Son of Toilet Gator – Prologue

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Late 2017, Directly After the Events of Toilet Gator

              The clientele of the Titty Wing Shack had been cleared out, save for the exotic 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 world-renowned toilet animal scientist’s head.

“Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said between chews.  “Is the head 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 located under and if there’s one thing I’m known for, it’s my discretion.  In fact, 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 Titty Wing Shack.  Our motto?  If you’ve got the cash, then we’ve got the best chicken wings 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 who was gyrating on stage. “Not gonna lie.  You’re missing some spectacular 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 the captive’s mouth.

“So, when am I going to get me 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 the 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 to inseminate and…”

“Jesus Christ, Egghead McGee,” President Stugotz said as he sipped a diet soda.  “Just fill up a turkey baster with Skippy the Toilet Gator’s joy juice, use it to knock up a fine ass lady gater and bada bing, bada boom, 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 bottle, shoved a straw into it, and held it up to Lambert’s mouth.  The scientist sucked away 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 kept 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.”

The president punched a few buttons into his cell phone, then held the device up to his ear.  “Hello, crooked lawyer.  Wait, what?  You’re charging me how much per minute for this call? OK, let me get it over with quick, then.  I’m in a strip club.  Yeah.  Uh huh. So what would be the legal ramifications if I want to take one of these broads to the champagne room?  Right.  Uh huh.  Are you serious?  You’re telling me if I DON’T pay her to shut her piehole with my campaign funds it would be illegal?  You’re kidding me.  And here all these years I thought I was doing the taxpayer a favor by shutting these bimbos up on my own dime.  Wait?  How many forms would I have to file?  And I’d have to list ‘Affair Hush Money’ on my campaign finance report?  And then it would be legal?  And you’re telling me this with a straight face? What a strange new world this is.  Yeah, something tells me this rule only applies to me.  No.  No, never mind, it’s too much work.  I’m just going to sit here and sip my soda.  Goodbye.”

Stugotz hanged up his cellphone.  “Damn ambulance chasers.”

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.  Everyone give Lorelai a warm Texas welcome.”

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, nerd,” President Stugotz said as he chomped on a chicken wing.  “Mmm.  This is a fantastic chicken wing, by the way.  Simply fantastic.  Best chicken wing I’ve ever had and I know chicken wings.  Nobody’s a better judge of poultry quality than I am.  Believe me.”

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