…where Book Three of the Toilet Gator series is going:
…where Book Three of the Toilet Gator series is going:
3.5 readers, I am so excited to tell you that I have begun the long, hard slog toward finishing a second draft of my beloved novel, “Toilet Gator,” which really and truly is the best novel ever written about toilets, gators, or toilet gators.
My goodness, 3.5 readers. Isn’t that a wonderful cover? Anyway, this is the first time I have begun a second novel draft. It seems like it will be a long, arduous process. The novel is approximately 140,000 words and so far I have rewritten 7,000 of them. It is nice to be able to start solving problems I saw as I wrote the first draft but felt it would just slow me down to fix them, so now the time to fix them has come.
I hope when this book comes out, you will all support it and tell your friends, because if Toilet Gator is a success, then I can really bank some cash on the sequel, Son of Toilet Gator:
You don’t even want to see what the cover of Book 3 will look like.
3.5 readers, I’ll be honest. I’m no spring chicken and the older I get, the more I just want to stop and smell the daisies, then lie down in the dirt and wawit for the moss to grow over me.
So, if this blog makes you happy, and you think that being able to read wonderful books like Toilet Gator and Son of Toilet Gator would bring joy to your life, then please, do what you can to support my little enterprise here.
Read this fine blog. Tell your friends. Help get me some traffic. If I can make money off this, then I can put more time into entertaining you, my beloved 3.5 readers, who I would never want to see be eaten by a toilet gator.
Do watch out for toilet gators, 3.5 readers. They’re everywhere and in greater numbers than you’d think. Frankly, I have taken my life into my hands by publishing their secret, so much so that I get scared every time I sit on the throne to poop now, and not just because I’m a burrito fan.
Stay tuned, 3.5 readers.
Dirk and Natalya had settled into a cozy, private bedroom in the Imperial Honcho’s estate. Together, they eased back onto the bed and engaged in a rousing game of big league tonsil hockey.
“Oh Mr. Smegma,” Natalya cried as she ran her hands through her new lover’s hair.
“Please. Call me Dirk.”
“Oh Dirk! Your scent it’s so…manly.”
“Nothing but one hundred percent Eau de Dirk, baby,” Dirk said. “I find that the more cologne I put on, the more I mask my naturally macho odor and when I do that, the ladies are left disappointed.”
“I’m sure you do all you can to avoid being a disappointment,” Natalya said.
“In life and in the bedroom, baby,” Dirk said as he went in for another kiss, only to be rebuffed when Natalya pressed her finger up against his lips.
“Hold that thought, darling. I must tinkle.”
“I understand,” Dirk said. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to lose bladder control in my presence and I doubt you’ll be the last. Do hurry back my dear.”
As Natalya retreated to the bathroom, Kendra squawked in Dirk’s ear. “Dirk! What are you doing?!”
“Uh,” Dirk whispered into a tiny microphone implanted in his shirt collar. “What does it sound like I’m doing? I’m about to get my pickle tickled, duh!”
“Have you placed the tracker on the Imperial Honcho’s toilet yet?” Kendra asked.
“Not now, K-Diddy,” Dirk said. “I’ve got a piece of fabulously wealthy Russian cooze to attend to.”
“We’re on a tight schedule here!” Kendra said.
“Oh I know it’s going to be very tight,” Dirk said. “But don’t worry, I’ll squeeze it in.”
“Pervert,” Kendra said. “Do I really have to go over the mission particulars with you?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Dirk said. “But you will anyway…”
“Damn right I will,” Kendra said. “As we speak, Skippy Jr. is waiting in the septic tank. We have twenty minutes before the guards on our payroll bury the tank so they can avoid being caught. You need to get to that toilet, mark it, get the hell out of there and leave Skippy Jr. enough time to chow down on the Honcho, and exit out of the tank just in time to be snatched by the skyhook.”
“Which leaves me roughly five minutes to plant my skyhook in some snatch,” Dirk said. “Plenty of time.”
“Five minutes?” Kendra asked. “I wouldn’t brag about that.”
“Bshh bzzt,” Dirk said. “Oh no, Special-K, you’re breaking up…”
“Don’t you cut me off, Smegma,” Kendra said.
“Bzzt bshhk,” Dirk said. “Oh my God I’m just going to have to enjoy some meaningless, gratuitous sex with a beautiful woman and then go save the day.”
“Dirk,” Kendra said. “Gamble with your own life all you want, but you’re putting Skippy Jr. at risk.”
“Skippy Jr.?” Dirk asked. “Who cares? He’s just a dumb alligator. If we lose him we can just get that crazy professor to make some more.”
A third voice entered Dirk’s earpiece. “Raarga.”
Dirk’s eyes widened. “Oh…hey Skippy Jr., how are you doing buddy?”
“Gee whiz,” Dirk said. “I didn’t know this was a party line.”
“Don’t mind him, Skippy Jr.,” Kendra said. “He knows not what he does.”
The bathroom door opened. Natalya stepped out. She had changed into a skimpy, silky piece of lingerie. She’d let her hair down and removed her shoes.
“I’m sorry I took so long, Dirk,” Natalya said. “I had to change into something more comfortable.”
Dirk gulped as he checked out Natalya’s body. “Mind? No, I don’t have a mind at all.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” came Kendra’s voice into the earpiece. “You think women just walk around with a sexy outfit to change into? The bitch is probably a spy.”
Dirk ignored Kendra and patted a spot on the bed next to him. The lady sat down, kissed Dirk passionately, then lifted her leg up into the air, landing the foot on Dirk’s right shoulder.
“Tell me, Dirk,” Natalya said. “Are you a leg man?”
“I’m actually an ass man,” Dirk replied. “Though I’ve never been one to sneeze at a pair of getaway sticks as lovely as these.”
“Getaway sticks?” Natalya asked.
“Just a fun term we use for legs in the U.S.,” Dirk said. “Because they’re a couple of sticks a woman can use to get away.”
Natalya used her foot to push on the side of Dirk’s head until he laid back on the bed.
“I love my legs, don’t you?” Natalya asked.
“Oh sweetheart,” Dirk said. “I love everything about you.”
“Gag me,” came Kendra’s voice.
“Tell me, Dirk,” Natalya said. “Do you enjoy the taste of a woman?”
“Meh,” Dirk said. “I prefer to receive than give, baby, but I’m always down with a little cunnilingus if the favor is returned.”
Natalya straddled Dirk’s face, leaving a panty clad vagina to land right on his face.
“Oh,” Dirk said. “Hello there, that’s quite a…mmpphh!”
“Dirk,” came Kendra’s voice. “I’m reviewing Natayla Snatchatova’s file and it’s no good. You need to get out of there right now.”
Natalya pushed herself further down onto Dirk’s face, leaving the agent so he could barely breathe. “Mmpph!”
“Her father is Anatoly Popov’s number one campaign contributor,” Kendra said. “She’s involved in all sorts of black market dealings…”
“How’s that, my love?” Natalya asked.
Dirk’s muffled cries for help grew more serious. “Mmmph!”
“She’s a top hit woman for the FSB,” Kendra said. “Interpol suspects of her murdering fifty men with her vagina alone.”
Dirk grabbed hold of Natalya’s legs and pushed up with all his might. Finally, he gasped for air and was able to speak. “Do…you…expect me to…lick?”
“Muah ha ha!” Natalya said. “No, Mr. Smegma. I expect you to die!”
Natalya clamped her legs down around Dirk’s head, leaving the hero feeling as though his cranium was trapped in a silky smooth vice. He gasped for air as he stood up. He flailed about the room but it was of no use, as Natalya refused to release her snatchtastic grip.
Dirk ran into a wall, hoping the blow would knock his assailant off, but she simply grinder her lady business into the agent’s face harder.
“Dirk?” Kendra asked. “Are you alright? Jesus, you’re literally going to be killed by a pussy, aren’t you? No surprise there.”
Completely blinded by vagina, both on a personal but more importantly, on a physical level, Dirk felt around the room until he found the bathroom door.
“Muah ha ha!” Natalya cried. “Die, Mr. Smega! Die by the lips of my vatrushka!”
Dirk stumbled into the bathroom. He pulled a small black box out of his pocket and flipped a switch, causing a light on the device to blink red. He then tossed the gadget into the toilet.
Crack! Dirk thrashed his attacker into the mirror, smashing it into pieces. Natalya was unfazed, her sole focus on murdering Dirk with her beaver.
“Poor Mr. Smegma,” Natalya said as she tightened the grip of her legs around the back of Dirk’s neck. “I’m so sorry you must leave but you must admit darling, there are worse ways to go.”
The toilet rumbled.
“Dirk,” came Kendra’s voice. “Please tell me you didn’t…”
Dirk grabbed the woman and pushed her away from his face with all his might. Natalya was strong, causing Dirk’s muscle’s to strain as he pushed.
Boom! The toilet exploded, sending porcelain shards everywhere. Dirk managed to hurl the woman off of his face just in time for her to land inside…the jaws of a hungry toilet gator.
Skippy Jr. was just a big as his father – fifteen feet long and over a thousand pounds. His sheer bulk pushed Dirk right out of the bathroom, leaving him to land on the floor. As he caught his breath, he could hear Natalya’s blood curdling screams, followed by the sound of bones snapping between a pair of gator jaws.
“That is the absolute last time anyone ever talks me into giving a little mouth to the south!” Dirk declared.
Skippy Jr. waddled out of the bathroom. “Raarga.”
Dirk patted the gator on the head. “That’ll do, gator. That’ll do.”
“Dirk,” Kendra said. “Please don’t tell me you just wasted the one and only tracker you had on a toilet not being used by the Imperial Honcho.”
“OK,” Dirk said. “I will not tell you that.”
A fist pounded on the bedroom door. “This is the Imperial Honcho’s Select Guard! What’s going on?”
“Oh,” Dirk said. “Hey there, fellas. Everything’s fine.”
“We heard strange noises,” the guard said.
“Oh yeah,” Dirk said. “You know me. I can get kind of wild in the sack.”
“We’re coming in,” the guard said.
“What are you going to do now, doofus?” Kendra asked.
“Now?” Dirk asked as he climbed onto Skippy Jr.’s back. “I’m going to improvise.”
A set of twin jet engines propelled the metal container downward. Once the box was 20,000 feet above the surface of the earth, it broke apart, leaving the gigantic alligator inside free to twist in the wind.
“You need to roll fifteen feet to the right,” Kendra advised through the earpiece in Skippy Jr.’s ear.
“Raarga,” Skippy replied as he obeyed the command.
“I’m worried about Dirk, Skippy Jr.,” Kendra said.
“I know, I shouldn’t,” Kendra said. “But it’s like he refuses to grow up. Sure, he’s having a good time chasing tail now but if he never grows up and finds a stable relationship, he’ll eventually grow old and die alone.”
“Raarga, raarga,” Skippy Jr. said as he zoomed downward, scaring the crap out of a flock of birds with his hideous face.
“Well, that’s awfully presumptuous of you, Skippy Jr.,” Kendra said. “No, I’m not saying I want to be the woman who fixes him. I prefer my men to not be broken when I find them, thank you very much.”
“You see the way I look at him?” Kendra asked. “You are imagining things.”
“Of course I might stare at him once in awhile while he’s not looking,” Kendra said. “He’s a very good looking man but that doesn’t mean I want to hook up with a serial philanderer. Do you know how many women he’s been with?”
“Add a hundred to that and you’re in the ballpark.”
“I’m sure he is compensating for something,” Kendra said. “But I hardly need a man whose genitalia is a walking petri dish of disaster in my life. You missed the point.”
“The point is someday there will be a brave woman who doesn’t care how much strange has touched Dirk’s junk and I fear he’ll be so obsessed with finding his next female conquest that he won’t see what he has right in front of him until it’s too late.”
“Will you stop it? I’m not talking about me. At all. That will never happen.”
“OK good talk, but time to get your head in the game. Assume the position.”
Skippy moved his head downward.
“Brace for impact in 3…2…1…touchdown!”
Splash! A wave of dirty poop water poured up out of the Imperial Honcho’s septic tank as Skippy Jr. landed deep within his intended target.
“You OK buddy?”
“OK. Hang tight. As soon as Dirk comes up for air, I’ll let you know.”
I just breezed through reading the full first draft and I’d forgotten a lot of what I wrote. Yeah, this book is funny as all get out. I should win like a thousand awards for this thing. Surely, if there is a “Best Book Ever Written About Toilet Gators” then that award should be mine.
5 months. 147,373 words.
And now, the first draft of Toilet Gator is complete.
I learned from the mistake I made last year. I wrote a great first draft of “How the West Was Zombed” but that story turned into a multi-volume series and right now, I just need to get a few one and dones up onto Amazon just to start building that fan base.
As you can see from the Epilogue, the door is open for a Toilet Gator sequel, but also, shut just enough in case there isn’t a resounding demand for Toilet Gator 2.
I learned a lot. Specifically, comedy is my best stuff, because it keeps me interested, makes me laugh, have fun, and most importantly, I can break the rules, rules that can never be broken in other genres.
Now all I have to do is get it polished up and edited. Thanks for reading, 3.5 readers.
Flanked by the secret service, President Stugotz entered a top secret government lab. There, he found Professor Lambert standing over a table covered with Skippy’s tail and a bunch of disgusting alligator chunks.
“Well,” President Stugotz said. “Can we rebuild him? Do we have the tech…”
Professor Lambert raised his pointer finger and pressed it over the President’s lips. “Shh! Don’t finish that sentence. It’s most likely a copyright violation. Or maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. All I know is that no one has ever pissed off Lee Majors and lived to tell the tale.”
“Blech,” President Stugotz said. “Don’t put your dirty finger on my pristine lips. I don’t know where that finger has been.”
The Professor sniffed his finger and shook his head. “Come to think of it, neither do I.”
“So what’s the good word, Professor?” the President asked.
“Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said. “I was honored when you asked me to participate in this project. Really, I was, but now that I have had the time to learn the end result you’re hoping to achieve here, I have to say, this initiative goes against everything I’ve spent my entire life fighting against.”
“I’ll add three more zeros to your check,” President Stugotz.
“And my morals just went out the window,” Professor Lambert said.
The professor lit up a doobie and puffed on it.
“Should you be smoking around the samples?” President Stugotz said.
“The samples?” Professor Lambert asked. “Oh, you mean all these gator chunks? No, yuck. We can throw them away. They’re useless.”
“What the hell, man?” President Stugotz asked. “I thought you were just going to sew all these gator chunks back together and make me a great big beautiful Frankengator, you know, a monster of my very own that will obey all my commands and pop out of the toilets of my enemies to devour them hole.”
“With the CIA’s help, I found something much better, Mr. President,” Professor Lambert said.
The professor punched a combination into the door of a refrigerated vault, then pulled out a small vile filled with a frozen liquid.
“Is that what I think it is?” President Stugotz asked.
“Indeed it is, Mr. President,” Professor Lambert answered.
The two men laughed in a profoundly evil manner. “Muah ha…muah ha…muah ha ha!”
When they were done laughing, the President turned to the Professor. “I’m starving. The First Lady has me on a new diet. Nothing but kale cauliflower. I’ve never been more regular. Believe me, there’s no one as regular as I am now. But screw it, I’m hungry, want to get something to eat?”
“On the way here, wherever ‘here’ is, I saw a fried chicken stand next to a titty bar out of a tiny slit in the bag the CIA put on my head,” Professor Lambert said.
“Professor,” the President replied. “You had me at chicken and titties.”
NATALIE BROCK: Witnesses on the scene reported that the ghost haunting the abandoned tuna fish factory was, in fact, an elderly real estate speculator engaged in elaborate scheme to drive down local real estate prices via an elaborate rouse. The suspect’s last words just before the police beat him senselessly and tazered him in all of his body cavities? “I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for those pesky kids and their dumb labradoodle.”
(Natalie shuffles some papers and turns to a different camera angle.)
NATALIE BROCK: In other news, the war in No-One-Can-Pronounce-This-Shitty-Country’s-Name-istan has come to an end, for now. Peace negotiators say that both sides have agreed to stay on their respective sides of the country and stop hacking each others’ taints up with machetes and to stop shooting rocket propelled grenades up each others’ butts. According to the newly elected prime minister, Buko Tuko A-doobie Doo, “No-One-Can-Pronounce-This-Shitty-Country’s-Name-istan will now and forever be a bastion of religious tolerance, a place where every man, woman, and child can worship God in whichever way they see fit, but seriously, everyone better start doing it my way quick if they don’t want to drown in their own tears and vomit as they watch all of their first born sons’ skulls get crushed underneath the powerful weight of my vast army’s tanks…Muah ha ha ha! Also, everyone keep voting for me or die. Thank you.”
(Natalie turns to a different camera.)
NATALIE BROCK: Good morning, USA. If you’re just tuning in, Kurt Manley, formerly America’s Favorite Anchorman, has retired from the news game to participate in an extensive, six month sex addiction rehab center, where we can only hope his testicles are snipped off and stored in the back of a high security vault where they can never annoy anyone ever again. I’m your new anchor, Natalie Brock.
(Natalie shuffles some papers.)
NATALIE BROCK: Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’m not the type of woman you are used to seeing on Network News One. I don’t have blonde hair. I don’t have big titties. I’m not even, quote unquote “hot.” I mean, I’m not so ugly that the mere sight of my face makes tiny school children cry, nor am I so attractive that you need to change your shorts every time you see me. I am, like most of you out there, average. That’s OK with me, and it should be OK for you, because I’m not here for you to fap to and yes, you sir, yes you, the man in Scranton, Pennsylvania with your hand down your pants. Yes, I’m talking to you. Put that thing down immediately.
(Natalie switches camera angles)
NATALIE BROCK: I’m not here to be fodder for your wet dream fantasy. I’m here to tell you what’s happening in the world, and to do that, you don’t need to be a hot ass blonde chick with big titties. You just need to be an experienced journalist with a nose for news and that, my dear friends, I am. Now, don’t get me wrong. We’re not getting rid of the Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties that you’ve all grown to love.
(A man off camera yells out, “Thank God!”)
NATALIE BROCK: Shut up, Dan. No, we aren’t getting rid of the Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties but in the name of diversity, I’m proud to announce that we will be adding Hot Ass Redheaded Chicks with Big Titties, Hot Ass Brunette Chicks with Big Titties, Hot Ass Black Chicks with Big Titties, Hot Ass Asian Chicks with Big Titties and yes, we will continue to add every color of Hot Ass Chicks with Big Titties imaginable until our network is one great big breasted rainbow.
(A man off camera yells out, “Dr. King’s dream is finally here!”)
NATALIE BROCK: Nobody likes you, Dan. No, viewers, we won’t take away the hot chicks with the big titties, but NN1 owner Roscoe Whipplethorpe has empowered me to make a few changes around here and so it is with great pride that I announce that this network will also be adding plenty of average women, women without big titties, women with average and yes, even below average looks, women who will be able to captivate you not with their looks but with their minds.
(A man off camera yells out, “Boo! Lame!” Natalie Brock points off stage.)
NATALIE BROCK: OK, you can go now, Dan! Yes, I said go! Go stand in the corner and think about what you’ve done.
(Natalie looks at camera.)
NATALIE BROCK: I know it will take some getting used to, but after all, Network News One is America’s premiere source for news, information, and titties and as I told Mr. Whipplethorpe when he promoted me to this illustrious position, ‘Shouldn’t the titties attached to the women who bring you news and information on America’s premiere source for news, information and titties look like the diverse, melting pot of titties found throughout America on any given day?’ I think so.
(Camera pans out to show Walt sitting at the anchor desk next to a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.)
NATALIE BROCK: Coming up in the next hour, our very own NN1 cameraman Walter Kincaid will be interviewed by a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties about a book I co-authored with him about our award winning coverage of the toilet gator murders. I can hardly wait.
(Walter stares and drools all over the big titties.)
WALTER KINCAID: Me neither.
NATALIE BROCK: And you know what, while we’re making changes around here, I’m not going to make you wait through a bunch of crummy commercials, then sports and weather just to find out which one of the household products you use everyday is going to kill you, so here it is. Shoe polish makes your dick fall off. Don’t ask me how. A group of Canadian scientists have issued a study indicating that fumes from shoe polish can go up your nose and create a negative chemical reaction that literally makes your dick detach from your body, fall down your pants leg, and roll out onto the floor before coming to a full stop like a sad little lump of clay. Brubaker’s Magic Shoeshine Polish is the brand to avoid so if you want to keep your dick, stay away from Brubaker’s. Please enjoy these commercials and after that, we’ll be back with sports and weather. For NN1, I’m Natalie Brock, and I’m an average woman with medium sized titties.
ANNOUNCER: You’re watching Network News One. The hottest and also the smartest regular looking women whose titty size is none of your business! Oh yeah, and we’ll reporting the news and shit a lot more from here on.
I want to say at most there are three chapters left. So exciting!
Cole and Sharon stood in a terminal at the Miami International Airport, patiently waiting for the number of a very special flight to be called. Cole held a homemade, folded up cardboard sign in his hands.
“You ready for this?” Sharon asked as she patted Cole’s arm.
Cole nodded and took a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Attention,” came the monotone voice of a female announcer. “Flight 982, inbound from Nairobi, now arriving.”
“Here we go,” Cole said as he unfurled his sign and held it out in front of him. It read, “Mutumbo.”
Moments passed. Passengers headed down a long escalator.
“Do you see him?” Sharon asked.
“Nope,” Cole said.
The couple looked and looked until finally their concentration was broken when a little boy standing at the top of the escalator shouted, “Mr. Cole sir!”
The boy pushed his way down the escalator, past all sorts of weary travelers, until he was on the ground. From there he ran at warp speed towards Cole, practically knocking him over as he grabbed him in a big hug.
“Mutumbo!” Cole shouted.
“Oh, Mr. Cole sir!” Mutumbo cried. “I was the happiest boy in my village when I heard the good news that you and your wife had adopted me!”
Cole tussled Mutumbo’s hair. “I’m just happy, you’re happy, kid.”
“I am so very happy, Mr. Cole sir,” Mutumbo said.
An older, white haired woman made her way down the escalator and huffed and puffed as she handed Cole a clipboard with a form on it. “Mr. Walker?”
“Yes,” Cole said.
“Valerie Bond of the International Adoption Agency. My goodness, little Mutumbo sure is happy to see you.”
“Thank you for bringing him to me,” Cole said.
“That’s what I do,” Valerie said as she handed Cole a pen. “Your signature, please.”
Cole signed on the dotted line and handed the clipboard back to Valerie.
“I must say, Mr. Walker, I have never seen an adoption application processed so quickly before,” Valerie said. “And I have been in this business for thirty years. You must have a friend in a very high place.”
“You could say that,” Cole said.
“Well,” Valerie said as she shook Mutumbo’s hand. “My work here is done. Goodbye Mutumbo. Be good for your new family.”
“Yes, I will be very good for Mr. Cole, sir,” Mutumbo said. “And thank you, Mrs. Valerie, ma’am, for rescuing me from that third world hellhole, a place where I have known nothing but death, destruction, torture and torment since the day I was born and bringing me here to America, where soon, God willing, I will become a typical American child, telling my parents that they have ruined my life for buying me the wrong toy.”
Valerie smiled and walked away. Mutumbo turned his attention to Sharon. “Holy smokes, Mr. Cole, sir, I assumed you were quite a ladies’ man but I had no idea that your new wife was so attractive!”
“Um,” Cole said. “Yeah. Hey buddy, listen…”
Mutumbo grabbed Sharon’s hand and shook it up and down. “Hello Ma’am, I am so very pleased that you married Mr. Cole sir. I have no doubt that your warm smile and statuesque features have helped him cope with the loss of that vile she-devil, Miss Sharon, may shot rot in hell for a thousand years for the foul heartbreak she caused to such a noble and loving man like Mr. Cole sir.”
Cole leaned down and whispered something into Mutumbo’s ear. Mutumbo looked up at Sharon, then grabbed her in a great big hug. “Oh, Miss Sharon, ma’am! A thousand pardons! I had no idea that you came to your senses and came crawling back on all fours like a common, flea bitten dog to the best man in the entire world, that being Mr. Cole sir!”
Sharon hugged Mutumbo back. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I crawled, but ok, it’s nice to meet you little guy.”
Mutumbo grabbed Cole’s hand in his right hand and Sharon’s hand in his left hand. Together, the brand new family walked through the airport.
“Welcome to America, Mutumbo,” Cole said. “What do you want to do first?”
“Oh, the possibilities are endless, Mr. Cole, sir!”
“Hey um,” Cole said as he looked at Sharon and saw a little twinkle in his love’s eye. “We’re going to need you to knock off the ‘Mr. Cole sir’ and “Mrs. Sharon Ma’am’ stuff and just call us Mommy and Daddy, ok?”
“Yes,” Mutumbo said. “You’ve got it, Mr. Daddy Sir and Mrs. Mommy Ma’am!”
“We’ll work on it,” Cole said.
“Come on, Mutumbo,” Sharon said. “The world’s your oyster now. Where to?”
“Well,” Mutumbo said. “If possible, I would like to get one of the delicious American ice cream sundaes I have heard so much about.”
“Oh yeah?” Cole asked.
“Yes,” Mutumbo said. “A missionary came to my village once and when he was shot in the back of the head and drawn and quartered, he dropped a magazine and in that magazine, there was a photograph of the most scrumptious looking ice cream sundae I have ever seen. It had whipped cream, nuts, a cherry, a banana, marshmallows, chocolate sauce, peanut butter fudge, rainbow sprinkles, and seven different flavors of ice cream, including rocky road, double chocolate, mint chocolate chip…”
“Whoa, whoa,” Cole said. “Slow down there, buckaroo. You’re liable to get a tummy ache if a sundae like that is your first decent meal here in the states.”
“Oh Mr. Daddy sir,” Mutumbo said. “If it makes me shit for a week, then so be it.”