Daily Archives: June 3, 2017

Toilet Gator – Chapter 86


The gang assembled in a study room at the Sitwell Community College library. Professor Elliot Lambert launched into an impromptu class on toilet dwelling animals.

“You see,” Professor Lambert said. “The average speed for an alligator is approximately ten miles per hour. However, the alligator we are dealing with is not average whatsoever. Given his length and muscle mass, I’m willing to wager our reptilian friend can move at speeds upwards of seventy miles per hour if he really pushes himself.”

“Hell,” Rusty said. “I’m surprised he didn’t get me then. I don’t run that fast.”

“An athletic human running at a vigorous pace can reach twenty miles per hour,” Professor Lambert said. “But tell me, was the alligator doing anything else while he was pursuing you?”

“He stopped to snap his jaws at us,” Rusty said. “And roar. He roared a lot.”

“Well there you go,” the professor said. “Multi-tasking slows this beastie down.”

The Professor drew a rough outline of the state of Florida on a whiteboard. “Remind me, Agent Walker. The first murder where Countess Cucamonga took her final curtain call, so to speak, that happened at what time?”

“Witnesses put it a little after 9 p.m.,” Sharon replied.

Professor Lambert put a dot right around where Miami would be. “And the death of Herbert Hogan?”

“Around 10 p.m.,” Sharon said.

The Professor put a dot on Boca Raton. “And when did Mr. Becker leave us so soon?”

“After 11 p.m.,” Sharon said.

The Professor connected the dots. “All and all, a one hundred and thirty mile trek, completed in three hours.”

“Doesn’t sound so impossible,” Rusty said.

“Not if you have a lead foot,” Sharon said. “And if you’re lucky enough to not encounter any traffic, which never happens in the greater Miami area on a Friday night.”

“And if you don’t have to stop at three separate locations, sneak through security, murder three separate people and then leave undetected,” Cole added.

“A human never could have done this,” Sharon said. “We’ve had our heads up our asses the entire time.”

Professor Lambert said. “Do not be too hard on yourself, Agent Walker. When it comes to the unknown dangers of the animal world, humans have had their heads up their asses for quite some time now.”

“Gordon had theorized that a cult might have been at work,” Sharon said. “Multiple people committing murders in different locations within the same timeframe.”

Rusty stared dreamily off into space. “So much wisdom behind that man’s kind eyes.”

“What?” Rusty asked.

“Nothing,” Rusty answered.

“My new friends,” Professor Lambert said. “I know this comes as quite a surprise, but I have literally spent my entire life studying the impact of aquatic animals who commit toilet murder.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Rusty said.

“You actually kind of look like the type of guy who would be obsessed with toilet animals,” Cole said. “No offense.”

“I stopped taking offense years ago,” Professor Lambert said. “When I realized my research was too important for the future of the human race to ignore. Sure, I could have gotten into a more reasonable line of work but you know what? They scoffed at Columbus until he proved the world was round and I have resigned myself to the sad fact that people will make light of my labors until they realize the cold, hard truth that when they sit their butts down on toilets…their butts are not alone.”

“That video should give you all the vindication you need,” Rusty said. “Say, why didn’t you tell me about all this the day we met?”

“Would you have believed me then?” Professor Lambert asked.

“Nope,” Rusty said. “And no one believed me until the video.”

“Such is the life of a believer in toilet animal related phenomenon,” Professor Lambert said. “Humans are so close-minded that they rarely believe anything that they can’t see with their very eyes. And don’t think for a second that murderous toilet animals don’t take advantage of this lack of faith.”

Maude lit up a smoke.

“Oh, there’s no smoking in here,” Professor Lambert said.

Maude blew smoke in the Professor’s general direction. “And yet, here I am.”

“Well,” the Professor said as he pulled a joint out of his pocket. “If it’s that kind of party.”

The scholar lit up, then caught a glance of Cole’s disapproving eyes. He grew frightened, like he’d just made a big mistake.

“It’s fine,” Cole said. “I’ve been fired.”

The Professor turned to Rusty.

“I quit the force.”

Finally, the Professor turned to Sharon.

“I have bigger problems.”

Convinced no one was about to arrest him, the Professor noted to the group that his habit was strictly medicinal, then took a question from Maude – “How does someone start studying toilet animals? You go bananas or something?”

“A fine question,” Professor Lambert said. “When I was a young boy, my parents were missionaries in South America, working to bring the first sewer system to a very impoverished region. When the project was completed, I was given the honor of taking the first shit.”

“Academy eat your heart out,” Maude said.

“All was going well until I felt the slightest pinch on my bottom…”

“Catholic priest?” Rusty asked.

“A sandwich restaurant chain representative?” Maude added.

“Neither,” Professor Lambert said. “I jumped off the bowl to find a rather menacing looking snake had crawled up through the pipe and attached itself to my bottom. I passed out immediately, as the snake’s venom was highly poisonous. Luckily, a brave fellow sucked all of the poison out of my backside in time.”

“Catholic priest?” Rusty asked.

“A sandwich restaurant chain representative?” Maude added.

“Guys,” Sharon said sternly. “This isn’t a joking matter.”

“Agreed,” Cole said.

Maude threw up her hands. “Well excuse me all over the place!”

The old lady looked at the Professor. “Don’t they teach people how to puff, puff pass at this school?”

The Professor nodded and handed his joint to Maude. She stubbed her cigarette out on the old oak table, completely uncaring about the likelihood that some poor janitor would be called upon to buff out the mark. She then proceeded to suckle the doobie and suckle it good.

“Does she know that smoking isn’t good for a person on oxygen?” Sharon asked Cole.

“She doesn’t give a shit,” Cole said.

“I do not,” Maude said. “And I’m right here.”

“Anyway,” the Professor said. “At that moment, I realized how vulnerable humans are while they sitting on the toilet. Humans have come to assume that their bathroom time is one of the safest times of day. They’re in an enclosed space, they think they are all by themselves but oh no, at any given time, there may be hundreds if not thousands of sewer dwelling animals in their general vicinity, any one of which might crawl up and give an unsuspecting human a nasty surprise indeed.”

“But Professor,” Sharon said. “This is where I’m stuck. How does a great big alligator squeeze its way up through the small pipe that connects a toilet to a sewer?”

“Bone displacement,” the Professor said.

“Excuse me?” Sharon asked.

“Take the average bat,” Professor Lambert said. “It can literally dislocate its bones and smush its body together until it can fit through the tiniest crack in a homeowner’s abode.”

Moses piped up for the first time in this meeting. “That happened to me when I was a young boy once. I’d like to tell you that I reacted bravely but in fact, I hid under my bed until my father caught it and threw it out the front door. For the rest of my childhood, I was convinced he might have contracted vampirism and frankly, I’m still not entirely convinced he didn’t.”

“Your father died five years ago,” Cole said.

“Did he?” Cole asked. “Or did the CIA…”

Cole threw made a stop motion and pointed it at Moses before turning to Professor Lambert. “Continue.”

“Like humans, not every animal within a given species is the same,” Professor Lambert said. “Most fear pain. Most fear death. But some, they are willing to overlook these negative outcomes in order to push their bodies to the limit if it will get them closer to something they desire. Dislocating your bones to the point where you are able to squeeze yourself up a pipe like some kind of backed up ooze has got to be incredibly painful, but they’re willing to do it if will lead them closer to a butt sitting on a toilet they wish to consume.”

“Do all animals have the power to displace their bones?” Sharon asked.

“Not as such, no,” the Professor said. “At this time, I estimate that a small minority of animals have this ability. However, according to Darwinian Theory, these animals may continue to procreate until they dominate the Earth.”

Rusty shuddered. “A world full of killer toilet animals.”

Maude laughed as she puffed on her ganja. “Bullshit! This is so farfetched that if I ever read it in a self-published e-book, I’d give it a one star review and a pithy, passive-aggressive comment.”

“You shouldn’t do things like that, Madame,” Professor Lambert said. “Self-published e-book writers are the backbone of today’s book industry and they should be treated as such. I’m sorry to digress, but I spent so many time self-publishing my toilet animal studies that I feel the pain of any self-published e-book writer.”

“I’d demand my money back too,” Maude said. “Bone displacing toilet animals. Bitch, please!”

Rusty held out his hand. “Yo, Maude! What happened to puff, puff, pass?”

Maude flipped Rusty the bird. “Get your own supply, Narc!”

“Can we steer this conversation back on topic?” Cole asked.

“Yes,” Professor Lambert said. “Many individual animals will often display traits that help them stand out above and beyond their peers. Mr. Yates, you, for example, told me earlier that it seemed as though the alligator in question was communicating with this Buford fellow, that two were locked in a squabble.”

“Sounded that way to me,” Rusty said.

“Sometimes animals will stand out above their peers when it comes to intelligence,” Professor Lambert. “When these animals breed, they added smarter versions of themselves to their species gene pool. The collective IQ of a species grows smarter as a result.”

“Until the entire world is run by damn dirty gators?” Rusty asked.

“It’s not an impossibility,” the Professor said.

“Shit,” Rusty said. “I don’t want to be a slave in a world run by damn dirty gators.”

“Meh,” Maude said. “I still smell bullshit.”

Rusty waved the air away from his face. “I think that’s the dank bud.”

“It’s Mississippi Mud Bud, actually,” Professor Lambert said. “And Madame, I assure you, this is not bullshit. My many years of research have taken me all over the world, where I have encountered toilet piranha, toilet walruses, toilet dolphins…”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember your rant,” Maude said. “Toilet sharks, toilet whales…”

“A toilet whale?!” Sharon asked.

“A killer toilet whale,” Professor Lambert said. “In India. I believe that was the case though I never proved it. I have, however, documented the activities of many toilet animals the world over. My self-published studies are filled with photos of toilet animals engaging in toilet related activities. And, I’m proud to say, they’re often rated with a gentleman’s three star review.”

Maude jerked her hand up and down, pretending to jerk off rather than listen to the professor.

“You scoff, Madame,” the Professor said. “But I’ll have you know that alligators are the masters of toilet murder. They, above all other aquatic creatures, have utilized sewer systems all over the world to take down their enemies though I must admit, I have never encountered a toilet gator as intelligent, organized and vindictive as the one you are all describing.”

“Professor,” Sharon said. “You’ve explained how a toilet gator can sneak through a pipe, but how does it become big again so that it can…”

“Eat the victim?” the Professor asked. “Simple. It reconstitutes itself within the small space, grows too large for its surroundings and bursts out of it, just in time to catch the unsuspecting toilet user in its jaws. A pity really. The toilet user never truly grasps what is going on until it’s too late.”

“Then it shrinks and escapes down the pipe, the same way it came?” Cole asked.

“Precisely,” Professor Lambert said.

“Leaving police none the wiser,” Cole said.

“I can tell you I have spoken with authorities all over the world who were left baffled by this phenomenon,” the Professor said. “Many as skeptical as Miss Fuller here, if not more so.”

“You got any more of this?” Maude asked as she held up the joint.

“Not for free,” Professor Lambert said.

“Bah,” Maude said. “Lousy cheapskate.”

“This is literally the perfect crime,” Sharon said.

“Indeed,” Professor Lambert said.

“Professor,” Sharon said. “I have to say, the way the academic world has treated you is a shame. I mean, here you are, conducting pioneering research in an incomprehensible yet apparently very real field and yet here you are, stuck lecturing at a community college when you should be teaching at Princeton or Yale or…”
“Oh,” Professor Lambert said with a chuckle. “You think I was tossed to the bottom of academia for researching toilet animals?”

“You weren’t?” Sharon asked.

“Of course not,” Professor Lambert said. “All of my research into the world of toilet animals was sponsored by several big name universities. Institutions of higher learning are often willing to jack up tuitions in order to fund all sorts of silly, navel gazing research. Why, I have a colleague who was given full funding to study the mating habits of East Peruvian tree mold spores.”

“Tree mold spores have mating habits?” Rusty asked.

“My good man,” Professor Lambert said. “Put a few tree mold spores under a microscope, dim the lights, play a little 1970s disco music and you’ll swear you’re staring at a scene straight of Studio 64.”

“Sorry I asked,” Rusty said.

“They why are you teaching here of all places?” Sharon asked.

“Justin Bieber,” Professor Lambert said.

“Justin Bieber?” Sharon asked.

“Indeed,” Professor Lambert said. “I am a big Belieber. I know, it’s odd, a man of my intellect and age, to be a fan of such a frivolous young man but what can I say? The lad can carry a beat.”

“He sure can,” Rusty said before he caught himself. “So I’ve heard.”

“In the early days of Lifebox, I wrote a post about how I quite enjoyed Justin’s Beauty and a Beat video,” Professor Lambert said. “The elegance, the choreography, the pageantry, all made to look like it was spontaneous footage of a pool party. Oh how I loved it and watched it over and over. Alas, I didn’t quite understand the far reach and permanent nature of social media at the time and became an instant laughing stock. Only this and one other college would have me after that.”

“Which one?” Sharon asked.

“Arizona State,” Professor Lambert said.

Sharon shuddered. “Yeesh. You picked right.”

The door to the study room swung open. Natalie Brock and Walter walked into the room. “Professor Lambert, they said at the front desk that I could…”

Natalie looked around the room. “Oh, hello everyone.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 85


“Back of the line, dip stick,” Captain Russell said as his men picked the lock on the front door to the Dufresne McMansion.

“Look,” Sheriff Hammond said. “The boy ain’t right in the head but his Daddy and I go way back. Maybe I can talk him down and end this all peacefully.”

“Fine,” Captain Russell said. “But if that kid’s got a big ass gator in there, you’re going to be the first nugget.”

“I understand,” Hammond said as he drew his sidearm.

“I shouldn’t let you do this,” Captain Russell said. “You’re not SWAT trained.”

The lock clicked. A team member looked up at the Captain and gave him a thumbs up sign.

“We’re in,” Captain Russell said. “Everyone fall in line. Standard two by two formation, eyes in the back of your heads, people. I don’t want any chances.”

Hammond put his hand on the front door and creaked it open. Slowly, he walked in with gun drawn. A joint task force followed consisting of Russell’s SWAT team, FBI agents, and Sheriff’s deputies followed. They were all clad in state of the art helmets and body armor. They also carried high grade firepower, including machine and shot guns.

The task force entered the kitchen.

“Clear,” Hammond said.

They made their way into the sitting room.

“Clear,” Hammond said.

“Something’s not right,” Captain Russell said. “I can feel it in my bones.”

The task force moved down the hallway, clearing several rooms along the way. Finally, their noses caught a whiff of a disturbing stench coming from the bathroom.

“I think we found him,” Captain Russell whispered. “Shit, what the hell did he eat?”

“Potato chips mostly,” came the grim voice of Buford from within the bathroom. “Full of saturated fats and high in sodium and cholesterol. Everything a growing boy needs.”

The task force stacked up, taking positions on either side of the bathroom. Hammond took a spot just to the left of the door.

“Buford?” Hammond asked.
“Hello Sheriff,” Buford said in a depressed tone. “So lovely that you have come to visit me but I must confess, now is not a good time.”

“We just want to talk to you, son,” Hammond said.

Buford sighed, then laughed maniacally. Soon, he simmered down and he spoke as though he were in the midst of a funk again. “Oh, you are a card, Sheriff. I’m sorry, but I’m not much of a conversationalist.”

“Son,” Hammond said. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way…”

“Sheriff,” Buford said. “I feel a desperate urge to warn you and your assorted constables to go back the way you came. Otherwise, I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”

“You armed Buford?” Hammond asked. “Just throw it down and slide it out here and you won’t be hurt when we come in. You have my word.”

“Oh, I’m not armed,” Buford said.

A low rumble emanated its way out of the bathroom. Russell and Hammond looked at each other, their minds clearly clutched in the grip of fear as the floor began to shake.

“My associate, on the other hand, is armed to the teeth, you might say,” Buford said. “He’s packing roughly eighty razor sharp teeth in his mouth, to be exact.”

Hammond peered around the corner to find the unsavory sight of Buford sitting on the pot with his pants down.

“Pinch off and wipe, son,” Hammond said. “You’re coming with us. We’ve got questions about your big green friend.”

Buford looked at the Sherif and cocked his head to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry Sheriff, but my big green friend would not like that very much, you see. Oh no, he would not like that at all.”

“It’s a trap,” Russell said. “Everyone! Fall back!”

Hammond held up his hand. “No! I got this.”

The Sheriff holstered his weapon and stepped into the bathroom with his hands up. “Now look, son, I’m unarmed. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to…”


The toilet exploded as Skippy crashed through the floor and crushed Buford between his jaws. It only took three chomps for the beast to swallow his longtime companion whole. Most of Buford was in the alligator’s belly now, except for the parts that covered the walls, the floor, the ceiling and even Hammond’s face.

Hammond lost control of his bodily functions. A stream of urine poured down his leg as he stepped backward. “Fuh—fuh—fuh—fall back.”

Out in the hallway, Captain Russell watched as the gator’s mighty jaws snapped Hammond in two.

“Too late!” Russell shouted as he pumped a shotgun blast into the gator’s face. “Open fire!”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 84


Buford sat on a fluffy white couch in his father’s McMansion with a sullen, defeated look on his face. He put on his headset and spoke into the mouthpiece.

“So is this the state you’ve decided to leave me in, Skippy?” Buford asked. “A wanton criminal, mocked my entire life and soon to be despised by the entire world for unleashing you? Destined to be alone forever, without even a Momma or a Daddy to talk to?”

The other end was silent for a few seconds until finally there was a bittersweet, “Raarga.”

“How could you do this to me?” Buford asked. “Were you even my friend to begin with?”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“I was such a fool to think I could control you,” Skippy said. “That I could hold you back.”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

The gleam of flashing lights poured through the big bay windows of the McMansion’s sitting room. Sirens blared as well. Buford stood up and looked out the window to see a number of Grover County Sheriff’s Department cruisers coming up the driveway, along with FBI SUVs and a SWAT team van.

“That’s it,” Buford said. “Game over.”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

Buford lowered his head in shame as he walked through the halls of the excessively big home. “No, Skipford. Don’t worry. I’ll never become a state’s witness against you. I love you too much for that, though I’m beginning to doubt you ever loved me.”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Buford said as he flicked on the bathroom light.

Buford lifted the toilet lid, dropped his trousers, and sat on the bowl.

“It never had to be this way,” Buford said.

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“We could have become something greater than all of this, you and I,” Skippy said.

Buford winced as he blasted out a few farts, followed by a wet plop. “Excuse me.”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

“You know what you need to do now, boy,” Buford said as he closed his eyes.

“Raarga, raarga?” Skippy asked.

“Yes,” Buford said. “That.”

“Raarga,” Skippy said.

Buford listened as a fist rapped on the front door to the McMansion. “You have no choice. A life in prison is no life at all. I need you to stop being selfish and do this for me.”

Skippy was quiet for a moment. “Raarga?”

“Yes,” Buford said. “I’m sure. It’s time for the two of us to become one.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 83


Cole walked through the hallowed halls of Sitwell Community College, flanked by Sharon and Rusty to his left, and Maude, Moses, and Felix to his right.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the professor, Cole,” Maude said.

“It’s fine,” Cole said. “I never would have believed it until I saw the video. And Rusty, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“It’s ok,” Rusty said. “I’m sorry I said you’re the same as Hammond. You aren’t.”

“I have so many questions for this professor,” Sharon said. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“I wish I’d of asked him some,” Maude said. “Maybe I could have figured out he wasn’t one of the crazies.”

The gang stopped in front of a door marked, “Professor Elliot Lambert, Professor of Animal Biology and Physiology.”

Cole knocked on the door. Sounds of an intense hacking cough came from inside. “Who is it?”

“Cole Walker,” Cole said.

“The police chief?” Professor Lambert asked.

“Well, former police chief,” Cole said. “But I’d like a word.”

More coughing. “One moment please. I just need to tidy up.”

“Sorry,” Cole said. “I don’t have a minute.

Cole opened up the door to find the esteemed professor sitting behind his desk, taking one last hit off an elaborate purple bong. The whole office smelled like pot smoke.

Professor Lambert shrieked. “This isn’t mine! I’m holding it for a friend!”

Cole turned to Maude. “I think he’s still one of the crazies.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 82


Thunk, thunk, thunk. Natalie lightly pounded her head against the side of the news van.

“I had it,” Natalie said. “I had this story right in the palm of my hand and I let it go.”

“Yes you did,” Walter said as he chomped down on a snack cake.

Natalie looked at the snack cake box in Walter’s hand. “Give me one of those.”

“What?” Walter asked.

Natalie lunged for the box. “Gimmie!”

Walter pulled the box away. “No!”

“You’ve got enough, fatty!” Natalie said as she reached for the box.

Walter put the palm of his hand on Natalie’s forehead, holding her back as her arms flailed about wildly. “It’s not that. I just don’t want you to go down the road I went down. Stress eating gets you nowhere than a trip to the plus size store fast.”

“I deserve it!” Natalie said.

“You don’t,” Walter said. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to shop for clothes as a fat person. Your choices are usually the big red shirt or the big blue shirt or the big black shirt. That’s about it. You’ll never wear name brands again.”

“I’m empty inside!” Natalie said.

“And snack cakes will never fill that hole!” Walter said. “Believe me, I know. It’s too late for me, but I won’t let you start chasing the cream filled dragon. Not on my watch, sister.”

Natalie escaped Walter’s grasp and leaned back against the van. “I guess you’re right but…”

“Natalie,” Walter said. “I thought that professor was a loon too. No one could have seen that an alligator was the toilet killer. Kurt is just blowing smoke out of his ass.”

Natalie jumped into the passenger’s seat. Kurt got behind the wheel.

“We need to find that professor,” Natalie said.

“I’m on it,” Walter said.

“When do I get to play my hand, Walter?” Natalie asked. “If that sack of crap embarrasses me on air one more time…”

“Trust me,” Walter said. “Bide your time. All good things come to those who wait.”

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Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #7


KURT MANLEY: Witnesses on the scene report the cow may look fine, but in fact, may suffer from post traumatic stress disorder. Authorities say that Farmer Johnson has been slapped with a restraining order and is to stay fifty feet away from the cow at all times. Bovine rights advocates say this is a victory for cows everywhere and they are “moo-ved” to keep fighting the good fight. In other news, Hurricane Dakota Rothschild has caught meteorologists off guard, striking the Cuban coastline with gale force winds. Early reports indicate the carnage is significant. We take you live to the scene where one of our Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties is reporting. Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, how are things in Cuba?

(A Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties appears on screen. She is wearing a yellow rain coat. She is horizontal, flapping about in the wind, the only thing that keeps her from blowing away is the grip she has on a traffic sign pole. She holds a microphone in her other hand. She squints through the rain that hammers down on her face and screams into the camera.)


KURT MANLEY: I understand that all of the Cubans have retreated inland to safety, is that correct?

HOT ASS BLONDE CHICK WITH BIG TITTIES: That is correct, Kurt! My cameraman and I are literally the only two assholes outside now, because apparently, it’s not possible for you to just sit there in the studio and tell everyone at home that there’s a hurricane on the loose! I actually have to get whipped around in the air like a moron so all the obese Midwestern housewives with nothing to do but watch the news all day can be entertained!

KURT MANLEY: Just how dangerous are things down there, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties?

(A 1957 Chevy sails through the sky, passing just inches over the blonde reporter’s head.)

HOT ASS BLONDE CHICK WITH BIG TITTIES: Oh, I’d say it’s pretty fucking dangerous, Kurt!

(Kurt looks to another camera and shuffles some papers.)

KURT MANLEY: Pretty fucking dangerous indeed. Stay safe, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties and keep those titties dry. Live via satellite feed we have Bernie Norris, a meteorologist with the International Weather Consortium. Welcome Bernie.

(A bespectacled geek appears on screen. He stands in front of an array of blinking and beeping computers.)

BERNIE: Hello Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Color me surprised, Bernie, but I always thought the point of meteorology was to give people advance warning whenever a serious weather event is about to occur.

BERNIE: You’d think so, but no, Kurt.

BERNIE: Yeah Kurt. I’m going to level with you. We meteorologists like to talk a big game about how intelligent we are when it comes to the weather but honestly, our ability to predict and warn people about the weather is roughly equivalent to that of a three year old kid who points to a raindrop and says, “Look Mommy! Jesus is crying!”

KURT MANLEY: Wow. Well, I respect your honesty. If meteorologists can’t really predict the weather, then what the hell do you do all day?

BERNIE: Oh, lots of things to pass the time. We play a lot of fantasy roleplaying games. I’m a level fifty dungeon raider in Magicians of Montazor.

KURT MANLEY: Can’t any of those computers tell you anything about the weather?

(Bernie points to the computers behind them).

BERNIE: What, these things? Nah, they’re mostly just cardboard boxes with flashing lights built into them for show. Most meteorology labs are set up like the set of a 1980s science fiction movie. I thought everyone knew that.

KURT MANLEY: So you’re saying that meteorologists are essentially useless?

BERNIE: That’s correct. Another fact I assumed everyone already knew but hey, when you assume something you make an ass out of you and me, am I right?

KURT MANLEY: Speak for yourself, Bernie. Now the name your group has chosen for this hurricane…

BERNIE: Dakota Rothschild, yes.

KURT MANLEY: Care to explain that one for the audience?

BERNIE: Sure. Anyone who is anyone knows that if you want your daughter to get ahead in the world, you’ve got to give her a strong name. Gone to wayside are cute names like “Emily” and “Abby.” Today, your daughter needs to be named something strong like “Mackenzie” or “McKenna” or in our hurricane’s case, “Dakota.”

KURT MANLEY: Interesting.

BERNIE: Honestly Kurt, your daughter is going to be a big zero unless she’s named after a cowboy in a Louis L’Amour novel.

KURT MANELY: Now this is the first hurricane that the International Weather Consortium has given a last name to, is that correct?

BERNIE: Yes, Kurt. We here at the IWC felt that the name “Dakota Rothschild” is a very classy, luxurious name, one that will fit the hurricane in a variety of settings. Why, if the hurricane chooses to go the academic route, an applicant to Harvard is sure to be granted admission with such a stunning moniker. However, if, say, the hurricane were to decide to go into porn, she’s already got a very striking name and as any porn addict will tell you, an alluring name is half the battle for any successful porn star.

KURT MANLEY: Um, you do know that the hurricane is not a person, don’t you?

BERNIE: Of course, Kurt. It’s not like I sit around the lab, playing Magicians of Montazor with my buddies, all the while dreaming that Hurricane Dakota Rothschild will show up on my doorstep wearing a dazzling designer dress, reeking of high-end perfume. Maybe she’d take my hand and whisk me away to her Chateau in Tuscany, where she’ll bring home the bacon because she’s a modern empowered woman and I’ll while away my days as her obedient house boy, bringing her assorted fruit pieces wearing nothing but a tasteful banana hammock…

KURT MANLEY: It’s been a long time since you’ve been laid, hasn’t it Bernie?

BERNIE: It really has, Kurt. It really has.

KURT MANLEY: Any idea when the storm will hit the U.S.?

BERNIE: I’d like to give you an exact estimate but ultimately, my meteorology degree isn’t worth the paper it was printed on. Common sense says Hurricane Dakota Rothschild will be screwing Florida over royally by tomorrow morning, but the average fifth grader with a weather vane could have told you that.

KURT MANLEY: Bernie Norris, everyone. He’s completely ruined all faith I ever had in the science of meteorology, not that I had much to begin with. Speaking of Florida being screwed over, if you’re just tuning in, you may want to brace yourself. Pour yourself a nice shot of the hard stuff and get the kids out of the room or hell, keep them here and let them realize what a terrible place the world is. The sooner they realize that the better or maybe not. I don’t know. I’m not a child psychologist but what I do know is that the video footage you’re about to see is very disturbing indeed.

(Footage shows of Mayor Dufresne in his bathroom, being sliced and diced by the teeth of a vicious alligator).

KURT MANLEY: Holy shit! It’s a toilet gator! That’s the broad consensus of NN1’s rival news networks so far. Just take a look at some of the coverage our lesser competitors have been providing.

(A Japanese anchor appears at a news desk with a graphic of a giant alligator to his right).

JAPANESE ANCHOR: Shinseina tawagoto soreha toiregētādesu…holy shit it’s a toilet gator!

(A Swedish anchor appears on screen as the gruesome toilet gator footage plays on a monitor behind him).

SWEDISH ANCHOR: Hergen blurgen flurgen meatballs fjorden kurgen lurgen IKEA borgen schmorgen…holy shit it’s a toilet gator!

(A sign language translator appears on screen. “Deaf News Daily” appears on a sign behind her. To her right, there’s an image of the Mayor being eaten by an alligator. She makes a toilet flushing motion with her right hand, then joins her hands at the rests and opens them up and down as though they are a pair of jaws and her fingers the teeth. The caption at the bottom of the screen reads, “Holy shit! It’s a toilet gator!”

KURT MANLEY: Holy shit, it’s a toilet gator indeed. For days now, authorities have been pursuing this investigation as though a human being were behind the string of murder victims that includes international singing sensation Countess Cucamonga as well as a bunch of miscellaneous nobodies no one cares about. Now, the world is shocked to discover that the perpetrator is more beast than man, and a big one at that. For more on this startling revelation, we go to another one of our many Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties, on the scene in Sitwell, Florida. Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, this video seems to make it crystal clear that an alligator is eating people on the toilet. Please say it ain’t so.

(Natalie Brock appears on screen outside Mayor Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium, clad in her fake blonde hair and big boobs get up).

NATALIE BROCK: It’s so, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Damn it, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. I just asked you to tell me it wasn’t so!

NATALIE BROCK: I’m sorry Kurt, but it is, indeed, so. Experts who have reviewed the video all agree it is genuine. The only reasonable conclusion that can be drawn is that the culprit behind the series of gruesome murders dubbed “The Toilet Killings” by the media is none other than an alligator, colossal in size.

KURT MANLEY: This boggles my mind, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. Truly, my mind is boggled.

NATALIE BROCK: It’s boggling a lot of minds, Kurt. I don’t think authorities have any clue how to respond to this one. Every call I’ve placed, from the Grover County Sheriff’s office to the FBI to the Governor’s office and even the White House has gone unreturned thus far.

KURT MANLEY: How did no one see this coming?

NATALIE BROCK: Well, you must admit Kurt, the idea that an alligator was behind all of this was an idea that no one could have conceived of until that footage caught us all off guard.
KURT MANLEY: Let me be more specific. I’m surprised you didn’t see this one coming.


KURT MANLEY: Yes, you, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.

NATALIE BROCK: Kurt, I really don’t think…

KURT MANLEY: That’s the problem. You didn’t think. Oh sure, cops plod along, trying to solve a crime between donut breaks and sure, some reporters at lesser stations may poke their nose into it but here at NN1, we expect our team of Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties to be top notch, crackerjack ace reporters, breaking the news before it happens and, well, I’m very disappointed that you didn’t figure out a dinosaur sized alligator wasn’t behind all of us this long before Mayor Dufresne was turned into a tasty morsel.

NATALIE BROCK: I don’t know what to say.

KURT MANLEY: You don’t know much of anything, do you Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties?

(Kurt looks to another camera and sighs).

KURT MANLEY: I’m sorry, America. Our Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties in Florida is new but we’ll break her in. Don’t you worry about that. We’ll stay on the Toilet Gator story as it develops but for now, I can see with absolute certainty, that your butt should not go anywhere near a toilet unless you want it to be bitten off by a prehistoric lizard beast. Just put on a diaper, lock your doors, and stay tuned to Network News One, the only channel you can trust to tell you when it’s safe to take a shit again. That will do it for this block. Coming up next, is there a brand of tuna fish that can leave your body possessed by the soul of the tuna from whence it came? We’ll tell you which brand of tuna to worry about after sports and weather but first, these commercial messages.

ANNOUNCER: Network News One! The hottest blonde chicks! The biggest titties! Oh yeah, and occasionally we report the news and shit!

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 81


Cole, Sharon, Rusty, Moses and Felix all sat around a big table at Ruby Sue’s Barbecue, feasting on Steve’s best work.

“Oh my God,” Sharon said as she savored a mouthful of rib meat. “I forgot how good this place is.”

Cole pointed to the side of his face.

“What?” Sharon asked.

“You’ve got a little something,” Cole said.

After Sharon tried and failed to wipe a barbecue sauce smudge off her face, Cole reached across the table with a napkin and took care of business himself. “Here, let me.”

“Thanks,” Sharon said. “I can’t believe how much I missed this place.”

“Really?” Cole asked. “It was always here waiting for you.”

“Was it?” Sharon asked. “I don’t know. I guess there are sometimes you don’t realize how much you love something until its gone.”

Rusty spied Cole and Sharon trading longing looks and stuck a finger down his throat. “Gag me.”

“So Buford,” Sharon said. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know that there is anything we can do,” Cole said.

“Bullshit,” Rusty said. “I say we go find that little prick and pull a citizen’s arrest on his sorry ass.”

“And what’s the charge?” Cole asked. “Talking to an imaginary alligator in the first degree?”

“It wasn’t imaginary,” Rusty said.

“We could kidnap him and take him into international waters, then torture the shit out of him until he confesses,” Moses said. “That’s how the CIA got Chuck Norris to admit he’s an alien.”

“You read that on the Internet?” Sharon asked.

“So much good stuff on the Internet,” Moses said.

Moses turned to Felix. “Say something, ya’ ignoramus! It’s impolite to not participate in dinner conversation, you know.”
Felix ignored his hetero life partner’s command and stuck a forkful of baked beans into his pie hole.

“I’m sorry, people,” Moses said. “Ever since those terrorists pulled out that rusty pair of pliers, Old Felix here has never been the same.”

“Shit,” Rusty said. “Pliers? I’m sorry, Felix.”

Felix nodded graciously towards Rusty, then went to work on a piece of corn on the cob like he was working a typewriter.

“Every time you don’t talk, you let the terrorists win, F-Man,” Moses said.

Felix was too busy eating too pay attention to that remark.

The front door opened and Maude walked in with a book in her hand. She stormed over to the table, plopped down her oxygen tank, then lightly slapped Cole upside the head.

“Ow,” Cole said. “What was that for?”

“You don’t answer your phone?” Maude asked.

“I hate cell phones,” Cole said. “They’re the worst thing ever invented.”

“Oh Lord,” Sharon said. “I remember this rant from the early 2000s.”

“They are,” Cole said. “I wish we could all just go back to the days when if someone needed you, they’d just wait until you’re home to call you. No one is so important that they need to be reachable wherever they are at all times.”

“Christ on a cracker,” Maude said. “You sound older than I am. Everyone scooch over, I’m coming in.”

“Nice to see you again, Maude,” Sharon said as the old lady sat down.

Maude sighed and looked around the table. “What…what is this? Is she one of the group now? Are we supposed to be nice to her again?”

“I have no idea,” Rusty said.

“I just have no idea how to treat her,” Maude said.

“I’m right here,” Sharon said.

Maude smiled and patted Sharon on the shoulder. “Of course you are, dear, so lovely to see you too.”

The old gal held up the book. The title read, “Sitwell High School: Class of 2007. Go Fighting Platypi!”
“I thought you graduated in 1807,” Rusty said. “Wasn’t Abe Lincoln your valedictorian?”

“Bite me, ginger,” Maude said. “I’m not in the mood. I was up all night.”

“You want something to eat, Maude?” Cole asked.

“No thank you,” Maude said. “Food’s the last thing I need. I had the worst case of indigestion but enough about that.”

Maude turned to the senior class photo section. She pointed to a photo of a young, goofy looking boy with a mullet. “Look. Buford Dufresne. Voted Most Likely to Become a Serial Killer.”

Cole looked at the photo. “I mean, its creepy that out of all of the superlatives he got that one, but that doesn’t prove anything.”

“Wait,” Maude said as she turned a few pages. She pointed out the photo of a chubby girl with braces. “Sally Ann Dubawitz. Voted Most Likely to Die Alone and Have Her Corpse Removed from Her House with a Crane.”

“Kids can be cruel,” Moses said. “A little junk in the trunk never hurt no one.”

“Sally Ann Dubawitz?” Sharon asked as she seized the yearbook and looked at the photo. “Countess Cucamonga was from Sitwell?!”

“She was,” Maude said.

“Interesting,” Cole said. “But again, so what?”

Felix took no interest in the conversation whatsoever. His focus was on the restaurant’s television, which was currently playing an old episode of Dumb Dad. It was the one where the father of the family proved himself to be an incompetent buffoon while his wife and children came across as much more intelligent beings forced to put up with their patriarch’s dimwittery. So, in other words, it could have been literally any episode.

“My granddaughter Bernice and Sally used to be friends when they were little,” Maude said. “Those two would come over my house and play all the time but they went there separate ways in high school. Bernice got interested in fashion and boys and Sally got interested in, well, pizza I suppose.”

“Your granddaughter used to be Countess Cucamonga’s childhood friend and you never told us?” Rusty asked.

“I’m old,” Maude said. “At my age, everything blends together. I vaguely remembered Bernice being friends with a chubby girl. I didn’t remember that she was Sally Ann Dubawitz until I saw her picture on the news.”

“Kids are getting chubbier and chubbier,” Moses said. “It’s on account of all the bacon molecules the CIA puts in our toothpaste.”
“Here’s the deal,” Maude said. “Buford has got to be behind all this.”

“We’re way ahead of you,” Rusty said.

“Oh?” Maude said. “Well, have you figured out the motive?”

Felix chomped down on a pulled pork sandwich as he watched the TV. A commercial came on featuring the Mayor.

“I’m Mayor Beaumont Dufresne of Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium and my prices are so low I ought to be locked up in the nut house!”

“Can’t say that we’ve put our finger on that one,” Rusty said.

Maude flipped through the yearbook until she found a photo of a balding teacher sleeping at his desk. “Herb Hogan,” Maude read. “History department. Most likely to keep phoning it in until retirement.”

“Herb was a teacher at Sitwell,” Cole said. “The school where Buford went with Sally before she became the Countess. That’s a connection.”

“It goes deeper,” Maude said. “I called up Bernice and asked her if she remembered anything about Buford and she told me a story about their senior prom. Seems that Buford was canoodling with Sally in the bleachers until Chad Becker…”

Maude flipped the pages to Chad Becker’s photo. “Chad Becker. Most likely to spend ten years on a two-year associate’s degree.”

“…cock-blocked Buford, stole his girl out from under his nose and kicked the crap out of him while Hogan did nothing to stop it.”

Everyone at the table traded glances.

Meanwhile, Felix watched the Mayor’s commercial.

“As Mayor of the fine community of Sitwell, I’m hopping mad that people aren’t sitting well these days. These toilet murders don’t sit well with me and they shouldn’t sit well with you, but y’all got to stop being afraid to go about your daily lives and more importantly, y’all gotta stop being afraid to shit.”

“Obviously,” Maude said. “This incident got stuck in Buford’s craw for years.”

“He seethed with rage about it,” Sharon said.

“Until he finally did something about it,” Cole said.

Felix continued to watch the television as the Mayor opened up the door to his office bathroom.

“Is there a slight chance that the Toilet Killer might get you while you’re on the commode? Sure. But you know what folks? There’s also a slight chance you might get hit by a bus while you’re walking down the street, or that you might get ball cancer from standing in front of a microwave for too long. We all know there’s risks involved in everything we do but we get up and do them anyway.”

The Mayor dropped his pants and took a seat on the toilet.

“If we all just keep taking shits on the toilet, the toilet killer can’t kill us all, can he?” the Mayor asked.

Everyone else at the table was oblivious to the Mayor’s commercial, too focused on Maude’s revelations.

“It all makes sense now,” Rusty said.

Felix took a sip of beer but spewed it out immediately when he saw a massive set of alligator jaws burst through the bathroom floor and grab hold of the mayor. Soon, the toilet was busted, and the entire gator could be seen on television, thrashing around wildly with the Mayor’s body in his mouth.

“Lord-a-mercy!” the Mayor shouted.

One by one, diners elsewhere in the restaurant dropped their food and watched the television in horror. Felix, on the other hand, was the only one at his table watching. The beer sprayed out of his mouth as the normally quiet man choked.

“You OK, buddy?” Moses asked without turning his head toward the TV. “Something go down the wrong pipe.”

Felix’s face turned white.

“Gotta watch what you’re eating, man,” Moses said. “You know you got that acid reflux.”

Rusty turned to Cole. “Buford spent his whole life being pissed at the people who did him wrong, so he took revenge by getting his alligator to do his dirty work for him.”

“Alligator?” Maude asked. “What alligator?”

Felix pointed at the TV and uttered the first words to come out of his mouth since the early 2000s. “That one!”

Everyone at the table turned their attention to the television just in time to watch the severed head of the Mayor get hurled at the camera with the cowboy hat still on it. Diners, waiters and waitresses all screamed as the gator charged for the cameraman. Loud crunching sounds came next, followed by the cameraman’s cries and then, the live feed cut to black.

“Do you believe me know?” Rusty asked.

“Yes,” a dumbfounded Cole said. “And I need that monster’s head on my wall.”

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Movie Review – Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie (2017)

Hey 3.5 readers.

I’m not going to write much of a review other than to say it was funny, a good time, and kinda short, which, hey, if you’re an adult, then that works for you.

That’s it.  End of review.  Tra la la!

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