(We cut once again to the Warehouse of Pain as Bobo Q. Fiendish is taking a break from his usual ‘would kill a Navy SEAL in three minutes’ training regimen and is reading the newspaper…)
Bobo Fiendish: ‘Two blown tires believed to be cause of Concorde Crash killing 109 passengers…’ Ah, I love the funnies…
BF: What the-? Who’d be simple enough to come HERE and BOTHER me unbidden? This deserves looking into…
(Bobo tiptoes to the door, just in case it’s those pesky law-enforcement people, and peers through the peephole. He turns to face the camera with a puzzled look on his face, and then checks the peep again to make sure he really saw what he did. Then Bobo flings open the door, and we see two nubile young goth-girls with several boxes of something…)
Mimi: Hi! Would you like to buy some GothScout Cookies?
Hazel: Yes, they are delicious! Won’t you please buy some, Mr. Fiend – er – kind sir?
BF: You’ve GOT to be kidding. GothScout Cookies? It is to laugh…
Mimi: Yes! And for every box we sell, a whole NICKEL goes to help deserving goths across the country get to their choice of New York or Seattle.
BF: A nickel huh? How much are the cookies?
Hazel: Five dollars a box.
BF: What happens to the other four ninety-five?
Mimi: Sadly, it is frittered away on overhead… In hindsight, we could have used a different business model than the GS of A, but it’s spilled milk now.
Hazel: So, would you please buy some?
BF: Alright, just to be rid of you… What have you got?
Mimi: We have today’s SPECIAL FLAVOR, called Blue Heaven…
BF: Are those D-Con pellets on the top?
Hazel: N-no! Those are… Those are SPRINKLES.
BF: Uh huh… You don’t happen to be friends of Wes Lipschitz, do you?
Girls: O-of course not!
BF: Then gimme a box of the Blue Heaven…
(Bobo passes the girls a fin, and rips open the box of cookies… The girls lean forward to watch while gleefully drywashing their hands. Bobo gobbles one of the cookies, as the girls look on wild-eyed.)
BF: They’re a little dry… Must be the D-Con…
(Bobo noshes another cookie, and the girls’ jaws drop in shock.)
BF: What? Come on, my MOM used to make cookies JUST LIKE these. Y’know, she used to watch me eat them, much like you girls are doing now… Come to think of it, JUST like you girls are doing now – even the part with the jaw dropping… Oh well.
(Bobo eats a few more cookies, and the gothgirls defy physics by going even PALER.)
Mimi: (whispers) The Blue Heaven isn’t working as advertised, Hazel….
Hazel: (whispers) I know. I’m afraid. Plan B?
Mimi: (whispers) What choice do we have?
Hazel: Mr. Fien- er – Kind sir, since you’ve been such a wonderful and supportive customer, we’ve decided to thank you by letting you test out our new flavor, Sugar Surprise.
BF: Izzat so? Well, what the heck… Let’s have one.
(The girls pass Bobo a cookie, and he crunches it. He chews thoughtfully as the girls lean forward expectantly. Bobo stops chewing, and grabs at his throat as if choking, and the girls start drywashing their hands happily. Bobo then spits something into his hand and looks at the girls, whose jaws drop in shock.)
BF: Hey…. Is this GLASS?
Mimi: Uh…. Um…. No! It’s… SUGAR. Yeah, that’s it!
BF: Beer bottle green?
Mimi: Uh, food coloring?
BF: Oh. Okay then.
(Bobo gulps the rest of the cookie, and chews happily. Mimi looks ready to throw up.)
BF: Y’know, I wonder if maybe you girls got hold of Mom’s recipe book… Which is strange, since I’m pretty SURE I threw it in her casket when I buried her… ALIVE. But I digress… Anyway, these cookies are pretty good – not as good as Mom’s, of course – but palatable. Lemme get a couple more boxes of both, what say?
(Mimi faints. Bobo counts out forty bucks and puts it in her hand. He then takes the rest of the GothScout cookies, and closes the door. He walks to the kitchen and puts the cookies away.)
BF: Nice kids. A little on the simple side, but what can you say for Sexbat’s groupies? They make a mean cookie, though. Heh. Anyway, snacktime’s over, so let’s get back to work… Ahem.
Hello, my intended…
Y’know, I’ve been looking at the influx of refugees from (censored) who’re looking to have something to DO while waiting for the Canadian thing, and I notice a couple interesting blurbs here and there… F’rinstance, Sexbat wants to be my ‘worst nightmare’ which I find kinda interesting, since THAT involves me being trapped in some alternate dimension with a lot of little blue critters three-apples high.
BF: THEN we have that Salad Shooter ripping on me for providing a full multimedia experience to set me apart from the standard interview. He then goes on to be part of some spin-off reality bites show, and explains his sheep fetish extends to necro-level… Fine, I guess, if you want to be in GWAR (where EVERY day is sado-necro-bestiality day) or something, but does that make him worthy of a wrestling career? No, clearly not. Sadly, he seems intent to avenge himself here for the beating he’s going to get in Canada for DARING to pollute the airwaves with his ‘Message’ of how vegetarianism will save the world. Must… Not… Laugh… Listen, kid, if it weren’t for us carnivores, then all those critters would eat all the veggies, and there wouldn’t BE any for YOU.
THEN we have that kid, Craig Whatsisname, and his old man. Sigh. Sorry about beating up yer paw, kid, but he ran in the office while I was sitting down to discuss business. And seeing as I just HATE interruptions, I paintbrushed the old fellow to make it nice and clear that he should wait his turn like a good old coot… See, ol’ Bobo’s used to a high standard in the production value department… Since BOB’s just about broke, I was discussing how revenue from my wildly successful book, ‘Better Living Through Violence‘ would be invested under the ‘tax-evading sinkhole’ clause all us rich types enjoy.
For the layman, in order to diffuse our debt to Uncle Sam, most times we wealthy folk like to fritter our money away on bad investments, then claim the loss against our earnings. It’s a time honored system, and – though it leaves me open to Lou Thesz digs – I’ve decided to continue that fine tradition here in BOB.
You’re Welcome. See you SOON…