The clientele of the Chicken and Titties Shack had been cleared out, save for the dancers, a secret service team, President Vinny Stugotz and Professor Elliot Lambert who, at present, was chowing down on a hot wing that a secret service agent had just shoved through the mouth slit in the bag that was covering the renowned toilet animal scientist’s head.
“Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said. “Is this bag really necessary? You’ve already bought my loyalty.”
“Of course it’s necessary,” the President said. “The CIA doesn’t want you having any idea what part of the country their top secret underground lab is in and if there’s one thing I’m known for, it’s being low key. I’ve posted about my ability to keep a secret at least a thousand times on Lifebox.”
The house DJ spoke over some funky club music. “Alright, alright, alright, Mister President we’re so honored to have you and your friend with the bag on his head here at the Chicken and Titties Shack. Our motto? If you got the cash, then we got the best chicken and titties.”
“Fine,” Professor Lambert said. “It’s just that it’s kind of lame to be in a titty bar without the ability to look at all the titties.”
“Yeah,” the President said as he pointed to a busty blonde as she gyrated on stage. “Not gonna lie. You’re missing some massive cans. Believe me. Nobody is a better judge of the female form than yours truly.”
“Wing me, please,” Professor Lambert said.
The secret service agent assigned to feed the professor sighed as he shoved another wing into Lambert’s mouth.
“So when am I going to get my toilet gator?” the President asked.
“Soon, Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said. “I’m working on the genetics aspect of this project with great interest, making sure that this specimen will retain the mighty strength and power of his father while still being controllable. Plus, I’ll need to find a suitable female alligator egg and…”
“Jesus Christ, Egghead McGee,” President Stugotz said as he sipped a beer. “Just fill up a turkey baster with Skippy the Toilet Gator’s joy juice, use it to knock up a fine ass lady gator and bada boom, bada bing, we’re done. Come on. Let’s get this show on the road!”
“It will be done within a year, Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said. “That, I assure you. Can I get a drink, please?”
The same secret service agent who had been feeding Lambert scoffed as he picked up a beer, shoved a straw into it, and held it up to Lambert’s mouth as he sucked on the straw like a baby.
“Thank you,” Professor Lambert said.
“What a psycho that Buford Dufresne was,” President Stugotz said. “Keeping a fridge full of his pet alligator’s baby batter. I mean, I keep a hefty supply of my own man goo on standby, but that’s only because it would be a damn shame if there were ever to be a world without a Stugotz in it.”
“Hey alright,” came the DJ’s voice. “That was Chastity on the main stage. She’s available now for lap dances and the champagne room.”
A beautiful redhead wearing a cowboy hat and nothing else strutted onto the stage.
“Coming up next,” the DJ said. “It’s everybody’s favorite cowgirl, Lorelai. Everybody give a warm Texas welcome to Lorelai.”
President Stugotz looked to one of the secret service agents. “Plug his ears.”
“What?” Professor Lambert asked. “I can’t listen either? Come on.”
The secret service agent assigned to Lambert licked his pointer fingers, then stuck them deep into the scholar’s ear canals.
“You’ve lost your hearing privileges, Lambert,” President Stugotz said as he chomped on a chicken wing. “Mmm. This is a fantastic chicken wing. Best chicken wing I’ve ever had and I know chicken wings. Nobody’s a better judge of chicken quality than I am. Believe me.”
Bookshelf Battle 