DonKeodee
01-18-2010, 04:56 PM
On an especially hot Saturday afternoon, four youthful adults lounged peacefully amid their sweltering home. Their place was a tiny box-like structure, fifteen cubic feet in volume at most. It lacked a roof, intentionally, and was constructed entirely out of Plexiglas. Inside its five walls (the fifth being its ceiling), the young adults were sprawling out on their only couch, watching, in captivation, a melodramatic episode from Home Improvement’s seventh season. The show was being channeled onto their massive LCD flat screen television. The majority of their space was actually being consumed by the TV set. Incidentally, the appliance had been won in an annual San Diegan jelly bean guessing contest five years ago. Luckily for the young adults their prize happened to match their couch, for they were all very stylistically conscious. Although, unluckily for them, it was vastly under-proportioned to sit all of them simultaneously. Thus, presently, their collective bodies were resembling a vertical stack of trout tumbling in onto itself.
Blain, the dominant male, and the only adult mildly comfortable at present, was resting atop the pile of bodies. As the “The Tool Man” grunted out mildly chauvinistic insights on family life from the TV, Blain burst in with a statement.
‘Thank you our Lord Jesus Christ for having chosen this artistic genius to be your voice of humour!’
There was a sharp silence. Because of the adult’s pagan beliefs, the comment was obviously satirical. It nonetheless still carried with it a certain measure of sincerity, for Blain did genuinely admire Tim Taylor. Still, his roommates continued to say nothing. Their lack of affirmation for his recent commentary was aggravating him tremendously, causing his gallbladder to become inflamed.
Besides this condition he was a physically healthy young man, who carried with him a robust, muscular body; topped with a crown of brown hair so voluptuous it could almost catch Frisbees. Below this mane were his piercing hazel eyes. They invariably were emanating the reflections of streaking rays of starlight, alas even when the stars happened to be hiding.
To exert his presence over his roommates, he began glaring intimidatingly over their faces, which happened to be distributed beneath him at the moment. Because he considered himself to be the cleverest person in the shack, he expected all its inhabitants to habitually support the pronouncements he happened to issue: a rule he made no exceptions to. He first endeavoured to implement this prerequisite six months ago. At the time, the adult’s had just completed a TV test designed to approximate I.Q. They discovered Blain’s results to be the highest: slightly higher than his roommate Kara‘s, and considerably higher than the other two. As a result, Blain consequently found himself consumed with a sense of entitlement to rule as the shack leader, despite the fact that the position of shack leader didn’t exist at the time. Nevertheless he eventually succeeded in attaining the aforementioned position and, as a subsequent ramification, became viewed, by his roommates, as something of a dictator.
As the clocks reached thirteen, the temperature outside and in was gradually increasing. It was even warmer inside the home, though. With no floors, the adult’s were forced to move about on all but a thin veneer of blue grass. It was separating their feet from the sandy dirt which encased their home’s ground. Furthermore, other than its TV and couch there were only a few other large objects scattered about: An old, rusty tub, half full of water, resting at the southeast corner; along with a single light fixture that hung dangerous over top the tub. In fact, the adult’s didn’t even have a bed or fridge. Most days they would just watch TV and eat the grubs and worms that surfaced up through the ground. Through their glass walls they would occasionally watch the few neighbouring buildings surrounding their property, but this wasn’t even a secondary focus of their interest. Their world existed within their glass walls, and, for as long as they could remember, it always had.
Jenny, who was twenty-five years old and rather beastly figured, gazed out through the south wall. Suddenly she started choking up something. It was her own saliva.
‘Leprosy???’, giggled Kara semi-inquiringly.
‘You wish, slut.’ coarsely snapped back the broad shouldered brunette.
Kara was peeling a fungal growth from off her slender, sleek physique. Ironically, the growth resembled leprosy, which happened to contrast sharply with her disturbingly blue eyes and charmingly antiquely button nose.
During the past few months, her bacterial infection had slowly spread from her waist downward-- gradually yet steadily worsening. The illness’s genesis could be traced back to a bout of madness she had experienced a year ago, which itself had been triggered by an insensitive remark made by one of her roommates. The episode’s eventual climax materialized in the form of Kara literally throwing her corporeal self into the adult’s rusty bathtub, at the time filled to its brim with decaying Mandarins. There she proceeded to rest for several days. After which, Blain, having finally stumbled upon her, proceeded to drag her body out of the tub’s depths. By then Kara’s body had already begun to infect. In spite of this unflattering incident, she was still greatly admired in his eyes-- Something of which Blake, her other male roommate, who was presently sandwiched on the bottom of the pile of bodies, maliciously envied her for.
Blake was a mild intellectual invalid. Physically, though, he had only a beaked nose of which one truthfully could say wasn’t healthy and attractive. Indeed, most of his features were rather splendid. His lips, for instance, were abundantly moist, with a history of attracting all sorts of females. Nevertheless, he was a closet homosexual.
While he lay under his roommate’s sweating bodies, he watched Blain’s crotch with delight. Blain’s peripheral vision was keen though, and thusly felt the set of eyes scanning his endowment. Eventually Blake realized that he had been caught and desperately made a flirtatious advance toward Kara in an attempt to hide his true sexual orientation.
‘So, Kara.. Your tits look nice today…’
Blain wasn’t deceived by Blain’s fraudulently heterosexual forward, for he had once awoken to the sound of Blake singing a “Cold Play“ song. For him, this was clearly more than enough evidence that he was gay. Moreover, he also believed he knew how Blake’s recent pass would be received by Kara - ala, coldly. His reason for believing the latter was due to Blake’s poor endowment, of which, to him, resembled a withering peanut shell. He believed the tiny extremity effectively rendered Blake incapable of successfully executing a wooing manoeuvre, no matter who its intended recipient might be (excluding perhaps a slow-witted mountain gorilla).
He had predicted correctly, for Kara ignored Blake’s advancement. (Although contrary to Blain’s presupposition her rejection wasn’t founded on Mr. Johnson’s famously small dimensions. Rather it was because the son of an Irishman often made, what in her opinion were, indirect and slighting remarks toward her late father).
While being smothered by Jenny’s rather soft backside, Kara tried not to think of Blake, who’s mere presence was often enough to rekindle specific memories from her depressing youth. However her efforts proved futile, for the aforementioned scant, once uttered by Blake, surfaced suddenly to her consciousness. She sighed aloud as a direct result. A familiar feeling of sorrow, that had been eating away at her interminably for the last twelve years, was clasping at her once again. The primary source of this deleterious mixture of emotions was her own recollection of her troubled youth, of which presently played centre stage in her mind.
In the present vision, two large men were taking the bend of a busy street; a street where her father was standing. Her father was standing around the bend, completely unaware the two men were approaching. The native New Yorker, who worked as a traveling door to door salesman for many years peddling “oranges” to peoples all across the state, was spanning his usual dirty Bronx territory now. The two large men, who were fashioning flashy blue suits and diamond studded nose rings, continued to approach him. Finally, outside a liquor store, they surrounded him, much to her father’s surprise. Holding out tire irons in their hands, they demanded the salesman hand over his stash of oranges. When he politely declined, the men proceeded to strike him one hundred and twelve times over his lower body. Bleeding to death, his assaulters collected their booty and fled the crime scene.…. Kara’s flashback was fleeting and suddenly floated away like a dispersing cloud. In respect to what had transpired that day, the aforementioned details were all she could recall.
Soon after her father’s death, she had begun ritualistically sleeping with oranges in sacrosanct of his memory, in an effort to lessen the sting of her crippling loss. Strangely, no one had told her that her father’s oranges had actually been a front in trafficking Columbian crack-cocaine. Irrespective, the popular Florida export came hitherto to hold a tremendous amount of sentiment to her. Any criticisms of the delicious pocket snack now bothered her immensely. Blake didn’t realize this and frequently condemned the citrus species; describing the thing to be- for his experience- “unwarrantedly pulpy.”
‘Yeah, if you‘re into microscopic nipples,’ defensively barked out Jenny, in response to Blake‘s remark.
Secretly she loved him. The girl would often even hide under his bed and watch him change his knickers. Whenever she did this, she had the custom of rubbing her knees together in a counter-clock motion. The reason for the latter being that, when she was fourteen, a persuasive man had told her that the unorthodox act possessed with it time traveling powers. Although she didn’t understand the science behind time travel, she came to be a firm believer. Recently she had taken up the practice again in the hopes of traveling back in time to prevent a particular calamity from befalling her love Blake, who had, as a direct result of this disaster, incurred a partial intellectual handicap.
The sun, meanwhile, was continuing to slam the adults with unseasonably high degrees of heat. Having no air-conditioning, Blain instinctively knew he and his subjects (a label he attached to his roommates shortly after becoming shack leader) would probably soon have to leave their glass cage.
It had been more than four years since the adult’s last left their glass walls. They didn’t know why, but until today they had always considered the notion of “leaving” to be taboo. They, moreover, remembered nothing about what their lives were like before moving in; though they believed the missing passage of time was most likely forgotten for good reason.
However the intolerable climate was too much for them to bare, and despite none of them possessing any footwear (which made for potentially HIV infectious outdoor strolls), Blain finally decided that they would all leave.
The first destination to occur to him was the local beach. He immediately convinced himself that this would be the best option. Too haughty, however, to articulate this proposition plainly, he alternatively came out with an ambiguous insinuation; therein vaguely outlining his desire.
‘It’s hot. Sand and creams. Let’s go.’
Kara somehow managed to infer the muttered demand. But before endorsing the idea, something came to her mind and she spoke up.
‘What about that robber? Danny- I think his name is. I heard he’s still on the loose.’
She was alluding to a beach robber she and her roommates had learnt of two weeks ago in watching a Crime Stoppers public notice. The notice showed the thief’s face- albeit only partially and blurrily. Immediately the adults identified it as belonging to Danny Tanner of Full House, unaware that he was fictitious. Nevertheless, they subsequently embraced their theory, later even joking amongst themselves on “how terrifying it would be if they were to ever encounter “Danny the praying Mantas” (a crime alias they had quickly assigned him). Blain actually took the fantasy seriously, however, and was extremely frightened by the prospect of it.
‘Yeah’ Blain came back, a little annoyed by Kara‘s lack of enthusiasm for his proposition. ‘But we‘re going anyway.’
Jenny slithered off the couch and plopped out onto the floor beneath her. With a stupid look on her podgy face, she stood up and faced her roommates.
‘Ummmm!’
She went on.
‘And the last one there has to rub sunscreen over everybody‘s backs!!’
Darting recklessly and sporadically toward the home’s only door, she failed to notice a blanket lying on the ground, and consequently became deeply entangled in the thing. Her balance became compromised and she then flew through the air, crashing headfirst through the north wall. The plain’s advertised “unbreakable glass” had lied. When Jenny’s roommates (who were now utterly frantic) inquired about her wellbeing, Jenny pleaded- while bleeding out profusely on the ground- to be fine and hastily got up off the ground, brushed the shards of glass off of her pink muumuu, and then reminded her roommates of her earlier challenge to them. Reactively, they each excitedly grabbed some towels and lotions, and, in a desperate effort not to be last one on the beach, hurried out though their broken north wall; out into the world they had for years been to hesitant to enter.
Chapter 2
Three and a half years ago, on a muggy Christmas Eve afternoon, inside a U.S Postal service office, Blain, Kara, Blake, and Jenny were all selling stamps and marking packages for the modest wage of eight dollars an hour. At the time, all the employees were being called in to the head office to supposedly receive their bonuses. Unconventionally, the four young adults were all called to come in together. When upon being told that they were being let go, the adult’s were horrified and began threatening their former postal workers with murder and rape. The postal management became worried of another post office Christmas blood bath on their hands, and accordingly instructed their security guards to knock the livid adults unconscious with paper punchers, as a precautionary measure. With the adult’s passed out, management then injected a green serum into the adult’s necks, concurringly erasing the past five years from their memory. After finally coming to, the recently fired adult’s were then instructed, by management, to purchase a tiny plot of land on which to construct a glass shack; in which, they were told, they were to reside in for the remainder of their lives.
As the adults sprinted along a dirty alleyway toward the beach, tiny fragments of these painful memories came back to them. The rate of information returning, however was extremely slow, and thus the puzzle pieces couldn‘t yet be comprehended.
For Blake, the only matter of consideration was his involvement in their daring adventure. And after exiting the alleyway, he sprinted across a vacant parking lot alongside Jenny, who was uttering a sharp yelp.
She had stepped on a discarded syringe. A strange tingle now coursed through her ankle. Despite the pain, she kept on running. Blake had already instinctively jerked his head around to investigate the noise. His breathing was rapidly speeding up. This meant he would soon have to stop running. He had reached his lung’s exertion limits only once in his life. It had happened three years from this day, during one of his many scraps with Kara. After their physical altercation, several minutes passed where he was unable breath. Though Jenny eventually resuscitated him, the deprivation of oxygen to his brain during this period caused him permanent neural damage. Amazingly, that was the first and only time he suffered an asthma attack. But as a result, he was now very conscious of how he manages his pace breathing.
They arrived in a huff onto the white hot sandy beaches. A sense of satisfaction overtook them. In celebrating, they began emulating the behaviour of ones demon possessed; convulsing and rolling atop the sandy beaches- in the process foolishly clipping a number of people who were trying to tan peacefully. This sensation quickly passed over them.
Bulldozing through scores of ugly people, they now found themselves standing on the outskirts of a foot court. They began studying the various restaurant stalls that decorated the area. Parents and children (presumably the parent‘s) were passing in and out of the adult’s visual perspectives. The parent’s children appeared to be murmuring over the choices they had made in selecting flavours of ice cream for their ice cream cones, as if they were painfully unsure over whether or not they had made the right decisions. “Was butterscotch really the best move”, some children perhaps second guessed. The parent’s were contemplating ice cream as well, for the searing sun shone intensely down on everyone at the junction. And to congest the food court further, it just so happened to be the only place near any practical dispersions of shade.
‘Okay. It‘s time to put on sunscreen,’ Blain barked out authoritatively.
Kara had been the last to arrive to the beach. She couldn’t help but visualize Jenny’s acne covered back.
Inevitably she would be soon lathering it in creams. With great difficulty she tried not to vomit.
‘Do me now!’ demanded Jenny, in a mini tantrum.
Jenny had started undressing when she happened to notice a nearby sign. As she read it, a cloudy remnant of a vision of herself as a San Diego bi-weekly circulation newspaper carrier appeared in her mind‘s eye.
She saw an older man- a regular customer of hers. He was standing rather comfortably at his front door wearing but a light robe, and inviting her into his home. Just fourteen, the young Jenny decided, albeit hesitantly, to accept his invitation. Upon openly revealing her fascination for zoology, the man unexpectedly started enthusiastically describing his personal ideology on a universal ethical standard of treatment for animals: referencing a law he believed ought to be gotten rid of. This law was the prohibition of exhibitionism, which he claimed undermined the dignity of the less privileged species that simply couldn‘t afford clothing. He said than an example of this was that animals were being unfairly labelled as sluts and bushman. Jenny was impressionable and eventually became persuaded by the man‘s unusual logic. Then, taking his hand, the man led her into his backyard. There, the two both started removing all of their clothing (supposedly to rehearse a future protest, which, he said, was being waged in an attempt to emancipate animals from future millennia of unrelenting degradation). She still remembered the slogan the two chanted that day. She remembered because, just after they finished chanting it, she was forcefully dragged back into the man’s house wherein
she was raped for several hours.
Until moments ago, she had repressed this incident, as it deeply bothered her. But after noticing a no nude bathing sign erected next to a dairy queen stall, she instinctively began removing all of her clothing (including her silk G-string and push-up under-bra) and chanting, in a mechanic fashion, the persuasive man’s slogan.
“Here‘s something every animal knows: The evil in the world is a result of our clothes“…
Her performance happened to catch the attention of a nearby policeman, who had turned sharply in her direction. After surveying Jenny’s naked breasts and luscious butt, the officer started gesticulating the act of oral sex, by suggestively poking his tongue against the inside of one of his cheeks.
By now, Jenny’s roommates were panicking. When Jenny noticed the cop, intense flashbacks of the persuasive man instantaneously flooded her memory. She saw her abuser’s menacing image glowing faintly in her mind’s eye: his tofu wreaking body aggressively filling a portion of itself into her tender cavities. Unable to continue on in her protest, Jenny sprinted off in the direction opposite the officer; tears pouring down her face. Her roommates, meanwhile, frantically tried to keep up to her torrid pace.
As they ran, a child, cursed with severe autism, hurled a rock in their direction. The granite projectile slammed forcefully into the side of Blain’s skull. Stumbling slightly, he somehow managed not to lose his baring and, with blood streaming down his neck, continue on in the chase. But Jenny was one 32nd Kenyan and as such got far ahead everyone else until she was completely out of their sight.
--------
‘Are you sure you’re okay now?’ Kara asked Jenny, thirty minutes after the incident.
‘I’m fine.’ Jenny replied, having once again repressed the traumatic memory from her adolescence.
While laying partially covered beside a dock on the beach, she watched, in malaise, a tiny group of whisky pale clouds slowly drifted over her face. She and her roommates were all resting stomach down on the coastline’s fluffy sand. Their supple young bodies, presently lathered in sun tan lotion, glistened majestically. The source of their developing tans, the sun, poured down on them with its various rays and waves. Its radiating heat was practically visible. In fact, its emissions were so intense that the adult’s suspected it was taunting them. In fact, it was. It was specifically trying to tell them and, for that matter, anyone else who dared to expose their sensitive hairless bodies on this day, that, in doing so, they were all opening themselves up to brunt its burning wrath. Its anger could be attributed to God, whom it resented for having capriciously assigned it the mind numbingly boring task of sustaining Earthly life. As partial payback, the flaming gas ball was now emitting an especially cancerous production of gamma rays onto His children. Blain offered a suggestion on how the Adults might combat the star’s seething scorn.
Would anyone like a frosty malt?’
His roommates were instantly smitten with the idea; especially Blake.In wake of their approval, Blain promptly got up to make his way over to the nearest vendor.
As he made his way over, he couldn’t help but notice the sunbathers tanning on the beach, who, to him, resembled beach whales. He was puzzled “why these whale-like-people hadn’t admitted themselves to be operated on. Surely, he thought, they wished to lessen the repulsiveness of their appearances.” Almost puking at their sight, he then made a silent vow being that “if ever he let himself go to that extent, he would always wear pants.”
Some time later he returned with four frosty chocolate malts. The beauties were resting stably inside his square cardboard holder. The brand of dairy was rated the tastiest in history by a fat man in a cowboy hat. Blain didn’t realize, but a stray dog had caught a whiff of his inventory. The flea varmint now stalked him intently.
While he had been gone, his roommates had moved to a small, grassy patch of field. The field’s thick lawn, which grew beside a paved walk way, happened to also be lying adjacent to a four foot tall walnut fence. Blain found the view of the ocean from his current prospective to be absolutely breathtaking, and thus, in planning to return to further enjoy the view, took out a malt from the cardboard holder and placed it on top of the fence, where he would return.
When he had set aside his own malt, though, he had noticed a long, slimy, blonde hair stuck to the ice cream’s cherry coloured paper cup. Moderately disgusted by the experience, he squirmed aloud, before reluctantly deciding to temporarily ignore his problem and set off to give his housemates their treats. While he made his way over to them, the stray dog crept cunningly up to the fence. Blake was by far the most vocally appreciative of the malt recipients.
‘Oh, anything for a uncircumcised gentile,’ facetiously welcomed Blain.
He turned around to make his way back to his malt.
‘SWEET MOTHER OF JESUS! IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING?!!’
TO BLAIN‘S ABSOULTE HORROR, HIS MALT WAS NO WHERE TO BE FOUND! With his pulse racing WILDLY out of control and his inflamed gallbladder BURNING like oil, his entire body began tingling like it was a little boy trying to climb a shiny, brass pole. Completely unable to stand up on his own accord, he then collapsed to the ground where he proceeded to curl himself into a tight little ball. After closing his eyes, he then, like an infant chimp, cowardly inserted a thumb of his into his mouth and began sucking violently.
As soon as his roommates saw their authority figure, they immediately rushed to his side. At this point Blain’s body was quavering violently. To console their master, the roommates sat down next to him on the ground and urgently started petting his hair. Despite their best intentions, he continued to sob like an orphaned puppy. So, on that note, they went on to reassure him that “everything was going to be just fine”, though they all privately feared the worst. When his crying persisted they began offering up prayers to their Neo-Pagan Gods that whatever was happening to their good friend, was all just one, big, silly dream, and that sooner or later he was going to wake up from it as fresh as a daisy. After this failed miserably, Jenny decided she’d try to help in her own way.
‘There, there, big guy. I know how you feel. I, too, was raped’.
There was an awkward pause.
Blake broke the silence.
‘When I was a little boy’ he explained with a massive grin on his face ‘my momma had her a miscarriage. Me and Pa thought she’d never be happy again, but you know what? She done got happy ‘gain. And you know what? You can, too, buddy.’
Blake had never loved Blain more than at this moment. Nor would he love him more at any other moment. The reason for the latter was that, unbeknownst to him, he wasn‘t going to see him after today. He was nonetheless happy to be spending his final afternoon with his secret love, who’s mere presence was enough to climax him.
‘Thanks, you guys. But this isn‘t my virginity or some kid who wasn’t even born. This was a God damn malt! And I’ll be God damned if the A hole who stole it gets away with it!’
A moment passed before he continued.
‘You know…. We have to find out who did this! I mean, what kind of madman would this person have to be?!
As Kara and Blake pondered on this question, Jenny had an occurrence of sorts and spoke out.
‘What if it‘s the beach robber, Danny Tanner? Maybe he stole your malt, Blain. Is that a possibility?’
There was a prolonged pause. They were all waiting eagerly to hear what Blain would say. He stood majestically before them with his head turned to one side. His hand was rubbing rather reflectively under his chin. There was some force clearly stirring within him that, they sensed, he was on the verge of identifying: something in him burning deeply. In fact, it had been there since they had left their home. It now suddenly started spilling from out of him. Everything: his past life; the pain; the humiliation; the anger; the callas betrayal-- was all fusing together to transform the chemical workings of his already unstable psyche into something frighteningly unknown, even to him. The phrase “they’ll pay” raced repeatedly through his mind. As if the situation couldn’t be more volatile, the notion that a widowed father might have stolen his malt had set him in a frenzy. He wanting intensely to believe this was his present situation. He needed this to be his reason; his outlet to vent all his pent up agitation. Somehow he was going to unleash the fury within him and quickly plotted a twisted scheme against Danny Tanner, whom, in his heart, he had long ago judged to be guilty of hideous crimes.
Chapter 3
Three hours after the robbery, the adult’s found themselves landing on the runway of San Fran General Airport. On their possession was a single photo.
Before they had left, they had searched the beach for about an hour, only to conclude that Danny had probably already fled the beach with his plunder; presumably to go back to his home. However the only information they knew of regarding his home‘s whereabouts was from the footage in the introduction to the TV show Full House. So before they had left for the airport to catch a flight to San Fran they dropped by an internet café and printed off a photo of this home.
Blain and his roommates now hurried out through the airport terminal to hale a cab.
‘Where to?’ asked a male east Indian driver wreaking of B.O.
Blain handed him the photo. After receiving the odd request, the driver laughed out loud in that goofy accent we all make fun of. Searching his memory, the turban wearer then recalled an article he had read in a local entertainment magazine that mentioned the home’s whereabouts. He told the adult’s that “according to the article, the house was located in the northeast section of the city, near a park called Wading Streams.” Blain told him to get a move on it, and they were all on their way.
Half way there, Blain saw something situated on the side of the road-- A particular billboard among the many that were erected along the highway for miles. The billboard shocked him and he told the driver to stop. On the board’s advertising space there was displayed a massive picture of Danny Tanner. His giant eyes peered downward, seemingly to taunt those who drove past. What confused Blain the most was that the Billboard spelled his name Bob Saget rather than Danny Tanner. He eventually deduced, falsely, that Bob was Danny’s stage name. Upon further inspection of the sign, he subsequently saw that it was advertising a comedy show of Bob’s, which the sign informed, would be held at the Plaza Hotel in San Fran. The sign didn’t mention the show’s date, however. The adult’s were surprised by the kind of show it was, as they didn’t consider Danny Tanner to be that funny. They considered detouring to the hotel, but without knowing the date of the show they chose to continue on toward the original destination. On the way there, Blain picked up a can of gas and a pack of lighters.
They arrived at the house to find its appearance precisely matching the depiction of their photograph. The place was nestled in a really peaceful, well kept neighbourhood. To Blake’s delight, Willow trees (his favourite species) hung over everything. The young adult’s paid their cab fee, then proceeded to get out of the cab and march briskly up the home’s driveway. Scaling swiftly up the home’s front entrance staircase, they knocked on its heavy maple double doors and awaited a response.
‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!’ shrieked a terrified elderly women.
‘I’m not going to ask you again, you HALF DEAD RAISIN! Where the **** is he!?
The stench of burning human flesh filled the street. The horrible aroma was coming from a chard body that lay in flame’s on the home’s front lawn. It was the lady’s husband, who Blain had roasted alive in attempt to obtain information regarding Danny‘s whereabouts.
Blain, perturbed by the women’s lack of cooperation, slammed his fist into her petite jaw. The jaw’s fragile bone completely shattered, incidentally emitting a crunching noise reminiscing the cracking of a cocoanut. The lady gasped, violently shocked by the enormous impact of the blow, before coughing up mouthfuls of blood and teeth.
‘Answer me, or so help me God!’
He held up the half full container of petroleum over her head.
‘No! No!! BUT Don’t! I DON‘T KNOW ANY DANNY! I‘M JAIN! I’ve lived here all my life! Why are you doing this?!..’
Her desire to continue breathing seemed to suddenly leave her. Jenny held up the lady firmly from behind so that she might not collapse. The women’s frail body hung off her lifelessly.
‘‘You don‘t??’ Blain grabbed her by the mouth. ‘Well, then we‘re just going to have to refresh your memory, aren‘t we, GRANDMOTHER!!?’
He slapped her forcefully. Then, lifting the gas can up over her, he started drenching her entire body. The foul smelling liquid dripped off her chin and white hair. Blake and Kara stood behind, too afraid to intervene.
While the chard body of the women’s late husband was beginning to break apart from the heat of the flames that engulfed it, its smell, which resembled modified fried pork, spewed out two-hundred metres in all directions. Across the street, an African-American man caught a whiff of the flesh. As a result, the man noticed the mayhem outside his neighbours yard and instantly made off running toward the scene. Blain noticed the stranger approaching and alertly substituted himself in Jenny’s place.
‘Don’t step any closer!’ he warned the dark coloured neighbour.
With a firm unflinching expression, Blain wrapped his arms around the lady’s neck as a warning that, if he came any closer, the neck would be snapped. As a result, the afro adorner stopped abruptly in his tracks. He then noticed the corpse laying in front of him on the lawn and consequently fell forward vomiting.
‘That’s right, *****. Spit that **** out.’ taunted Blain.
Multiple sirens blaring off in the distance signalled to Blain that it was time for the adult’s to leave for . He therefore pushed the battered, dirty women onto the ground in front of him, then out the elderly couple’s backyard toward the Plaza hotel he and his subjects fled.
As it was, Bob’s show at the Plaza Hotel was in fact scheduled for this Saturday. On a topic of interest, the comedian was planning on delivering some of his older material, as he had run out of new, original stuff. Backstage, at the hotel, shortly before his performance’s scheduled starting time, the former host of AFHV was talking with the hotel’s stage manager when the young adults burst loudly in through the hotel entrance.
‘Where’s Danny Tanner!’ shouted Blain.
Behind the stage Bob heard the outburst. Suspecting that it was just one of his rowdier fans horsing around, he, as well as the hotel’s stage manager, calmly strolled out onto the stage.
‘In my pants?’ the manager joked… ‘Hop in.’
Blain’s mouth and eyes opened up at the sight of his suspected perpetrator; while every muscle on his body had become abnormally tense.
‘It’s YOU! DANNY TANNY!!’
Bob was startled by Blain’s demeanour. Nonetheless he coolly furrowed his brows and casually retorted with his usual brand of irreverence.
‘I hope not. I heard that dude‘s dying of AIDS.’
Bob’s inferred denial enraged Blain. With hatred radiating from Blain's eyes, Blain pointed firmly toward his transferee and shouted: ‘NO! Stop! You’re lying! I know you’re lying! ….. AND I’m going to rape you!’
Hanging at the back of the room were Blain’s roommates, who were mesmerized by the unfolding drama..
‘Listen, dude’ Bob replied firmly, annoyed at what he just thought was a stupid joke…. ‘Do you want an autograph, or something?…’
Blain was clinically mad. His teeth, as a symptom, were grinding deafeningly. Also, his hands were stiffened like stone and his face had become beet red. With a surge of adrenaline, Blain picked up a steak knife off a nearby dinner table and came charging toward the unsuspecting Bob.
‘WHY DON’T YOU AUTOGRAPH THIS!?!’
With no time to react, Bob gasped as the steak knife plunged into his chest cavity, puncturing his heart fatally. Screaming in excruciating pain, the one time game show host collapsed onto the ground, where his body proceeded to go into shock. As he lay wincing for air, the knife stabbed into him twice more until its handler was finally tackled by the stage manager. Eventually, a group of men from the hotel pinned Blain to the ground.
‘NOOOOO!!’ Cried Blake, who came running. ‘Get off!!’
Three deafening blasts of gunpowder erupted. The hotel owner, who had just entered the room, was holding, in his right hand, a sizzling nine millimetre barrel.
‘BLAKE!!!’ yelled Jenny.
As she slowly approached him her heart sank to see his body splayed out on his stomach upon the hotel’s hardwood floor. A gut wrenching, horrible feeling took hold of her. She fell to the ground beside him in a wallowing stupor.
‘Blake!’ she wept, while tenderly holding his pale stiffening hand. ‘I never got to tell you. I loved you, you
know… I’ve always loved you.’
She draped herself over his body, as her chest heaved with sorrow . Unexpectedly, an arm was resting consoling onto her shoulders. It was Kara's. She was also crying.
Blain was calling out Kara’s name. Reactively, she turned around to find him. He was struggling underneath two men; his eyes bulging out and darting every which way.
‘Yes?’ she nervously responded.
With a bone chilling grin stretched painted to his face he cackled maniacally: ‘Ha! We did it! Ha, Ha! We orphaned Michelle!’
-------
Later that night, at the San Francisco police station, the city’s police commissioner and chief investigator went over the events.
‘This was all over a stolen ice cream?’ asked the commissioner.
‘That‘s what I understand.’
‘I see.’
‘(mumbling)’
‘So, did Bob Saggot steal the accused’s chocolate malt?’
‘I don’t think know. I don't think so. The accused and his accomplices seem to have just become delirious.
Blake was awaiting a court hearing, where he would be sentenced to death for his crimes against humanity. Jenny and Kara would manage to avoid prison, however. Although for Jenny, the wild day would have the last laugh, for, when she had stepped on syringe earlier that day, she had contracted AIDS. Eight years later the virus would finally destroy her body. She died never being kissed. Moreover, after years of being clinically depressed, Kara would decide to drown herself in a tub of Sunkist orange juice. A small memorial service would be held for her in which the only attendee to show was Matthew Fox from Lost.
Back at the Plaza hotel, just after the events that fateful day, room #412 sweltered in abnormally high temperatures. It was still technically being paid for by Bob Saget. Inside the room was its mini-cooler, which was stationed next to a waste bin that was floating out various odors; one of which was a chocolaty scent. The smell happened to be emitting from a cherry coloured cup, which was dripping in ice cream. Inside the cup, upon its outer side, there clung a long hair; slimy, and blonde.
Blain, the dominant male, and the only adult mildly comfortable at present, was resting atop the pile of bodies. As the “The Tool Man” grunted out mildly chauvinistic insights on family life from the TV, Blain burst in with a statement.
‘Thank you our Lord Jesus Christ for having chosen this artistic genius to be your voice of humour!’
There was a sharp silence. Because of the adult’s pagan beliefs, the comment was obviously satirical. It nonetheless still carried with it a certain measure of sincerity, for Blain did genuinely admire Tim Taylor. Still, his roommates continued to say nothing. Their lack of affirmation for his recent commentary was aggravating him tremendously, causing his gallbladder to become inflamed.
Besides this condition he was a physically healthy young man, who carried with him a robust, muscular body; topped with a crown of brown hair so voluptuous it could almost catch Frisbees. Below this mane were his piercing hazel eyes. They invariably were emanating the reflections of streaking rays of starlight, alas even when the stars happened to be hiding.
To exert his presence over his roommates, he began glaring intimidatingly over their faces, which happened to be distributed beneath him at the moment. Because he considered himself to be the cleverest person in the shack, he expected all its inhabitants to habitually support the pronouncements he happened to issue: a rule he made no exceptions to. He first endeavoured to implement this prerequisite six months ago. At the time, the adult’s had just completed a TV test designed to approximate I.Q. They discovered Blain’s results to be the highest: slightly higher than his roommate Kara‘s, and considerably higher than the other two. As a result, Blain consequently found himself consumed with a sense of entitlement to rule as the shack leader, despite the fact that the position of shack leader didn’t exist at the time. Nevertheless he eventually succeeded in attaining the aforementioned position and, as a subsequent ramification, became viewed, by his roommates, as something of a dictator.
As the clocks reached thirteen, the temperature outside and in was gradually increasing. It was even warmer inside the home, though. With no floors, the adult’s were forced to move about on all but a thin veneer of blue grass. It was separating their feet from the sandy dirt which encased their home’s ground. Furthermore, other than its TV and couch there were only a few other large objects scattered about: An old, rusty tub, half full of water, resting at the southeast corner; along with a single light fixture that hung dangerous over top the tub. In fact, the adult’s didn’t even have a bed or fridge. Most days they would just watch TV and eat the grubs and worms that surfaced up through the ground. Through their glass walls they would occasionally watch the few neighbouring buildings surrounding their property, but this wasn’t even a secondary focus of their interest. Their world existed within their glass walls, and, for as long as they could remember, it always had.
Jenny, who was twenty-five years old and rather beastly figured, gazed out through the south wall. Suddenly she started choking up something. It was her own saliva.
‘Leprosy???’, giggled Kara semi-inquiringly.
‘You wish, slut.’ coarsely snapped back the broad shouldered brunette.
Kara was peeling a fungal growth from off her slender, sleek physique. Ironically, the growth resembled leprosy, which happened to contrast sharply with her disturbingly blue eyes and charmingly antiquely button nose.
During the past few months, her bacterial infection had slowly spread from her waist downward-- gradually yet steadily worsening. The illness’s genesis could be traced back to a bout of madness she had experienced a year ago, which itself had been triggered by an insensitive remark made by one of her roommates. The episode’s eventual climax materialized in the form of Kara literally throwing her corporeal self into the adult’s rusty bathtub, at the time filled to its brim with decaying Mandarins. There she proceeded to rest for several days. After which, Blain, having finally stumbled upon her, proceeded to drag her body out of the tub’s depths. By then Kara’s body had already begun to infect. In spite of this unflattering incident, she was still greatly admired in his eyes-- Something of which Blake, her other male roommate, who was presently sandwiched on the bottom of the pile of bodies, maliciously envied her for.
Blake was a mild intellectual invalid. Physically, though, he had only a beaked nose of which one truthfully could say wasn’t healthy and attractive. Indeed, most of his features were rather splendid. His lips, for instance, were abundantly moist, with a history of attracting all sorts of females. Nevertheless, he was a closet homosexual.
While he lay under his roommate’s sweating bodies, he watched Blain’s crotch with delight. Blain’s peripheral vision was keen though, and thusly felt the set of eyes scanning his endowment. Eventually Blake realized that he had been caught and desperately made a flirtatious advance toward Kara in an attempt to hide his true sexual orientation.
‘So, Kara.. Your tits look nice today…’
Blain wasn’t deceived by Blain’s fraudulently heterosexual forward, for he had once awoken to the sound of Blake singing a “Cold Play“ song. For him, this was clearly more than enough evidence that he was gay. Moreover, he also believed he knew how Blake’s recent pass would be received by Kara - ala, coldly. His reason for believing the latter was due to Blake’s poor endowment, of which, to him, resembled a withering peanut shell. He believed the tiny extremity effectively rendered Blake incapable of successfully executing a wooing manoeuvre, no matter who its intended recipient might be (excluding perhaps a slow-witted mountain gorilla).
He had predicted correctly, for Kara ignored Blake’s advancement. (Although contrary to Blain’s presupposition her rejection wasn’t founded on Mr. Johnson’s famously small dimensions. Rather it was because the son of an Irishman often made, what in her opinion were, indirect and slighting remarks toward her late father).
While being smothered by Jenny’s rather soft backside, Kara tried not to think of Blake, who’s mere presence was often enough to rekindle specific memories from her depressing youth. However her efforts proved futile, for the aforementioned scant, once uttered by Blake, surfaced suddenly to her consciousness. She sighed aloud as a direct result. A familiar feeling of sorrow, that had been eating away at her interminably for the last twelve years, was clasping at her once again. The primary source of this deleterious mixture of emotions was her own recollection of her troubled youth, of which presently played centre stage in her mind.
In the present vision, two large men were taking the bend of a busy street; a street where her father was standing. Her father was standing around the bend, completely unaware the two men were approaching. The native New Yorker, who worked as a traveling door to door salesman for many years peddling “oranges” to peoples all across the state, was spanning his usual dirty Bronx territory now. The two large men, who were fashioning flashy blue suits and diamond studded nose rings, continued to approach him. Finally, outside a liquor store, they surrounded him, much to her father’s surprise. Holding out tire irons in their hands, they demanded the salesman hand over his stash of oranges. When he politely declined, the men proceeded to strike him one hundred and twelve times over his lower body. Bleeding to death, his assaulters collected their booty and fled the crime scene.…. Kara’s flashback was fleeting and suddenly floated away like a dispersing cloud. In respect to what had transpired that day, the aforementioned details were all she could recall.
Soon after her father’s death, she had begun ritualistically sleeping with oranges in sacrosanct of his memory, in an effort to lessen the sting of her crippling loss. Strangely, no one had told her that her father’s oranges had actually been a front in trafficking Columbian crack-cocaine. Irrespective, the popular Florida export came hitherto to hold a tremendous amount of sentiment to her. Any criticisms of the delicious pocket snack now bothered her immensely. Blake didn’t realize this and frequently condemned the citrus species; describing the thing to be- for his experience- “unwarrantedly pulpy.”
‘Yeah, if you‘re into microscopic nipples,’ defensively barked out Jenny, in response to Blake‘s remark.
Secretly she loved him. The girl would often even hide under his bed and watch him change his knickers. Whenever she did this, she had the custom of rubbing her knees together in a counter-clock motion. The reason for the latter being that, when she was fourteen, a persuasive man had told her that the unorthodox act possessed with it time traveling powers. Although she didn’t understand the science behind time travel, she came to be a firm believer. Recently she had taken up the practice again in the hopes of traveling back in time to prevent a particular calamity from befalling her love Blake, who had, as a direct result of this disaster, incurred a partial intellectual handicap.
The sun, meanwhile, was continuing to slam the adults with unseasonably high degrees of heat. Having no air-conditioning, Blain instinctively knew he and his subjects (a label he attached to his roommates shortly after becoming shack leader) would probably soon have to leave their glass cage.
It had been more than four years since the adult’s last left their glass walls. They didn’t know why, but until today they had always considered the notion of “leaving” to be taboo. They, moreover, remembered nothing about what their lives were like before moving in; though they believed the missing passage of time was most likely forgotten for good reason.
However the intolerable climate was too much for them to bare, and despite none of them possessing any footwear (which made for potentially HIV infectious outdoor strolls), Blain finally decided that they would all leave.
The first destination to occur to him was the local beach. He immediately convinced himself that this would be the best option. Too haughty, however, to articulate this proposition plainly, he alternatively came out with an ambiguous insinuation; therein vaguely outlining his desire.
‘It’s hot. Sand and creams. Let’s go.’
Kara somehow managed to infer the muttered demand. But before endorsing the idea, something came to her mind and she spoke up.
‘What about that robber? Danny- I think his name is. I heard he’s still on the loose.’
She was alluding to a beach robber she and her roommates had learnt of two weeks ago in watching a Crime Stoppers public notice. The notice showed the thief’s face- albeit only partially and blurrily. Immediately the adults identified it as belonging to Danny Tanner of Full House, unaware that he was fictitious. Nevertheless, they subsequently embraced their theory, later even joking amongst themselves on “how terrifying it would be if they were to ever encounter “Danny the praying Mantas” (a crime alias they had quickly assigned him). Blain actually took the fantasy seriously, however, and was extremely frightened by the prospect of it.
‘Yeah’ Blain came back, a little annoyed by Kara‘s lack of enthusiasm for his proposition. ‘But we‘re going anyway.’
Jenny slithered off the couch and plopped out onto the floor beneath her. With a stupid look on her podgy face, she stood up and faced her roommates.
‘Ummmm!’
She went on.
‘And the last one there has to rub sunscreen over everybody‘s backs!!’
Darting recklessly and sporadically toward the home’s only door, she failed to notice a blanket lying on the ground, and consequently became deeply entangled in the thing. Her balance became compromised and she then flew through the air, crashing headfirst through the north wall. The plain’s advertised “unbreakable glass” had lied. When Jenny’s roommates (who were now utterly frantic) inquired about her wellbeing, Jenny pleaded- while bleeding out profusely on the ground- to be fine and hastily got up off the ground, brushed the shards of glass off of her pink muumuu, and then reminded her roommates of her earlier challenge to them. Reactively, they each excitedly grabbed some towels and lotions, and, in a desperate effort not to be last one on the beach, hurried out though their broken north wall; out into the world they had for years been to hesitant to enter.
Chapter 2
Three and a half years ago, on a muggy Christmas Eve afternoon, inside a U.S Postal service office, Blain, Kara, Blake, and Jenny were all selling stamps and marking packages for the modest wage of eight dollars an hour. At the time, all the employees were being called in to the head office to supposedly receive their bonuses. Unconventionally, the four young adults were all called to come in together. When upon being told that they were being let go, the adult’s were horrified and began threatening their former postal workers with murder and rape. The postal management became worried of another post office Christmas blood bath on their hands, and accordingly instructed their security guards to knock the livid adults unconscious with paper punchers, as a precautionary measure. With the adult’s passed out, management then injected a green serum into the adult’s necks, concurringly erasing the past five years from their memory. After finally coming to, the recently fired adult’s were then instructed, by management, to purchase a tiny plot of land on which to construct a glass shack; in which, they were told, they were to reside in for the remainder of their lives.
As the adults sprinted along a dirty alleyway toward the beach, tiny fragments of these painful memories came back to them. The rate of information returning, however was extremely slow, and thus the puzzle pieces couldn‘t yet be comprehended.
For Blake, the only matter of consideration was his involvement in their daring adventure. And after exiting the alleyway, he sprinted across a vacant parking lot alongside Jenny, who was uttering a sharp yelp.
She had stepped on a discarded syringe. A strange tingle now coursed through her ankle. Despite the pain, she kept on running. Blake had already instinctively jerked his head around to investigate the noise. His breathing was rapidly speeding up. This meant he would soon have to stop running. He had reached his lung’s exertion limits only once in his life. It had happened three years from this day, during one of his many scraps with Kara. After their physical altercation, several minutes passed where he was unable breath. Though Jenny eventually resuscitated him, the deprivation of oxygen to his brain during this period caused him permanent neural damage. Amazingly, that was the first and only time he suffered an asthma attack. But as a result, he was now very conscious of how he manages his pace breathing.
They arrived in a huff onto the white hot sandy beaches. A sense of satisfaction overtook them. In celebrating, they began emulating the behaviour of ones demon possessed; convulsing and rolling atop the sandy beaches- in the process foolishly clipping a number of people who were trying to tan peacefully. This sensation quickly passed over them.
Bulldozing through scores of ugly people, they now found themselves standing on the outskirts of a foot court. They began studying the various restaurant stalls that decorated the area. Parents and children (presumably the parent‘s) were passing in and out of the adult’s visual perspectives. The parent’s children appeared to be murmuring over the choices they had made in selecting flavours of ice cream for their ice cream cones, as if they were painfully unsure over whether or not they had made the right decisions. “Was butterscotch really the best move”, some children perhaps second guessed. The parent’s were contemplating ice cream as well, for the searing sun shone intensely down on everyone at the junction. And to congest the food court further, it just so happened to be the only place near any practical dispersions of shade.
‘Okay. It‘s time to put on sunscreen,’ Blain barked out authoritatively.
Kara had been the last to arrive to the beach. She couldn’t help but visualize Jenny’s acne covered back.
Inevitably she would be soon lathering it in creams. With great difficulty she tried not to vomit.
‘Do me now!’ demanded Jenny, in a mini tantrum.
Jenny had started undressing when she happened to notice a nearby sign. As she read it, a cloudy remnant of a vision of herself as a San Diego bi-weekly circulation newspaper carrier appeared in her mind‘s eye.
She saw an older man- a regular customer of hers. He was standing rather comfortably at his front door wearing but a light robe, and inviting her into his home. Just fourteen, the young Jenny decided, albeit hesitantly, to accept his invitation. Upon openly revealing her fascination for zoology, the man unexpectedly started enthusiastically describing his personal ideology on a universal ethical standard of treatment for animals: referencing a law he believed ought to be gotten rid of. This law was the prohibition of exhibitionism, which he claimed undermined the dignity of the less privileged species that simply couldn‘t afford clothing. He said than an example of this was that animals were being unfairly labelled as sluts and bushman. Jenny was impressionable and eventually became persuaded by the man‘s unusual logic. Then, taking his hand, the man led her into his backyard. There, the two both started removing all of their clothing (supposedly to rehearse a future protest, which, he said, was being waged in an attempt to emancipate animals from future millennia of unrelenting degradation). She still remembered the slogan the two chanted that day. She remembered because, just after they finished chanting it, she was forcefully dragged back into the man’s house wherein
she was raped for several hours.
Until moments ago, she had repressed this incident, as it deeply bothered her. But after noticing a no nude bathing sign erected next to a dairy queen stall, she instinctively began removing all of her clothing (including her silk G-string and push-up under-bra) and chanting, in a mechanic fashion, the persuasive man’s slogan.
“Here‘s something every animal knows: The evil in the world is a result of our clothes“…
Her performance happened to catch the attention of a nearby policeman, who had turned sharply in her direction. After surveying Jenny’s naked breasts and luscious butt, the officer started gesticulating the act of oral sex, by suggestively poking his tongue against the inside of one of his cheeks.
By now, Jenny’s roommates were panicking. When Jenny noticed the cop, intense flashbacks of the persuasive man instantaneously flooded her memory. She saw her abuser’s menacing image glowing faintly in her mind’s eye: his tofu wreaking body aggressively filling a portion of itself into her tender cavities. Unable to continue on in her protest, Jenny sprinted off in the direction opposite the officer; tears pouring down her face. Her roommates, meanwhile, frantically tried to keep up to her torrid pace.
As they ran, a child, cursed with severe autism, hurled a rock in their direction. The granite projectile slammed forcefully into the side of Blain’s skull. Stumbling slightly, he somehow managed not to lose his baring and, with blood streaming down his neck, continue on in the chase. But Jenny was one 32nd Kenyan and as such got far ahead everyone else until she was completely out of their sight.
--------
‘Are you sure you’re okay now?’ Kara asked Jenny, thirty minutes after the incident.
‘I’m fine.’ Jenny replied, having once again repressed the traumatic memory from her adolescence.
While laying partially covered beside a dock on the beach, she watched, in malaise, a tiny group of whisky pale clouds slowly drifted over her face. She and her roommates were all resting stomach down on the coastline’s fluffy sand. Their supple young bodies, presently lathered in sun tan lotion, glistened majestically. The source of their developing tans, the sun, poured down on them with its various rays and waves. Its radiating heat was practically visible. In fact, its emissions were so intense that the adult’s suspected it was taunting them. In fact, it was. It was specifically trying to tell them and, for that matter, anyone else who dared to expose their sensitive hairless bodies on this day, that, in doing so, they were all opening themselves up to brunt its burning wrath. Its anger could be attributed to God, whom it resented for having capriciously assigned it the mind numbingly boring task of sustaining Earthly life. As partial payback, the flaming gas ball was now emitting an especially cancerous production of gamma rays onto His children. Blain offered a suggestion on how the Adults might combat the star’s seething scorn.
Would anyone like a frosty malt?’
His roommates were instantly smitten with the idea; especially Blake.In wake of their approval, Blain promptly got up to make his way over to the nearest vendor.
As he made his way over, he couldn’t help but notice the sunbathers tanning on the beach, who, to him, resembled beach whales. He was puzzled “why these whale-like-people hadn’t admitted themselves to be operated on. Surely, he thought, they wished to lessen the repulsiveness of their appearances.” Almost puking at their sight, he then made a silent vow being that “if ever he let himself go to that extent, he would always wear pants.”
Some time later he returned with four frosty chocolate malts. The beauties were resting stably inside his square cardboard holder. The brand of dairy was rated the tastiest in history by a fat man in a cowboy hat. Blain didn’t realize, but a stray dog had caught a whiff of his inventory. The flea varmint now stalked him intently.
While he had been gone, his roommates had moved to a small, grassy patch of field. The field’s thick lawn, which grew beside a paved walk way, happened to also be lying adjacent to a four foot tall walnut fence. Blain found the view of the ocean from his current prospective to be absolutely breathtaking, and thus, in planning to return to further enjoy the view, took out a malt from the cardboard holder and placed it on top of the fence, where he would return.
When he had set aside his own malt, though, he had noticed a long, slimy, blonde hair stuck to the ice cream’s cherry coloured paper cup. Moderately disgusted by the experience, he squirmed aloud, before reluctantly deciding to temporarily ignore his problem and set off to give his housemates their treats. While he made his way over to them, the stray dog crept cunningly up to the fence. Blake was by far the most vocally appreciative of the malt recipients.
‘Oh, anything for a uncircumcised gentile,’ facetiously welcomed Blain.
He turned around to make his way back to his malt.
‘SWEET MOTHER OF JESUS! IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING?!!’
TO BLAIN‘S ABSOULTE HORROR, HIS MALT WAS NO WHERE TO BE FOUND! With his pulse racing WILDLY out of control and his inflamed gallbladder BURNING like oil, his entire body began tingling like it was a little boy trying to climb a shiny, brass pole. Completely unable to stand up on his own accord, he then collapsed to the ground where he proceeded to curl himself into a tight little ball. After closing his eyes, he then, like an infant chimp, cowardly inserted a thumb of his into his mouth and began sucking violently.
As soon as his roommates saw their authority figure, they immediately rushed to his side. At this point Blain’s body was quavering violently. To console their master, the roommates sat down next to him on the ground and urgently started petting his hair. Despite their best intentions, he continued to sob like an orphaned puppy. So, on that note, they went on to reassure him that “everything was going to be just fine”, though they all privately feared the worst. When his crying persisted they began offering up prayers to their Neo-Pagan Gods that whatever was happening to their good friend, was all just one, big, silly dream, and that sooner or later he was going to wake up from it as fresh as a daisy. After this failed miserably, Jenny decided she’d try to help in her own way.
‘There, there, big guy. I know how you feel. I, too, was raped’.
There was an awkward pause.
Blake broke the silence.
‘When I was a little boy’ he explained with a massive grin on his face ‘my momma had her a miscarriage. Me and Pa thought she’d never be happy again, but you know what? She done got happy ‘gain. And you know what? You can, too, buddy.’
Blake had never loved Blain more than at this moment. Nor would he love him more at any other moment. The reason for the latter was that, unbeknownst to him, he wasn‘t going to see him after today. He was nonetheless happy to be spending his final afternoon with his secret love, who’s mere presence was enough to climax him.
‘Thanks, you guys. But this isn‘t my virginity or some kid who wasn’t even born. This was a God damn malt! And I’ll be God damned if the A hole who stole it gets away with it!’
A moment passed before he continued.
‘You know…. We have to find out who did this! I mean, what kind of madman would this person have to be?!
As Kara and Blake pondered on this question, Jenny had an occurrence of sorts and spoke out.
‘What if it‘s the beach robber, Danny Tanner? Maybe he stole your malt, Blain. Is that a possibility?’
There was a prolonged pause. They were all waiting eagerly to hear what Blain would say. He stood majestically before them with his head turned to one side. His hand was rubbing rather reflectively under his chin. There was some force clearly stirring within him that, they sensed, he was on the verge of identifying: something in him burning deeply. In fact, it had been there since they had left their home. It now suddenly started spilling from out of him. Everything: his past life; the pain; the humiliation; the anger; the callas betrayal-- was all fusing together to transform the chemical workings of his already unstable psyche into something frighteningly unknown, even to him. The phrase “they’ll pay” raced repeatedly through his mind. As if the situation couldn’t be more volatile, the notion that a widowed father might have stolen his malt had set him in a frenzy. He wanting intensely to believe this was his present situation. He needed this to be his reason; his outlet to vent all his pent up agitation. Somehow he was going to unleash the fury within him and quickly plotted a twisted scheme against Danny Tanner, whom, in his heart, he had long ago judged to be guilty of hideous crimes.
Chapter 3
Three hours after the robbery, the adult’s found themselves landing on the runway of San Fran General Airport. On their possession was a single photo.
Before they had left, they had searched the beach for about an hour, only to conclude that Danny had probably already fled the beach with his plunder; presumably to go back to his home. However the only information they knew of regarding his home‘s whereabouts was from the footage in the introduction to the TV show Full House. So before they had left for the airport to catch a flight to San Fran they dropped by an internet café and printed off a photo of this home.
Blain and his roommates now hurried out through the airport terminal to hale a cab.
‘Where to?’ asked a male east Indian driver wreaking of B.O.
Blain handed him the photo. After receiving the odd request, the driver laughed out loud in that goofy accent we all make fun of. Searching his memory, the turban wearer then recalled an article he had read in a local entertainment magazine that mentioned the home’s whereabouts. He told the adult’s that “according to the article, the house was located in the northeast section of the city, near a park called Wading Streams.” Blain told him to get a move on it, and they were all on their way.
Half way there, Blain saw something situated on the side of the road-- A particular billboard among the many that were erected along the highway for miles. The billboard shocked him and he told the driver to stop. On the board’s advertising space there was displayed a massive picture of Danny Tanner. His giant eyes peered downward, seemingly to taunt those who drove past. What confused Blain the most was that the Billboard spelled his name Bob Saget rather than Danny Tanner. He eventually deduced, falsely, that Bob was Danny’s stage name. Upon further inspection of the sign, he subsequently saw that it was advertising a comedy show of Bob’s, which the sign informed, would be held at the Plaza Hotel in San Fran. The sign didn’t mention the show’s date, however. The adult’s were surprised by the kind of show it was, as they didn’t consider Danny Tanner to be that funny. They considered detouring to the hotel, but without knowing the date of the show they chose to continue on toward the original destination. On the way there, Blain picked up a can of gas and a pack of lighters.
They arrived at the house to find its appearance precisely matching the depiction of their photograph. The place was nestled in a really peaceful, well kept neighbourhood. To Blake’s delight, Willow trees (his favourite species) hung over everything. The young adult’s paid their cab fee, then proceeded to get out of the cab and march briskly up the home’s driveway. Scaling swiftly up the home’s front entrance staircase, they knocked on its heavy maple double doors and awaited a response.
‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!’ shrieked a terrified elderly women.
‘I’m not going to ask you again, you HALF DEAD RAISIN! Where the **** is he!?
The stench of burning human flesh filled the street. The horrible aroma was coming from a chard body that lay in flame’s on the home’s front lawn. It was the lady’s husband, who Blain had roasted alive in attempt to obtain information regarding Danny‘s whereabouts.
Blain, perturbed by the women’s lack of cooperation, slammed his fist into her petite jaw. The jaw’s fragile bone completely shattered, incidentally emitting a crunching noise reminiscing the cracking of a cocoanut. The lady gasped, violently shocked by the enormous impact of the blow, before coughing up mouthfuls of blood and teeth.
‘Answer me, or so help me God!’
He held up the half full container of petroleum over her head.
‘No! No!! BUT Don’t! I DON‘T KNOW ANY DANNY! I‘M JAIN! I’ve lived here all my life! Why are you doing this?!..’
Her desire to continue breathing seemed to suddenly leave her. Jenny held up the lady firmly from behind so that she might not collapse. The women’s frail body hung off her lifelessly.
‘‘You don‘t??’ Blain grabbed her by the mouth. ‘Well, then we‘re just going to have to refresh your memory, aren‘t we, GRANDMOTHER!!?’
He slapped her forcefully. Then, lifting the gas can up over her, he started drenching her entire body. The foul smelling liquid dripped off her chin and white hair. Blake and Kara stood behind, too afraid to intervene.
While the chard body of the women’s late husband was beginning to break apart from the heat of the flames that engulfed it, its smell, which resembled modified fried pork, spewed out two-hundred metres in all directions. Across the street, an African-American man caught a whiff of the flesh. As a result, the man noticed the mayhem outside his neighbours yard and instantly made off running toward the scene. Blain noticed the stranger approaching and alertly substituted himself in Jenny’s place.
‘Don’t step any closer!’ he warned the dark coloured neighbour.
With a firm unflinching expression, Blain wrapped his arms around the lady’s neck as a warning that, if he came any closer, the neck would be snapped. As a result, the afro adorner stopped abruptly in his tracks. He then noticed the corpse laying in front of him on the lawn and consequently fell forward vomiting.
‘That’s right, *****. Spit that **** out.’ taunted Blain.
Multiple sirens blaring off in the distance signalled to Blain that it was time for the adult’s to leave for . He therefore pushed the battered, dirty women onto the ground in front of him, then out the elderly couple’s backyard toward the Plaza hotel he and his subjects fled.
As it was, Bob’s show at the Plaza Hotel was in fact scheduled for this Saturday. On a topic of interest, the comedian was planning on delivering some of his older material, as he had run out of new, original stuff. Backstage, at the hotel, shortly before his performance’s scheduled starting time, the former host of AFHV was talking with the hotel’s stage manager when the young adults burst loudly in through the hotel entrance.
‘Where’s Danny Tanner!’ shouted Blain.
Behind the stage Bob heard the outburst. Suspecting that it was just one of his rowdier fans horsing around, he, as well as the hotel’s stage manager, calmly strolled out onto the stage.
‘In my pants?’ the manager joked… ‘Hop in.’
Blain’s mouth and eyes opened up at the sight of his suspected perpetrator; while every muscle on his body had become abnormally tense.
‘It’s YOU! DANNY TANNY!!’
Bob was startled by Blain’s demeanour. Nonetheless he coolly furrowed his brows and casually retorted with his usual brand of irreverence.
‘I hope not. I heard that dude‘s dying of AIDS.’
Bob’s inferred denial enraged Blain. With hatred radiating from Blain's eyes, Blain pointed firmly toward his transferee and shouted: ‘NO! Stop! You’re lying! I know you’re lying! ….. AND I’m going to rape you!’
Hanging at the back of the room were Blain’s roommates, who were mesmerized by the unfolding drama..
‘Listen, dude’ Bob replied firmly, annoyed at what he just thought was a stupid joke…. ‘Do you want an autograph, or something?…’
Blain was clinically mad. His teeth, as a symptom, were grinding deafeningly. Also, his hands were stiffened like stone and his face had become beet red. With a surge of adrenaline, Blain picked up a steak knife off a nearby dinner table and came charging toward the unsuspecting Bob.
‘WHY DON’T YOU AUTOGRAPH THIS!?!’
With no time to react, Bob gasped as the steak knife plunged into his chest cavity, puncturing his heart fatally. Screaming in excruciating pain, the one time game show host collapsed onto the ground, where his body proceeded to go into shock. As he lay wincing for air, the knife stabbed into him twice more until its handler was finally tackled by the stage manager. Eventually, a group of men from the hotel pinned Blain to the ground.
‘NOOOOO!!’ Cried Blake, who came running. ‘Get off!!’
Three deafening blasts of gunpowder erupted. The hotel owner, who had just entered the room, was holding, in his right hand, a sizzling nine millimetre barrel.
‘BLAKE!!!’ yelled Jenny.
As she slowly approached him her heart sank to see his body splayed out on his stomach upon the hotel’s hardwood floor. A gut wrenching, horrible feeling took hold of her. She fell to the ground beside him in a wallowing stupor.
‘Blake!’ she wept, while tenderly holding his pale stiffening hand. ‘I never got to tell you. I loved you, you
know… I’ve always loved you.’
She draped herself over his body, as her chest heaved with sorrow . Unexpectedly, an arm was resting consoling onto her shoulders. It was Kara's. She was also crying.
Blain was calling out Kara’s name. Reactively, she turned around to find him. He was struggling underneath two men; his eyes bulging out and darting every which way.
‘Yes?’ she nervously responded.
With a bone chilling grin stretched painted to his face he cackled maniacally: ‘Ha! We did it! Ha, Ha! We orphaned Michelle!’
-------
Later that night, at the San Francisco police station, the city’s police commissioner and chief investigator went over the events.
‘This was all over a stolen ice cream?’ asked the commissioner.
‘That‘s what I understand.’
‘I see.’
‘(mumbling)’
‘So, did Bob Saggot steal the accused’s chocolate malt?’
‘I don’t think know. I don't think so. The accused and his accomplices seem to have just become delirious.
Blake was awaiting a court hearing, where he would be sentenced to death for his crimes against humanity. Jenny and Kara would manage to avoid prison, however. Although for Jenny, the wild day would have the last laugh, for, when she had stepped on syringe earlier that day, she had contracted AIDS. Eight years later the virus would finally destroy her body. She died never being kissed. Moreover, after years of being clinically depressed, Kara would decide to drown herself in a tub of Sunkist orange juice. A small memorial service would be held for her in which the only attendee to show was Matthew Fox from Lost.
Back at the Plaza hotel, just after the events that fateful day, room #412 sweltered in abnormally high temperatures. It was still technically being paid for by Bob Saget. Inside the room was its mini-cooler, which was stationed next to a waste bin that was floating out various odors; one of which was a chocolaty scent. The smell happened to be emitting from a cherry coloured cup, which was dripping in ice cream. Inside the cup, upon its outer side, there clung a long hair; slimy, and blonde.