Tag Archives: Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 59


A gaggle of Cole’s former police officers, now Grover County Sheriff’s deputies, buzzed around the room that had once served as Cole’s office, packing up and moving out their ex-boss’s belongings. Three deputies carried out the stuffed heads of Cole’s tiger, bear, and wild boar.

Cole stepped out into the main floor, carrying an open cardboard box filled with his possessions. As he did, the officers clapped until Sheriff Hammond whistled loudly.

“That’s enough of that,” Hammond said. “I don’t care what you all did before but there will be no applause for losers on my watch.”

Cole glared at Hammond. “You don’t think the Mayor will turn on you one day?”

Hammond chewed on a piece of gum. “The Mayor plays ball. I play ball. That was always your problem, Cole. You never knew when to sit down and shut up.”

Cole did not feel like prolonging the pissing match. He walked on, only to soon find that Maude was following him, gas tank in hand.

“What are you doing?” Cole asked.

“I only work for the Sitwell Police Chief,” Maude said. “If he’s not here anymore, then it’s time for me to retire.”

“Noble,” Cole said. “But stupid. I can’t let you do this.”

“You’re not letting me do anything,” Maude said. “You think you can stop me?”

The old lady turned around and faced the room full of officers. “This is bullshit! This has nothing to do with the investigation. This is all about sandbagging Cole because that Mayor can’t stop himself from getting behind the wheel while he’s snookered!”

“That’s enough lip outta you,” Hammond said.

“Aww, go sixty-nine the Mayor, flatfoot,” Maude said. “And the rest of you. Are you all going to take this lying down?”

Rusty, who had been standing in a back corner, gulped and stepped forward, joining Cole and Maude.

“This isn’t right,” Rusty said.

“Deputy Yates!” Hammond shouted.

“Cole,” Rusty said. “You say the word and I’ll walk out this door with you.”

Cole stood there silently and said nothing.
“Oh thank God,” Rusty said. “I mean I don’t want you to go but shit, I got overdue bills up my ass, I’m nowhere near retirement age, I’d be throwing away years of contributing to the pension fund.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cole said.

“I won’t,” Rusty said. “Thanks Cole.”

“Pussy,” Maude said.

“Shut up, Maude,” Rusty said.

“Know your place, Deputy Yates,” Hammond said.

“Yessir,” Rusty said as he fell back.

As Cole and Maude reached the parking lot, they found Sharon and Gordon saying their goodbyes.

“It’s not a problem,” Maude said. “You deserve to run lead on this.”

“This isn’t how I wanted it to go down,” Gordon said.

“I know,” Sharon replied. “Buck up. Finish this and before you know it, we’ll be back together in Miami in no time.”

Sharon and Gordon embraced. Cole winced.

“He’s definitely plowing her,” Maude said.

“Thanks Maude,” Cole said.

“Sorry,” Maude replied.

Sharon noticed Cole and smiled at him sheepishly. “I’m sorry about all this. Looking back, maybe it wasn’t right for me to take on an investigation involving your town. I should have recused myself.”

“No,” Cole said. “It has nothing to do with you. The Mayor’s punishing me because I stood up to him and he’s punishing you to get to me.”

Sharon sighed. “America loves to put assholes into office.”

“That it does,” Cole said.

The exes stared at each other for awhile before Cole stepped away. “Goodbye then.”

“Cole?” Sharon said.

Cole stopped in his tracks. “Yeah?”

“What are you going to do with the rest of your day?” Sharon asked.

“The gun range crossed my mind,” Cole said.

“Want to give me a ride down to Miami?” Sharon asked. “Gordon drove me up here.”

Cole felt this was a ridiculously bad idea but he could not help himself from saying, “Sure.”

“I’ll get my stuff and be back and five,” Sharon said as she walked away.

Maude shook her head.

“What?” Cole asked.

“Pussy,” Maude said.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 58


Walt jumped behind the wheel of the news van and Natalie was about to hop into the passenger’s seat when she was accosted by a weirdo in a lab coat.

“Pardon me, Madame,” Professor Lambert said. “Do you know where I might find the Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties who reports for Network News One?”

Natalie sighed. “You’re looking at her.”

Professor Lambert blinked. “But…your…and your…”

“Don’t ask,” Natalie said. “I’m who you want to speak to.”

“Very well,” Professor Lambert said. “Madame, my name is Professor Elliot Lambert, an esteemed educator of Animal Biology at Sitwell Community College.”

“Esteemed?” Natalie asked. “I practically got a contact high just from the air at that place.”

“Yes, well,” Professor Lambert said. “College students will be college students, I suppose.”

Natalie scrunched up her nose. “Actually, I’m getting a contact high off of you.”

“Hmm?” Professor Lambert said. “Oh, yes…umm…I’ve been experimenting in my laboratory. Yes, that’s it. Anyway, I have a theory about the toilet murders but the police refused to listen to what I have to say. I thought about letting the matter drop but the public’s safety is too important to leave to chance and therefore, I’m left with no other choice than to alert the media, although I do not relish making the local constabulary look like fools in the process, but so be it.”

“You’re one of those people who likes to hear himself speak, aren’t you?” Natalie asked.

“I’m tempted to say, ‘Takes one to know one,’” Professor Lambert said.

“Touche,” Natalie said. “What’s your theory?”

“A toilet gator,” Professor Lambert said.

Natalie waited for the punchline, but hearing none, asked, “What?”

“A toilet gator,” Professor Lambert said. “An alligator of immense size, which I deduce has infiltrated the sewer system and thanks to an above average intellect, has been able to figure out how to track its victims, locate them and burst up and out through their toilets, grind them into oblivion between its powerful jaws, and then retreat to the safety of the sewer system, leaving the authorities none the wiser.”

Natalie laughed. “You’re putting me on.”

Professor Lambert maintained a straight face.

“You’re serious?” Natalie asked.

“Indeed,” Professor Lambert said.

“What do you base this theory on?” Natalie asked.

“Many years of research,” Professor Lambert said. The professor popped open his suitcase, pulled out the giant stack of papers that comprised a copy of his article, and handed it to Natalie.

Natalie looked the first page of the article over and read the title out loud. “A Concise History of One Scientist’s Investigation Into the Bizarre Phenomenon of Toilet Emerging Animals?”

“I’m the scientist in question, naturally,” Professor Lambert said.

“Naturally,” Natalie said.

“I have studied many toilet animals,” Professor Lambert said. “Toilet Gators have been the most frequent offenders but I dare say, if this is, indeed the work of a toilet gator then he is by far the most intelligent and cunning toilet gator ever.”

Natalie held up the paper. “Has this been published?”

“Self-published, yes,” Professor Lambert said.

Natalie rolled her eyes and shoved the paper back into Professor Lambert’s hands. “No thank you.”

“Madame,” Professor Lambert said. “I’ll have you know that this paper received a three star rating on Slap-it-on, the best site for slapping up self-published works.”

Natalie hopped into the van and looked down on the professor. “Self-publishing is an insult to the written word. I’m sorry, but if the traditional publishing industry gatekeepers did not find your work to be valid, then it deserves to be run through a shredder and turned into confetti.”

“Madame,” Professor Lambert said. “Please, this is very important.”

Walt looked on from the driver’s side but kept quiet.

“What do you want?” Natalie asked. “You want me to put you on air with this crap?”

“It’s not crap,” Professor Lambert said. “I assure you.”

Natalie sighed. She looked to Walter. “Toilet Gator?”

Walter shrugged his shoulders. “Stranger things have happened.”

Natalie lost herself in thought, then turned her attention back to the professor. “Look, he seem like a decent enough person and God knows NN1 will gladly put any crackpot with a harebrained conspiracy theory on air in the name of ratings.”

“I am not a crackpot,” Professor Lambert said. “And there is nothing harebrained about this.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Natalie said. “If I put you on air, you’ll be torn apart. Laughed it. Made fun of. You’ll become the butt of every late night talk show host’s jokes and the Internet’s non-stop meme production machine.”

“If that’s what it takes to get the truth out, then so be it,” Professor Lambert said.

“Yeah,” Natalie said. “But you’ll lose your job. SCC’s a shitty school but I doubt even they’ll want to keep a professor running around, talking about toilet gators.”

“That does not matter,” Professor Lambert said. “The truth is the only thing that matters. I could care less about myself.”

“But I do care about you, sir,” Natalie said. “And I’m not going to let you make an ass of yourself just so I can score points with the network by turning you into America’s next big joke.”

Professor Lambert tucked the copy of his article into his briefcase and closed the snaps. “I can’t believe this. No one will listen to reason.”

Natalie closed the van door and looked at the Professor through the open window. “Listen, you seem like a very smart man. Just lay off the pot and your mind will stop coming up with crazy ideas.”

Professor Lambert sniffed the collar of his lab coat. “Is the aroma that pungent?”

“And how,” Natalie said. “Have a nice day sir.”

Walter pulled out of the Sitwell Police Station parking lot and headed down the road. Natalie smirked.

“What?” Walter asked.

“Toilet gator,” Natalie said. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 57


Natalie sat in the back of the news van and pulled off her blonde wig. She then lowered her head into her hands and cried.

Walter wasn’t one for emotion. He bit into a snack cake, then patted his colleague on the back. “Um…there, there?”

The attempt at consolation was of no use. Natalie continued to sob.

“Something wrong?” Walter asked.

“Yes!” Natalie shouted as she pulled the melons from her bra and tossed them on the floor. “These ridiculous things! That ridiculous news station! The way I’m expected to tart myself up like an Amsterdam hooker! The way….the way…”

“That dips hit Kurt Manley spoke to you on air?” Walter asked.

“Exactly!” Natalie said. She launched into her best impression of Kurt Manley’s deep, booming anchorman voice. “Don’t interrupt a man while he’s speaking, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” Walter said. “That was rough.

“And I apologized to him!” Natalie said. “I actually apologized to him!”

Walter pulled another snack cake out of the box and unwrapped it. “You didn’t really have a choice.”

“I could have told him off,” Natalie said.

“And then you’d be out of a job,” Walter said. “Nope, you did the right thing. If there’s two things I’ve learned in this business over the years, it’s knowing when to pick your battles, and accepting that you’re going to have to eat a lot of shit with a smile on your face.”

“I don’t know if I can eat anymore,” Natalie said.

“You’re just getting started,” Walter said. “You’ll get used to it. Find a productive way to deal with the stress.”

Natalie rubbed the tears out of her eyes. “How do you deal with it?”

Walter held up his half-devoured snack cake, then slapped his big gut.

“Oh,” Natalie said.

“Not a solution I’d recommend,” Walter said. “Seemed like a good idea when I was young but before I knew it, I had more weight than I could ever possibly get rid of.”

“I’m sorry, Walter,” Natalie said. “Were all the other reporters you worked with that terrible to you?”

“And then some,” Walter said. The big guy pulled a third snack cake out of the box, looked at it, changed his mind, then threw it back in the box. He displayed some rare willpower for thirty seconds until he gave in, retrieved the snack cake, unwrapped it, and chomped on it.

“Screw it,” Walt said. “I’ll just get my stomach stapled with all the dough we’re going to make off our book.”

“If there ever is a book,” Natalie said. “I might go to jail for ripping out Kurt Manley’s hair plugs and feeding them to him.”

Walter smiled. It was the first time Natalie had ever seen him do so. “Now that I’d pay to see.”

Natalie’s personal cell phone rang. She looked at the screen. “KURT MANLEY.”

“Damn it,” Natalie said. She answered the phone and said ever so sweetly, “Hello Kurt.”

“Natalie, my dear,” Kurt said.

Natalie’s face scrunched up in disgust as she silently mouthed the words to Walter, “My dear?”

Walter shook his head.

“You are doing a cracker jack job with this Toilet Killer story,” Kurt said. “And…ungh…oh…oh yeah…and I can tell you the bigwigs upstairs were especially impressed with the way you handled those text messages. They say a reporter should never become part of the story but boy howdy, is it ever good for ratings. NN1’s numbers are through the roof and going up, up, up until they land on Mars and…unghh…holy shit yes…ungh….”

“Thanks Kurt,” Natalie said. “Glad to hear everyone is pleased.”

“I’d…ergh…love to hear your thoughts on this story going forward.”

“Going forward?” Natalie asked.

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “Yeah, yeah, yeah….ohhh…oh God, yeah!”

Natalie looked to Walter and performed the internationally recognized, “He’s crazy” sign by twirling her finger around the side of her head in a circle three times.

“Kurt, are you alright?” Natalie asked.

“Fine,” Kurt said. “Ungh…fuck! Oh, pardon me. Yeah, I’m just enjoying a little down time in my office while that debate show is on, you know the one, where the idiots scream at each other and no one knows what anyone is saying.”
“Idiots Scream at Each Other and No One Knows What Anyone is Saying?” Natalie asked.

“That’s the one,” Kurt said. “Great show. Ungh…oh baby…yes…so this story. What else have you got in mind? Talk to me. Talk to me in detail…long and slow…don’t leave anything out.”

“Well,” Natalie said. “I assume I’ll just continue to interview people who have been impacted by the Toilet Killer’s rampage. The victims’ friends and families. People they knew well. Random citizens who are scared they’ll be the next victim. I actually contacted the CEO of a toilet manufacturing company who says his sales have plummeted. He’s willing to talk about it on the air.”

“Yes,” Kurt said. “Yes, yes, YES! GOD YES!”

“And of course there’s the whole fallout of Chief Walker and Agent Walker being thrown off of the investigation,” Natalie said. “I’ll be asking around to find out what people think of that.”

“Uh huh,” Kurt said. “Ungh…go on. Don’t stop…don’t stop!”

“I don’t know,” Natalie said. “That’s all I’ve got for now.”

“Don’t stop!” Kurt shouted.

“What?” Natalie asked.

“Just say anything!” Kurt said. “I love the sound of your sexy voice!”

Natalie’s face scrunched up again. “Kurt, what’s going on?”

There was a brief moment of silence before Kurt cried out in ecstasy. “Oh! Oh God! Oh yes that was great!”

Natalie was not amused. “What the?”

“Holy shit,” Kurt said. “I need to get that Mexican lady to clean my desk. Looks like someone dumped a gallon of cottage cheese on it.”

The proverbial ignition switch in Natalie’s mind turned. “Kurt…were you…masterbating?”

“Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, sugar tits,” Kurt said. “I have been behind that desk non-stop for nearly two days now thanks to this Toilet Killer son of a bitch and let me tell you, I was backed up like a turn pike during rush hour. Thanks, doll.”

“Kurt,” Natalie said. “That’s…that’s…I don’t even know what to say.”

“Don’t thank me, babe,” Kurt said. “I know, I know. You’re flattered that such a big, important man like yours truly would develop a sexual interest in a little nothing like you. I’m sure that’s got to be messing with your mind, but just be proud of yourself for attracting a big dog like me.”

“That’s not what I was going to say at all,” Natalie said.

Walt scribbled a note on a piece of scrap paper and held it up in front of Natalie’s face. “Put him on speaker.”

Natalie appeared confused, but abided. She put Kurt on speaker. His voice filled the back of the van.

“Yeah, well,” Kurt said. “Most of you bimbos don’t have any idea what to say anyway. Such pretty little things with such empty little heads.”

Walt pulled out his cell phone.

“Um,” Natalie said. “OK, whatever. Is that all?”

“Nope,” Kurt said. “Hey, is it me or is there something wrong with this connection?”

“Something wrong?” Natalie asked.

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “Sounds like we’re on speaker.”

“Speaker?” Natalie said. “Don’t be silly…no….I think it’s just a bad connection.

Walter pulled up the recorder app on his phone and began recording the conversation.

“Ahh,” Kurt said. “Well, anyway, look sweetheart, you are my new toy and I cannot wait to unwrap you and break you in.”

Walter held up his phone to show Natalie what he was doing.

“What’s that now?” Natalie asked. “Break me in?”

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “Oh I’m sure no one told you but it’s sort of an unwritten rule that each and every one of our Hot Ass Blonde Chick Reporters with Big Titties has to take at least one ride on the wet and wild Kurt slide.”

“Come again?” Natalie asked.

“Oh I will,” Kurt said. “Don’t you worry. Again and again. Maybe you will too, although to be honest, my orgasms will be more of a priority than yours. I can’t go on TV unless Little Kurty has been drained of all his buttermilk.”

“Little Kurty?” Natalie asked.

“My penis,” Kurt said. “My big ole famous news penis, the one attached to America’s Favorite Anchorman. He needs to say hello to your kitty cat.”

“Wow,” Natalie said. “Kurt, listen, I don’t know if you’ve been drinking or something but this is highly unprofessional.”

“Oh it’s not professional at all,” Kurt said. “And I’m completely sober. This is just the way things work here at Network News One. All the big shots in charge of the network know I do this and they’re cool with it. They want me to be happy and for me to be happy, I need to see whats underneath your skirt.”

“Kurt,” Natalie said. “I really don’t want to continue this conversation.”

Walt scribbled down a note and held it up. “Keep it going.”

Natalie looked puzzled but nodded in the affirmative.

“Listen,” Kurt said. “Once this whole Toilet Killer story wraps up, you’re going to be on the first plane to New York. We’ll get together, go to a fancy restaurant. I’ll have a steak, medium-rare. You’ll have a salad that you’ll just play with but won’t eat because God knows NN1 can’t be allowing any porkers on the air and we don’t want you getting chubby.”

“This is…wow…just…wow…”

“Then you’ll come up to my penthouse,” Kurt said. “We’ll have a nightcap, maybe dance a little and then you’ll…lick my taint.”

Natalie was unable to contain herself. “OH MY GOD!”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Kurt said. “But it’s a fetish I’ve had for the longest time. I just love it when my subordinates, whose future careers and livelihoods I hold in the palm of my hand, put their tongues all over that little strip of land between my sticker and my stinker.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Natalie said.

“Well,” Kurt said. “If you want to miss out, be my guest. I’ve been told my taint is quite lovely. FYI, I’m going to need you to tell me my taint is lovely. Really helps build up my ego.”

Walt scribbled down one more note and held it up. “And if I refuse?”

Natalie nodded and spoke into her phone. “And if I refuse?”

Kurt laughed. “Oh, your career will be deader than disco, baby. Dead and buried and gone. You either lick my taint or you’ll never work at Network News One again.”

“I see,” Natalie said.

“And not just NN1,” Kurt said. “I’ll put the word out all over. You’ll be blacklisted. You’ll never work in broadcast journalism again. Hell, you’ll never work anywhere again, period.”
Walt gave Natalie a big thumbs up.

“OK, Kurt,” Natalie said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I’ll get back to you.”

“Don’t wait too long,” Kurt said. “I’ve got a line of aspiring news babes lined up for a mile who would gladly fight you for the chance to lick my taint in exchange for a little air time.”

“Ugh,” Natalie said. “Goodbye Kurt.”

“Adios, sexy mamacita,” Kurt replied.

Walter stopped the recording on his phone.

Natalie hanged up her phone and turned to Walter. “You knew he was a pervert!”

“Everyone knows he’s a pervert,” Walter said. “I mean, there have been rumors for years but no one’s ever actually confirmed it…until now.”

“Until now? Natalie asked.

Walter held up his phone. “Congratulations. You own a news network.”

Suddenly, Natalie grinned as every doubt and fear she’d ever had about her career as a broadcast journalist flushed out of her body. “Walter, you genius.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 56


President Vincenzo “Vinny” Stugotz sat in front of a mirror of his presidential dressing room while a team of servants ran around, prepping him for his day. Two servants lowered a one-foot tall, jet black pompadour on the President’s bald cranium and stapled it to his scalp.

“Ouch,” the President said as the staples entered his skin. “So painful and yet, so swanky.”

The President ran a comb through his luxurious faux hair while two more servants brought over an array of spray cans. “Shall we go with Tropical Surprise or Mediterranean Madness today, sir?”

“Hmm,” President Stugotz said. “You know, I’m feeling a little extra pale today. Let’s go with the Maui Madness.”

“Maui Madness it is, sir,” a servant said. The President popped two plastic eye guards over his eyeballs while the servants shook up their spray cans. Soon, the Commander-in-Chief was being doused in the face with a hefty application of spray on tanning solution.

“Ahh,” the President said as he admired his look in the mirror. “So brown I wouldn’t even let myself in the country!”

There was a knock on the door. “Sir, are you decent?”

“OMG,” President Stugotz said. “Who would dare disturb me at this ungodly hour?”

“It’s eleven a.m. sir,” came the voice from the other side of the door.

“That early?” President Stugotz said. “The sacrifices I make for my country. Come in, Bob.”

Bob Breckenridge, the President’s buzz cut sporting Chief-of-Staff, stepped in only to find a butt naked POTUS.

“Sir,” Breckenridge said. “Seal Team Ten is waiting outside and oh…oh my…”

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen an executive branch before, Bob,” the President said as he turned to his servants. “Black suit number ninety-seven. Elongated red power tie number fifty-two. Make it snappy.”

The servants whirled around the President, dressing him up nice and stylish. Once he was fully clothed, he looked at his dutiful subordinate.

“Bob,” the President said. “I’ve been glued to Network News One. Literally glued. I can’t take my eyes off of it. I’ve been Lifeboxing all of their coverage.”

“I once again must ask that you run all of your Lifebox comments by the cabinet, sir,” Breckenridge said. “‘The Hotass Blonde Chicks need to have twenty percent bigger titties’ is not presidential at all.”

“I thought I was being restrained,” President Stugotz said. “Really, ninety-percent would be better. I mean, those reporter ladies have some incredibly big titties already, but if you ask me, only ridiculously, absurdly, cartoonishly large breasts will do.”

“Right,” Breckenridge said. “Anyway, sir. Are you ready for your top secret mission?”

“Of course,” the President said. “Let’s move.”

President Stugotz and Breckenridge exited the bedroom and proceeded to walk down a long hallway, surrounded by the members of Seal Team Ten. Each member was clad in black body armor and helmets that covered their faces. They carried automatic weapons. They spoke through microphones in their helmets.

“The Eagle is on the move,” one member said. “Repeat, the Eagle is on the move.”

“Copy,” another member said. “Exterminate all threats with extreme prejudice.”

“Bob,” President Stugotz said. “I want to be straight with you. This mission is not for the feint of heart and frankly, some of us might not be coming back so if you want to run away like a little school girl in pigtails, now is the time.”

“No way, sir,” Breckenridge said. “I signed up to stand by your side as you lead America into a new age of glory and nothing will scare me away.”

“That’s a tremendous response, Bob,” the President said. “Really, classy. Big time classiness.”

The contingent stopped at an elevator. Breckenridge typed in a long numeric code and pressed his thumb onto an identification plate. The elevator doors opened and the contingent entered.

“Has the site been thoroughly swept?” President Stugotz asked.

“Indeed, sir,” one of the seal team members said. “The K9 unit just made a pass through and reported no hits.”

“Excellent,” President Stugotz said. “That’s amazing. Really fabulous. You’re all aces in my book. Aces.”

The elevator began to descend deep underneath the White House. The floors ticked off on the readout. “Sublevel 1, Sublevel 2, Sublevel 3…”

“Mr. President,” Breckenridge said. “I must admit, the polls on your response to the Toilet Killer situation are not good.”

“No, they aren’t, Bob,” the President said. “That’s why you need to get the FBI Director on the phone and get that lady agent pulled off the case.”

“Is it really proper to interfere with an investigation, sir?” Breckenridge asked.

“Is it really proper to keep allowing honest, hard-working Americans to be murdered while they’re shitting, Bob?” the President asked. “Good God, man. Use your head. Every shitter that’s murdered is a potential voter and one less person who will show up to vote for me in 2020. Batzengant and Wannadingle are busting a nut every time the Toilet Killer strikes because they know people will never vote for a President who allowed a Toilet Killer to kill indiscriminately and with reckless abandon on his watch. Like those asshats could do any better, they couldn’t get a bill through the Senate with a bucket a grease and an offer for a free hooker for everyone on Capitol Hill.”

“I’m told that Agent Walker is highly respected in law enforcement circles,” Breckenridge said.

The elevator continued to drop. “Sublevel 45, sub level 46, sub level 47…”

“Yeah,” President Stugotz said. “But you heard that hayseed Mayor on TV. Agent Walker has a vagina and frankly, that’s an excellent point.”

“That she has a vagina, sir?” Breckenridge asked.

“Exactly,” President Stugotz said. “I mean, it’s not her fault that she has one, sure, but I concur with the Mayor of Sitwell on this one. Only a big, beautiful man with a giant penis will be able to solve this most confounding case and we need to get it solved quick so I can get back to the very important business of Making America Fabulous again. I promised my voters a fabulous America and by God, they will get a fabulous America.”

“Well,” Breckenridge said. “I’ve been going through the FBI files and it just so happens that Agent Walker’s partner, Agent Bishop, has an extraordinary large penis, so big, in fact, that the FBI’s head physician classified it as a ‘medical oddity.’”

“I don’t even want to know why you’re looking up FBI agent penis sizes, Bob,” President Stugotz said.

“I like to be thorough, sir,” Breckenridge said.

The elevator stopped at sub-level 101. The contingent exited and began walking through a long, dark hallway. They came to the first door and a robotic voice came through a loudspeaker.

“Retina identification, please.”

President Stugotz shoved his eyeball up to a scanner. The door opened. The contingent walked down yet another long hallway.

“Whatever,” President Stugotz said. “Take Agent Walker off. Put Agent Bishop in charge.”

“Will do, sir,” Breckenridge said.

“Americans cannot be afraid to shit anymore,” the President said. “No one’s going to be scared to take a shit on my watch.”

The contingent stopped at another door. “Breath identification, please.”

President Stugotz breathed on a scanner. The door opened and the contingent headed down yet another hallway.

“Are we ready for this shit, Bob?” President Stugotz asked.

“All safety precautions have been taken, sir,” Breckenridge said. “The Air Force has scrambled its best fighter jet pilots to keep watch overhead, while our best tank battalion has arrived on the White House front lawn.”

“Fantastic,” President Stugotz said.

The contingent reached a final door. “Voice identification, please.”

“President Vinny Stugotz, here,” the President said.

The door opened as the robotic voice replied, “President Stugotz voice identification scan complete. All hail President Stugotz.”

The contingent entered a top secret, underground bathroom with black walls, floors, and a sleek, stylish toilet in the center of the room. Five secret service agents wearing dark sunglasses stood around the toilet, with their arms folded behind their backs.

“Sir,” one of the agents said. “Ready for waste elimination when you are, sir.”

President Stugotz turned the members of Seal Team Ten. “Are we a go?”

“Waiting on your go code, sir,” one of the members said.

President Stugotz held up his wrist and played with the buttons on his watch. “Synchronize your watches on my mark…mark!”

All seals and secret service agents adjusted their watches accordingly.

“Go code alpha bravo charlie one one zero one one niner five,” President Stugotz said.

“Go code is a solid copy,” one of the seals said. “Confirmation code beta beta hawkeye delta one seven four. Proceed when ready.”

President Stugotz dropped his pants and sat on the toilet.
One seal held up a sniper rifle. “Sniper unit standing by.”

A second seal held up a jagged tactical knife. “Hand to hand combat unit, standing by.”

A third seal held up a can of air freshener and sprayed a cherry vanilla scent into the room. “Air freshener unit standing by.”

The agents and seals formed a circler around the toilet and turned their backs to give the President some privacy.

“Maybe I should just step outside,” Breckenridge said.

The President strained his bowels. “Ergh…ugh…no. Don’t be silly. This is going to be a working shit, Bob. I’ve got more orders for you.”

“Very good, sir,” Breckenridge replied.

“Aargh,” the President said as his face turned red. “Damn it, this is going to be awhile. I know I should have listened to the First Lady about those damn bran muffins.”

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Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #5


Network News One Transcript #5

KURT MANLEY: Witnesses on the scene said the manatees ate every last one of the environmentalist protesters, causing the workers on the oil rig to laugh and laugh and laugh some more. Talk about cruel irony.

(Kurt looks at a different camera.)

KURT MANLEY: Good morning, USA. If you’re just joining us, I’m Kurt Manley, America’s Favorite News Anchor. You’re watching Network News One, the only channel with the hottest blonde chick reporters with the biggest titties. Oh yeah, and occasionally we report the news and shit.

(A graphic pops up to Kurt’s right. It depicts a toilet with a big giant X stamped on it.)

KURT MANLEY: And now for our top story. “America’s Shitting Nightmare.” The toilet killer has struck again, this time taking the life of Adelaide Hotchkiss, an elderly stripper better known to the patrons of the Sitwell, Florida erotic entertainment nightclub Big Ray-Ray’s House of Fancy Funbags by her stage name, “Roxy.”

(An obese man with a long beard, sunglasses, and a stained shirt appears on screen, speaking into a microphone.)

BIG RAY-RAY: Aw, hell yeah it’s sadder than a monkey fucking a football in this joint ever since we learned about Old Roxy. She wasn’t my prettiest stripper, or even my best one but dammit, that gal has never missed a day of work since 1987. From the Reagan Era all through the 1990s and 2000s, if there’s been one constant around here, it’s been Roxy’s big, gelatin filled ass working its way all over the sweatpants clad crotches of all of my discerning gentlemen customers. That’s why, in Roxy’s honor, all lap dances will be fifty percent off for the rest of the day and I’m gonna knock a dollar off the cost of the all you can eat hot wing bar. It’s the least I can do.

(KURT MANLEY, back in studio)

KURT MANLEY: Four grizzly murders in two days. All of the victims evacuating their bowels on the toilet when they met their doom. This has caused widespread panic in Florida, where residents have become so scared of sitting on the crapper that they’ve been coming up with new methods of eliminating their bodily waste. Here’s a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties with more on this story.

(NATALIE BROCK appears on camera, standing in front of the Sitwell Police Station. She is wearing her blonde wig and her bra is stuffed with ripe melons.)

NATALIE BROCK: That’s right, Kurt. The latest development in the Toilet Killer’s non-stop murder spree is that Floridians are scared too shit! I conducted a series of man on the street interviews to find out why people are so terrified of the toilet. Check out these results.

(NATALIE’S man on the street interviews begin. First, an average looking guy in a polo T-shirt.)

RANDOM MAN: I have had to go for nearly thirty-five hours now, but I’ve been holding it.


RANDOM MAN: I do not want to end up like Countess Cucamonga or any of those other people. If I don’t shit then the Toilet Killer can’t get me.

NATALIE BROCK: Thirty-five hours. That’s some amazing sphincter control right there.

RANDOM MAN: Yes, I’m very proud of myself.

NATALIE BROCK: Still, that’s a long time. Aren’t you worried that you’ll eventually lose control and…

RANDOM MAN: No, ma’am. I’m in peak physical condition. I can hold it for as long as I need to and….ERGH…

(The man’s face turns red. NATALIE waves the air away from her nose.)

RANDOM MAN: Nevermind.

NATALIE BROCK VOICEOVER: Yes, while some citizens have tried holding it, others have turned to less traditional methods of shit disposal.

(NATALIE confronts a man wearing a T-shirt from his favorite rock band. He’s standing next to a pile of cardboard boxes and holding one of them up in the air.)

BOX SALESMAN: Get your shit boxes! Get your shit boxes! Fifty bucks for a shit box!

(An old man performs an impromptu “I need to shit dance” as he walks up to the salesman and forks over some cash).

OLD MAN: Give me one of those!

BOX SALESMAN: Pleasure doing business with you, sir.

NATALIE BROCK: Sir, are you profiteering off of a tragedy?

BOX SALESMAN: Are you kidding me? I’m performing a service here, lady. People need to shit. Toilets aren’t safe. A cardboard box is the next thing.

NATALIE BROCK: But fifty dollars for a cardboard box is outrageous.

BOX SALESMAN: I went to a lot of trouble to get these boxes. I had to run around town swiping them from liquor stores and grocery stores all day. Look, people need to shit and I’m giving them a safe alternative.

NATALIE’S VOICEOVER: While concerned citizens are turning to non-traditional shit holding containers, some are just going au natural.

(A young couple walk through a park, holding hands. They cop a squat next to a tree, drop their pants, and let it rip. Black bars appear over their private areas.)

NATALIE’S VOICEOVER: Some are even predicting the end of days.

(A homeless man wearing a trash bag as a shirt walks up and down a street, ringing a bell. Over his trash bag shirt, he wears a sandwich board sign that reads, ‘Repent All Ye Shitters!’”

HOMELESS MAN: The end of the world draws nigh! Shit and be damned!

NATALIE BROCK: Sir, do you really think the Toilet Killer is worth all this fuss?

HOMELESS MAN: Yes! The Toilet Killer is one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse! First, it’s the Toilet Killer, killing you while you shit! Next it will come the Urinal Killer, who will chop off your dick with a butcher knife while you take you a piss!

NATALIE BROCK: That’s a rather grim prognostication.

HOMELESS MAN: Indeed! Next comes the Bidet Killer. He’ll shoot you in the ass while you’re just trying to clean your rear-end and finally, the Bath Tub killer will destroy all who try to tidy up. I haven’t taken a bath since the first George Bush was president and everyone laughed at me but who’s laughing now, huh? Who’s laughing now?! Muah ha ha!

NATALIE BROCK’S VOICEOVER: A handful of residents continue to brave the porcelain throne, but not without taking extreme cautionary measures.

(NATALIE is lead to the bathroom of Freedom Firepower by MOSES. There, she finds Felix on the can holding a twelve-gauge shotgun. His privates are covered by a black bar.)

MOSES: Ma’am, this here is America, land of the free and home of the brave. In 1776, George Washington swam across the Atlantic, cock punched King George and said, “Listen you limey fuck stick, America is ours now, so cut all the bullshit if you don’t want another cockpunch.” George Washington then swam back to America where he then proceeded to round house kick every last red coat in the face until they all begged for mercy.

NATALIE BROCK: I’m not sure you have the best grasp on history, sir.

MOSES: And you sound like a raging liberal cook burger who wants to perform cunnilingus on Hillary Clinton, ma’am.

NATALIE BROCK: Let’s move on.

MOSES: Yes. Anyway, all I’m saying is this is America. King George couldn’t keep it and we’ve defended it from all sorts of enemies over the years, ranging from the Nazis to the damn terrorists and now we’ve got a Toilet Killer out there, running amuck. People, you can’t stop shitting on your toilets because if you stop shitting on toilets then the Toilet Killer wins.

NATALIE BROCK: But what about people who are afraid of becoming the Toilet Killer’s next victim?

MOSES: Simple, ma’am. Come on down to Freedom Firepower and for the low, low price of a thousand dollars, you can take a shit in my customer bathroom, which I have turned into the most secure shit parlor in the land.

NATALIE BROCK: What security measures have you taken?

MOSES: Well, as you can see, my hetero life partner Felix is packing a twelve-gauge. That’s fully loaded and can blow a hole the size of a trash can lid through an assailant at ten paces. We’ll give you one of those to hold onto while you’re taking a dump because when it comes to safety, the first line of defense comes from the shitter him or herself. Yes, I said “herself” because we’re not going to discriminate against you if you’re a woman. The lady folk need protection while they shit too.

NATALIE BROCK: Any other precautions?


(MOSES points out five different cameras lining the walls, all pointed at the toilet)

MOSES: Five, count ‘em five HD security cameras will capture all the action, so if the Toilet Killer dares show his ugly face in here, we will get a positive ID on the perpetrator.

NATALIE BROCK: Will that footage be erased after your customers use the bathroom?

MOSES: I can’t comment on that but it will not be uploaded on a website called “HD Bathroom Footage” where subscriptions will be sold for $29.99 a month, that I can assure you.

NATALIE BROCK: Anything else?

(MOSES holds up a high-powered assault rifle)

MOSES: Yes, I of course, will be standing watch over you while you move your bowels and any and all intruders who dare to enter into my line of sight will be cut down posthaste. No one is going to kill any shitters on my watch.

NATALIE BROCK: Is that all?

(MOSES flips a switch. A grid of red lasers fills the bathroom.)

MOSES: These lasers are connected to C4 rigged explosive devices that I have packed into the walls, so whatever you do, don’t make any sudden moves.

NATALIE BROCK: But won’t that also kill the person on the toilet?

MOSES: It’s called “mutually assured self destruction,” ma’am. Simply put, if the Toilet Killer tries to kill one of my shitting customers, he will have to kill himself in the process. I’m willing to be good money that the Toilet Killer is such a coward that he would never dare put himself in danger and therefore all my customers will be safe while they shit.

NATALIE: Mutually assured self-destruction, you say?

MOSES: Yes. It’s the same reason why America and Russia have all those nukes. Every country needs to stock up on nukes to keep all the other countries with nukes from nuking them. If everyone has a nuke, then everyone will be afraid to drop a nuke. The more nukes in the world, the safer the world is. That’s just science.

NATALIE: Well, I suppose you can’t argue with science.

NATALIE VOICEOVER: I caught up with Mayor Dufresne to obtain his views on the matter.

(Mayor Dufresne appears in his car lot, holding up a bag of adult diapers next to a porta-potty.)

THE MAYOR: Howdy, y’all! This Toilet Killer really is an insufferable Son of a Bitch, ain’t he? Well, I’ll tell you what, Mayor Beaumont Dufresne isn’t about to allow his constituency to suffer. No siree, Bob! Y’all mosey on over to Mayor Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium and for a hundred dollars, you can take a shit in one of the many ports-potties I have had trucked onto my lot. The Toilet Killer hasn’t struck a porta-potty yet, so I have no doubt y’all will be safe in one of my outhouses.

NATALIE BROCK: Mayor, that’s nice, but what about…

THE MAYOR: The shitter on the go? No problem. I have bought up every last adult diaper in Grover County, so come on down and I will outfit you with some man-sized disposable underpants for the low price of seventy-five dollars a pair.

NATALIE BROCK: Actually, I wanted to get your thoughts on the investigation.

THE MAYOR: Oh, it’s a shambles, my dear. An absolute shambles. Four people have been killed on the John in less than two days, two of those people right here in Sitwell and do you know what that incompetent boob Chief Walker did?


THE MAYOR: He went in hauled in my boy Buford for questioning. The boy’s simple and slower than a pile of molasses running down hill in January and anyone could take one look at him and realize the kid can barely zip up his own fly let alone plot and carry out a series of toilet murders with cunning precision. Yet, that idiot Walker wasted the taxpayers’ time and money harassing my boy when he could have been out there looking for the real killer.

NATALIE BROCK: So I take it you think the investigation is not going well?

THE MAYOR: Not at all. That’s why this morning I called upon the town counsel and drew up the papers necessary to have all of Sitwell’s police functions transferred over into the very competent hands of Sheriff Hammond.

(The Mayor knocks on a porta-potty door)

THE MAYOR: Sheriff, can you come out and have a word with the press?

SHERIFF HAMMOND: Ungh…one second.

(The Sheriff steps out of the porta-potty and buckles up his belt.)

SHERIFF HAMMOND: Yes, good people of Sitwell, have no fear, for Chief Walker’s reign of terror as the town’s worst ever officer of the law is over. I’m proud to announce that all Sitwell police officers will from here on become Grover County Sheriff’s Deputies.

NATALIE BROCK: Will there be any cutbacks?

(The SHERIFF pulls out a piece of paper and puts on a pair of reading glasses.)

SHERIFF HAMMOND: Yes, ma’am. I hold in my hand here a list of the Sitwell Police Department officers who did not make the final cut. Ahem. ‘Chief Cole Walker.’ That is all.

(THE MAYOR and THE SHERIFF laugh in a maniacal manor.)

NATALIE BROCK: Mr. Mayor, will removing Chief Walker from office really have any impact on this investigation? After all, Sharon Walker is the FBI agent in charge.

THE MAYOR: Yes, and it’s a crying shame she is, because frankly darling, and I don’t mean any offense, but I really don’t think that anyone with a vagina is up to the challenge of bringing in the Toilet Killer. What we need is a man with a big ole’ swingin’ dick to catch this vile fiend. That’s why I am, as of now, calling on President Stugotz to intervene and take Agent Walker off of this investigation. Anyone who married a man with a penis as small as the one that ex-Chief Walker is packing has exercised poor judgment, in my humble opinion, and can no longer be trusted with such a sensitive investigation. People’s lives are at stake.

NATALIE BROCK: That’s a very serious claim.

THE MAYOR: These are very serious times, my dear. Very serious times indeed.

(NATALIE reappears live in front of the Sitwell Police Station.)

NATALIE BROCK: Kurt, ex-Chief Walker refused to return any of my calls for comment, but it seems as though things are heating up behind the scenes, with the investigators themselves coming under heavy fire.

KURT MANLEY: An interesting development indeed, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. By the way, I’m told by our top notch team of attorneys here at Network News One that we are able to reveal a very big secret to our audience, is that correct?

NATALIE BROCK: Yes, Kurt. During the Toilet Killer’s rampage, someone, and I’m fairly certain it was the Toilet Killer himself, texted my cell phone, providing me with updates on his gruesome crimes. Upstanding citizen that I am, I reported this matter to Agent Walker and having been holding back on this information out of fear that publicly divulging it could jeopardize the investigation. However, Agent Walker has confirmed to me as of this morning that the results of her inquiry into the text messages came up inconclusive, and the Toilet Killer is no closer to being captured.

KURT MANLEY: Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, I am stunned that Agent Walker is fumbling this case big time. I mean, you gave Agent Walker your phone with text messages on it from the killer. What more evidence could she possibly need?

NATALIE BROCK: We can only assume those messages were from the killer, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Don’t interrupt a man while he’s speaking, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.

NATALIE BROCK: I’m sorry, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: As you should be. I’m just pointing out that Agent Walker seems to be screwing up this case big time and a monkey wearing a Sherlock Holmes hat would probably be better suited to lead the investigation at this point. Maybe the Mayor is right. Maybe it’s time for someone without a vagina to take a look into this matter.

NATALIE BROCK: I’ll be staying on this case as it develops, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Thank you, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. Sticking with this story, while the toilet killer’s rampage has, so far, been concentrated in Florida, people across the country and around the world have voiced their own concerns about shitting.

(Footage is shown of people throwing toilets into the streets and smashing them with hammers and baseball bats.)

KURT MANLEY: Riots have broken out in every major city, with people smashing their toilets to smithereens, too afraid to even keep them in their homes anymore. Meanwhile, our intrepid team of Hot Ass Blonde Chick Reporters with Big Titties have informed this anchor that reports of shitting related fears have been coming in from every continent. Even scientists in Antartica are concerned…

(Footage shows of a scientist in a fluffy down parka with the hood pulled over his head squatting over a hole in the ice while a gaggle of penguins watch.)

KURT MANLEY: The Pope even commented on the situation during a recent mass at the Vatican…

(Footage of the Pope addressing a mass.)

THE POPE: Il poopi di poopi poopi si como ti poopi poopi il shitti shitti….

VOICE OVER TRANSLATOR: As Jesus once said, ‘Let he who is not afraid to take a shit cast the first shit.’ Blessed are the meek shitters, for they shall inherit the earth.

KURT MANLEY: And Sir Alistair Smythe, Official Spokesman for the Queen of England, had this to say.

(Footage of a rather dapper looking British gentleman in front of a podium.)

SIR ALISTAIR SMYTHE: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Queen very much appreciates your inquiries into her water closet related safety but I assure you, this is a non-issue. The Queen is not afraid to shit for the simple fact that Her Majesty has never once taken a shit in her entire life. Everyone knows that members of the royalty do not shit. Rather, their waste spontaneously combusts while a feint scent of cinnamon emanates from their bodily cavity.

(SIR SMYTHE looks around to see if the coast is clear.)

SIR ALISTAIR SMYTHE: But if you can keep it on the down low, then I might be inclined to inform you that Her Majesty will be taking her shits in the corner and blaming it on her adorable Corgis for the foreseeable future.

(Kurt, back in studio)

KURT MANLEY: Back at home, the presidential election is years away, yet President Stugotz’ top 2020 challengers are already turning the Toilet Killer’s wide swath of destruction into a campaign issue. Live via satellite feed, we have Senator Jason Batzengant, who intends to challenge President Stugotz in the next Republican presidential primary, and Senator Elsie Wannadingle, the Democratic frontrunner. Senators, welcome.


SENATOR WANNADINGLE: Good to be here, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Senator Batzengant, let’s start with you. President Stugotz’s national approval ratings are stagnant, yet among Republican voters, they’re higher than ever. What makes you think you’d be able to knock Stugotz off the throne?

SENATOR BATZENGANT: I’ve got two words for you, Kurt. “Toilet Killer Insanity.”

KURT MANLEY: That’s three words, Senator.

SENATOR BATZENGANT: Don’t try to trip me up with your fancy liberal book learning, Kurt. This Toilet Killer situation is a mess and President Stugotz has done nothing about it. President Stugotz promised to be a law and order president, one who would bring criminals to justice and yet he’s done nothing but play one round of golf after another while Florida residents are being murdered simply for exercising their constitutional right to shit.

KURT MANLEY: I’m not sure there is a constitutional right to shit, Senator.

SENATOR BATZENGANT: It’s in the back, somewhere. Listen, we need a president who isn’t going to be a little pussy boy, coddling criminals while God-fearing, taxpaying Americans are cowering in their bathrooms, scared to death of their own toilets and too afraid to shit. That’s why, when I’m president, I’m going to lock up anyone who has even looked at a toilet cross-eyed. That’s right, I am going to flood our prison industrial complex with people who fit a very distinct potential Toilet Killer profile and only then will it be safe to shit again.

KURT MANLEY: Senator Wannadingle, your thoughts?

SENATOR WANNADINGLE: Kurt, that blowhard conservative jackass has it all wrong.

SENATOR BATZENGANT: Don’t call me a blowhard conservative, you commie pinko rug chomper.

KURT MANLEY: Let’s retract the claws, kittens. 2020 is still a long way away.

SENATOR WANNADINGLE: All I was trying to say before I was so rudely interrupted by that jack booted fascist is that it is not very woke to assume this Toilet Killer is a bad person.

KURT MANLEY: But he’s killing people while they’re shitting on the toilet.

SENATOR WANNADINGLE: Is he? Or is he expressing his rage at a system that puts the one percent of millionaires and billionaires above the impoverished classes. Maybe this Toilet Killer, maybe he’s a man, maybe he’s a woman, maybe he or she is a bisexual genderqueer other-kin with ambidextrous bilateral gender fluid anti-normative tendencies…we don’t know. What we can only assume though is this human being has most likely had a difficult life and after many years of being put upon by an unjust system, this person is finally lashing out so really, when you really think about it, we all had a role in creating this system so in essence, we are all the Toilet Killer.

(KURT MANLEY stares blankly into the camera.)

KURT MANLEY: Holy shit. Are you two really considered the best and brightest of your respective political parties?



(Kurt sighs and looks at a different camera.)

KURT MANLEY: Well, there you have it, folks. A Toilet Killer is on the loose and the country’s leaders have officially flushed their brains down the toilet. Don’t touch that dial and stay off the toilet as we’ll be bringing you the latest updates on America’s Shitting Nightmare. Coming up in the next hour, is there a cookie that can make you go blind? We’ll tell you which cookies to remove from your cookie jar after sports and weather but first, these commercial messages.

ANNOUNCER: Network News One. The Hottest Blonde Chick Reporters. The biggest titties. Oh yeah, and occasionally we report the news and shit.

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Fourteen Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

Once again, someone who may or may not be a real medical doctor (I’m leaning towards not) reminds you of the dangerous medical symptoms that come with being bitten on the butt by a toilet gator:

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 54


Cole and Rusty had reconvened near the department’s coffee pot, each sipping from a mug.

“The dude was naked?” Rusty asked.

“As the day he was born,” Cole answered.

“And she was in a bathrobe?” Rusty asked.

“Yup,” Cole said.

“Wet hair?” Rusty asked. “Like she’d just been in the shower?”

“Yup,” Cole replied.

“And she was coming back to the room with a bucket of ice and a bottle of wine?” Rusty asked.

“Affirmative,” Cole said.

“That’s the most white trash thing I’ve ever heard of,” Rusty said. “Who puts ice cubes in wine?”

“I don’t know, Rusty,” Cole said. “Maybe the ice bucket was just to chill it.”

“And she got it for him,” Rusty said.

“What?” Cole asked.

“Well,” Rusty said. “Usually it’s the man doing romantic gestures, like going out to get a bottle of wine. But here, you got the woman doing it, so clearly she’s smitten.”

“Smitten?” Cole asked.

Rusty sipped his coffee. “Sharon ever bring you a bottle of wine?”

Cole sighed. “I can’t say that she has.”

“Didn’t think so,” Rusty said. “And I’m sorry to say this but given the circumstances you’ve laid out for me, I can come to no other conclusion than that your ex-wife and that big beast of a man are…”

“Don’t say it,” Cole said.

“…fucking,” Rusty said.

“I asked you not to say it,” Cole said.

Rusty ignored his friend’s plea and carried on. “Deep, down and dirty, hardcore, X-rated fucking.”

“Stop,” Cole said.

“Worse,” Rusty said. “This man has turned your ex into a slave…a slave for his gargantuan dong.”

“It was massive,” Cole said.

“Women pretend like size doesn’t matter but it matters, Cole,” Rusty said. “It totally matters. When a woman is with a man who has been blessed with a King Kong dong, all their talk about feminism and women’s rights goes out the window and they become a slave to the dong, doing all sorts of crazy things, like going out in a bathrobe in the middle of the night in search of alcohol to appease her well endowed master.”

“It was a mistake for me to go over there in the first place,” Cole said.

“Damn right,” Rusty said.

“You’re the one who told me to go over there,” Cole said.

“Did I?” Rusty asked. “Don’t listen to me, man. I say all kinds of shit.”

Maude stepped into the break room and set her oxygen tank down on the counter. She then poured herself a mug of coffee.

“What’s everyone talking about?” Maude asked.

“Nothing,” Cole said.

“Sharon’s getting straight up plowed by her partner,” Rusty said.

“Shut up,” Cole said.

“Dude’s got a damn boa constrictor in his pants,” Rusty said.

“Is that right?” Maude asked as she let a cigarette.

“I don’t see any need for this conversation to continue,” Cole said.

“It’s huge,” Rusty said. “Cole walked in on them while he was banging her into next week.”

“That’s…” Cole struggled to avoid an urge to slap Rusty. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m telling the story better than you told the story so I can keep Maude’s interest,” Rusty said.

“I’m not that interested,” Maude said.

“Aw come on, Maude,” Rusty said. “You’re a woman.”

“Last time I checked,” Maude said.

“Tell Cole to give up and move on already,” Rusty said. “Sharon’s got a damn bratwurst and there’s no way she’ll ever go back to a cocktail weenie.”

Rusty looked at Cole’s face. Suddenly, he knew he’d gone a step too far. “I’m not knocking cocktail weenies. I got one. You got one. Most men are average it’s just…men who are above average live lives of rarified air and when a woman gets a hold of a big ole’ baloney pony she’s never going to let it go, right Maude?”

Maude shrugged her shoulders. “I dumped a man with a big one for my Arnold.”

“What?” Rusty asked.

“It’s true,” Maude said. “When I was a girl…”

“…back when the world was young and dinosaurs roamed the earth,” Rusty added.

“You want the story or not?” Maude asked.

“Sorry,” Rusty said.

“When I was young,” Maude said. “I dated a man who was in a motorcycle gang and this fella was packing a unit that could have served as his very own kickstand.”

“Goddamn,” Rusty said.

“I don’t need to hear this,” Cole said.

“And sure, that life was fun for a young girl,” Maude said. “Drugs and danger and all that but you know what? Larry was a real asshole. Constantly cheated on me and took me for granted. The last straw came when I caught him in a truck stop bathroom with another girl. I walked right out of there and was fuming mad but I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have a ride home so I…”

“Called upon your pet brontosaurus to whisk you away,” Rusty said.

Maude clutched her cigarette between her thumb and pointer finger. “I will put this out in your eye.”

“Understood,” Rusty said.

“I met Arnold,” Maude said. “He was a long haul trucker who had stopped for gas. Such a nice, sweet man. I gave him my number and he courted me proper. We went on all sorts of dates. He brought me flowers and the whole bit. And even though he had a small one, I told him I loved him every day until the day he died and I still do today every morning before I get out of bed. I just wish he were there to hear it. Ehh, maybe he still does somehow.”

“How small are we talking about?” Rusty asked.

“Oh,” Maude said. “Way, way below average. Looked like a button that got lost in a pile of wheat grass.”

Rusty chuckled.

“It was like a little mouse that was afraid to peek out of his hole,” Maude said. “But the moral of the story is, yes, women do love big ones, but any woman with half a brain isn’t going to put up with a bunch of bullshit to hang onto one…and she’ll even deal with a small one if its owner is a good egg.”

“I don’t have a small one,” Cole said.

“Whoa,” Maude said as she puffed on her cigarette. “That information is between you, God, and the millions of people who watch Network News One.”

“You get the point, Cole?” Rusty said. “You might still have a shot with Sharon if her partner ends up being an asshole.”

“Ugh,” Maude said.

“What?” Cole asked.

“Nothing,” Maude said.

“No, what?” Cole asked.

A thick trail of ash plopped into Maude’s coffee. That did not stop her from taking a long, vigorous sip. “None of my business, but if you go back to her after what she did to you, I’m going to call you a pussy.”

“That’s what I said,” Rusty said.

“Well,” Maude said as she exited the break room with her tank in one hand and cup in the other, “Even a broken clock is right twice a day, Prince Harry.”

Rusty and Cole stood there in awkward silence for a moment.

“You think she noticed her ash fell into her coffee?” Rusty asked.

“I don’t think she gives a shit,” Cole replied.

The duo stood and enjoyed their coffee for another minute before the loud, obnoxious ravings of the esteemed Mayor of Sitwell echoed through the station. “Cole Walker! Where the hell are you?!”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 53


While Paul stewed in silence, Sharon was once again sitting in Cole’s office, behind his desk. Gordon stood off to the right, while Buford was seated across the desk.

“Mr. Dufresne,” Sharon said. “My name is Agent Sharon Walker. This is my partner, Gordon Bishop. We’re with the FBI, investigating a high profile case in the area. Perhaps you’ve heard of it as the media has dubbed the perpetrator as, ‘The Toilet Killer.’”

“Helluva thing those toilet killings,” Buford said. “No one should ever have to go while they’re going, if you ask me. You think the Toilet Killer got my Momma?”

“It looks that way,” Sharon said. “And though I’m sure it doesn’t offer you much consolation, I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Buford said. “Momma was a real ornery spitfire, but a sweet old gal. Hell, she kept her prices low just to keep all the local perverts happy.”

Sharon made an odd face. It was a half-smile, half-grimace. She had no clue how to respond to Buford’s statement, so she moved on.

“Mr. Dufresne,” Sharon said. “Chief Walker has reported to me that when you arrived at your mother’s trailer, you shouted, and I quote, ‘I tried to warn her!’”

“I don’t remember that,” Buford said.

“What were you trying to warn your mother about?” Sharon asked.

“Again,” Buford said. “I don’t remember saying anything like that.”

“Chief Walker stated to me that when he pressed you on this, you said that you had tried to warn your mother about smoking while the pilot light of her stove was on,” Sharon said.

“That’s right,” Buford said.

“So you don’t remember saying you tried to warn her?” Sharon asked.

“Right,” Buford said.

“But you do remember saying that you tried to warn her about smoking?” Sharon asked.

Buford’s face turned red. “Oh Gee Whiz, now you’ve gone and messed with my brain, ma’am.”

“Mr. Dufresne,” Sharon said. “I suppose what I’m trying to get at here is the issue of whether or not you were trying to warn your mother about something more disturbing than a cigarette…”

“What?” Buford asked. “Like one of those computerized vape-o-majigs? Momma didn’t like those, no ma’am. She tried one once and said it felt like she was giving a blowjob to the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz.”

Sharon smiled. “Your mother sounds like she was a real character.”

“Oh yes, ma’am,” Buford said.

“Were you two close?” Sharon asked.

“Sure,” Buford said.

“Did you approve of your mother’s profession?” Sharon asked.

“You mean stripping and prostituting?” Buford asked. “Wouldn’t say I’d go around bragging about how proud I was of Momma for doing that but hell, it paid the bills and it’s not like she had any kind of an education or skills to fall back on.”

“So the idea of your mother and all those men…”

Gordon cut his partner off. He stepped forward and towered over Buford. “If losers were fucking the woman that gave birth to me for pennies on the dollar, I know it would piss me off.”

“She may have had discount rates but I wouldn’t call it, ‘pennies,’” Buford said.

“Not the point,” Gordon said. “The point is that it must have made you mad, the idea of all those dirty, disgusting men, flopping around like a bunch of diseased, out of water flounders on top of your mother.”

Buford’s upper lip trembled. He gritted his teeth. He began to sweat. He took a deep breath and then calmly answered. “No sir. That was between them and Momma. I could care less.”

Sharon shuffled through a file folder. “Mr. Dufresne, when you arrived on the scene…”

“Ma’am,” Buford said. “You wouldn’t happen to be thinking something crazy like, oh, I dunno, that an angel like little old me had something to do with my own mother’s death, would you?”

“I didn’t say that,” Sharon said.

“Y’all seem to be implyin’ it,” Buford said. “I’m in mourning, here.”

“I know,” Sharon said.

“I have lost my dear sweat Momma,” Buford said. “That woman was my rock, my best friend, my whole reason for being.”

“Your whole reason for being?” Sharon asked.

“Shit,” Gordon said. “My condolences.”

“I’m sorry,” Buford said as he stood up. “I can’t think straight what with my Momma gone. I need to go home and lie down.”

Gordon stared Buford down, silently indicating the fact that leaving wasn’t a valid option.

“Y’all can’t keep me here,” Buford said. “I know my rights!”

“Mr. Dufresne,” Sharon said. “No one has accused you of anything.”

“I have a right to a phone call,” Buford said.

“This is all very unnecessary,” Sharon said. “We’re just trying to establish some facts that will help us find your mother’s killer.”

“I want my phone call,” Buford said. “I want to call my Daddy!”

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Toilet Gator Feedback


Hey 3.5 readers.

Stats indicate a lot of you have been checking out the most recent Toilet Gator chapters lately.  Cool.  If you have five minutes, I hope you’ll drop me a comment and tell me what you like and don’t like about it.  I’d love to hear the criticism, positive or negative.

Also, if you’d like to read it from the beginning, you can check it out over on Wattpad.  

If you’re not a Wattpadder, no worries.  You can still read it on this fine site.  You’ll just have to click where it says “Toilet Gator” in the left hand corner of this post (by the title) and then do a lot of scrolling to the beginning.

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 51


Cole stood outside Sharon and Gordon’s hotel room at the Trembley Suites and put his hear up against the door. For a few minutes, he heard nothing until finally…


“Shit,” Cole mumbled.


Cole backed away from the door. The sounds from inside the room intensified. “UGGGHHH!”

“Should’ve known it,” Cole said. “Like a couple of wild baboons.”

Cole walked down an aisle, feeling sorry for himself until much to his surprise, Sharon rounded a corner carrying a bottle of wine in an ice bucket. Her hair was wet and Cole stared as beads of water trickled down her neck into her bosom. It had been a long time since Cole had seen his lady love wearing nothing but a bathrobe and slippers.

“Cole?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “Hi.”

“Something wrong?” Cole said.

“There’s been another murder,” Cole said.

Sharon’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! The Toilet Killer struck again?”

“Yeah,” Cole said as he pointed at the room. “Hey, if you’re out here then what was…”

Sharon ignored the question and hustled towards her room. “Come on.”

“Can’t I just tell you out here?” Cole asked.

“Don’t be silly,” Sharon said. “Gordon will want to know too.”

Sharon popped a key card into the handle reader and the door unlocked. Cole followed Sharon into the room, nervous as to what he might find.

Sure enough, Cole quickly discovered he had good reason to be fearful. There on the ground was the most muscular, ripped, cut man but he had ever seen, pumping up and down.


“Gordo!” Sharon said. “Stop doing pushups. Cole has news.”

Gordon sprang to his feet, He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and patted himself down, wiping off his sweaty body. The giant looked at Cole. “Go on.”

It wasn’t that Cole wanted to stare at the massive python dangling between Gordon’s legs, but he couldn’t help it. A) it was like staring at a freak traffic accident and B) Cole became instantly riddled with sadness that it was much, much, much bigger than his or any other average human male’s.

“Could you?” Cole asked.

“What?” Gordon asked as he wiped the sweat from his big bald head. The other one. The one he thought with.

Cole pointed a finger downward.

“Oh,” Gordon said as he wrapped the towel around his waist. “What, you never saw one before?”

Cole cleared his throat. “I try not to make a habit of it.”

“Cole,” Sharon said. “What’s going on?”

Cole tried to blurt out some words but he was taken aback by Gordon’s amazing physique. The man was sporting perfect six-pack abs and a firm set of pecs.

“Jesus,” Cole said.

“Cole?” Sharon asked. “What happened?”

Cole snapped out of it. “Oh…right. Another murder. Roxy. An old stripper. Her real name’s Adelaide Hotchkiss.”

“A stripper?” Sharon asked.

“A stripper,” Gordon said. “An old teacher, a college student, a superstar. There’s no rhyme or reason to this killer’s pattern.”

“We’ve got two suspects at the station,” Cole said. “One’s some kid that was stuck in the trailer. You should have seen it the whole thing was knocked over but anyway…long story. He was babbling on and on about he he had also been on the scene of the Becker murder.”

“Holy shit,” Sharon said.

“Maybe some psycho that likes to stick around too long, admiring his handiwork,” Gordon said.

“Maybe,” Cole replied as he kept his eyes on Sharon, avoiding Gordon’s chiseled frame altogether. “But we also have Roxy’s son at the station. He showed up at his mother’s trailer, saying something about how he ‘tried to warn her.’”
“Warn her about what?” Sharon asked.

“He wouldn’t budge on that,” Cole said. “Thing is though, neither one of them knows they’re suspects yet. We’ve brought them both in on the idea that we’re just really concerned about their well-being but as soon as they wise up, the clock will start ticking on how long we’ll be able to hold them.”

“We’d better hustle,” Sharon said.

“Oh,” Cole said. “And about the victim’s son. He’s Buford Dufresne. The Mayor’s boy.”

“Damn it,” Sharon said. “Now that really complicates things.”

“You know it,” Cole said. “As soon as that horse’s ass catches wind we’ve got his boy…”

“He’ll waltz into the station with every crooked lawyer his used car money can buy,” Sharon said.

“Bingo,” Cole said.

Sharon set her bucket of ice and wine bottle down on a coffee table. “This will have to wait.”

She turned to Gordon. “Put on some pants, studmuffin. We’ve got worked to do.”

Sharon turned to Cole. “Thank you for coming all this way to tell us, Cole. You could have just called.”

“Yeah,” Cole said as he walked toward the door. “Well, you know me.”

“I do,” Sharon said.

Cole walked outside and headed for his cruiser. “Studmuffin? What the…”

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