Category Archives: Toilet Gator

May 14 2017
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Toilet Gator

Thirteen Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

Happy Mother’s Day, 3.5 readers.

Just think.  By this time next year, you’ll be able to thank your mother for squirting you out of her nether regions by buying her her very own copy of “Toilet Gator.”

That’s all your mother ever wanted all along.  Just the other day I heard her say, “My ulterior motive in turning my vagina into the Holland Tunnel was to raise a kid who would buy me my very own copy of a book about an alligator that eats people while they are sitting on the toilet.”

So, stop disappointing your mother and be sure to make a note to buy “Toilet Gator” next year.  It will make up for the many, many ways in which you disappointed your mother, the list of which is long and voluminous.

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May 13 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 42

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Rusty perused the letter. “Little Mutumbo remembered your birthday.”

“Isn’t that nice?” Maude asked.

“Yup,” Cole said. “That kid’s thousands of miles away yet he’s like the family I never had.”

Rusty and Maude frowned in unison.

“What are we?” Rusty asked.

“Chopped liver?” Maude added.

“Fine,” Cole said. “He’s like the son I never had.”

Rusty reached across the table, seized one of Cole’s tater tots and popped it into his mouth. “Damn. Steve’s on his A-game tonight.”

“You knew Ruby Sue up and left this place to go see the world?” Cole asked.

“Sure did,” Rusty said.

“Everyone knew that,” Maude said.

“Not everyone,” Cole said. “I didn’t know.”

“Well,” Rusty said.

Maude reached over the table and patted Cole’s hand. “Sometimes you get stuck inside your head and don’t pay attention to the world, hon. It’s ok.”

Mindy stopped by the table. “New guests! What will y’all have?”

“It’s been a rough day,” Rusty said. “I deserve the full course barbecue chicken, ribs, pulled pork platter. All the sides.”

“All the sides?” Mindy asked.

“All of the sides,” Rusty said.

“And for you, ma’am?” Mindy asked.

“Oh,” Maude said. “I deserve the works too but I know I’ll be up all night on the toilet and rumor has it that can be hazardous for your health these days so I’ll just go with a nice bowl of the house soup.”
“Coming right up,” Mindy said as she walked away.

“Hazardous to your health?” Cole asked.

“Yes,” Maude said. “Kiddo, do you know that while you were out having yourself a good old time today, the world basically erupted into a fireball of shit?”

“Might have heard something about it on the television,” Cole said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Maude said. “Everyone and their Uncle is afraid to shit and they’re all calling the police station to ask when it will be safe to shit again…as if anyone actually knows.”

Cole stuffed a fork full of barbecue into his gob, chewed, and swallowed. “Why would anyone be afraid to take a shit?”

“Because there’s a psycho killing people who shit,” Maude said.

“So now everyone thinks they’re going to buy the farm on the bowl,” Rusty said. “I was at the college all day and at least three hundred kids asked me if it’s safe to shit. Honestly, I dodged the question because I didn’t think it was right to tell them it’s safe.”

“All these millennial kids were worried about finding a safe space free of opposing ideas,” Maude said. “Who knew they’d need to find a place where it’s safe to shit?”

“People are idiots,” Cole said. “I doubt the killer is after people just because they shit. He’d have to kill everyone in the world then. There must be some link between the victims.”

“Maybe,” Rusty said. “But you got to admit it, there’s no clear pattern. Most serial killers off people with a similar look or have something in common, some kind of trigger that reminds them of a person they disliked intensely.”

“Maybe the killer was once done wrong by someone who shits,” Maude said.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “But again, that’d be everyone. Everyone shits.”

“But again, other than the fact that they all were shitting the time of their untimely demises, there was nothing else that tied the three victims together,” Rusty said. “A pop star with a famous butt. An old, retired teacher. A dummy that was on his tenth year in pursuit of a two year degree. These people have nothing in common…except that they all shit.”

Cole took a sip of soda. “And everybody shits.”

“Everybody indeed shits,” Rusty said.

Cole was quiet for a moment while he dug into his food. “So Sharon has cracked the case yet?”

Rusty smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to last five minutes without asking about your Smoochy Poo.”

“Shut up,” Cole said.

“Mmm mmm,” Rusty said. “Kissy kissy, you still love her.”

Maude could tell this was not going to end well. “Enough, Rusty.”

“Cole and Sharon sitting in a tree…”

Bam! Cole’s fist pounded the table. “Shut up!”

“Whoa,” Rusty said as he held his hands out. “OK. Chill.”

“Stop picking the scab, Danny Bonaduce,” Maude said.

“Whatever,” Rusty said. “I meant no disrespect.”

Cole glared at Rusty.

“OK,” Rusty said. “I meant a slight, teeny, tiny amount of disrespect. But look, Cole, I gotta say it. This is the case of a lifetime, one that could give you and I a ticket to the big time and you are letting your personal shit with your ex-wife get in the way of pursuing your own glory.”

Ever so calmly, Cole put down his fork. He folded his hands, took a deep breathe and faced Rusty.

“Oh Lord,” Maude said.

“Go on,” Cole said.

“What?” Rusty asked.

“Explain to me, a mere peon, how you, an obviously very wise man, came to conclude that I am allowing, quote ‘my personal shit with my ex-wife get in the way of pursuing my own glory.’”

Rusty smirked. “Honestly, Cole I didn’t get this far in my mind. I thought you’d of thrown some kind of blunt object at me by now.”

Cole’s eyes traveled into the direction of his hands, reminding Rusty they were still folded. “Nope. No harm will come to you, Carrot Top.”

“OK,” Rusty said. “Look. We’ve been working hard all our lives, right?”

“True,” Cole said.

“And we don’t get as much appreciation as we deserve, do we?” Rusty asked.

“Not at all,” Cole replied.

“So,” Rusty said. “Sooner or later, this case is going to bust wide open. The man who killed all three people, including one celebrity, in one night within a two hour span, all while they were on the toilet, will be caught. Whoever does the catching is gonna be golden. That person is gonna be a guest on talk shows. They’re gonna have book deals, movie deals. The money and fame and accolades are going to pour in.”

“And you think that should be us?” Cole asked.

“Well,” Rusty said. “Better us than the woman that left you at the worst possible time of your life, don’t you think?”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

“People will tell tales of our bravery long after we’re gone, Cole,” Rusty said. “Come on, man. You’re forty today. I’m gonna be forty this Fall. How many more years of excitement do we have left?”

“Excitement?” Cole asked.

“Oh boy,” Maude said. “Here it comes.”

Rusty winced. “Brace for the speech.”

“Let me tell you a little bit about excitement,” Cole said.

Rusty and Maude had heard this speech many times before. Rusty began it for Cole. “People always think it’s fine and dandy to be the hero…”

Cole was too busy being self-righteous to notice he was being mocked. “People always think it’s fine and dandy to be the hero but you know what being a hero gets you?”

“Nothing and nowhere fast,” Rusty said.

Cole pounded the table. “Nothing and nowhere fast! Like a moron, like an idiot, like a complete, stupid jackass, I ran into the house thinking I was going to be hailed as some kind of special, wonderful hero, the big man who saved the little girl from the evil killer dog but where’d it leave me?”

“No leg,” Rusty said.

“No wife,” Maude added.

“Without a leg,” Cole said. “And without a wife. For the past decade, I’ve been limping around like a lame gimp that should be put out to pasture and shot and my own wife was so disgusted by the idea of being with a one-legged man that she skipped town the second she found out about what happened to me. Sure, I got to be the big hero but all I got out of it was a ruined life.”

“Oh Cole,” Maude said.

“Buddy,” Rusty said. “You think your life is ruined?”

“Damn right it is,” Cole said. “Chief Haskell told me not to go in. He didn’t go in and he’s happily retired.”

“He’s not that happy,” Rusty said. “Lost a bunch of money on Borders stock. Poor old bastard had to take a part-time job as a Price Town greeter. Hell, it’s been so long I can’t remember who gave him that bad stock tip but whoever it was, that guy was a real horse’s ass.”

“Whatever,” Cole said. “He’s fine. And he’s got both legs. And you. You and your friggin’ Jessica Chastain hair. You’ve got both legs. You’re out with a different girl every night.”

“And none of them have dicks,” Rusty said. “Contrary to popular opinion.”

“The point is that you and the Chief played it smart and your lives are fine now,” Cole said. “Me? I had to go and be the big hero and where’d it get me? A fucking fake leg I have to take off when I go to sleep every night. That’s why I keep my head down. I lay low. I don’t rock the boat. I don’t cause any trouble. I don’t have much left, but I don’t intend to lose it on any more hero bullshit. Being the hero is not all that it’s cracked up to me, believe me.”

“Cole,” Rusty said. “You really believe that?”

Mindy interrupted with a bowl of soup for Maude and a big ass plate for Rusty. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No,” Rusty said. “We’re fine.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” Rusty said.

Cole resumed the conversation. “Yeah, I really do believe that. My life ended when I was thirty and I’ve felt like a zombie ever since, just going through the motions and for what? To save some little kid who, let’s face, probably grew up to become a degenerate scumbag like his old man.”

Rusty gasped. “Cole Walker! You take that back right now.”

“I won’t,” Cole said. “You know how the world works just as well as I do. If you’re born into shit, the world will never allow you to become anything other than shit no matter how hard you try. I’m sure that little girl tried her best but she probably became a drug fiend like Wade.”

Rusty pointed at Mindy, who was standing across the room, taking an order from another table. “Maude’s right, Cole. You really don’t pay attention to anything that’s going on around you, do you?”

“What?” Cole asked.

“Do you have any idea who that is?” Rusty asked.

“Who?” Cole asked.

“That waitress,” Rusty said.

“I dunno,” Cole said. “Mindy. Ruby Sue’s niece. What about her?”

Rusty looked around, then leaned over the table and whispered. “She’s Molly Randolph.”

Cole contorted his face in every different direction it could possibly go in. “What?”

“It’s true,” Rusty said.

“Bullshit,” Cole said.

“No word of a lie,” Rusty said.

“She said her name is Mindy,” Cole said.

“Pretty close to Molly, isn’t it?” Rusty asked. “She changed her name so her old man wouldn’t find her. She got herself out of that life, got some help from her Aunt Ruby Sue.”

“No,” Cole said. “No. I shot the shit with Ruby Sue for years and never once did she ever mention any of this to me.”

“Well, what do you expect?” Rusty asked. “The woman was probably embarrassed that her no good brother-in-law turned a pit bull lose that went and bit your damn leg off.”

Cole looked like he’d just been run over by a freight train. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. He watched Mindy as she brought a tray of drinks to another table. “So you’re telling me that’s…

“The little girl you saved,” Rusty said. “All grown up and pretty as a picture.”

Cole breathed deeply.

“Still think you wasted your life by being the hero?” Rusty asked.

Cole winced. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know,” Rusty said. “Well, Mr. Doubting Thomas, let me tell you this now. She’s just waiting tables here for the summer to save up some money because she’s going to Harvard this fall.”

“Harvard?” Cole asked.
“Pre-med,” Rusty said. “The girl has her heart set on becoming a big time doctor. She’s going to volunteer to work for Doctors without Borders and everything. Hell, some day she might give a shot to little Mutumbo.”

A tear trickled out of Cole’s eye. “Little Mutumbo?”

“Yeah,” Rusty said. “She’s going to save Little Mutumbo’s life and not just that, I bet throughout her career, she will save the lives of thousands of Little Mutumbos and you know what?”

“What?” Cole asked.

“Every Little Mutumbo that girl right there saves will be because of you,” Rusty said. “It’s all about the Butterfly Effect, man.”

“The Butterfly Effect?” Cole asked.

“Hell yes,” Rusty said. “A butterfly beats his wings. His wings hit the water, causing a reverberation that causes a fish to shit on a frog and the frog jumps out of the water and then the frog jumps on some little kid’s head and that kid gets so pissed off at the frog that he stops playing outside and goes to the library and reads a book and becomes a genius and the next thing you know that kid grows up and becomes the best President of the United States ever, the one that heals the nation and the planet and saves the world and gets everyone to hold hands and sway back and forth while they sing kum-bai-fucking-yah! That makes sense, doesn’t it Maude?”

Maude blew on her spoon. “This soup is way too hot.”

“OK Maude checked out,” Rusty said. “What about you, Cole. You get it?”

“I saved Molly,” Cole said. “Molly will save a bunch of Little Mutumbos. Many of those Little Mutumbos will go on to save the world so…”

“It’s literally like you have already save the world thousands of times over and over again,” Rusty said.

Cole leapt to his feet and smiled. “Hot damn!”

Rusty jumped up. The two buddies embraced in a bear hug.

“So can we will you stop all of this mopey shit and go take your balls back from the hypothetical mason jar and become a couple of big time heroes?” Rusty asked.

“You better believe it!” Cole shouted as he let go of Rusty. “I’ll be in the car.”

“Oh,” Rusty said. “I hadn’t finished eating yet but ok…maybe I can get this to go.”

Cole walked over to Mindy. Without warning, he wrapped the young woman up in his arms and picked her up off the ground.

“Whoa!” Mindy said. “What was that for?”

“For you,” Cole said. “Just for being you.”

Cole opened his wallet and counted out a series of twenty dollar bills. “Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty…one hundred.”

He tucked them into Mindy’s hand. “I’m sorry. That’s all I’ve got right now.”

“What’s this for?” Mindy asked.

Tears poured down over Cole’s face as he proudly declared. “For Little Mutumbo. For all the Little Mutumbos of the world.”

Cole walked out of the diner. Rusty motioned for Mindy to come over. “Hey, can I get a box for all this?”

“Sure,” Mindy said. “Least I can do since your friend’s such a generous tipper.”

“Oh,” Maude said. “He was just so happy to hear you’re going to school this fall.”

“Wow,” Mindy said. “Word sure gets around this little town fast, though I didn’t think SCC was that big of a deal.”

“SCC?” Maude asked.

“Sitwell Community College,” Mindy said. “I was thinking about majoring in Gender Studies. I hear that’s a very versatile major that can open doors to me in a variety of high paid fields. I’ll go get your box.”

Mindy walked into the kitchen. Maude fired off an icy stare at Rusty. “SCC?”

“OK,” Rusty said. “That girl may or may not be Molly Randolph.”

“I’m going to guess she’s not,” Maude said. “And the real Molly Randolph?”

Rusty hesitated, fearful of Maude’s reaction. “She may or may not be a meth addict stripper at Big Ray’s House of Fancy Funbags.”

The redhead winced in preparation of a jarring whack upside the head, which the old lady indeed delivered. “Pig!”

“What?” Rusty said.

“How do you know this?” Maude said.

“I may or may not have been getting lap dances from her for the past three months,” Rusty said.
Maude whacked Rusty upside the head again.

“What?” Rusty asked. “It gets lonely in the champagne room! People talk!”

Maude glared at Rusty in a disapproving manner.

“What?” Rusty asked yet again. “She’s eighteen! It’s totally legit!”

“You make me sick,” Maude said. “You lied to your best friend.”

“I helped my best friend,” Rusty said.

“With a lie,” Maude said.

“With a helpful lie,” Rusty said. “And it wasn’t a total lie. The Butterfly Effect chain reaction that Cole started when he sacrificed his leg ten years ago has given me many hours of pleasure today because seriously, Chastity is the only bit of talent that Big Ray’s got in that joint.”

“Chastity?” Maude asked.

“Molly’s stripper name,” Rusty proudly declared. “She told me her real name because she likes me. Strippers don’t do that for just anyone you know.”

Maude shook her head and stood up. “I have to go ask Mindy to give Cole’s hundred back.”

Rusty looked aghast. “That ship has sailed, Maude.”

“But…”

Rusty put his hands on Maude’s shoulders. “Look at me, Maude. Once you start tugging on the thread of a lie, you’re going to eventually unravel the whole thing. Unless you want Cole to return to being a sorry sad sack, you’re going to have to choke this one down and realize that hundo belongs to the Sitwell Community College Gender Studies Department now.”

“But it’s a useless major,” Maude said as she picked up her oxygen tank. “Do you hear me? A useless major!”

“Maude,” Rusty said. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m sure there are many fine professions that a gender studies degree would be applicable to.”

“She’ll be lucky to shake her tits next to Chastity!” Maude said.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Rusty said.

Maude stormed off.

“Where are you going?” Rusty asked.
“Somewhere where I don’t have to look at your stupid dayglo red head,” Maude said as she slammed the restaurant’s front door behind her.

Rusty sat down and waited patiently until Mindy returned.

“Your box,” Mindy said as she handed Rusty a styrofoam container.

“Why thank you,” Rusty said as he looked up at Mindy longingly. “I do so like it whenever a woman brings me a nice…box.”

Mindy stepped back. “Ew.”

“What?” Rusty asked.

Mindy walked away. “Not happening, Conan O’Brien.”

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May 11 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 33.3

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“Pardon me, Miss…”

“Brock,” Natalie said as she took a seat in front of Cole’s desk.

“Brock,” Sharon said. “I’m sorry, but do you have any press credentials?”

Natalie pointed to the press badge with her photo. It dangled from a chord around her neck.

“I thought Network News One only…”

Gordon interrupted with his best impression of the Network News One announcer. “The Hottest Blonde Chicks! The biggest titties!”

A plastic shopping bag sat on Natalie’s lap. She pulled out one of the melons that she’d been stuffing her bra with and a blonde wig. “Have fake titties will travel.”

“My condolences,” Sharon said. “And here I thought law enforcement was a sexist field to work in.”

“It’s a new development,” Natalie said as she packed her plastic bag. “The bra stuffing. Hopefully it won’t be forever.”

Gordon held out his hands as if they were a frame and peered through them at Natalie’s face. “I know where I’ve seen you before.”

“Where?” Sharon asked.

“NN25,” Gordon said. “Miami’s Top Station for News, Sports, Weather and blah, blah, blah.”

Sharon wagged her finger at Natalie. “Now I can place your face. You did that story about the bum that built a life-size replica of the Statue of David using only tin cans. Can man, they called him.”

“That’s me,” Natalie said. “And I have to admit, I’m not used to working on a big story like this. I was covering Countess Cucamonga’s concert when…well, pardon the expression but when, ‘the shit hit the fan.’”

“What did you want to see us about, Miss Brock?” Sharon asked.

Natalie pulled up the mysterious text messages on her phone, then passed the device to Sharon. “I received these messages, one alerting me to the murder in Boca Raton and the other telling me about Sitwell.”

Gordon stepped around the desk to look of Natalie’s shoulder as the agents reviewed the texts.

“Damn,” Gordon said.

“Come to think of it,” Sharon said. “I did wonder how NN1 found out about the second and third murders so quickly.”

“Do you think it could be the killer?” Natalie asked.

“It’s an angle we’ll have to look into,” Sharon said. “I hope you understand that we’ll have to take your phone for the time being in order to figure out who texted you.”

“That’s fine,” Natalie said. “It’s a station issued phone. I don’t have any personal information on it. I do have a request though.”

“I’m all ears,” Sharon said.

“If the person who did send me those texts is the killer, I want the exclusive,” Sharon said.

“That’s a lot to ask,” Sharon said.

“And I’m giving you a lot,” Natalie said. “This information could potentially lead you to the killer. My cameraman and I want to be there if this helps you in.”

“‘Network News One Reporter Helps Catch the Toilet Murderer,’” Gordon said. “I’m sure that headline wouldn’t be bad for your career.”

“Nope,” Sharon said. “But really, aren’t we birds of the same feather? Won’t a good headline help your career too?”

“We aren’t anything alike,” Sharon said.

“Pardon?” Natalie asked.

“Agent Bishop and I track down the dregs of society and stop them from harming decent, hardworking people,” Sharon said. “You and your network…”

“Inform the public?” Natalie asked.

“Try, ‘cause mass hysteria,’” Sharon said. “Do you know we’ve been fielding calls all day from people who are afraid to go to the bathroom?”

A devilish smirk took over Natalie’s face. “People are afraid to shit?! I think I just found tomorrow’s angle.”

“This is serious business,” Sharon said. “In fact, I need your network to not say a word on air about these text messages. If he finds out we know he contacted you…”

“He’ll run,” Natalie said. “I understand. I have to go straight from here to fill the network in but I’ll do my best to apprise them of your concerns.”

Gordon folded his arms. “Don’t try. Do.”

“What about my exclusive?” Natalie asked.

“If there’s a way I can help you, I’ll let you know,” Sharon said.

Natalie grabbed the handles of her plastic bag and stood up. “That’s all I ask.”

“Are you proud of what you do, Miss Brock?” Sharon asked.

“Come again?” Natalie asked.

“Sensationalism,” Sharon said. “Scaring people out of their wits to drive up ratings, to advance your career.”

“That’s one way to say it,” Natalie said. “Another way would be that we’re telling people what they need to do. Maybe people are right to be afraid to shit. Can you honestly sit there and tell me that anyone who takes a shit tonight will be safe when there’s a Toilet Killer on the loose?”

Sharon appeared flustered. “Well, I…I…”

“People have a right to know the information they need to make important decisions about their lives,” Natalie said. “Suppose this was all kept quiet and someone makes the uninformed decision to sit on a toilet tonight to take a shit…and then they’re murdered. You’re going to tell me that person didn’t have the right to save his life by choosing not to sit on a toilet?”

Sharon sighed. “When you put it that way…”

Natalie grabbed the door handle. “You do your jobs, agents, and I’ll do mine.”

The reporter let herself out. Gordon took her seat.

“This shit storm never stops,” Natalie said. “What do you make of St. John?”

“He’s probably right,” Gordon said. “A good team of lawyers will be able to talk a jury into believing that his theft was just a pay dispute.”

“The security guards both stated he was with them when the Countess was killed,” Natalie said. “He did speak to us and there’s no way he could have made it to Boca Raton and Sitwell to kill the other victims. The serial killer as a cover up angle by way of hired goons was a good way to rattle his cage but we didn’t get much out of him.”

“I say we let dildo boy chill in holding for awhile while we get a bead on the number those text messages came from,” Gordon said.
“Agreed,” Sharon said.

Sharon pulled out her personal cell phone and dialed Cole. Cole’s phone rang…and rang…and rang…then went to voicemail. “Cole, it’s Sharon. There’s been a development in the case. Call me.”

“The hell are you calling him for?” Gordon said.

“He’s the local police chief,” Sharon said. “He needs to be kept in the loop.”

Gordon shook his head disapprovingly. “Mmm hmm.”

“What?” Sharon asked.

“Girl,” Gordon said. “I think you just want to keep him in your loop.”

“That’s absurd,” Sharon said.

“Is it?” Gordon asked.

“Yes,” Sharon said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

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May 10 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 33.2

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While Maude fielded the freaks, Sharon and Gordon grilled Irving St. John. It was Sharon’s turn to hang back, while Gordon leered over Cole’s desk at the crooked agent. Irving had been allowed to put on a pair of sweat pants and a white T-shirt before the SWAT team hauled him up to Sitwell.

“Anything you want to say before I get started?” Gordon asked.

“I think you should be saying something,” Irving said as he struggled against the handcuffs that bound his wrists around his back. “A lot of things. How about, ‘I’m sorry, Mr. St. John” and “Please do sic all your high priced Jew lawyers on me for being an idiot?’”

“That’s very offensive,” Sharon said.

“And racist,” Gordon added.

“Why do people keep saying that?” Irving asked. “Do you know how long it takes to go to law school?”

“Three years,” Sharon said. “Four if you go at night like I did.”

Irving appeared shocked at that answer. Sharon continued. “We aren’t a couple of rubes that you can bark at until we give one of you no talent clients some air time. You wouldn’t be here without a good reason.”

“A very, very good reason,” Gordon said.

“Well,” Irving said. “I can’t imagine what that reason could possibly be.”

Sharon and Gordon traded knowing looks. Gordon opened up a file folder. “In total, how much money would you say you stole from your client, Miss Sally Ann Dubawitz, better known by her stage name, ‘Countess Cucamonga?’”

Irving laughed. “That’s a good one.”

The agents stared at the suspect long enough for him to realize they weren’t laughing. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” Gordon said.

“I’m not saying another word until I can speak to my attorney,” Irving said.

Gordon looked at Sharon and shook his head. “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah,” Sharon replied. “I really thought he’d want to help himself.”

“Apparently not,” Gordon said as he closed the folder. “OK. We’re done here.”

“Wait,” Irving said. “What’s this about helping myself?”

“You’ve invoked your right to counsel, Mr. St. John,” Sharon explained. “There’s little room left for us to discuss the matter with you now.”

“Discuss!” Irving shouted. “Discuss, discuss!”

“You’d have to wave your right to counsel,” Sharon said.

“Consider it waved!” Irving shouted.

“Mr. St. John,” Sharon said. “At this time, I have to advise you that you have the right to remain silent. If you wave that right, anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You also have a right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney…”

“Yeah, yeah, lady,” Irving said. “I watch Law and Order. Just tell me how to get out of this nightmare already!”

“Truthfully,” Sharon said. “I’m not sure how much help we can offer given the gravity of the crimes.”

“Best case scenario,” Gordon said. “We’re talking about multiple life sentences.”

“Life sentences?” Irving asked.

“At best,” Sharon said. “We might be able to talk about making the conditions of your lifetime confinement more comfortable.”

“Lifetime confinement?” Irving said. “Just for skimming a little cream off the top?!”

“For the murders of Miss Dubawitz, Mr. Hogan, and Mr. Becker,” Irving said.

“Who the hell are Mr. Hogan and Mr. Becker?” Irving asked.

“Interesting,” Gordon said.

“Yes,” Sharon said. “He’s copping to Dubawitz but wants to keep playing dumb on Hogan and Becker.”

“Playing dumb will get you nowhere,” Gordon said.

“I’m not playing dumb!” Irving shouted. “I am dumb!”

“We’ve got the goods on you, St. John,” Gordon said. “Countless files and bank statements weaving the cheap and tawdry tale of how robbed Countess Cucamonga blind.”

“Impossible,” Irving said. “You’ve got nothing.”

Gordon spread out several documents across Cole’s desk. Irving read them and frowned. “How did you…but…these have to be fakes. I wiped the Countess’ computer after she…”

Sharon’s eyes widened. Gordon pounded his fist down on the desk. “After you killed her!”

“What?” Irving asked. “No!”

“Stop jerking us around, dildo boy,” Gordon said. “The Countess figured you out. You somehow caught wind of that and you put her on ice.”

“And as you just freely admitted,” Sharon said. “You covered your tracks by erasing material evidence.”

“I’m not admitting anything,” Irving said. “I just know for a fact that those printouts cant be real.”

“Unless they represent files printed off of a device that was turned over to us by a concerned citizen,” Gordon said.

“One with a freshly inked immunity in exchange for testimony deal,” Sharon said.

Irving’s mind raced. He sat up. “That nerdy little stalker!”

“We can’t confirm or deny that,” Gordon said.

“I…I…I…” Irving stammered. “I can fight this. Those transactions are debatable. Justifiable, even. A good lawyer will be able to argue that they were owed to me based on a reasonable interpretation of the various contracts held between the Countess and myself. At best, they were legal payments to myself and at worst, they were accidental withdrawals based on a misunderstanding, one I’m truly remorseful for and I’ll gladly reimburse the late Countess’ estate immediately.”

Sharon and Gordon were silent.

“I went to law school at night too,” Irving said.

“The theft beef is the least of your worries,” Gordon said. “We get why you whacked the Countess. We just want to know why you killed Hogan and Becker. Give us the skinny so their families can have some closure.”

Irving looked at the agents with stone faced defiance. “I didn’t kill anyone. I kill with my charm, my good looks, my business savvy but with my hands? No. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Do we?” Gordon asked.

“Why would I kill the Countess?” Irving asked. “She was the proverbial goose that laid the golden egg and she laid a ton of ‘em, right out of that big gluteus maximus of hers. You think I ever wanted that gravy train to stop?”

“You strike me as the kind of pussy that would kill a woman because you know you’re too delicate to last five minutes behind bars,” Gordon said.

“What about Hogan and Becker?” Sharon asked.

“What about them?” Irving asked. “Who are they?”

“Your victims,” Gordon said. “If you’re going to go around and around with stupid questions you know the answer to…”

“Wait,” Irving said. “Are you talking about the other two people who died on the can the same night as the Countess?”

Gordon leaned back in Cole’s chair. “For a guy who says he doesn’t know much about it, you seem to know a lot.”

“Everyone knows about it!” Irving said. “It’s been all over Network News One!”

“How do they fit into your twisted little game?” Sharon asked.

“Bullshit!” Gordon shouted.

“I have no idea who they are!” Irving said. “I’ve never met them. But I’ve been glued to the coverage like everyone else. Look idiots, do you really think I could have killed the Countess, even though her guards where with me the entire time, then spoke to you two that night in her dressing room and then, what? I magically transported myself with lightning speed to a nursing home in Boca Raton and then to a college in Sitwell? Only the Flash could move that fast.”

“You’re a wealthy man, Mr. St. John,” Sharon said.

“You’ve got pull,” Gordon said. “Connections. Power. Combine that with money and I’m sure you could have found a way to have others do your dirty work for you.”

“First, a cover up murder,” Sharon said. “Then two random murders committed by hired goons under similar circumstances in order to make the Countess’ death appear as though it was one part of a mysterious serial killer’s bizarre master plan.”

“OK,” Irving said. “You two have gone gonzo. Batshit bonkers. I’m not saying another word until I can speak to my lawyers. I want my Jews.”

“Mr. St. John,” Sharon said. “If you…”

“I want my Jews!” Irving said. “And I shall have my Jews! No more questions.”

Gordon stood up, walked around the desk, and helped Irving to his feet. He then grabbed the perp by the arm and led him out of Cole’s office. Sharon followed.

While Gordon led Irving to a holding cell, Sharon looked around the room, her mouth agape at the sheer number of loonies who had shown up with something to say about the Toilet Killer.

“Wow Maude,” Sharon said. “Looks like your hands are full.”

“Yes,” Maude replied. “Anytime you want to spare some of those agents you’ve got running around, installing this and that and tearing up the place, and put them on nutcase detail, I’d appreciate it.”

Natalie Brock, who had been sitting next to Maude’s desk, stood up. “Agent Walker?”

“Oh, right,” Maude said. “Sharon, this woman claims she’s a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties from Network News One with some important information for you.”

Sharon squinted at Natalie and moved in for a closer look. “That can’t be right.”

“Why do you say that?” Natalie asked.

Sharon struggled to find the right words. “Because you aren’t…and you don’t have…”presentation01

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May 07 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 33.1

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As the day wore on, Maude found herself in the undesirable predicament of fielding all sorts of complaints and inquiries regarding the Toilet Killer. Many of them were even delivered in person.

“Yo, I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure that the Toilet Killer is my boy Reggie.”

Maude studied the face of the man seated next to her desk. He was over thirty, yet still wore a backwards baseball cap. He wore a basketball jersey over a pair of faded jeans. Also, for some inexplicable reason, he spoke like he was some kind of white rapper.

“And why do you think that, sir?” Maude asked.

“Yo, because my boy Reggie hates it when someone rolls up in his crib and takes a shit in his toilet, boo,” the white rapper said.

“I’m not your boo, young man,” Maude said.

“That’s cool,” the white rapper said. “One day I was all like, workin’ on my beats, tryin’ to get a demo together so I can become the next Stank Daddy when all of a sudden I hear Reggie yellin’ at a dude for shittin’ in his toilet.”

“Perhaps this Reggie character just likes a clean toilet,” Maude said.

“Yeah, but check it,” the white rapper said. “This one time, my boy Mikey took a shit in Reggie’s toilet and Reggie was all like, ‘Yo man, if you ever shit in my toilet again I’m gonna bust a cap in you ass, G.”

“And so you theorize this Reggie fellow is running around killing people who shit?” Maude said.

The white rapper tapped the side of his head. “Now you thinkin,’ Grandma. I think that Reggie is out there like, tryin’ to kill everyone who shits so they won’t like, come back to his crib and shit in his toilet because Reggie don’t like it when he’s got a stinky ass toilet, ya heard?”

Maude passed the white rapper a form. “Fill out this police report and return it when you can.”

“OK,” the white rapper said. “Yo, are you all like, gonna arrest Reggie and shit?”

“Our diligent police force will look into the matter and take it from there,” Maude said.

“Cool yo,” the white rapper said. “Shit, I don’t wanna rat on my boy but I don’t want no more peeps gettin’ killed for shittin’ yo.”

The white rapper walked away. Maude shook her head in disgust as she looked out at the sea of weirdos, dinguses, attention seekers and utter reprobates waiting to speak to someone about the Toilet Killer.

“Burt,” Maude said. “Can you field some of these dummies?”

Burt was too busy on the phone. “Uh huh…yeah…ok…no ma’am, I’m not a doctor but I really think it isn’t healthy for you to hold your shit in for so long. No…no…no I have no idea if it is possible to surgically remove a shit from your body to avoid sitting on the toilet….no…no…no I do not recommend trying to perform a surgery like that on yourself….ma’am, this is ridiculous…just….yes…uh huh….ma’am just go to the bathroom….no….no, of course I can’t guarantee your safety while you’re on the bowl but if you really feel like you need to go…”

Maude sighed. She turned her attention back to the sea of losers. “Next!”

A young woman with crazy eyes and a shiny red bow in her hair sat down in front of Maude’s desk. She carried a fluffy white cat that she allowed to sit on her lap.

“How may I help you?” Maude asked.

The young woman looked around the room in a paranoid manner, then turned to Maude. “My name is Melanie and I need to talk to you about the Toilet Killer everyone’s been talking about on TV.”

“Yes,” Maude said in a sarcastic manner. “Thank God for Network News One. They’re making our jobs so much easier around here.”

Melanie leaned in over Maude’s desk and whispered. “The killer is in this room.”

“He is?” Maude asked.

“Don’t be sexist!” Melanie snapped. “Women can be killers too.”

“You think the killer is a woman?” Maude asked.

“Yes!” Melanie whispered.

“And she’s in this room?” Maude asked.

“Yes,” Melanie said.

“OK,” Maude said as she looked around the room. “I’ll play along. Who is it?”

Melanie looked at Maude, then to her cat, then at Maude, then to her cat.

“Hon, I don’t get it,” Maude said. “What are you doing with your face there? Are you not feeling well?”

Melanie covered up the cat’s ears with her hands. “It’s Miss Kitty!”
“Pardon me?” Maude asked.

“Miss Kitty!” Melanie declared. “My cat is the Toilet Killer!”

“Ma’am,” Maude asked. “I’m sorry to ask this but do you have any issues with mental illness?”

“Me?” Melanie asked. “Why are you accusing me? I’m not the crazy one here. Miss Kitty is the one running around, scratching people to death because she wants a world where toilets are no more and litter boxes reign supreme!”

“Ma’am,” Maude said. “I really think you ought to go home, get some sleep, and then call a good psychiatrist first thing in the morning.”

“I know this sounds crazy,” Melanie said.

“It does,” Maude said. “It really does. That’s the first sane thing you’ve actually said.

“But it’s true,” Melanie said. “Miss Kitty has killed before and she will kill again! You must take me seriously.”

“We take everyone seriously,” Maude said as she handed Melanie a police report form. “Fill this out. Bring it back when you can.”

Melanie picked up Miss Kitty and handed her over to Maude. Maude refused to take the cat.

“Aren’t you going to arrest her right now?”

“No,” Maude said. “Just fill out that report and one of our officers will take it from there.”

Melanie put Miss Kitty back on her lap and covered the feline’s ears again. “So you’re just going to send me home with this monster?”

“I’m sorry,” Maude said. “But you know what the Constitution says. Miss Kitty is innocent until proven guilty.”

Melanie pounded her fist down on Maude’s desk. “Curse the Constitution’s oily hide!”

“OK then,” Maude said. “Bye bye.”

Miss Kitty meowed as Melanie stood up. “Come along, Miss Kitty. Looks like you get off once again on an arcane legal technicality!”

Maude sniffed up some extra oxygen through her nose tubes. “What a day.”

The old gal turned to Burt. He was on another call. “Uh huh…uh huh…yes, I understand what you’re saying sir but no, I have no way of telling you whether or not Russian spies have inserted explosive devices in every single toilet in America…uh huh…right…no I’m sorry but we can’t send an officer to your home to see whether or not there is a bomb in your toilet…well, why can’t you check? Uh huh….uh huh…well sir, when it comes to the subject of blowing up a toilet with a bomb, your knowledge and my knowledge are the same, so I’d say if you’ve taken a good look at your toilet and you don’t see any explosive devices, then you’re probably good to go…”

“It’s like every asshole in Florida with nothing better to do is converging on this place,” Maude said. “Next!”

Professor Lambert took a seat in front of Maude’s desk. “Good day, Madam.”

“Hello,” Maude said. “How may I help you?”

“My name is Professor Elliot Lambert. I hold multiple advanced degrees, the most relevant of which pertaining to this conversation are my doctorates in animal biology and animal physiology.”

Maude took a sip of coffee. “Son, can we speed this along?”

“I beg your pardon?” the professor asked.

“I’ve been taking reports all day,” Maude said. “One guy thinks aliens are putting micros coping devices in our food that makes our bodies explode when we go to the bathroom. One lady swears she saw Elvis in a bus station bathroom and thinks he might have something to do with this. Another guy, some dopey looking moron, was in here earlier saying that he thinks there’s a parallel universe where people die when they shit and somehow a tear in the fabric of the space-time continuum has caused our world to run into this one.”

“I’m sorry,” Professor Lambert said. “I suppose there a lot of unstable people out there.”

“Yeah,” Maude said. “So what’s your story? Nice lab coat get up you got there. You some kind of nerd who got lost on the way to the comic book convention, come here to get your jollies by wasting the police department’s time?”

“No Madam,” Professor Elliot said. “I am an esteemed Professor of Animal Biology at Sitwell Community College.”

“Now you’re losing me,” Maude said. “‘Esteemed’ and ‘Sitwell Community College’ are words that are rarely used in the same sentence.”

“Don’t I know it,” Professor Lambert said. “Madam, I assure you, I would not be taking up your time if I did not have something very important to tell you.”

Maude sighed. “You know what? You’ve convinced me there’s a slight chance you might be on the level. Go ahead. Tell me what’s up.”

“A toilet gator,” Professor Lambert said.

“A toilet what now?” Maude asked.
“An alligator,” Professor Lambert said. “As a scientist, it is my professional opinion that there is a carnivorous reptile of immense size, dwelling somewhere within the Floridian sewer system as we speak and using it as a subterranean highway. It chooses its victims careful, with cunning accuracy, charging upward through their toilets, grinding them to death with its razor sharp teeth, then retreating back into the sewer system, leaving the investigating authorities none the wiser.”

Maude quietly stared at the Professor for a few seconds until she finally handed him a form. “Here, fill out a report.”

“This is very important,” Professor Lambert said. “I need to speak to someone in charge immediately or more people will die.”

“It’s ok,” Maude said. “Just fill out this report and if one of our officers finds it credible we’ll put out an APB on this giant toilet lizard.”

Professor Lambert stared at Maude. “You’re scoffing at me.”

“No,” Maude said. “I’m required by law to take a report from every weirdo who wants to fill them out and I assure you, tax payer dollars will actually be used to pay the salary of a police officer to spend his time looking into whether or not your claim of a sewer dwelling crocodile is legitimate.”

“It’s not a crocodile,” Professor Lambert said. “It’s an alligator. Don’t be absurd.”

“Alright then, sir,” Maude said. “If there’s nothing else…”

Professor Lambert put his briefcase up on Maude’s desk, clacked it open, and handed the old gal a massive ream of paper. “There’s something else,” Professor Lambert said.

“What is this?” Maude asked.

“This is a copy an eight-hundred page treatise I wrote, detailing the ability of enormous, water dwelling animals and their ability to travel through sewer systems and up into toilets for the sole purpose of attacking the rear-end of an unsuspecting victim,” Professor Lambert said.

“Uh huh,” Maude said.

“I have traveled the world, Madam,” Professor Elliot said. “I have conducted extensive research on this issue and I have documented cases of toilet gators in the Nile Delta, China and Australia as well as a toilet shark in Guam, a toilet anaconda in Brazil, toilet beavers the Yukon and though my findings were never fully conclusive, I believe there was one case in India of a toilet killer whale.”

“Sir,” Maude said. “I really am doing my best to try to placate you into thinking that I’m taking you seriously but you’re making it awfully hard.”

The professor closed up his suitcase and stood up. “You leave me no choice but to contact the press.”
“You do that, sir,” Maude said. “The press loves a good freak show.”

“I don’t have to stand here and take this,” Professor Lambert said as he stormed off. “Good day!”

Maude took one look at the Professor’s massive treatise, then chucked it into her trash can. “Toilet gator. You believe that Burt. Burt?”

Burt was too busy on the phone. “No Ma’am…I do not believe your toilet is haunted by a poltergeist.”

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May 07 2017
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Toilet Gator

Twelve Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

No turning back now.  So much of my life devoted to writing a book about a toilet gator.

I question my life choices.

toilet-gator-book-1

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May 06 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 40

presentation01

Ten years later, Cole had gotten all the drinking out of his system, but he was pretty sure he’d never stop hunting. Every year, he got two weeks’ worth of vacation time, and every year, he spent it on a trip to shoot something nasty…usually in the face.

He’d replaced his booze addiction with one for baby back ribs. Though he did he best to not over indulge, he figured the return of his ex-wife allowed for him to have one plate. Maybe a side of grits. And some collard greens. And a loaded baked potato with extra sour cream. Hell, that woman done him wrong. Throw in some buffalo mac n’cheese and extra crispy tater tots.

As Cole sat in his favorite booth at Ruby Sue’s BBQ, he sorted through his mail. Bill. Bill. Bill. Junk mail. A brochure for a travel company that sold big game hunting trips to Africa. Cole was certain he’d never allow booze to touch his lips again, but he was never going to stop hunting. He had two weeks of vacation time coming to him every year and every year, he would invariably find himself traveling to some exotic location with his Angry Barracuda just to think of Old Mongo’s face as he shot some unsuspecting beast. He realized those beasts had not done anything wrong to him but somehow, it made him feel like he was re-taking control of his life.

He found another envelope. This one was from the Global Kids’ Initiative. Cole had long subdued his sadness over the fact that he had yet to become a father by sponsoring a small African child. Every month, Cole mailed his check for thirty-one dollars on time. It was the only bill he looked forward to paying.

Cole opened up the envelope. First, there was a letter from Global Kids’ Initiative:

Dear Donor,

Thank you for sponsoring an African child through the Global Kids’ Initiative. We appreciate your donations, but did you know there’s no limit on the number of children you can sponsor? Why, for a dollar a day, roughly the same cost as a soda pop, you can sponsor another child through our fine organization.

An eighteen year old waitress stopped by Cole’s table. Her hair was long and black, draped over her shoulders. She wore a standard pink uniform. The moniker on her name tag read, “Mindy.”

“Your diet cola, sir,” Mindy said.

“Thanks,” Cole replied. He allowed the glass of fizzy goodness to sit on the table and bubble for awhile as he read on:

Seriously? You’re going to sit there and toss a bubbly, aspartame laced glass of cold death down your throat while you could be sending your soda money to us, so that we can help another impoverished African child? Have you seen the kids in our commercials? Have you seen how they’ve got distended bellies full of tapeworms and flies buzzing around their heads and vultures swooping overhead just waiting for them to drop so they can pick what little meat they have left on their bones? But oh, sure, sure, just go ahead and drink that soda. We hope you choke on it, you unmitigated pile of iguana shit.
“Wow,” Cole muttered to himself. “They’re getting a little rough with the fundraising pitch lately.”

Cole set the charity letter aside and discovered a form that he could fill out in order to sponsor a second African child. He looked to his soda, then to the form, then to the soda, then to the form.

“Screw it,” Cole said as he took a sip of soda. “I’ve lost too much in this life to miss out on caffeine too. You’ll have to wait until the good people of Sitwell find it in their miserable hearts to give me a raise, Second African Child.”

“Talking to yourself?”

Cole looked up to see Minde holding a plate of Ruby Sue’s best vittles. She plopped it down on the table.

“Yeah,” Cole said. He looked over his plate. So much deliciousness. Cole wasn’t one to overindulge on food on a regular basis, but when he did, he did it right.

“Where’s Ruby Sue?” Cole asked as he looked around. “Been coming around here nearly twenty years and tonight’s the first night I’ve never seen here.”

“Retired,” Mindy said.

“Get out,” Cole said.

Mindy smiled. “I will get right back in there.”

“Don’t tell me they’re closing the place,” Cole said.

“No,” Mindy said.

“Thank God,” Cole said. “If I have to start going to one of those chain restaurants with all the bullshit all over the walls, I’ll just lay down in the middle of the road and wait for a bus to run me over.”

The waitress grinned. Cole knew he was way too old for her, but he enjoyed making a female smile. It’d been a long time since he had done so.

“I’m going to have to tell Cousin Steve how happy he’s made you,” Mindy said.

“Cousin Steve?” Cole asked. The name seemed familiar. He knew deep down somewhere, he knew of a Steve.

“Howdy Chief.” Cole looked up to find himself staring at the establishment’s cook, a bearded man in a hairnet, wearing a pair of glasses and a stained apron.

“I’ll be damned,” Cole said. “You’re Ruby Sue’s little boy.”

“All grown up,” Steve said.

“And running the place?” Cole asked. “Hell, I remember you jumping all over this joint when you were knee high to a dragonfly.”

“Time flies,” Steve said.

“That it does,” Cole said. “That it does. Where’s Ruby Sue off to?”

“Hawaii,” Steve said. “All this month. Caribbean cruise after that. She saved up a bunch so now she’s gonna travel the world. Left the place to me on three conditions.”

“Those are?” Cole asked.

“Gotta keep the same name,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “Ruby Sue’s Barbecue’ sounds better than ‘Steve’s Barbecue.’ No offense.”

“None taken,” Steve said. “I also gotta keep all the jobs in the family, like Cousin Mindy here, or my brother Darnell on the cash register.”

Cole looked over at the cash register. A snaggle-toothed doofus with a crooked nose waved at him.

“That’s Darnell?” Cole asked. “I thought he died when that mule kicked him.”

“Nah,” Steve said. “He just got his teeth, brain, and overall personality messed up. Boy was on his way to being a Rhodes Scholar when that happened too.”

“Such a shame,” Mindy added. “Aunt Ruby warned that boy not to tickle that mule so many times.”

“Third condition is that I got to cook as good as my Momma did,” Steve said.

“Huh,” Cole said. “Now that is a tall order because no one I ever met in my life ever cooked as good as your Momma. You think you’re up to the challenge?”

Steve looked at Cole’s plate. “Only one way to find out.”

“Right,” Cole set. He pulled a rib off the rack and bit into it. The meat was supple and tender, seasoned just right. “Mmm. Boy, I don’t think you got a thing to worry about.”

“Thanks Chief,” Steve said. “Better get back to work.”

“You let me know if you need anything,” Mindy added.

Steve and Mindy went back about their business. Cole enjoyed his meal while he read the latest letter from the African child he was sponsoring. He received a letter from the young lad every month, and he cherished all of them.

“Dear Mr. Cole Sir,

Things are doing very well in my village. The virus outbreak is subdued and the tarantula infestations are down to a minimum. Also, only twelve of the village girls were taken to be sold into the international sex slavery market, which, though terrible, is an improvement over the twenty or so a month that are usually taken. I’m not sure of the cause as to why less girls were kidnapped this month, but what is that American expression? ‘Do not look a gift salamander in the butt hole?’

Yes, very well, moving on then. How are you, Mr. Cole Sir? When last you wrote, you mentioned you were just beginning to get over the loss of your vile ex-wife, the evil Miss Sharon. I do not know this woman but every day I pray that her intestines will be shattered when she is run over by a herd of angry giraffes. You deserve better than this beastly woman sir, and if you keep the faith I am certain that

Speaking of giraffes, more scientists have been coming through this area in the hopes of making giraffes fornicate in order to save their dwindling species. I am sorry to say that I once accidentally walked in on two giraffes while they were doing the despicable deed and I fear I may never be right in the head ever again. At least the giraffes were enjoying themselves. Although, come to think of it, I can’t confirm whether or not they were as their incredibly long necks kept them from ever actually looking at one another.

Mr. Cole sir, I cannot thank you enough for your donation of one dollar a day. With your donations, the nice do-gooder white people who are trying so hard to make penance for the sins of their vile white devil ancestors, are providing me with food and medicine. Today, I got a shot for dysentery and I have been promised a shot for measles tomorrow. So many shots, so little time! Plus, I got to eat nibble one rationed portion of charity cheese. Have you ever eaten a piece of charity cheese, Mr. Cole sir? It was so delicious but my body was so unused to such rich food that I made doodies for days, and days, and days, and days. Months even. In fact, I am doodying right now. I believe that is what you Americans call, “multi-tasking.”

Cole looked up from the letter. He felt bad that he had so much food in front of him while the African child he was sponsoring had so little. However, he didn’t feel bad enough to not dip half a buttermilk biscuit into the barbecue sauce on his plate before shoving it directly into his pie hole.

The letter continued:

“Mr. Cole sir, please let me know if I am out of order in asking you this, and I will give myself a thousand lashes on my foreskin, just as the ruling military junta does every day for failing to show up to inspection on time. I do not mean to show up late, but as you know, I am very slow, as I am malnourished and filled with more diseases than Madonna’s adult diaper. Is that a funny joke, Mr. Cole sir? I do not get it but one of the white devil missionaries told me it was very funny. I hope you laugh for an extended period of time upon reading it, Mr. Cole sir.

If possible, and I know it would be difficult as you are a man who works very hard for your money, but would you consider sponsoring a second African child? I have many friends who are not lucky as me. They have never received any shots, or pieces of charity cheese, or anything. If possible, I would appreciate it and I will say more prayers for you than I do already. If not, I understand and I will continue to love you very much just the same. Also, the white devils told me to tell you that they did not tell me to write this, so they did not tell me to write this, Mr. Cole sir.

Also, I wish you a very happy birthday. I hope this letter arrives in time. Forty years. In my village, a man who has attained forty years of age is considered to be very old and wise, almost a confirmation that magic exists, and that it exists in the form of a man. Rarely do any of us live past forty, between the diseases, the sex slavery, and the non-stop wars. Do not even get me started on the hungry tiger attacks.

I must go now. The military junta has arrived and I must accept the very painful whipping that my testicles are about to receive. I shall get through it though, as your kindness and generosity reminds me there are many good people in the world.

With much love and admiration,

Mutumbo

“Oh hell,” Cole said as he uncrumpled the donation form and began filling it out. “You drive a hard bargain, Mutumbo, but you talked me into it.

“Happy Birthday!” shouted two familiar voices.

Cole looked up from the form to find that Rusty and Maude had made themselves at home in his booth.

“What the…how’d you two find me?”

“Please,” Maude said. “You just turned forty, the Mayor went on TV to insult your penis, and your that hose beast of an ex-wife of yours is sniffing around town. We know you too well to not have surmised that you’d be here, stuffing your face and putting yourself on the fast track to diabetes.”

Cole scooped up a heaping helping of collard greens and shoved it into his mouth. “Maybe if you two know me so well, you’d know I’d rather be alone.”

“What?” Rusty asked. “You want us to go back to the station and get bossed around by that skank all night instead? Not on your life.”

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May 06 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 40

presentation01

A month later, Cole and Rusty found themselves sitting in the parking lot of an abandoned strip mall. Broken windows. Cracked paint. Run down shops that were once hustling and bustling with customers, now gone the way of the dodo thanks to a burgeoning Internet economy.

“How do you this guy won’t just shoot you and take your money?” Rusty asked.

“He won’t,” Cole said.

“OK,” Rusty said. “How do I know he won’t shoot me?”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Minutes later, a rusty old van pulled into the parking lot. A gruff looking man wearing a skull cap stepped out, holding a bright orange lock box. A hissing snake was tattooed on his neck.

“How do I know I’m not going to get man raped?” Rusty asked.

“Again,” Cole said. “A risk…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rusty said. “A risk you’re willing to take. Jay Leno’s got nothing on you.”

The duo stepped out of the car. “Are you Mr. Sagittarius?”

“Maybe,” the man said. “Maybe not. Who’s asking?”

“Mr. Pisces,” Cole replied.

“Hmm,” the man said. “That fits. Yes, I am Mr. Sagittarius.”

“Good,” Cole said. “Now let’s…”

“Whoa, hold the phone, Cochise,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “What’s the password?”

Cole pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and read the words on it out loud. “Crank That Soulja Boy.”

Mr. Sagittarius stared at Cole blankly, as though he was waiting for something.

“Oh,” Cole said. “Crank That Soulja Boy…69.”

“And?” Mr. Sagittarius said.

“Oh,” Cole said as he looked at the paper. “And the ‘C’ in Crank is a capital ‘C.’”

“That’s more like it,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “All passwords must contain a number and a capital letter. Mr. Sagittarius doesn’t mess around.”

“Can I see the piece?” Cole asked.

“Depends,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “Can I see the cash?”

Cole pulled three thousand dollars’ worth of crisp, one-hundred bills out of a manilla envelope and fanned it out. He waved the money around, then put it back in the envelope.

“Alright,” Mr. Sagittarius said as he unlocked the orange box. “Mr. Sagittarius can see you don’t mess around either.”

Cole looked inside and stared at the magnificently shiny hand cannon inside.

“Behold,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “The Angry Barracuda 500.”

“Umm,” Rusty said. “I think I’m going to go get a fro-yo with some extra gummy bears.”

Mr. Sagittarius looked at Cole, but pointed at Rusty. “What’s his problem?”

“Nothing,” Cole said. “He’s cool.”

“He doesn’t seem cool,” Mr. Sagittarius said.

“I’m cool,” Rusty said. “I just like that fro-yo place across the street. They have great gummy bears.”

“Defeats the purpose,” Mr. Sagittarius said.

“What?” Rusty asked.

“You’re going to get a frozen yogurt because it’s less calories than ice cream,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “But then you’re going to cover it with gummy bears and shit until it has as much or even more calories than ice cream. That defeats the purpose of getting frozen yogurt in the first place. You might as well not be a little bitch and just get a full blown ice cream.”

“Thank you for the nutritional tip, Mr. Sagittarius,” Rusty said.

“No problem,” Mr. Sagittarius. “Mr. Sagittarius used to be a lot bigger, but he lost a hundred pounds over the past three years.”

“Wow,” Cole said.

“That takes a lot of commitment, Mr. Sagittarius,” Rusty said.

“It’s all about taking it day by day and making the best possible health choices you can,” Mr. Sagittarius said.

“You’re an inspiration to us all, Mr. Sagittarius,” Rusty said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, that frozen yogurt calls…”

“Knock it off,” Cole said.

“Look,” Rusty said. “You guys do your thing, but I don’t want to be a party to an illegal transaction.”

“What illegal transaction?” Mr. Sagittarius said. “I’m a fully licensed and insured gun dealer, compliant with all aspects of state and federal law.”

“Bullshit,” Rusty said.

Mr. Sagittarius opened up the door to his van.

“Shit,” Rusty said. “He’s going for a gun.”

“Will you get your vagina under control?” Cole asked.

Mr. Sagittarius returned with a folder he handed to Rusty. “Here you go.”

Rusty inspected the folder. It was filled with documents, permits, and licenses, all bearing the name of…

“Sidney Weimariner?” Rusty asked. “What’s with all this ‘Mr. Sagittarius’ bullshit then?”

“Mr. Sagittarius prefers to go on the down low as much as possible,” the gun dealer said. “There are many reprobates out there who want what Mr. Sagittarius has.”

Rusty pointed at Cole. “Then why is he, ‘Mr. Pisces?’”

“Because I like fish,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “I know who he really is. Who are you?”

Rusty gulped. “Mr. Blonde.”

“Mr. Blonde?” Mr. Sagittarius asked.

“We’re doing astrological signs,” Cole explained. “Not colors.”

“Oh,” Rusty said. “Sorry. I just really like Tarantino.”

Mr. Sagittarius took the folder back from Rusty. He pulled out some paperwork and handed it to Cole. “There you go, all fully registered, nice and legal like, to one Mr. Cole Walker.”

“Wait a minute,” Rusty said. “Isn’t there a waiting period?”

“You’re right,” Mr. Sagittarius said. He looked down at his watched and hummed a few bars of a catchy tune. “28…29…30 seconds. Enough waiting.”
“Har dee har, har,” Rusty said. “What about a background check?”

“Rusty, why are you trying to screw this up for me?” Cole asked.

“There’s just something off about this,” Rusty said.

“Mr. Pisces,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “Are you going to kill a bunch of people with this gun?”

“No,” Cole replied.

“That checks out,” Mr. Sagittarius said.

Rusty slapped his forehead in disbelief.

“Look,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “I don’t need to perform a back ground check because technically, this is a gun show.”

“It is?” Rusty asked.

Mr. Sagittarius wiggled his hips and swayed from side to side. “Best dance show ever.”

“You call that a show?” Rusty asked.

“You want me to sing too?” Mr. Sagittarius asked. “What do want to hear? Marvin Gaye? Maybe a little Gladys Knight and the Pips?”

“Please,” Cole said. “Ignore my friend. He’s a ginger.”

“That explains it,” Mr. Sagittarius said.

Cole handed over the money. Mr. Sagittarius handed over the gun.

“It’s a magnificent weapon,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “I put a lot of work into finding it.”

“Appreciated,” Cole said.

Mr. Sagittarius handed Cole the key to the lock box. Cole locked it up.

“Only owned by one previous owner,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “He only used it one time to shoot a rhinoceros in the face in self-defense.”

“Come on,” Rusty said. “How do you shoot a rhinoceros in self-defense?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Sagittarius said. “I wasn’t there. I don’t judge. Good day, gentlemen. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, but you made me drive into Redneck country and well, I’ve had nightmares ever since I saw Deliverance.”

“Damn,” Rusty said. “That movie sure did give the south a black eye.”

Mr. Sagittarius hopped into his van and drove away. Rusty and Cole returned to their car.

“Well,” Rusty said. “You got two more weeks of leave left. What are you going to do know?”

“Get drunk and shoot a shit ton of animals,” Cole replied.

“That sounds healthy,” Rusty said.

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May 05 2017
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Toilet Gator

A Note on Toilet Gator – Chapter 39

I’m really proud of it.  I think it has a lot of heart.  Let me know what you think, 3.5 readers.

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May 05 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 39

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Cole unwrapped his burger and winced as he saw two big pickle slices sticking out from underneath the bun.

“You know I hate pickles,” Cole said.

“Really?” Rusty asked with a fake lisp. “I thought you loved pickles, big boy.”

“Rusty,” Cole said. “Seriously, man. I need you to dial it back.”

“OK,” Rusty said.

“They’ve been weening me off the painkillers and I’m on edgy and moody as fuck,” Cole said.

Rusty chomped on an onion ring. “Well, a big ass dog did turn your leg into a Happy Meal so, I suppose those feelings are normal.”

Cole glared at Rusty.

“What?” Rusty asked. “That wasn’t even a joke! I’m just saying, it’s normal for you to feel like shit. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t feel that way in your situation. Just let it all out, man.”

“No,” Cole said. “Fuck that noise. Everyone wants to talk about their feelings. ‘Waah, waah, boo hoo hoo, I have so many feelings.’ Like that helps anything.”

Rusty picked the bun off of Cole’s burger and flicked off the two pickles. “Look here, this is a real easy fix. There. No more pickles.”

“Damn it!” Cole said.

“What?” Rusty asked.

“Well now your hand’s been on it…”

“I wash my hands, Cole,” Rusty said.

Cole picked up the burger.

“Although, come to think of it,” Rusty said. “I did take a big shit this morning and for the life of me I can’t remember if I washed my hands after.”

“Enough with the jokes!” Cole said.

“Not a joke,” Rusty said. “I truly can’t remember. That burger may very well be crawling with fecal coliform bacteria.”

Cole shrugged his shoulders. “Fuck it.” He bit into the burger, then moaned happily. “Oh God. Three months of jello.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Rusty said. “And I did tell that girl at the drive through to not put pickles on yours but you know those damn kids never listen.”

Cole and Rusty munched on their food for awhile as they watched Network News One on the TV in the lounge.

“In recent news Vice-President Cheney has announced that he will try really, really hard to not shoot any of his friends in the face ever again,” Kurt Manley said. “The VP added, ‘That was totally my bad, people. Totally my bad. In other news, Senator Barack Obama spoke to supporters on the campaign trail today…”

Senator Obama appeared on screen at a podium. “For when we have faced down impossible odds, when we’ve been told we’re not ready or that we shouldn’t try or that we can’t, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can. Yes, we can. Yes, we can!”

“Will you get a load of this guy?” Rusty said. “‘Barack Obama.’ Why don’t they just run a guy named Jihadi Al-I’ll-bomb-ya?”

Cole sipped his soda. “I don’t know. He’s a real slick talker. I’ll give him that.”

“What you like him?” Rusty asked.

“I don’t like any politicians,” Cole said. “Republican. Democrat. All the same. When they walk in the room, grab your wallet and hold on tight.”

“Shit,” Rusty said. “You got that right.”

Obama continued. “It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation: Yes, we can. It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail towards freedom through the darkest of nights: Yes, we can!”

“‘Yes, we can,’” Rusty said. “‘Hope and change.’ Bunch of bull.”

“He’s got it locked up,” Cole said.

“You think?” Rusty said.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “The man can talk the paint off a barn door.”

Rusty took a bite of his burger and swallowed. “I dunno. I heard McCain just picked this Sarah Palin lady to be his vice-president.”

“Sarah who?” Cole said.

“Palin,” Rusty said. “Governor of Alaska. Supposed to be a real smart cookie though I dunno, I haven’t heard her talk yet.”

Cole stole one of Rusty’s onion rings. “Really, who gives a shit?”

“Indeed, brother,” Rusty said. “Indeed.”

Rusty wiped the crumbs off his mouth with a napkin, then stood up.

“Got a hot date tonight, dude,” Rusty said. “How do I look?”

“Like you should be a supporting cast member on The Sopranos,” Cole said.

“Oh God,” Rusty said. “Don’t even get me started on that show, Cole. I whacked my TV set for a good thirty-five minutes after that finale because friggin’ HBO made me think it was on the fritz.”

“Where’d you meet this one?” Cole asked.

“Online,” Rusty said. “Internet dating, Cole. It’s amazing. You just log on and it’s like your own catalog of poon.”

Cole bit off a hunk off his burger and chewed. “She’s probably a man.”

“I will hear no insults about the lovely Layla,” Rusty said.

Cole washed down his bite with another sip of soda. “Layla’s dick is probably bigger than yours.”

“Blasphemy, sir!” Rusty said. “You have besmirched my honor!”

“You don’t have any honor,” Cole said.

“Oh, right,” Rusty replied. “Check this out.”

Rusty grabbed the sides of his pants, which were secured by dozens of snap-on buttons. The redhead yanked, the pants broke free and there he stood in the middle of the lounge in his polka-dot boxer shorts.

“What the hell?” Cole asked.

“Breakaway pants!” Rusty said. “You like ‘em?”

“No,” Cole said.

“Check it,” Rusty said. “I put these bad boys on. I take Layla out to the club. We’re drinking. We’re dancing. We’re grinding all over each other. We’re in the mood and…splatow! Off come my pants! No muss, no fuss!”

Dr. Kragen walked into the lounge with a parfait cup in her hand. She spotted a pants-less Rusty and instantly turned around and walked away. “Nope. Don’t even want to know.”

“You really need to put your pants back on,” Cole said.

“Oh,” Rusty said as he looked down at his hairy legs. “Right.”

After Rusty was fully clothed again, the duo continued their meal in silence for awhile. Finally, Cole speak.

“Where is she?” Cole asked.

“Where’s who?” Rusty replied.

Cole slapped the remaining half of his burger down on the paper. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Rusty asked.

“Play dumb,” Cole said. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Who’s playing?” Rusty asked. “I’m very dumb.”

“Where’s Sharon?”

“I don’t know, man,” Rusty said. “She didn’t call you?”

“No,” Cole said.

“That’s weird,” Rusty said.

“Stop it,” Cole said.

“Thought she said she was going to call you,” Rusty said. “She probably got busy with something.”

“Knock it off,” Cole said.

“You know how women are,” Rusty said. “They’d forget their heads if they weren’t attached.

Cole pounded his fist down on the table. “Where’s Sharon?!”

A few patients and their families turned around to stare. Rusty waved them off.

“OK,” Rusty said as he put down his burger. “I’ve been dreading this…”

“What?” Cole said. “Come on, man, out with already. Be straight with me!”

“I’ve been straight with you,” Rusty said.
“No you haven’t,” Cole said. “Every time I see you, you got some excuse for her. She’s really busy, she’s sick, she’s visiting her mother, her sister’s got the flu…I was too high to figure it out but now that the doctor cut my dosage I’m getting the distinct fucking feeling that you have been very far from straight with me.”

“Cole,” Rusty said. “I didn’t want to…”

“I lost my leg and my wife hasn’t come to see me once,” Cole said. “I’m not an idiot, Rusty.”

“I know,” Rusty said.

Rusty pulled a piece of paper out of his folder out of his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Cole. As soon as Cole looked at it, he felt his entire world collapse. Two words were written on it in Sharon’s handwriting. “I’m sorry.”

Cole crumpled up the paper and threw it against the wall. He pounded his fist on the table over and over. “Fuck!”

The patients and families looked over again. Cole let them have it. “The fuck are you looking at?! Mind your business!”

“That night,” Rusty said. “When the doctors told me you were stable, I swung by your house to tell Sharon and she wasn’t there.”

Cole cocked his head back and stared up at the ceiling in a daze.

“I let myself in,” Cole said. “Found that on the kitchen table. All her stuff was gone.”

Cole remained silent.

“I’m sorry,” Rusty said. “You’ve been through so much. I didn’t want to upset you. I figured it might mess up your chances of getting better. Kept hoping maybe she’d come back or something and it’d all be fine but…that never happened.”

“You call her?” Cole asked.

“Yeah,” Rusty said. “Left a bunch of messages. Just went right to voicemail.”

A few silent minutes passed. Cole kept staring at the ceiling. Rusty kept eating dinner.

“Shit,” Rusty said. “Now I feel bad for telling you about my date.”

“She probably has a dick,” Cole said.

“She most definitely has a dick,” Rusty replied.

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