Daily Archives: June 29, 2017

Toilet Gator – Chapter 111


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


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


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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