Can you believe I’ve been working on Toilet Gator for so long?
It’s actually winding down. We’re approaching the climactic final chapters where Cole finally fights the toilet gator.
I can’t wait, can you?
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Category Archives: Toilet Gator
Toilet Gator – Chapter 93
At the Swankforth Hotel in downtown Miami, professional spammer Ernie Beck was enjoying a tasty three cheese omelette as he listened to a speaker at the International Society of Junk E-Mail Senders.
Jason Newcomb, the President of the ISJES stood at a podium, lecturing the attendees on tried and true spamming techniques.
“I know folks,” Newcomb said. “It seems like a tired old cliche, but the Nigerian prince scam really works. You’d be surprised how many elderly white people are easily convinced that they are not only related to African royalty, but that turning over their bank account routing numbers to a total stranger in the hopes of procuring a hefty payout is a good idea.”
Justine Cosseau raised her hand.
“Yes,” Newcomb said. “Justine.”
“What about the boner pills scam?” Justine inquired. “I’ve found great success by convincing men that they can add ten inches or more to their length and that the ladies will love them.”
“It’s not bad,” Newcomb said. “But keep in mind you might actually have to mass produce some fake boner pills. That means outsourcing to a sweatshop full of third world child slaves who get whipped repeatedly while they manufacture sugar pills, put them into bottles and then ship them to men with inadequate boners. It’s a total hassle, whereas the Nigerian Prince scam requires very little overhead. All you need is a computer and the willingness to pretend that you are a representative of a Nigerian Prince who, for some inexplicable reason, is related to a plethora of doddering old American white ladies.”
Ernie put down his fork and chimed in. “People, am I crazy, or are we all forgetting about the old phish-a-roo? All you need to do is send someone a bogus e-mail designed to look like it’s from their bank. Write up a paragraph about how there was a security breach and the person needs to follow a link to put in their username and password and bam, you’ve got their dough.”
“My fellow spammers,” Newcomb said. “These are all wonderful spamming techniques and there’s a reason why they’ve been used for years – because they work. How you choose to fleece buffoons who don’t know the first thing about Internet safety is up to you as long as you’re doing it because, and let’s be honest here, if people are dumb enough to not protect their money, then they deserve to lose it and we deserve to take it.”
The ballroom erupted into a chorus of “Here, here!”
“Now,” Newcomb said. “Let’s break up into our brainstorming session groups and really focus on new ideas. I want to hear at least twenty new shakedown methods by noontime.”
The spammers milled about the room, discussing their preferred spamming methods, when suddenly, Beck’s stomach rumbled. There was something about his breakfast that wasn’t sitting well with him, so he made a beeline to the bathroom.
Beck walked into an empty stall, dropped his pants, and sat down on the toilet bowl. “Dang,” he said to himself. “With a hurricane coming and a toilet gator on the loose, I’m surprised they didn’t just cancel this thing.”
“We do not cancel,” came Newcomb’s voice from outside the stall. “We spammers are a proud lot. We may lie, cheat and steal but we never, ever, quit – hurricanes and toilet gators be damned.”
Newcomb entered the stall next to Beck.
“Breakfast got to you too?” Beck asked.
“Yeah,” Newcomb said. “I didn’t think my French toast tasted right.”
“Maybe the cook got cheated on boner pills,” Beck said.
“Justine and her stupid boner pills,” Newcomb said. “She’s such a one trick pony.”
Beck turned on his cell phone and began streaming NN1’s coverage of Hurricane Dakota Rothschild. A Hot Ass Blonde Chick was in downtown Miami holding onto a palm tree as an airborne car blew past her.
“Jason,” Beck said. “Maybe we really should postpone this thing.”
“Please,” Newcomb said. “You know the spammer’s code. Never give up. Never surrender. Always misspell all your spam e-mails so that the people who are defrauded by them end up looking that much dumber.”
“I guess,” Beck said. “But I just don’t want to be blown away by the wind or be eaten by a toilet gator. Is it even safe to be shitting right now?”
“Maybe not,” Newcomb said. “But I’m too proud to run around in one of those diapers.”
“Same here,” Beck said. “But I just…”
“ROAR!”
Skippy interrupted the conversation by bursting through the floor and crunching up the toilet with Beck still on it between his jaws. The walls and doors of every stall in the vicinity fell down, leaving Newcomb exposed and defenseless.
The alligator was feeling cocky and sure of himself, no longer concerned about hiding from humans. Convinced that he was invincible, he took his time as he crunched on what little remained of Beck.
Meanwhile, Beck’s phone, now lying on the floor, continued to stream NN1’s news coverage. Kurt Manley kicked it to a replay of Cole’s challenge to the alligator from the night before.
“You wouldn’t last three seconds against me, but if you want to prove me wrong, meet me in the men’s restroom of the Sitwell Park Mall and we’ll finish this once and for all. Man vs. Alligator, mano a mano, human vs. reptile combat. Fail to show, and I will return to the airwaves to tell the world that you are little more than a giant green pussy with teeth.”
Hearing this sent Skippy into a rage. He roared wildly, then turned and leered at Newcomb, who trembled as he remained still on the toilet with his pants around his ankles, completely petrified.
“Nice alligator,” Newcomb said. “Good boy. You wouldn’t eat a professional e-mail spammer, would you?”
Toilet Gator – Chapter 92
Rusty brushed his teeth with Cole’s toothbrush, a move that did not strike him as the least bit disgusting. He rinsed his mouth out with water, then walked into a spare bedroom, only to be screamed at by an old lady.
“Holy shit, Maude!” Rusty shouted. “I had no idea you could move like that.”
“Get out!” Maude shouted.
Rusty grabbed the door knob, gave Burt a thumb’s up, then shut the door behind him. He walked through Cole’s living room to a second spare bedroom only to find, to his great surprise, Moses and Felix in bed, bare chested and hugging each other.
“Whoa!” Rusty cried out.
Moses and Felix sat up in bed, yanking the covers up over their bare chests.
“Don’t you knock?!” Moses shouted.
“I’m sorry, amigos,” Rusty said. “Didn’t know this room was occupado. I’m just going to go crash on the couch, so…”
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Moses said.
“That’s cool,” Rusty said. “I’m just gonna go.”
“We’re not gay,” Moses said.
“Not a problem if you are,” Rusty said. “It’s 2017.”
“We just like to snuggle,” Moses said.
Rusty’s heart pounded. Every 1980s love ballad he’d ever heard before poured through his mind. “Come again?”
“We’re heteronormative cuddle queer sexuals,” Moses said.
Rusty clutched his chest. “Oh my God. It really is a thing.”
“Of course it is, bigot,” Moses said. “It’s 2017. Every thing is a thing.”
“No,” Rusty said as he stepped further into the room. “It’s just, I thought I was the only one.”
“You mean you’re a heteronormative cuddle queer sexual too?” Moses asked.
“Yes,” Rusty said. “I recently learned that about myself after snuggling a gay man.”
Moses squirted some lotion of Felix’s shoulders and gave his buddy a good, hard rubdown. “You snuggled a gay man? You homo!”
“No!” Rusty said. “It wasn’t like that. We just, you know, did what you guys are doing.”
“Aint nothing wrong with it,” Moses said.
“No there isn’t,” Rusty said.
“We’re just two red blooded heterosexual males providing each other with a little warmth and comfort,” Moses said. “We saw a lot of shit in the war so, you know, sometimes ole Felix here is the only one I feel like I can talk to, even though he won’t talk back to me.”
“That’s really nice,” Rusty said.
Felix nodded, then closed his hands and enjoyed the back rub.
“Of course, I’d blow my brains out before I’d ever let a pecker get anywhere near my backdoor,” Moses said. “Felix feels the same way, don’t you Felix?”
Felix nodded.
“Me too!” Rusty said. “I don’t want any gay sex.”
“I should hope not,” Moses said. “That’s the devil’s work right there.”
“And I still love pussy,” Rusty said.
“Oh hell, Felix and I are pussy magnets,” Moses said. “All we gotta do is belly up to the bar, I start telling our war stories and before you know it, we’re buried under all the poontang.”
“Damn it,” Rusty said. “I wish I had some good war stories so I could get buried under a sea of poontang.”
“You’re a cop, aint you?” Moses asked. “Bitches love a man in uniform.”
“Yeah,” Rusty said. “I don’t have any good stories though.”
“Make some shit up,” Moses said. “The ladies won’t ever know.”
“You think so?” Rusty asked.
“Damn straight,” Moses said. “You gotta get that pussy any way you can get it, boy.”
“Cool,” Rusty said as he headed for the door. “Well, I’ll let you guys get back to it.”
Moses patted the bed. “You want in on this, buddy?”
Rusty pivoted around. “Excuse me?”
“This aint our first rodeo, boy,” Moses said. “Felix and I have been in a three-way man snuggle sandwich before.”
“You have?” Rusty asked.
“Shit yeah,” Moses said. “What do you thing happens at the conventions?”
Rusty’s jaw dropped. “There are conventions?”
“Shoot,” Moses said. “You don’t know much about this, do you boy? Hell yeah, there are all sorts of conventions and organizations dedicated to male on male snuggling. Why, Felix and I have been thinking about starting our own club for heteronormative cuddle queer sexuals right here in Sitwell.”
“I’d like to join that club,” Rusty said. “I really would.”
“Well,” Moses said as he patted the shed. “Time’s a wastin’ boy. Don’t be shy.”
Rusty stepped closer to the bed, then stopped. “Is this promiscuous?”
“What?” Moses asked.
“I just figured out I’m into male on male snuggling,” Rusty said. “I don’t know if I should run around snuggling just anyone.”
“Oh come on,” Moses said. “Don’t be a prude. We’re just cuddling. It’s not like anything is going into anywhere.”
“Well,” Rusty said as he hopped into bed right between Moses and Felix. “When you put it that way. What’s first, fellas? Tickle fight?”
“Normally, yes, but we have to help Cole kill a toilet gator tomorrow,” Moses said.
“Oh right,” Moses said. “Tickle blocked by the toilet gator.”
Moses wrapped his arms around Rusty’s left side. Felix did the same to Rusty’s right. Both men stared at Rusty intently while he focused his eyes on the ceiling.
“How’s that?” Moses asked.
Rusty shuddered in ecstacy. “So good.”
“Goodnight, meat,” Moses said as he and Felix closed their eyes.
“Meat?” Rusty asked.
“Yeah,” Moses said. “You’re the meat in this man sandwich. Felix and I are the buns.”
Rusty laughed. “Oh yeah. Good night, buns.”
“Just don’t think about going anywhere near our buns,” Moses said.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Rusty said.
“Good,” Moses said. “Because we’re not gay.”
“Me neither,” Rusty said.
“That’s gross,” Moses said.
“Totally disgusting,” Rusty said.
Rusty looked up at the ceiling for a while. “Felix’s feet are like a couple of popsicles.”
“Yeah,” Moses said. “He tends to run cold.”
After a few minutes, Moses and Felix fell asleep. Alas, rest evaded Rusty, for he was so excited to learn that he wasn’t the only heteronormative cuddle queer sexual in the world but rather, there were many like-minded men out there that he could enjoy his newly discovered reason for being with. He lied awake for hours, safely wrapped up in two sets of man arms until Cole bursted into the room around seven a.m.
“Hey Rusty,” Cole said. “It’s time to…what the?!”
Moses, Rusty, and Felix all sat up, yanking the covers over their bare chests.
“Don’t you knock?” Moses asked.
“It’s not what it looks like!” Rusty shouted. “We’re not gay!”
“Whatever,” Cole said as he walked out of the room. “I’ll be in the car.”
Toilet Gator – Chapter 91
Maude and Burt sat outside Cole’s house on the front porch, admiring the stars. Burt finally broke the silence.
“Nice night,” Burt said.
“Sure is,” Maude said as she lit up a cigarette.
Burt frowned. “Why do you do that for?”
“Do what?” Maude asked.
“That,” Burt said as he pointed at the cigarette.
“I don’t know,” Maude said. “My husband’s dead. I’ve got kids that are too busy to visit me. Grandkids who can’t be bothered to pay attention to me. I don’t recognize the world anymore. I’d say my time has come and gone so I might as well smoke ‘em since I’ve got ‘em.”
“What a terrible thing to say,” Burt said.
“Why?” Maude asked. “No one cares about me.”
Burt smiled. “That’s not entirely true.”
Maude took a drag and belched out the smoke. “You’re sweet, Burt, but my lady business has been out of commission since…dang, I can’t even remember.”
“Oh,” Burt said. “I wasn’t talking about that…I just…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Maude said. “You men only have one thing on your minds, regardless of what age you are.”
“I’d like to court you,” Burt said.
“What?” Maude asked. “Court me?”
“Yes,” Burt said.
“What the hell kind of word is ‘court?’” Maude asked. “Are we in seventeenth century France or some shit?”
“I don’t know what the kids say today,” Burt said. “All I know is I’m retiring soon and, well, if none of your young people care about you and no one at all cares about me then I don’t see why we old folks can’t get together and care about each other.”
Maude gave Burt a look that can only be described as “the stink eye.” “Jesus, Burt, you never got any, did you?”
“I’m not talking about that,” Burt said. “I’m just saying I’d like to, you know, take you out to dinner, maybe go see a movie or…”
Maude picked up her oxygen tank and grabbed Burt’s hand. “I thought Arthur was just joking when he told me you were a virgin thirty years ago, but this is beyond pathetic. Come on.”
Burt became increasingly flustered as the old gal led him up the stairs to Cole’s house. “Arthur told you?!”
“Of course,” Maude said. “We kept no secrets.”
Burt stopped on the porch. “Maude, I don’t know about this. I mean, are you up for it?”
“Stop flattering yourself you old codger,” Maude said. “You haven’t been with a woman your whole life yet you’re worried you might boink me to death your first time out of the gate. Ha! That’ll be the day.”
“No,” Burt said as he looked at Maude’s oxygen tank. “I mean…”
“Oh,” Maude said. “I’ll just turn it up.”
“Maude,” Burt said as the old gal lead him into Cole’s house. “You think Arthur would be mad?”
“Definitely,” Maude said. “But either he’s worm food, in which case, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him or he’s in Heaven, which if he is, then he’s got better things to do up there than spy on me and your curved unit.”
“He told you about that too?!” Burt asked.
“No secrets,” Maude said.
“The curved thing doesn’t bother you?” Burt asked.
“Meh,” Maude said. “I’ll go at it from an angle. We’ll figure it out.”
“Maude?” Burt asked as the pair walked through Cole’s dark living room.
“What now?” Maude asked.
“I’d still like to take you to dinner sometime,” Burt said.
“We’ll see how this goes first, champ,” Maude said.
Toilet Gator – Chapter 90
The gang gathered around Cole’s kitchen table, finalizing their plans for the next day as they stared at a map of Sitwell.
“Everyone know where they’re supposed to be?” Cole asked.
“Yeah,” Maude said. “I should be on a beach in Hawaii with a Mai Tai in my hand. I’m too old for this.”
Burt, though still a Grover County Sheriff’s deputy, had joined in. “Me too.”
“What if the gator doesn’t take the bait?” Rusty asked.
“I think he will,” Natalie said. “When this all began, Buford sent me a text that stuck with me. ‘I am not in control.’ I’m not sure he ever was.”
“The alligator sounded like he was the boss when I caught them arguing,” Rusty said.
“And I think the alligator was making him text me,” Natalie said. “He loves the limelight.”
“Shit,” Rusty said. “It’s the Kim Kardashian of alligators.”
“Animals get smarter with every generation,” Professor Lambert said. “And yet humans continue to be so arrogant as to assume we are the only intelligent life on earth.”
Moses chugged a beer and burped. “I don’t know about y’all but I think the most intelligent thing to do now is to get some sleep.”
“Agreed,” Cole said. “Everyone rest up. It’s a big day tomorrow.”
The gang milled about Cole’s house as Cole retired to his bedroom. He removed his pants, sat on the edge of his bed, then detached his prosthetic leg. He rubbed his stump and closed his eyes, only to open them when Sharon entered the room.
“Oh,” Cole said. “Sorry, I should take the couch and you can sleep in here.”
Sharon pressed her finger up to her lips. “Shh,” she said as she sat down next to her ex-husband.
Cole reached for his prosthetic only to have his hand pulled back by Sharon. “Leave it.”
“But I…”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Sharon said.
“It bothers me,” Cole replied.
“It shouldn’t,” Sharon said.
Sharon and Cole stared into each others’ eyes for a spell before they shared a deep, passionate kiss.
“We shouldn’t,” Cole said.
Sharon grabbed the back of Cole’s head and pulled it closer to hers. “We should.”
“No,” Cole said as he pulled back. “What’s done is done.”
Sharon sighed. “Why do you think I left you?”
“This isn’t the time to get into this,” Cole said.
“It’s the perfect time,” Sharon said. “If something happens to one of us tomorrow…”
“It won’t,” Cole said.
“But if it does…”
Cole flopped back on the bed. “Fine. What do you want me to say, Sharon? ‘I’m sorry I decided to be the big hero.’ Is that what you want me to say? Do you need me to say our divorce was my fault so you’ll feel better? Fine. It was my fault.”
“I never thought it was your fault,” Sharon said.
“It was,” Cole said. “You married a strapping young man and you didn’t sign on for a gimp with a fake leg. I put myself in danger. I got my leg bitten off by the dog from hell. You didn’t sign on to take care of a cripple for the rest of your life so the second you heard about what happened to me, you ran. I don’t blame you. I blame myself.”
“That’s what you think happened?” Sharon asked.
“I know it’s what happened,” Cole said.
“You don’t know anything,” Sharon said.
“I know had the situation been reversed I wouldn’t have left you,” Cole said. “You could have gotten mangled in a car accident and ended up as nothing more than a talking head and I would have stayed with you for the rest of your life.”
“That’s…gross…and sweet at the same time,” Sharon said. “But mostly gross.”
“I’d of put your head in a duffel bag,” Cole said. “Taken you on long walks across the beach, bought you fresh tomatoes at the farmer’s market.”
Sharon plopped back in the bed next to Cole. “Oh my God. It’s been so long since we’ve been to the farmer’s market.”
“I would have waxed your head,” Cole said. “Propped it up in front of the television…”
Sharon chuckled. “Stop.”
“I would have gotten your head a special pillow…”
Sharon turned serious. “Cole I didn’t leave you because you lost your leg. I didn’t even find out about it until a month later when I read about it in the newspaper – that story about the benefit that Sitwell PD threw to raise money for your medical bills. You ever wonder who donated that five grand?”
Cole’s eyes widened. “That was you? I always thought it was Chief Haskell.”
Sharon nodded.
“Whatever,” Cole said. “Like that makes things better.”
“I put in my application with the FBI during my first year in law school,” Sharon said. “I never heard back from them until a week before I left. They contacted me out of the blue and told me to report to Quantico for training and that there was an appointment to the Miami field office in store for me. I kept trying to work up the courage to tell you but I knew in my heart you love this stupid hillbilly town and there was no way you’d be happy in Miami.”
“Bullshit,” Cole said. “Even if that’s true, you had no right to make that decision for me. I would have followed you.”
“And you would have been miserable,” Sharon said.
“You don’t know that,” Cole said.
“I know it because I’m miserable,” Sharon said. “Bright lights. Big city. Adventure. Excitement. I thought I wanted it all, Cole, but now that I’m forty I’m…”
“Tired?” Cole asked.
“Tired as fuck,” Sharon answered. “I just want those days back where we used to wake up late on Sunday mornings and go to the farmer’s market to buy fresh tomatoes, blueberries, oranges, strawberries and shit.”
Cole laughed.
“I’m not joking,” Sharon said. “Every day I go to work and there’s a new disaster waiting for me. There’s a new killer on the loose, or some psychopath threatening to blow up a building with all the people inside, or a kidnapping, or a big bank heist. I go to sleep every night and dream about opening up our own booth at the farmer’s market like we talked about.”
“We said that we’d do that when we’re older,” Cole said.
Sharon rubbed her hand against Cole’s cheek. “Newsflash dummy. We’re older.”
Cole rolled over onto his side. “I’m sorry you feel bad about leaving. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make you feel better, and I can say you shouldn’t have done it until I turn blue and pass out but that wouldn’t make me feel better.”
Sharon rolled over on her side and draped her arm over Cole, spooning him. Cole sighed. He enjoyed it but at the same time, he didn’t. He feared the excitement would fizzle and lead to nothing.
“There was another reason why I left,” Sharon said.
“Oh God,” Cole said. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I can’t get pregnant,” Sharon blurted out.
Cole rolled over on his back and faced Sharon. “What?”
“I had a physical a month before I left,” Sharon said. “Turns out I can’t have children.”
“And,” Cole said. “So…what?”
“I knew you wanted children,” Sharon said. “Hell, I wanted children, but I knew you’d be disappointed.”
“I…I wouldn’t have…”
“I know you wouldn’t have,” Sharon said. “I felt like if I stayed I’d be holding you back. If I left, then I could be the bad guy in your mind and you’d be none the wiser. I assumed you’d bounce back quick and find someone else, someone who could give you what you wanted. I never knew you’d…”
“Wallow all alone in a cesspool of my own self-pity for a decade?” Cole asked.
“You said,” Sharon said. “Not me. Cole, you need to believe me, when I left that morning, I had no idea what was going to happen to you that day and after I found out I just…”
“What?” Cole asked.
“It didn’t change anything,” Sharon said. “I still wanted the fast paced FBI lifestyle. I still couldn’t have kids. I figured even without the leg you’d still have no trouble finding someone but…”
Cole brushed his hand through Sharon’s hair. “…but she wouldn’t have been you.”
On that note, Cole and Sharon embraced and kissed wildly, filling themselves up on what they had been missing out on for so long. Sharon removed her shirt and began unhooking her bra when Cole threw out a question. “What about Gordon?”
“What about him?” Sharon asked.
“Is it right for us to…you know…so soon after his death?” Cole asked.
“Why not?” Sharon asked.
“Because,” Cole said. “You know…you two were…”
“We were what?” Sharon asked.
“Intimate,” Cole said. “Why are you making me spell it out?”
Sharon laughed.
“Doesn’t seem like an appropriate thing to make light of,” Cole said.
“Cole,” Sharon said. “Gordon was gay.”
“What?” Cole asked.
“Gordon was gay,” Sharon repeated.
“What?” Cole asked. “No, but he was…”
“Doing naked pushups in the motel room?” Sharon asked. “Yeah, I know. One of his more disgusting habits but hell, he put up with me clipping my toenails and leaving the clippings everywhere. I always meant to pick up later then I’d always forget. He’d step on them, make a big deal out of it.”
“But the wine?” Cole asked.
“I like a little wine in the evening,” Sharon said. “Big deal.”
“You called him studmuffin,” Cole said.
“Because he had a suitor who used to call him studmuffin,” Sharon said. “He used to call Gordon ‘studmuffin’ in front of everyone. It became a nickname.”
“So you two weren’t…”
“No,” Sharon said. “I don’t know, Cole. You know how it is when you have a partner. Sooner or later you spend so much time together you just end up feeling comfortable doing everything and front of each other. You and Rusty are the same way.”
“I would pop a cap in Rusty’s ass if he ever did naked pushups in front of me,” Cole said.
“It’s 2017, Cole,” Sharon said. “Naked pushups are nothing to feel ashamed of anymore.”
Cole seized his love and kissed her. “Maybe it’s time for me to do some naked pushups…”
Sharon giggled. “Oh, Mr. Walker…I thought you’d never ask…”
Cole’s phone was on the nightstand. It began to ring. He grabbed it. “Hello?”
“Cole,” Rusty said. “Callin’ from the other room.”
“I’m busy,” Cole said.
“Yeah,” Rusty said. “Check it, man. I’ve been meaning to tell you, Gordon was gay. I think you’ve still got an in with Sharon.”
“Shut up, Rusty,” Cole said as he flipped his phone shut and hurled it to the floor.
Cole and Sharon engaged in some foreplay for a while before Cole spoke up. “Leg on or off?”
“Off,” Sharon said.
“Fine,” Cole said. “But either you’re going to have to get on top or we’re going to need a big mound of pillows to prop me up baby.”
“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard,” Sharon said.
Toilet Gator – Chapter 89
Night fell over Sitwell as Moses led Cole into the hanger bay of a small, regional airport on the outskirts of town.
Cole looked around. He was surrounded by boxes filled with guns, ammo, and various vehicles covered with tarps. The walls were lined with shelves filled with bottles of protein powder, boxes of energy bars and meals ready to eat.
“How could you possibly afford to rent a place like this?” Cole asked.
“Cole,” Moses said. “I’ve never poked my nose into your personal business before and I’d appreciate it if you’d extend me the same courtesy.”
“I’m just surprised is all,” Cole said.
“Let’s just say I did a lot of shit in my day,” Moses said. “While Uncle Sam had me globe trotting all over the world doing his grunt work, I came up with all sorts of creative ways to cut me off a slice of the pie while no one was looking. People may think I’m crazy for being a doomsday prepper but I only keep this stuff in the event of a rainy day and brother, that toilet gator is making it pour.”
“Well,” Cole said. “What have you got?”
“I haven’t got a handgun that can match the awesome power of your Angry Barracuda, but…”
Moses fished around inside a crate and pulled out a rather menacing looking grenade launcher. “They call it the six-pack. It can launch up to a half-dozen grenades at the pull of a trigger.”
Cole took the weapon and examined it. “Nice.”
“You feed one of those to our scaly friend and he’ll end up with a bad case of heartburn, let me tell you,” Moses said. “I once saw one of those vaporize a man. Like, the dude was a man one second and the next, he was like a mist of soupy blood and guts falling to the ground.”
“Sounds like he was liquified then,” Cole said.
“Don’t play word games with me Cole,” Moses said. “Your fancy two-year associate’s degree from SCC means nothing to me.”
“Sorry,” Cole said. “Where’d you get it?”
Moses smirked. “Let’s just say it fell off the back of a truck.”
“Gotcha,” Cole said.
Moses pulled out a large machine gun. “The M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, better known as the ‘SAW.’ They call it that because it cuts through the enemy like a chainsaw through a piece of rotten wood. You point this at that alligator and it will spit hot lead at that big green prick like hellfire screaming out of the belly of the devil himself.”
“Did that fall off the back of a truck too?” Cole asked.
“You know it,” Moses said.
The doomsday prepper opened up a large metal box. Cole marveled at the site of what appeared to be a large bazooka.
“The Javelin,” Moses said. “The most powerful anti-tank missile capable of being fired from the shoulder of a human. Whoever’s doing the firing needs to line the target up but once it has locked on, God help whatever poor son of a bitch gets in its way.”
“Truck?” Cole asked.
“Truck,” Moses answered.
“Military truck drivers sure are sloppy,” Cole said.
“That they are,” Moses said.
Moses opened up a box to reveal a brick of a white, clay-like substance wrapped in clear cellophane.
“C4,” Moses said. “Plastic explosive. Insert the detonator, blow it up on your terms at a time of your choosing. Fell off the back of a…”
“…truck,” Cole said. “I got it. Everything in here just fell of the back of a truck.”
“I did not steal any of this,” Moses said. “I’m just keeping it all safe until the military realizes they lost it and asks for it back. Not my fault if they’re taking forever to realize its gone.”
In the center of the room, a large object was covered by a tarp. Cole lifted it up a tad to reveal a piece of camouflaged color metal with the word, “APACHE” stamped on it.
“You’re kidding me,” Cole said.
“Nope,” Moses said.
“Don’t tell me that fell off the back of a truck,” Cole said.
“I can’t tell you that it did not, not fall of the back of a truck,” Moses replied.
Cole let the tarp fall back over the metal object and pondered what he had just seen. “Hmm.”
“What?” Moses asked.
“Nothing,” Cole said. “It’s just, that’d be too much, right?”
“Definitely,” Moses said. “Hell, if I take it out of this hanger I’d be breaking about a thousand different laws.”
“Exactly,” Cole said.
“Hell,” Moses said. “I’m in hot water just for having it here.”
“Yeah,” Cole said as he stared at the tarp covered object.
“Yup,” Moses added.
“Let’s forget we ever considered it,” Cole said.
“Entirely forgotten,” Moses said.
Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #8
Network News One Transcript #8
KURT MANLEY: Witnesses on the scene report the bank robbers took off all their clothes and had a menage a trios right there in the vault with nothing but their socks and ski masks on. Authorities had no idea whether to break the orgy up or let it run its course so they just hanged back and pretended to not notice anything was going on until it was all over. Legal experts say it’ll be quite some time before the bandits will be eligible for parole. In other news, Schmo Tech just released a brand new version of the Schmo Phone. Dubbed the Schmo Phone 12, it promises all sorts of advanced apps and features to justify the price hike. One of NN1’s Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties interviewed the legion of nerds camped outside the Big Apple’s Schmo Store, waiting to be one of the first geeks to get their hands on the device.
(Cut to a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, interviewing a nerd outside the Schmo Store in Times Square.)
RANDOM NERD: I’ve been a Schmo my whole life. I’ll always be a Schmo. Schmo Tech rules.
HOT ASS BLONDE CHICK WITH BIG TITTIES: But didn’t the Schmo Phone 11.9 just come out last Tuesday?
RANDOM NERD: Yes and it was awesome. I loved it.
HOT ASS BLONDE CHICK WITH BIG TITTIES: So why spend your money on a new version today?
RANDOM NERD: Because the Schmo Phone 11.9 is now an obsolete piece of garbage ready for the landfill. Schmo Phone 12 is where it’s at.
HOT ASS BLONDE CHICK WITH BIG TITTIES: But it’s only been about a week or so.
RANDOM NERD: Ugh. Don’t remind me. No one should ever be stuck with the same phone for more than a week. I mean, serious, what are we, cave people?
HOT ASS BLONDE CHICK WITH BIG TITTIES: Do you think there might be some profiteering involved? For example, this new Schmo Phone requires the user to buy a brand new charger and a brand new set of ear phones. Was it really necessary for these accessory ports to change?
RANDOM NERD: Of course. I totally trust the good people of Schmo Tech with all of my technology needs, and my personal information and the details of everything I’m searching the web for and the data behind everyone I’m calling and talking to and my daily schedule and all of my movements, where I’m going, what I’m doing, etc. There’s no way anyone at Schmo Tech would ever betray the trust that I have placed in them so blindly and carelessly.
(The Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties turns to the camera.)
HOT ASS BLONDE CHICK WITH BIG TITTIES: Well, there you have it, Kurt. Schmo Tech loves nerds and nerds love Schmo Tech.
KURT MANLEY: Thanks, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. Don’t forget to grab one of those phones for me.
(Kurt turns to a different camera.)
KURT MANLEY: Back to our main story, the humongous toilet gator who has every man, woman and child in the free world scared literally shitless. Have you all recovered since seeing that footage of the Mayor of Sitwell, Florida being devoured by a vicious lizard of gargantuan proportions? I have to admit, that sight made your favorite anchor’s stomach just a tad queasy. Meanwhile, you all might be too scared to shit, but the politicians are never too afraid to talk shit. President Vinny Stugotz and Florida Governor Brian Graysmith held a joint press conference in Tallahassee to address the toilet gator situation.
(Camera cuts to Governor Brian Graysmith behind a podium as a gaggle of reporters wave their hands about, looking to have their questions answered.)
GOVERNOR GRAYSMITH: Calm down, everyone. Calm down. Again, I’d like to remind you all that the one and only reason we are here today is to discuss the massive alligator that is currently on the loose, most likely on the run in our state’s sewer system and could very well be plotting to eat you and your loved ones while you defecate on the toilet. The President is a very busy man and I thank him for being here in Florida’s time of need. This is truly the darkest time period in our state’s history since we learned our chads were hanging. So please, limit your questions to the toilet gator and only the toilet gator and do not ask any questions about the ridiculous number of prostitutes I hired because if you do, you will be ignored. Yes, you! What’s your question?
RANDOM REPORTER #1: Governor, can you address allegations that you used public funds to pay for the ridiculous amount of hookers found in your hotel suite?
GOVERNOR GRAYSMITH: You will be ignored! Next question.
RANDOM REPORTER #2 – Governor, should everyone run around screaming and yelling at the top of their lungs, panicking like a bunch of escaped insane asylum lunatics until the toilet gator is subdued?
GOVERNOR GRAYSMITH: Yes, I think that would be…
(PRESIDENT STUGOTZ pushes Governor Graysmith aside and takes the podium.)
PRESIDENT STUGOTZ: OK, that’s enough out of you, lightweight. I’m sorry, I know, everyone tells me I should try to be nicer but I just couldn’t take it anymore. Governor Graysmith is a nice guy but believe me, he’s a total low energy loser and a big time hack. Believe me, OK? Believe me. Let’s talk about the toilet gator, OK? All you big losers in the media, you purveyors of fake news love to run around, stirring the public up, saying “What’s President Stugotz doing about the toilet gator?” and “Oh, shouldn’t President Stugotz have caught the toilet gator by now?” Listen. When it comes to catching toilet gators, no one is better at catching toilet gators than me, OK? Believe me. I’ve got a broad coalition of federal, state, and local officials combing the sewer system as we speak and we will find this toilet gator and bring his scaly hide to justice, that I can guarantee you. You are all so lucky to have my as president right now, OK, because believe me, anyone else would be quaking in their boots in fear of this toilet gator. Alright, I guess I’ll acknowledge you people in the media who are, quite frankly, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, a bunch of degenerate, scum sucking pigs. You’re all pigs. That’s all there is to it. Which one of you pigs has a question?
RANDOM REPORTER #3 – Mr. President, when you speak about the toilet gator in such unflattering terms, do you realize you’re insulting the entire community of alligators at large, many of whom are peaceful and law abiding?
PRESIDENT STUGOTZ: You’re a pig. Seriously. Take your underpants, pull them up over your back and attach them to your face because you deserve an atomic wedgie. Seriously. That’s what you deserve. Big time. Am I against all alligators? No. But for all the alligators out there, here’s the deal. You want to be an alligator in this country? You’ve got to play by the rules and act the way you’re supposed to. That means if you’re an alligator, you hang out in the swamp, maybe you eat a rat or frog or worst case scenario, a small child that wandered off from a campsite, just to teach the kid’s parents a costly lesson about responsibility. Maybe you can join the circus or a traveling carnival and do tricks but that’s all we want out of our alligators and if you behave yourselves, then you’ll have no problem from me. But, if you think you’re going to eat a bunch of God fearing Americans while they’re exercising their God given right to shit, no, not on my watch, bucko.
RANDOM REPORTER #4 – Mr. President, do you think it is possible to contain such an enormous beast?
PRESIDENT STUGOTZ: Listen up, pencil dick, and by the way, I don’t say that to be mean, I’m just stating a fact, that you have a tiny weenus, whereas mine is thick, long and girthy and if you don’t believe me, you can ask my supermodel wife, who is way hotter than your wife. That’s just a fact. It’s true. It’s totally true. Big time truth, here. And yes, you lowlife, I believe it is possible to capture the toilet gator because as long as I am president, anything is possible, OK? Keep in mind that all law enforcement officials have been instructed to kill the toilet gator on sight. However, if it ends up that the toilet gator is taken into custody, then I will be left with no choice but to build a wall around the toilet gator and make the toilet gator pay for it.
(The reporters wave their hands around, shouting out questions.)
PRESIDENT STUGOTZ: That’s enough questions for today. Remember, you’re all horrible people who should go home, take a long look in the mirror, and think about the many ways in which you have disappointed yourselves, your country, and your president. Stugotz out!
(Back to Kurt in studio).
KURT MANLEY: Some tough words for the toilet gator from President Stugotz. We take you now to Sitwell, Florida, where one of our Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties is standing by with Cole Walker, the former police chief of Sitwell.
(Cut to Natalie Brock standing with Cole Walker outside the Sitwell Community College Library.)
KURT MANLEY: I understand it’s been a rough day in Sitwell, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.
NATALIE BROCK: Indeed, Kurt. Earlier today, a joint task force raided the home of Mayor Beaumont Dufresne, the man seen earlier being eaten alive by the toilet gator in a live television commercial. Authorities were hoping to take the Mayor’s son, Buford Dufresne, into custody as he was suspecting of aiding and abetting the toilet gator.
KURT MANLEY: Get out of town. Are you telling me the toilet gator had a human accomplice?
NATALIE BROCK: It looks that way, Kurt.
KURT MANLEY: This case is nuttier than a jar of chunky peanut butter.
NATALIE BROCK: Unfortunately, before the suspect could be apprehended, the toilet gator quite literally bursted onto the scene and gobbled up his conspirator as well as the entire task force.
KURT MANLEY: Holy flaming shitballs. That’s gotta be scary when the last thing you see in this life is the jaws of a hungry toilet gator coming at you.
NATALIE BROCK: Indeed. Meanwhile, the situation on the ground is getting intense, as citizens the National Guard has been deployed to enforce martial laws. Despite the increased military presence in the area, citizens continue to panic in a disorderly, reckless manner.
(Cut to a riot scene in downtown Sitwell. Looters run out of grocery store carrying stolen boxes of diapers. An angry rioter throws a trash can through the window of another store, then runs toward the camera with his arms flailing to and fro.)
ANGRY RIOTER: I’m panicking in a disorderly, reckless manner! ARRGH!
(NATALIE BROCK returns to screen).
NATALIE BROCK: Kurt, I’m joined by ex-police Chief Cole Walker, who has asked to speak to the toilet gator directly.
KURT MANLEY: Have at it, Mr. Walker.
(Natalie stares at Cole, who blinks at the camera.)
NATALIE BROCK: You’re on.
COLE WALKER: Oh. OK.
(Cole appears nervous. His hand trembles as he pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolds it and begins to read it.)
COLE WALKER: I’m sorry. I’ve never been on TV before.
KURT MANLEY: Relax, fella. You’re doing fine. If a bunch of dumb blonde bimbos with big racks can do it, then it’ll be a cinch for you, right Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties?
NATALIE BROCK: Sure, Kurt.
(Cole reads his note in a monotone voice, devoid of feeling.)
COLE WALKER: Attention, toilet gator. You have eaten a lot of private citizens who had no idea you were coming, as well as a joint task force who didn’t have any idea how to handle you. I have a question. Do you think you can take on an experienced hunter like me, a man who has faced some of the toughest animals in nature and is still here? I doubt you’d last long against me. In fact, I’m willing to bet you have a tiny alligator penis and my human penis is way bigger than yours. You wouldn’t last three seconds against me, but if you want to prove me wrong, meet me in the men’s restroom of the Sitwell Park Mall and we’ll finish this once and for all. Man vs. Alligator, mano a mano, human vs. reptile combat. Fail to show, and I will return to the airwaves to tell the world that you are little more than a giant green pussy with teeth.
(Cole looks up from his note.)
COLE WALKER: Thank you. That is all.
KURT MANLEY: Wow. “A giant green pussy with teeth.” Sounds like the third Mrs. Manley. There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The toilet gator has been called out. Will he rise to the challenge? Man vs. Beast. Stick with NN1 to find out who wins. That’s it for now. Coming up in the next hour, is there a brand of butter that can turn an English muffin into a hot flaming disc of death? Better stop eating that muffin for now and we’ll tell you which brand of butter that is in the next hour, right after sports and weather. Stay tuned for these commercial messages.
ANNOUNCER: Network News One! The hottest blonde chicks! The biggest titties! Oh yeah, and occasionally we report the news and shit.
Toilet Gator – Chapter 88
Sharon was unable to process the information she’d just received from Natalie. “The entire joint task force…dead?”
“It just came in over the wire while we were on the way here,” Natalie said. “President Stugotz is mobilizing the National Guard and declaring a state of martial law in South Florida.”
“Mother of God,” Sharon said. “If a SWAT team wasn’t able to take this alligator down then I have no idea who can.”
Rusty raised his hand. “I do…but I don’t have a right to ask.”
Everyone around the table looked to Rusty as though he was about to utter the most important words anyone would ever say ever. Rusty pointed to Cole.
“Me?” Cole asked.
“I have no right,” Rusty said. “I failed you and left you on your own against that dog ten years ago. But you faced down Old Mongo, cheated death, and lived to tell the tale. Since then, you’ve hunted lions, tigers and bears…”
“Oh my,” Maude interjected. Seeing that no one was amused she added, “What? Too soon?”
Cole sighed. “It’s funny. I’ve been thinking lately it might be time to hang up my hunting gear. People don’t seem to have the same amount of respect for big game hunters that they used to. They feel like it’s too macho, cruel, uncivilized…”
Moses scoffed. “Liberal whack jobs who want to crawl up Hillary Clinton’s…”
“Yeah, I know Moses,” Cole said. “You think everyone who disagrees with you must be a liberal whack job who wants to crawl inside Hillary Clinton’s vagina but either way, I’ve been thinking that hunting has run its course through me. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be able to change what happened that day and I could kill a thousand big beasties but that will never bring my leg or my pride back.”
Professor Lambert intervened. “You lost your leg?”
“To a big ass dog,” Rusty said. “While saving a little girl’s life. He’s the best hero I’ll ever know.”
“Then, my good man, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you are the most qualified person I can think of to go up against an alligator of this magnitude,” Professor Lambert said.
Sharon frowned. She reached across the table and grabbed Cole’s hand. The move stunned Cole. He had so longed for the feeling of his ex-wife’s hand in his and now it was happening again.
“Cole,” Sharon said. “Haven’t you done enough already?”
“I hate to admit it but Rusty is right,” Cole said. “I’m the only one around I can think of with police training who doesn’t lose his cool when a big animal with sharp teeth is looking at him like he’d make a good meal.”
The room went silent. “One last trophy,” Cole said. “And then I’m out of the hunting game for good.”
The ex-chief stood up and took command of the room. “Maude.”
“Cole you need to try some of this,” Maude said as she held up her joint. “It’s like Woodstock all over again baby!”
“Focus Maude,” Cole said. “You still talk to Arthur’s old trucking buddies?”
“On occasion,” Maude replied.
“Good,” Cole said. “Think they could muster us up a couple of big rigs, no questions asked?”
“I’ll have to turn on the old charm,” Maude said just before emitting a loud burp. “Excuse me.”
“Good,” Cole said. “Moses.”
“Sir, yes sir,” Moses said.
“You got any firepower?” Cole asked.
“I’m the owner and operator of Freedom Firepower, aren’t I?” Moses asked.
Cole winked at Moses. “Yeah, but I’m talking about…firepower.”
“Oh,” Moses said. “Yeah, I might have one or two or a dozen pieces that are strictly um…kosher.”
“Sharon,” Cole said.
“Yes?” Sharon asked.
“You still drive like Mario Andretti?” Cole asked.
“I don’t get as many tickets these days,” Sharon said. “But yes. I can put the hammer down.”
“What about me, Cole?” Rusty asked. “I’m not going to screw you over again, that’s for damn sure.”
“You’re going to protect what’s most valuable to me,” Cole said.
Rusty looked bewildered until he noticed that Cole’s hands were resting on Sharon’s shoulders.
“Aw,” Rusty said. “Son of a…”
Maude coughed loudly into her fist. “Cough cough, pussy! Cough, cough. Pardon me. This is some good shit.”
“Have you still got those breakaway pants?” Cole asked.
“Probably somewhere in the back of my closet,” Rusty said. “Why?”
“Just get them,” Cole said before turning to the scholar in the room. “Professor, we’ll need your brain of course.”
“You have it,” the Professor said.
“Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties?” Cole asked.
“Um, I prefer to go by Natalie off camera.”
“Sorry,” Cole said. “Natalie, can you get me on air?”
“I can swing that,” Natalie said as she turned to the Professor. “And Professor Lambert, I am so sorry I ever doubted you. I’d like to get you on air as well.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Madame,” Professor Lambert said. “When I contacted you earlier, it was not about obtaining fame and fortune for myself but rather out of a need to warn the public of a very significant danger. Now that the public is aware, I don’t know if I…”
“I can probably get NN1 to pay you a scientific analyst fee,” Natalie said.
“Who am I to deny my knowledge to the world?” the Professor asked.
“It’s settled,” Cole said. “The Professor and I will go with Natalie. Moses, I’m going to need to check out your hardware later.”
“You got it,” Moses said.
“The rest of you reconvene at my place,” Cole said. “We’ve got to draw up a plan to take this gator down.”
Sixteen Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays
Sixteen weeks. Wow. Time goes by so quickly.
I suppose “Toilet Gator Sundays” is a misnomer at this point. At first, I pledged that I would only work on Toilet Gator on Sundays in order to give me enough time to finish Zom Fu.
At some point, I began cracking myself up that I just keep speeding through Toilet Gator. Zom Fu is mostly done. It just needs an ending.
My plan at this point is to finish the Toilet Gator first draft, then finish the Zom Fu first draft. Then rewrite both books, get them off to an editor. I’d like to say they will both be out by the end of this year but if it goes into next year, then so be it.
I have come to accept that writing is a long game. I don’t like it, but I accept it.
Toilet Gator – Chapter 86
The gang assembled in a study room at the Sitwell Community College library. Professor Elliot Lambert launched into an impromptu class on toilet dwelling animals.
“You see,” Professor Lambert said. “The average speed for an alligator is approximately ten miles per hour. However, the alligator we are dealing with is not average whatsoever. Given his length and muscle mass, I’m willing to wager our reptilian friend can move at speeds upwards of seventy miles per hour if he really pushes himself.”
“Hell,” Rusty said. “I’m surprised he didn’t get me then. I don’t run that fast.”
“An athletic human running at a vigorous pace can reach twenty miles per hour,” Professor Lambert said. “But tell me, was the alligator doing anything else while he was pursuing you?”
“He stopped to snap his jaws at us,” Rusty said. “And roar. He roared a lot.”
“Well there you go,” the professor said. “Multi-tasking slows this beastie down.”
The Professor drew a rough outline of the state of Florida on a whiteboard. “Remind me, Agent Walker. The first murder where Countess Cucamonga took her final curtain call, so to speak, that happened at what time?”
“Witnesses put it a little after 9 p.m.,” Sharon replied.
Professor Lambert put a dot right around where Miami would be. “And the death of Herbert Hogan?”
“Around 10 p.m.,” Sharon said.
The Professor put a dot on Boca Raton. “And when did Mr. Becker leave us so soon?”
“After 11 p.m.,” Sharon said.
The Professor connected the dots. “All and all, a one hundred and thirty mile trek, completed in three hours.”
“Doesn’t sound so impossible,” Rusty said.
“Not if you have a lead foot,” Sharon said. “And if you’re lucky enough to not encounter any traffic, which never happens in the greater Miami area on a Friday night.”
“And if you don’t have to stop at three separate locations, sneak through security, murder three separate people and then leave undetected,” Cole added.
“A human never could have done this,” Sharon said. “We’ve had our heads up our asses the entire time.”
Professor Lambert said. “Do not be too hard on yourself, Agent Walker. When it comes to the unknown dangers of the animal world, humans have had their heads up their asses for quite some time now.”
“Gordon had theorized that a cult might have been at work,” Sharon said. “Multiple people committing murders in different locations within the same timeframe.”
Rusty stared dreamily off into space. “So much wisdom behind that man’s kind eyes.”
“What?” Rusty asked.
“Nothing,” Rusty answered.
“My new friends,” Professor Lambert said. “I know this comes as quite a surprise, but I have literally spent my entire life studying the impact of aquatic animals who commit toilet murder.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Rusty said.
“You actually kind of look like the type of guy who would be obsessed with toilet animals,” Cole said. “No offense.”
“I stopped taking offense years ago,” Professor Lambert said. “When I realized my research was too important for the future of the human race to ignore. Sure, I could have gotten into a more reasonable line of work but you know what? They scoffed at Columbus until he proved the world was round and I have resigned myself to the sad fact that people will make light of my labors until they realize the cold, hard truth that when they sit their butts down on toilets…their butts are not alone.”
“That video should give you all the vindication you need,” Rusty said. “Say, why didn’t you tell me about all this the day we met?”
“Would you have believed me then?” Professor Lambert asked.
“Nope,” Rusty said. “And no one believed me until the video.”
“Such is the life of a believer in toilet animal related phenomenon,” Professor Lambert said. “Humans are so close-minded that they rarely believe anything that they can’t see with their very eyes. And don’t think for a second that murderous toilet animals don’t take advantage of this lack of faith.”
Maude lit up a smoke.
“Oh, there’s no smoking in here,” Professor Lambert said.
Maude blew smoke in the Professor’s general direction. “And yet, here I am.”
“Well,” the Professor said as he pulled a joint out of his pocket. “If it’s that kind of party.”
The scholar lit up, then caught a glance of Cole’s disapproving eyes. He grew frightened, like he’d just made a big mistake.
“It’s fine,” Cole said. “I’ve been fired.”
The Professor turned to Rusty.
“I quit the force.”
Finally, the Professor turned to Sharon.
“I have bigger problems.”
Convinced no one was about to arrest him, the Professor noted to the group that his habit was strictly medicinal, then took a question from Maude – “How does someone start studying toilet animals? You go bananas or something?”
“A fine question,” Professor Lambert said. “When I was a young boy, my parents were missionaries in South America, working to bring the first sewer system to a very impoverished region. When the project was completed, I was given the honor of taking the first shit.”
“Academy eat your heart out,” Maude said.
“All was going well until I felt the slightest pinch on my bottom…”
“Catholic priest?” Rusty asked.
“A sandwich restaurant chain representative?” Maude added.
“Neither,” Professor Lambert said. “I jumped off the bowl to find a rather menacing looking snake had crawled up through the pipe and attached itself to my bottom. I passed out immediately, as the snake’s venom was highly poisonous. Luckily, a brave fellow sucked all of the poison out of my backside in time.”
“Catholic priest?” Rusty asked.
“A sandwich restaurant chain representative?” Maude added.
“Guys,” Sharon said sternly. “This isn’t a joking matter.”
“Agreed,” Cole said.
Maude threw up her hands. “Well excuse me all over the place!”
The old lady looked at the Professor. “Don’t they teach people how to puff, puff pass at this school?”
The Professor nodded and handed his joint to Maude. She stubbed her cigarette out on the old oak table, completely uncaring about the likelihood that some poor janitor would be called upon to buff out the mark. She then proceeded to suckle the doobie and suckle it good.
“Does she know that smoking isn’t good for a person on oxygen?” Sharon asked Cole.
“She doesn’t give a shit,” Cole said.
“I do not,” Maude said. “And I’m right here.”
“Anyway,” the Professor said. “At that moment, I realized how vulnerable humans are while they sitting on the toilet. Humans have come to assume that their bathroom time is one of the safest times of day. They’re in an enclosed space, they think they are all by themselves but oh no, at any given time, there may be hundreds if not thousands of sewer dwelling animals in their general vicinity, any one of which might crawl up and give an unsuspecting human a nasty surprise indeed.”
“But Professor,” Sharon said. “This is where I’m stuck. How does a great big alligator squeeze its way up through the small pipe that connects a toilet to a sewer?”
“Bone displacement,” the Professor said.
“Excuse me?” Sharon asked.
“Take the average bat,” Professor Lambert said. “It can literally dislocate its bones and smush its body together until it can fit through the tiniest crack in a homeowner’s abode.”
Moses piped up for the first time in this meeting. “That happened to me when I was a young boy once. I’d like to tell you that I reacted bravely but in fact, I hid under my bed until my father caught it and threw it out the front door. For the rest of my childhood, I was convinced he might have contracted vampirism and frankly, I’m still not entirely convinced he didn’t.”
“Your father died five years ago,” Cole said.
“Did he?” Cole asked. “Or did the CIA…”
Cole threw made a stop motion and pointed it at Moses before turning to Professor Lambert. “Continue.”
“Like humans, not every animal within a given species is the same,” Professor Lambert said. “Most fear pain. Most fear death. But some, they are willing to overlook these negative outcomes in order to push their bodies to the limit if it will get them closer to something they desire. Dislocating your bones to the point where you are able to squeeze yourself up a pipe like some kind of backed up ooze has got to be incredibly painful, but they’re willing to do it if will lead them closer to a butt sitting on a toilet they wish to consume.”
“Do all animals have the power to displace their bones?” Sharon asked.
“Not as such, no,” the Professor said. “At this time, I estimate that a small minority of animals have this ability. However, according to Darwinian Theory, these animals may continue to procreate until they dominate the Earth.”
Rusty shuddered. “A world full of killer toilet animals.”
Maude laughed as she puffed on her ganja. “Bullshit! This is so farfetched that if I ever read it in a self-published e-book, I’d give it a one star review and a pithy, passive-aggressive comment.”
“You shouldn’t do things like that, Madame,” Professor Lambert said. “Self-published e-book writers are the backbone of today’s book industry and they should be treated as such. I’m sorry to digress, but I spent so many time self-publishing my toilet animal studies that I feel the pain of any self-published e-book writer.”
“I’d demand my money back too,” Maude said. “Bone displacing toilet animals. Bitch, please!”
Rusty held out his hand. “Yo, Maude! What happened to puff, puff, pass?”
Maude flipped Rusty the bird. “Get your own supply, Narc!”
“Can we steer this conversation back on topic?” Cole asked.
“Yes,” Professor Lambert said. “Many individual animals will often display traits that help them stand out above and beyond their peers. Mr. Yates, you, for example, told me earlier that it seemed as though the alligator in question was communicating with this Buford fellow, that two were locked in a squabble.”
“Sounded that way to me,” Rusty said.
“Sometimes animals will stand out above their peers when it comes to intelligence,” Professor Lambert. “When these animals breed, they added smarter versions of themselves to their species gene pool. The collective IQ of a species grows smarter as a result.”
“Until the entire world is run by damn dirty gators?” Rusty asked.
“It’s not an impossibility,” the Professor said.
“Shit,” Rusty said. “I don’t want to be a slave in a world run by damn dirty gators.”
“Meh,” Maude said. “I still smell bullshit.”
Rusty waved the air away from his face. “I think that’s the dank bud.”
“It’s Mississippi Mud Bud, actually,” Professor Lambert said. “And Madame, I assure you, this is not bullshit. My many years of research have taken me all over the world, where I have encountered toilet piranha, toilet walruses, toilet dolphins…”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember your rant,” Maude said. “Toilet sharks, toilet whales…”
“A toilet whale?!” Sharon asked.
“A killer toilet whale,” Professor Lambert said. “In India. I believe that was the case though I never proved it. I have, however, documented the activities of many toilet animals the world over. My self-published studies are filled with photos of toilet animals engaging in toilet related activities. And, I’m proud to say, they’re often rated with a gentleman’s three star review.”
Maude jerked her hand up and down, pretending to jerk off rather than listen to the professor.
“You scoff, Madame,” the Professor said. “But I’ll have you know that alligators are the masters of toilet murder. They, above all other aquatic creatures, have utilized sewer systems all over the world to take down their enemies though I must admit, I have never encountered a toilet gator as intelligent, organized and vindictive as the one you are all describing.”
“Professor,” Sharon said. “You’ve explained how a toilet gator can sneak through a pipe, but how does it become big again so that it can…”
“Eat the victim?” the Professor asked. “Simple. It reconstitutes itself within the small space, grows too large for its surroundings and bursts out of it, just in time to catch the unsuspecting toilet user in its jaws. A pity really. The toilet user never truly grasps what is going on until it’s too late.”
“Then it shrinks and escapes down the pipe, the same way it came?” Cole asked.
“Precisely,” Professor Lambert said.
“Leaving police none the wiser,” Cole said.
“I can tell you I have spoken with authorities all over the world who were left baffled by this phenomenon,” the Professor said. “Many as skeptical as Miss Fuller here, if not more so.”
“You got any more of this?” Maude asked as she held up the joint.
“Not for free,” Professor Lambert said.
“Bah,” Maude said. “Lousy cheapskate.”
“This is literally the perfect crime,” Sharon said.
“Indeed,” Professor Lambert said.
“Professor,” Sharon said. “I have to say, the way the academic world has treated you is a shame. I mean, here you are, conducting pioneering research in an incomprehensible yet apparently very real field and yet here you are, stuck lecturing at a community college when you should be teaching at Princeton or Yale or…”
“Oh,” Professor Lambert said with a chuckle. “You think I was tossed to the bottom of academia for researching toilet animals?”
“You weren’t?” Sharon asked.
“Of course not,” Professor Lambert said. “All of my research into the world of toilet animals was sponsored by several big name universities. Institutions of higher learning are often willing to jack up tuitions in order to fund all sorts of silly, navel gazing research. Why, I have a colleague who was given full funding to study the mating habits of East Peruvian tree mold spores.”
“Tree mold spores have mating habits?” Rusty asked.
“My good man,” Professor Lambert said. “Put a few tree mold spores under a microscope, dim the lights, play a little 1970s disco music and you’ll swear you’re staring at a scene straight of Studio 64.”
“Sorry I asked,” Rusty said.
“They why are you teaching here of all places?” Sharon asked.
“Justin Bieber,” Professor Lambert said.
“Justin Bieber?” Sharon asked.
“Indeed,” Professor Lambert said. “I am a big Belieber. I know, it’s odd, a man of my intellect and age, to be a fan of such a frivolous young man but what can I say? The lad can carry a beat.”
“He sure can,” Rusty said before he caught himself. “So I’ve heard.”
“In the early days of Lifebox, I wrote a post about how I quite enjoyed Justin’s Beauty and a Beat video,” Professor Lambert said. “The elegance, the choreography, the pageantry, all made to look like it was spontaneous footage of a pool party. Oh how I loved it and watched it over and over. Alas, I didn’t quite understand the far reach and permanent nature of social media at the time and became an instant laughing stock. Only this and one other college would have me after that.”
“Which one?” Sharon asked.
“Arizona State,” Professor Lambert said.
Sharon shuddered. “Yeesh. You picked right.”
The door to the study room swung open. Natalie Brock and Walter walked into the room. “Professor Lambert, they said at the front desk that I could…”
Natalie looked around the room. “Oh, hello everyone.”
Bookshelf Battle 