a passionate embrace and fell to the floor and a calm, soothing snuggle.

The crowed cheered.

“What’s the first rule of Male on Male Hug Club!”

“Sir!” the crowd shouted. “The first rule of Male on Male Hug Club is ‘Do Not Talk About Male on Male Hug Club!”

“Exactamundo,” Rusty said. “And what’s the second rule of Male on Male Hug Club?”

“Sir!” the crowd shouted. “The second rule of Male on Male Hug Club is ‘Do Not Talk About Male on Male Hug Club!”

A random man stood up and shouted a question. “Hey! Are those dudes gonna fuck or what?”

Rusty looked around the room. “What? Who said that?”

Unable to find the questioner, Rusty shouted, “What’s the third rule of Male on Male Hug Club?”

“Just because men like to hug each other doesn’t mean they’re automatically gay!”

“And the fourth rule?” Rusty asked.

“No butt stuff!”

“Damn straight!” Rusty said.

Rusty returned to the judge’s table.

“You were tough but fair,” Moses said.

“Yeah, well,” Rusty said as he picked up a beer and chugged it. “You gotta have boundaries. Just saying.”

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Toilet Gator is So Close to Being Done

I want to say at most there are three chapters left.  So exciting!

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 113

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Cole and Sharon stood in a terminal at the Miami International Airport, patiently waiting for the number of a very special flight to be called. Cole held a homemade, folded up cardboard sign in his hands.

“You ready for this?” Sharon asked as she patted Cole’s arm.

Cole nodded and took a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Attention,” came the monotone voice of a female announcer. “Flight 982, inbound from Nairobi, now arriving.”

“Here we go,” Cole said as he unfurled his sign and held it out in front of him. It read, “Mutumbo.”

Moments passed. Passengers headed down a long escalator.

“Do you see him?” Sharon asked.

“Nope,” Cole said.

The couple looked and looked until finally their concentration was broken when a little boy standing at the top of the escalator shouted, “Mr. Cole sir!”

The boy pushed his way down the escalator, past all sorts of weary travelers, until he was on the ground. From there he ran at warp speed towards Cole, practically knocking him over as he grabbed him in a big hug.

“Mutumbo!” Cole shouted.

“Oh, Mr. Cole sir!” Mutumbo cried. “I was the happiest boy in my village when I heard the good news that you and your wife had adopted me!”

Cole tussled Mutumbo’s hair. “I’m just happy, you’re happy, kid.”

“I am so very happy, Mr. Cole sir,” Mutumbo said.

An older, white haired woman made her way down the escalator and huffed and puffed as she handed Cole a clipboard with a form on it. “Mr. Walker?”

“Yes,” Cole said.

“Valerie Bond of the International Adoption Agency. My goodness, little Mutumbo sure is happy to see you.”

“Thank you for bringing him to me,” Cole said.

“That’s what I do,” Valerie said as she handed Cole a pen. “Your signature, please.”
Cole signed on the dotted line and handed the clipboard back to Valerie.

“I must say, Mr. Walker, I have never seen an adoption application processed so quickly before,” Valerie said. “And I have been in this business for thirty years. You must have a friend in a very high place.”

“You could say that,” Cole said.

“Well,” Valerie said as she shook Mutumbo’s hand. “My work here is done. Goodbye Mutumbo. Be good for your new family.”

“Yes, I will be very good for Mr. Cole, sir,” Mutumbo said. “And thank you, Mrs. Valerie, ma’am, for rescuing me from that third world hellhole, a place where I have known nothing but death, destruction, torture and torment since the day I was born and bringing me here to America, where soon, God willing, I will become a typical American child, telling my parents that they have ruined my life for buying me the wrong toy.”

Valerie smiled and walked away. Mutumbo turned his attention to Sharon. “Holy smokes, Mr. Cole, sir, I assumed you were quite a ladies’ man but I had no idea that your new wife was so attractive!”

“Um,” Cole said. “Yeah. Hey buddy, listen…”

Mutumbo grabbed Sharon’s hand and shook it up and down. “Hello Ma’am, I am so very pleased that you married Mr. Cole sir. I have no doubt that your warm smile and statuesque features have helped him cope with the loss of that vile she-devil, Miss Sharon, may shot rot in hell for a thousand years for the foul heartbreak she caused to such a noble and loving man like Mr. Cole sir.”

Cole leaned down and whispered something into Mutumbo’s ear. Mutumbo looked up at Sharon, then grabbed her in a great big hug. “Oh, Miss Sharon, ma’am! A thousand pardons! I had no idea that you came to your senses and came crawling back on all fours like a common, flea bitten dog to the best man in the entire world, that being Mr. Cole sir!”

Sharon hugged Mutumbo back. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I crawled, but ok, it’s nice to meet you little guy.”

Mutumbo grabbed Cole’s hand in his right hand and Sharon’s hand in his left hand. Together, the brand new family walked through the airport.

“Welcome to America, Mutumbo,” Cole said. “What do you want to do first?”

“Oh, the possibilities are endless, Mr. Cole, sir!”

“Hey um,” Cole said as he looked at Sharon and saw a little twinkle in his love’s eye. “We’re going to need you to knock off the ‘Mr. Cole sir’ and “Mrs. Sharon Ma’am’ stuff and just call us Mommy and Daddy, ok?”

“Yes,” Mutumbo said. “You’ve got it, Mr. Daddy Sir and Mrs. Mommy Ma’am!”
Sharon laughed.

“We’ll work on it,” Cole said.

“Come on, Mutumbo,” Sharon said. “The world’s your oyster now. Where to?”

“Well,” Mutumbo said. “If possible, I would like to get one of the delicious American ice cream sundaes I have heard so much about.”

“Oh yeah?” Cole asked.

“Yes,” Mutumbo said. “A missionary came to my village once and when he was shot in the back of the head and drawn and quartered, he dropped a magazine and in that magazine, there was a photograph of the most scrumptious looking ice cream sundae I have ever seen. It had whipped cream, nuts, a cherry, a banana, marshmallows, chocolate sauce, peanut butter fudge, rainbow sprinkles, and seven different flavors of ice cream, including rocky road, double chocolate, mint chocolate chip…”

“Whoa, whoa,” Cole said. “Slow down there, buckaroo. You’re liable to get a tummy ache if a sundae like that is your first decent meal here in the states.”

“Oh Mr. Daddy sir,” Mutumbo said. “If it makes me shit for a week, then so be it.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 112

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Cole, Sharon, Rusty, Moses, Felix and Professor Lambert, dressed in their best finery, milled about in a waiting room just outside the Oval Office. The doors opened and Buck Breckenridge poked his head out.

“I’m sorry,” Breckenridge said. “The President is on a very important call.”

President Stugotz’s voice traveled out of the office and into the waiting room. “Look, just because I’m the leader of the free world doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have my own private account on bigtimeknockers.com…yeah…uh huh…security risk? So make it secure, nerd. God Almighty, this shouldn’t be that hard…yeah well just shut up and make it happen. POTUS needs his big time knockers or else he’ll get very cranky and when I’m cranky I start posting on Lifebox and then my super hot wife and my super hot daughter chew my ear off and then after that it’s all I can do to keep my finger off the nuke button, OK?”

“Excuse me,” Breckenridge said as he shut the door.

Sharon chuckled. “Big time knockers?”

Moses spit into the palm of his hand and slicked down a cowlick on the top of his head. He then straightened his tie. “Woman, you laugh but that man in there is a true patriot and a saint and if he looking at big time knockers helps him get the job done then by God, he should have big time knockers.”

Cole sighed. “Ugh I just want to get this over with and get back to the hotel.”

“Why?” Sharon asked. “Hun, you’re a hero.”

Cole puffed out his chest. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Oh well,” Professor Lambert said as he pulled out a joint and a cigarette lighter. “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.”

“What are you doing?” Sharon snapped. “Put that away!”

“Dude,” Rusty said. “How did you get that through security?”

“My butt, a string, and a whole lot of patience,” the Professor said.

“If you can’t take a break from pot for an hour to meet the President of the United States then you’ve got a problem,” Sharon said.

The Professor sparked up and puffed away. “No one’s arguing with you, sister.”

The doors opened all the way this time. Buck made a weird expression as he sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

The Professor quickly dabbed the joint out against the leg of the priceless antique chair he was sitting in, then stashed the evidence in his pocket. “Smell? What smell?”

“It smells like Bill Clinton’s second term out here,” Buck said. “Strange. Oh well, follow me. The President will see you now.”

As the Chief of Staff led the gang into the Oval Office, they marveled at the sights, taking in the breathtaking architecture and artwork, including a giant portrait of former President Teddy Roosevelt. President Stugotz was sitting behind the historic resolute desk, engaged in yet another tense negotiation session over the phone.

“I want a large cheese pizza with extra cheese, OK?” the President said. “And when I say, ‘I want extra cheese,’ I mean, I want a whole hell of a lot of cheese. Don’t skimp out on me, OK? I’m serious. Don’t be like one of those pizza chefs who hears ‘extra cheese’ and then just puts a tiny dab of cheese on my pie, OK? In fact, I’ll tell you what, when you think you have put enough cheese on this pizza to comply with my request of extra cheese, go all out and shake some more cheese on it anyway, just to be safe. Believe me, nobody explains how to make an extra cheese pizzas better than me, OK? I am the best at ordering pizzas. Goodbye.”

“Mr. President,” Breckenridge said. “The heroes who defeated the toilet gator are here.”

“Fantastic!” President Stugotz said as he stood up and walked over to greet his guests. “Let me get a good look at them.”

The gang formed a line for the President to review. As he walked down the line, he gave each hero a handshake and a kind word.

“Officer Yates,” President Stugotz said.

“It’s actually Chief Yates now, sir,” Rusty replied.

“No one gives a shit son, and believe me, I know what people give a shit about, OK?” the President said.

“Yes sir,” Rusty said.

President Stugotz slapped Rusty on the back. “Job well done. You’re the coolest redhead I have ever met, and I’m including those Irish supermodel twins I plowed while I was on my honeymoon with the second Mrs. Stugotz.”

“That means a lot sir,” Rusty said.

“I know it does,” the President said as he moved on. “And you must be the guy with the Apache attack helicopter.”

Moses and Felix snapped to attention and saluted the President.

“Yes sir,” Moses said. “Sergeant Moses T. Malone, United States Marine Corps, retired and this is my hetero life mate Felix Howard. If I may be so bold, we love you sir. We both voted for you in 2016 and we can’t wait to do it again in 2020. Wild dogs won’t be able to keep us away.”

“Moses,” President Stugotz said. “I know smart people when I see them and believe me, I’m the smartest person I know. If you two voted for me then that makes you a couple of real smart cookies.”

“Thank you sir,” Moses said. “Sir, I don’t mean to bother you, but is there any way you might pull some strings so I can, you know, keep my Apache attack helicopter and also, if possible, not go to jail for all the laws I broke while I was flying it around?”

President Stugotz stroked his chin. “Hmm. Well, all the crooked lawyers in my employ tell me that you literally broke thousands upon thousands of laws by flying that thing around but…you know what? I don’t think you should go to jail for that. No one should ever have to go to jail for daring to fight a toilet gator. This is America. We don’t run from toilet gators here.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sir,” Moses said.

“You know what?” President Stugotz. “You’re off the hook. I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, thank you sir,” Moses said. “But uh…do I get to keep it?”

“You want to keep an Apache attack helicopter?” President Stugotz asked.

“If possible, sir,” Moses replied. “It would mean a lot to me.”

“A piece of military hardware like that in the hands of a civilian?” the President asked. “I don’t know.”

“I promise I’ll never take it out again, unless of course there’s another violent animal attack,” Moses said. “Had the toilet gator not reared it’s ugly head, that fabulous helicopter would still be in my hangar, getting a fresh coat of wax applied to it every Sunday by yours truly.”

“Give me one good reason why I should let you keep it,” President Stugotz said.

Moses shrugged his shoulders. “Second amendment?”

President Stugotz looked up at the ceiling and pondered the proposition for a bit. He then turned his attention back to Moses. “Sold!”

Moses and Felix exchanged high fives as President Stugotz moved on to Sharon.

“Mrs. Walker,” President Stugotz said. “I was so glad to hear that you and your husband patched things up. I mean, it’s one thing to want to live a wild, carefree life and another to be impractical and well, you being forty and all…”

“I also love him,” Sharon said.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, dear,” President Stugotz said. “Listen, I watched you on TV, tearing ass down the highway in that Diablo and I was impressed. In fact, I was so impressed, that I turned to the First Lady and said, ‘You know what we need, sweetheart? We need more vaginized Americans doing things that people with vaginas don’t normally do, like becoming doctors and lawyers and politicians and astronauts and police officers and toilet gator killers.”

“Thank you sir,” Sharon said. “That’s touching, in an odd way.”

“You’re an inspiration to ever little girl who ever dared to look out her bedroom window and up to the stars and proudly declare, ‘One day I will help end the life of a desperate, psychotic animal.’”

“That’s probably enough now, sir,” Sharon said as she pulled her hand out of the President’s grasp.

President Stugotz faced Cole. The two men stared at each other for a moment, then the Commander-in-Chief gave the renowned gator hunter a warm embrace.

“Cole Walker,” the President said as he stepped back. “A star is born.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Cole said.

“You know I was the first person to post on Lifebox that you would defeat the toilet gator,” President Stugotz said. “I was the only one who believed in you. I believed in you so much that I pushed aside a meeting with a bunch of wishy washy do-gooders who want to pass some cockamamie legislation about giving kidneys to junkies with AIDS or some such nonsense.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me, sir,” Cole said.

“Remember that, Bob?” President Stugotz asked.

“Yes sir,” Breckenridge replied.

“I was all like, ‘All you do-gooders figured out how to get kidneys for junkie AIDS patients on your own, I have got to write at least ninety-seven posts about how Cole Walker will most definitely beat the toilet gator because that man is a winner and believe me, I know a winner when I see one.’”

“Thank you,” Cole said.

“I should know,” President Stugotz said. “I’m the biggest winner the world has ever seen, but you wouldn’t know it because I’m so ridiculously humble. I go out of my way to avoid bragging about myself. Truly, I do. Being a braggart is very unbecoming. Believe me.”

“I’m just honored to be here, sir,” Cole said.

“Cole,” the President said as he shook the gator hunter’s hand. “For offing that filthy, rotten, dirty, disgusting, degenerate toilet gator, this country will be forever in your debt. If there’s anything I can do for you, just ask?”

As the President began to walk away, Cole stepped up. “Anything?”

The President turned around. “Anything except, you know, gay stuff. I mean, I don’t judge and I suppose if you want a dude to do stuff to your butt, I could make some calls and make it happen, but be advised that ‘anything’ did not include me doing anything to your butt, capiche?”

“I capiche sir,” Cole said. “And no, I don’t want any butt stuff but there is one thing you could help my wife and I with…”

“Name it,” President Stugotz said.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 111

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Natalie and Walter sat comfortably inside a G-6 private jet, on their way to the London leg of the international publicity tour for their upcoming book, “Jaws of Death: The Inside Story of the News Duo That Took Down the Toilet Gator.”

“Cheers,” Walter said as he clanked his champagne glass up against Natalie’s.

“To you,” Natalie said as she raised her glass. “For all the advice and wisdom you bestowed on me. I’m so sorry I kicked you in the balls, and I’m even more sorry that I got us both fired.”

“No worries,” Walt said as he flicked a piece of lint off of his flashy Italian suit. “The severance package was generous and the payout will get even bigger when Network News One settles my lawsuit.”

“Your lawsuit?” Natalie asked.

“Sure,” Walter said. “You’re suing because you were sexually harassed. I’m suing under the theory that they canned me to cover up what Kurt Manley did to you.”

“Wow,” Natalie said as she sipped champagne. “You have got to be the smartest cameraman I’ve ever met, Walter. Still, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you an interview with a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.”

“That’s ok,” Walter said. “There will be other hot ass blonde chicks and other big titties.”

“Is it me or are you losing weight?” Natalie asked

“It’s not you,” Walter said as he patted his slimmer stomach. “I’m off the snack cakes. Thirty days and I haven’t touched a single one.”

“Bravo,” Natalie said as her cell phone began to ring. “Hold on, I’ve got to take this…hello?”

The voice of a very gruff Australian man came through on the other end. “‘Ello, mate. Roscoe Whipplethorpe here to talk to Natalie Brock if you’d please and thank you very much.”

“This is Natalie. Wait, did you say, ‘Roscoe Whipplethorpe?’”

“Indeed I did, love.”

“The Roscoe Whipplethorpe?” Natalie asked. “As in the owner of Network News One?”

“The one and only,” Roscoe said.

Walter flashed Natalie a big thumbs-up.

“Thank you for calling, Mr. Whipplethorpe,” Natalie said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well,” Roscoe said. “Here’s the skinny on the big old pile of digeridoo we’re all wrapped up in. This is one sneaky pickle, aint it? A little bit of the koala in the romper room if you know what I mean? A right horrible sticky wicket, this is. Try to climb out of this muck and you’ll get pulled down in it, pull, pull, pull and before you know it, Bob’s your Uncle mate because it’s all over. It’s all over and the wallaby has put you in her pouch and whisked you away into the sunset.”

“Sir,” Natalie said. “I’m sorry but I have to idea what you just said. I don’t speak Australian.”

“Crikey!” Roscoe shouted. “Well, let me break it down in for you in Amercian-speak, yeah? Look, Kurt Manley was a real knob and it was time for him to go. You did the network proud for making that happen as far as I’m concerned. There’s never been any love lost between Kurt and I, especially since Kurt got drunk and motorboated me mum at me own body wedding.”

“That sounds like something Kurt would do,” Natalie said.

“Your lawsuit’s the top of every other news channel’s broadcast,” Roscoe said. “Anyone who is anyone is saying that NN1 is a company full of sexist, chauvinistic iiperverts.”

“Well,” Natalie said. “No offense, but it is the house that hot ass blonde chicks with big kitties built.”

“Right,” Roscoe said. “So listen, I hate lawyers. You hate lawyers. Bunch of lowlife, bottom feeding cuttlefish if you ask me. Let’s take the lawyers out of this and settle this fuss by yourself, what do you say?”

“I’d like that,” Natalie said. “What do you have i mind.”

“It’s simple, really,” Roscoe said. “Kurt Manley is out. Natalie Brock is in.”

Natalie broke out into a cold sweat. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“I want you to read the news, love,” Roscoe said. “Come on back to the states first chance you get because the time for a shiela in the anchor’s chair. Only codition is you’ve got to settle iWhat do you say?”

“Mr. Whipplethorpe,” Natalie said. “I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 110

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One month later, Cole and Sharon stood behind the counter of their newly acquired booth at the Sitwell Farmer’s Market. The sign attached to the back of the wall read, “Cole and Sharon’s Fresh Produce. We have Strawberries and Blueberries and Watermelons and Shit.”

Underneath the sign, Skippy’s stuffed head was mounted on the wall for the whole world to see. One eye was out, the other was. His jaws were open, as though they might snap down on an unsuspecting passerby at any second.

“I can’t believe you quit the FBI,” Cole said.

“I can,” Sharon said as she threw her arms around Cole’s waist and gazed up into her lover’s eyes. “If I never work another case again it will be too soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Mrs. Walker,” Cole said.

“Sure thing, Mr. Walker,” Sharon replied.

The romantic conversation was cut short when Maude and Burt bellied up to the bar. “Oh God, get a room you two. You got any strawberries?”

Cole pointed to the sign.

Maude nodded. “Alright then, give me a bushel. This one’s been raw dogging me non-stop and I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”

Burt’s face turned red. “Maude.”

“Oh please,” Maude said. “Sure, it’s more crooked than a Louisiana Congressman, but you can still pound nails with that thing. No small feat at your age. Be proud of it.”

“On the house,” Cole said as he handed Maude a box of fresh, red strawberries.

“You’re the worst businessman ever,” Maude said as she took the box. “You’ll be bankrupt in a week.”

“Then we’ll figure something else out,” Cole said.

Maude handed Cole a bundle of envelopes. “The post office is still sending your mail to the police station. You’re going to have to fill out one of those change of address forms…that is, unless you want to…”

“I’m never coming back,” Cole said.

“But the town council voted unanimously to reinstate you,” Maude said.

“They can vote to reinstate my foot up all of their asses,” Cole said. “They turned their back on me in my time of need. Now I turn my back on them.”
“Poetic,” Burt said.

“Then you do realize the department will be led by…Chief Rusty Yates,” Maude said. “Ugh. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t burn the place down his first day.”

“Somehow he’ll manage,” Cole said. “He’s got you, doesn’t he?

“That he does,” Maude said. “And I’ll be riding his ass like a dime store call girl the second I get back from vacation.”

“When are you leaving?” Cole asked.

“Tonight,” Maude said. “Our bags are packed and they’re stuffed with more dildos and handcuffs than Charlie Sheen’s dresser drawer. Aruba, here we come!”

“Wait,” Cole said. “If you leave this week, you’ll miss the ceremony with President Stugotz.”

“Please,” Maude said. “Like I voted for that turkey or any of the other turkeys who ran for president. I’ve got one vacation a year, Cole, and I don’t have many years or vacations left, so I’d rather spend my limited time getting jackhammered by this tall drink of water here.”

“Maude, please,” Burt said.

“Shut up and own it,” Maude said. “Just like you’re going to be owning my vagina all over the Caribbean soon.”

“Well Maude,” Cole said. “The DC trip just won’t be the same without you.”

“Washington DC?” Maude asked. “No thanks. If I want to be filled with hot air, I’ll just ask Burt to…”

“OK,” Burt said as he pulled on Maude’s arm. “We really should be going.”

“Right,” Maude said. “We’ve got to rest up so we can join the mile high club. Goodbye you two. I’m glad to see you’ve picked up the pieces of your shattered marriage and glued them back together again.”

Cole watched as Maude and Burt walked away. “I’m really going to miss her.”

“I know,” Sharon said.

“She was like the foul-mouthed, abusive, nicotine addicted mother I never had,” Cole said.

Cole fumbled through his mail. Bill. Bill. Bill. Junk mail. Junk mail. Finally, he opened up an enveloped marked “International Adoption Agency.” He read it to himself, mumbling along until he shook his head and muttered, “Damn it.”

“What?” Sharon asked.

Cole glared at the letter sitting on the counter, inviting Sharon to read it herself. She did so:

“Dr. Mr. and Mrs. Walker,

We regret to inform you that processing of your adoption application will be delayed six months to one year due to the high volume of requests we are fielding at this time. We thank you for your patience.”

Sharon rubbed Cole’s back. “I’m sorry baby.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 109

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A day later, Hurricane Dakota Rothschild had moved up the coast, and downtown Sitwell had begun drying out. The gang wandered through the debris laden streets, walking past buildings with broken windows, caved in roofs, past overturned cars and trees that had fallen right into the street.

Finally, the spotted Skippy’s lifeless corpse. The gang timidly walked toward the hulking carcass, concerned that the giant lizard might spring to life at any second.

“Is he dead?” Sharon asked.

“Sure looks dead,” Maude said, just before taking a big breathe of fresh air from the tubes in her nose attached to a brand new oxygen tank.

“Oh no,” Rusty said. “I’ve see those horror movies before. Everybody needs to steer clear of that thing because just when you think the killer is dead, bam, they jump out of the closet and try to chop off your dick with a machete.”

“What movie was that?” Sharon asked.

“Dick Chopper 5000,” Rusty said. “Damn woman, get some culture in your life.”

Cole picked up a stick and poked the toilet gator with it. He nudged and prodded the big green body to no avail before declaring, “He’s dead.”

Professor Lambert sighed. “Quite a noble beast, now that we have an opportunity to examine him up close without repercussion.”

“Noble?” Rusty asked. “He made the entire world scared to shit.”

“Indeed,” Professor Lambert said. “But then again, did humans ever seek permission before shitting in toilets connected to the sewer system he called home? It was all one big vicious cycle really.”

“You’ve got a screw loose, Professor,” Rusty said.

“I’m simply acknowledging the fact that this alligator was, before his demise, the powerful lizard to walk the face of the earth since his ancestors, the dinosaurs, went extinct over sixty-five million years ago,” the Professor said.

“We’re all just flecks of dust in an ever expanding timeline,” Sharon said.

Maude rolled her eyes. “Jeez Louise, take an upper, girlie. You’re way too young to be this depressed.”

“My only regret is it wasn’t one of my bullets that killed him,” Moses said.

Felix walked up to the lifeless alligator, removed his bandana, and held it over his heart. “My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings, look on my works, ye Mighty and despair! Nothing beside remains round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sand stretch far away.”

Moses rested a hand on his buddy’s shoulder. “That was beautiful. Tupac?”

“Percy Bysshe Shelley,” Felix said.

“Same difference,” Moses said.

“Errm,” Felix replied.

Natalie stared at the carcass while Walter filmed the remains.

“Unless a toilet shark starts popping out of toilets to bite people, this will go down as the greatest story of my news career, hands down,” Natalie said.

“Please,” Rusty said. “Like anyone would ever believe that a toilet shark would be possible.”

“Oh, they’re quite possible,” Professor Lambert said. “And very real.”

Burt squeezed Maude’s hand. “Time to go.”

“Yeah,” Cole said. “We should get out of here and let the cleanup crews do their work.”

As the gang turned around, Skippy’s good eye opened. Ever so slowly, he rolled off of his back and onto his belly. He spotted the intruders and inched towards them.

Without looking back at what he thought was a dead gator, Cole pulled the detonator stick out of his pocket. “Why didn’t this work?”

“I don’t know,” Moses said as he took the detonator and examined it. “Faulty wiring…a battery that went bad…for all I know there could have been a…”

Moses slapped the side of the detonator three times, then pressed down on the red button. KABOOM!

Skippy’s innards exploding, sending hundreds of bloody, slimy gator chunks high up into the sky before they rained down upon the gang below. Every last one of the brave heroes ended up covered in sticky red gator blood and gooey gator guts.

“Last time I ever buy a C4 detonator over the Internet, I’ll tell you that,” Moses said.

Wham! Skippy’s severed head fell out of the sky and landed at Cole’s feet.

“Looks like you got your trophy,” Sharon said.

“Looks like it,” Cole said.

“It’ll look good on our wall,” Sharon said.

“Our wall?” Cole asked.

“You know it,” Sharon said.

 

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