Author’s Note: This is my fifth installment of POM skits. My first was regular link, segundo was link skits, third were link skits, and the fourth showcased link in various antics. For this installment, they will all be humanized scenarios. Any título with a Roman Numeral seguinte to it has a skit note associated with it at the end. I hope you enjoy!
41) The King of Rock and Roll [XXI]
Julien strutted down Park Avenue with his manager, Maurice, at his side. He wore a two hundred dollar pair of jeans, a leather jaqueta over a purple slim-fit silk polo shirt, and a pair of black Maui Jim sunglasses. A gold chain hung from his neck and an Asscher cut, fourteen karat gold topaz ring on his right middle finger. Maurice, decked out in a simple business suit, rolled his eyes as he continuously shot finger armas and a wink at the attractive women he passed on his way.
“So, what is seguinte on the agenda for today, Maurice?” he asked in his suave Jamaican accent.
Maurice pulled a small tablet from his inside breast pocket and searched through it for a moment. “We have auditions for a band to play at your club this Friday being held in two hours,” he answered.
“Ah, yes. How many do we have signed up to audition?” Julien asked.
Maurice tapped the screen a couple mais times. “Nineteen.”
Julien opened his mouth to ask another pergunta when a neon violão, guitarra flashing in a window and caught his attention. It was a música store por the name of “Classics.” Julien walked up to the window to look at the records displayed behind it.
“Hmph,” Julien scoffed, “you call this classic?”
Maurice read some of the album names: “Nine Lives” por Aerosmith, “Who Made Who” por AC DC, “Born in the USA” por Bruce Springsteen, “Rapture” por Anita Baker.
“Lame,” Julien added. “Who listens to this stuff anymore?”
Then an album that said “The King of Rock and Roll” caught his eyes. He frowned.
“Maurice, who is this that claims to be the ‘King of Rock and Roll’?” he asked folding his arms over his chest.
“Oh, that’s Elvis Presley. He was one of the most famous rock and roll singers of the mid-1900s,” Maurice answered.
“So! He has no right to claim he is king, especially now! Only I am the king of rock and roll! And dance! And music!” Julien insisted. “Am I not?”
“You didn’t name your club ‘The King of Dance’ for nothing, sir,” Maurice answered indifferently.
“Got that right,” Julien replied smugly. “King of Rock and Roll,” he said with a laugh. “Who’s his wife, the queen of Disco?”
42) It’s All About Appearances
“No, I don’t think so,” Skipper said, turning down yet another suit Marlene had picked out for him.
Marlene sighed with frustration. “Why did you even ask me to help you if you’re going to shoot down all my suggestions?”
“Because you’re better when it comes to finding the right outfit. My superior wants me to look nice for this Veteran’s dia Ceremony, and I just don’t know how to pull off nice,” Skipper answered with his face contorting.
Marlene put her hands on her hips. “You wear nice clothing every dia to work.”
“No, I wear professional clothing to work. Nice and professional are two different things. I mean, if I wore a tux to work, can you imagine how many times I’d have had to replace them?” Skipper argued. “I don’t know how other detectives do it.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Fine. Go take that one off and I’ll find you another one.”
Skipper went into the dressing room, undid his tie and hung it on the hook seguinte to the mirror, and pulled his camisa off. He was about to pull off the calças, calças compridas when he looked at the tie hanging on the wall. He peeked through the dressing room curtains to see Marlene busy thumbing through the different tuxedos on a rack. He smiled and wrapped the green tie around his forehead and looked in the mirror.
He lowered his center of gravity and found a fighting stance. “You are no match for my ninja skill,” he whispered before striking the air with his fist.
Meanwhile, Marlene found a simple black tuxedo with a sky blue tie and pulled it from the rack. Seemed like it would suit Skipper just fine. She walked back to the dressing area to give it to him when she heard him whispering behind the curtain. She stopped beside it and listened.
“. . . make you run crying to your mother!” he whispered. “You will never defeat me! Hi-yah!”
Marlene put her hand over her mouth and tried to avoid snickering.
Skipper silently laughed at himself and peeked through the curtain again to see where Marlene was. When he didn’t see her where she was before, he slowly started to peek his head out to try to find her, and jumped when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned to see Marlene standing there, leaning against the mural that separated him from the seguinte stall.
“You ready to try on the seguinte one?” she said refraining from laughing.
Skipper smiled awkwardly and took the suit without answering, slipping back into the dressing room.
“And the tie goes on your neck, por the way!” Marlene called through the curtains.
“Duly noted!” Skipper snapped. Marlene snickered.
A few minutos later, he came through the curtains wearing the suit, adjusting the tie on his neck.
“How do I look?” he asked turning his body at an angle.
Marlene looked over him. “Looks pretty good. You like it?”
Skipper walked to the wall-to-wall mirror and looked himself from topo, início to bottom. A moment later, a crease formed between his brows and he pressed his lips together.
“What?” Marlene asked coming to his side. “What is it now?”
“Don’t you see it?” Skipper asked.
Marlene looked over him again. “See what?”
“I look like a penguin!” Skipper said turning toward her, gesturing toward the mirror.
Marlene blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I look like a penguin!” Skipper repeated.
Marlene cracked a humorous smile. “I think you’re way overthinking this,” she said crossing her arms.
“Are you kidding me? It’s completely obvious!” he said looking back into the mirror. “I can’t give a speech like this!”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Skipper, you’ve declined every tux I’ve picked out for you. So unless you’re going in your underwear, I don’t know what to tell you except that you look great in that suit and you don’t look like a penguin.”
Skipper sighed indignantly. “Fine. But if I get any comments about it, I’m blaming you,” he said turning back to her.
Marlene smiled and fixed his tie. “Fine with me. Besides, I’d think you’d make a cute penguin.”
43) Friendships That Last Forever
The sino rang and Skipper left his chemistry class and turned right, heading toward his locker down the hall. He switched out his chemistry book for his pre-calculus just as Kowalski strode up to him.
“Hey, how’d the chemistry test go?” he asked as they started down the hall.
“I think I at least made a C,” Skipper said with confidence.
Kowalski laughed. “Loser.”
Skipper scoffed. “At least I have a girlfriend.”
“Pft, please. She has to know you’re her boyfriend first,” Kowalski said with a smile.
“All in good time,” Skipper shot back.
“Only if you plan to live for eternity,” Kowalski retaliated.
Skipper shoved him from the side. “Nerd.”
Kowalski slapped his arm with his history book. “Failure.”
“Weakling!”
“Butt monkey!”
“Street scum!”
“Hey!” a teacher called from a classroom they passed. “Lower your voices, and be mais respectful,” she said sternly, eyeing them over her glasses.
Skipper and Kowalski nodded passively and continued down the hallway.
“So, you wanna grab some snowcones after school?” Skipper said stopping por his classroom.
“Sure. See you later, skunk face,” Kowalski said turning and continuing to his class.
Skipper smiled. “Later, rato rump.”
44) Date Night Revenge
“So, your cousins from out-of-town, you really think we’ll hit it off?” Skipper asked Marlene skeptically as he stood in front of the mirror, fumbling with his tie.
“Of course,” Marlene replied. “They’re very . . . sweet.”
Skipper sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel a little strange going on a encontro, data with your cousin.”
“Well, at least Kowalski will be with you to bail you out of awkward topics of conversation,” Marlene pointed out, stepping progressivo, para a frente and pulling Skipper’s arms away from his neck so she could tie his tie for him.
Skipper cocked an eyebrow. “You think Kowalski’s the best person to come on this double-date? You know he’s still hung up over Doris.”
“Well, I can’t very well have you take one of my cousins out to jantar and have the other sit around sad and alone, can I? Besides, Kowalski needs to consider his options. There are a lot mais peixe in the sea,” Marlene said as she secured the tie firmly, but not tightly, around his neck.
Skipper laughed half-heartedly. “Just try telling him that. I made him promise to just have a good time with someone else for one night, but I don’t know.”
“Well, he’d better,” Marlene said crossing her arms. “He’s the only other person that’s fit for this. Rico’s already got a girlfriend, and Private is too young for either of them. I guess there are other people on our floor that I could ask, but I just don’t think any of them are their type.”
Skipper sighed and checked his tie in the mirror. “All right. So, which one am I taking, again?”
“Stacy. She’s the brunette, can’t miss her,” Marlene said with a smile.
Kowalski came shrugging into the room. He was dressed in his tux and his hair was fixed, but he looked as if he’d just soiled his conscience.
“Kowalski, come on. Can’t you at least pretend to smile? They’ll be here any minute,” Marlene said irritably.
Kowalski glared at her for a moment, and then forced the fakest smile he could muster, teeth and all.
Marlene rolled her eyes as someone knocked at the door. “Whatever. If you want to be the fourth wheel, that’s your choice.”
She answered the door to two ladies roughly her age. One was a dark-skinned brunette wearing a red asymmetrical dress that came just above her knees, four-inch golden-colored stilettos, and a thin gold chain hung from her neck. The other was a lighter-skinned blonde wearing a golden-colored cabeçada topo, início dress of the same length, white wedge heels, and a flower-printed scarf tied around her neck flight attendant style. Both had a matching black strapless handbags and had their hair tied back in a messy knot.
“Cousin!” they cried simultaneously as each took a side of her to hug, beijar the corresponding cheek, and migrating into the apartment.
“Ooh, tall, dark, and handsome,” Stacy said under her breath to Becky looking between Kowalski and Skipper, and nudging her. “Skipper?” she asked quizzically.
“That’d be me,” Skipper answered.
“I’m Stacy,” the brunette said grasping Skipper’s hand and holding it to his lips, “and very single,” she added with a wink.
Skipper awkwardly glanced at Marlene, who was holding her fist to her mouth to try to keep herself from laughing. “So I’ve been told,” he said hesitantly pecking her hand.
“Then you must be Kowalski. I’m Becky,” the blonde said taking Kowalski’s hand and pulling his arm around her shoulders, “also very single.”
Stacy looped her arm around Skipper’s. “I just know we’re going to have so much fun.”
She started leading him to the door, and Becky pulled Kowalski along behind them, who didn’t even have time to think as she did so.
“First, we’re going to dinner. Then we’ll decide where to go from there. Hope you like spontaneity!” Stacy said beaming at him.
“Spontaneity is our middle name!” Becky added.
Skipper glared at Marlene as they passed her, who sweetly waved goodbye with a smile.
“See you later, Marlene!” they said simultaneously as they passed through the door and shut it behind them. “Jinx! Jinx again!” they said as their laughter faded behind the door.
Marlene laughed. “And that is what you two get for setting me up with Fred.”
45) Drop That Beat . . . Somewhere Else
Skipper lay awake in bed, angrily staring at the ceiling. Julien was having another one of his parties down the hall, and he could bet the whole building could hear it. Every time someone tried to call the police, Julien would just pay the fine and mover on as if nothing happened. As far as getting him kicked out of the apartment building, well, Julien was one of their best-paying residents. Eventually, people just dealt with it and kept earmuffs on hand.
Skipper kicked off his sheets and angrily made his way down the hall, his frustration simmering hotter as the vibration of the música grew stronger. He pounded on the door to Julien’s apartment.
“Hey!” he screamed at the topo, início of his lungs. He could barely hear his own voice. He pounded harder and finally someone opened it.
“Dude,” the stranger said looking him up and down laughing, “you’re not joining the party wearing that, are you?”
Skipper narrowed his eyes. “I’d like to speak to your host, please,” he said sharply.
The stranger scoffed and downed the rest of something in a can. “Whatever, bro. I’ll tell him you’re here, but I ain’t gonna make sure he makes it to the door.”
He shut the door and Skipper waited a few minutos until Julien answered the door.
“Hey, Skipper! I’d amor to invite you in, but I have a strict guest list,” he said leaning against the door frame, closing the door just enough for him to fit through.
Skipper shoved his tongue into his cheek and smiled bitterly. “Can you please turn the música down just a little?” he said through his teeth. He actually pictured himself for a dividido, dividir segundo yanking him out of the apartment and throwing him down the fogo escape just down the hall. The música was loud, and no one was paying attention. No one would ever know. He forced himself to decide against it.
Julien laughed. “You’re pretty funny. What is a party without the raging music?”
Skipper clenched his fists at his sides. It’d been a really hard week at work. He didn’t need this, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who was sick of Julien’s discourtesy.
“No one is able to sleep with this blaring through their walls,” he said again through his teeth.
Julien grinned and raised a tainted bottle. “Hey, this is New York, is it not? The city that never sleeps! Don’t worry, we’ll be done a little after one or two. Maybe three. See you later,” he said with slight wave as he shut the door.
Skipper took a deep breath to refrain from ripping the door off its hinges and chasing everyone out with it. He looked at his apartment down the hall and marched toward it. He went into his room and grabbed something from his drawer, and then marched back to Julien’s apartment. He thought about pounding on the door again, but decided it would be a waste of time. Instead, he kicked the door in, catching the attention of those nearby. He didn’t even care if he’d have to end up paying for it. Most of the other people in the large room barely noticed. Good thing Skipper wasn’t a murderer (well, with Julien around, there was a possibility of that changing very soon).
He pushed through the crowd of partygoers in procurar for the DJ. When he found him, he walked up to the turn-tables.
“What’s up, dawg? Got a request?” the DJ screamed over the music, pulling his headphones down and leaning toward him.
“Yes, could you mover away from the table, please?” Skipper shouted into his ear. The DJ gave him a quizzical and hesitant look. “Sir, I suggest you step away from the table,” Skipper repeated in an alarming tone. The DJ’s eyes became fearful and he set his headphones down, stepping back away from the table.
After ensuring no one was close enough to get hurt, he stepped back, pointed his stun gun at the turn tables and fired. The two electrodes latched onto the turn-tables and the entire thing short-circuited. The música stuttered and finally stopped, and the entire building’s power shut down. The partygoers stopped dancing and screamed, all turning toward Skipper with half-angry, half-scared expressions.
Skipper turned to all of them with a warm smile. They quieted. “You hear that?” he asked, his voice echoing through the room. “Silence. It may surprise you that some people actually enjoy it, especially when their trying to sleep. There are many other places you can host a party without keeping people up at night. I’ll even help you look. But for now, you will all be going home,” he said holding up his badge. It proved effective as people started filing out the door as if they were being chased por the plague.
Julien shoved through the people and stormed toward him. “Excuse me! How daring of you to just come here and completely destroy my party! Don’t you know what this does to my reputation?!” he said as the last few people scrambled out the door.
Skipper smiled calmly at him. “Good. Then maybe people will never want to party here again. Thanks for having me, I had a great time.”
46) Baby Talk [XXII]
There was a knock at the door and Skipper answered. Marlene stood at the door holding a baby.
“Um,” Skipper started, eyeing the baby with wide eyes, “I didn’t think it’d been that long since I saw you last.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “It’s not mine, Skipper. I found this poor little guy in a car assento on the side of our hallway. No one was around. I don’t know what to do with him.”
Skipper pursed his lips and awkwardly looked around. “Well . . . last time I checked, I’m not exactly a father. Why did you think I would know anything about babies?”
Marlene shifted on her feet impatiently. “Well, I was thinking you could help me try to find his mother or father. You’re a detective! Please?”
Skipper looked at the baby. “I don’t know, Marlene. I’m not supposed to take unauthorized cases. You should really just take the baby to child services.”
Marlene stepped closer to him. “Skipper, look at that baby. Go on, look at him.”
Skipper took a deep breath and looked at the baby. He had little steel-gray eyes and a bald head almost the shape of an egg. He wore little yellow one piece jammies with an outline of a rubber ducky on it. He couldn’t be mais than a few months old.
“Can you honestly tell me you’re willing to send this little guy through the torture of child services? I know you. You never rest until a case is solved. That’s why I came to you, Skipper. If anyone’s gonna stop at nothing to find this little guy’s parents, it’s you,” Marlene said softly.
Skipper assessed her serious brown eyes and sighed. “All right, Marlene. I’ll see what I can do.”
Marlene smiled. “Really?” she said happily. “Thanks, Skipper. I know you won’t let the little guy down.”
She handed him to Skipper and he took him into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He braced his arm under the baby’s hindquarters and his opposite hand on his back.
“What am I gonna call you?” he asked the baby, as if he could answer. He looked at his little confounded face and smiled. “You are a little egghead, aren’t you?”
The baby coughed spit onto his cheek and Skipper closed his eyes, waiting a moment before looking at the baby again, who was smiling humorously.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Skipper asked as the baby giggled. “Well, just for that, I’ll be taking a chuveiro before getting started on your case.”
The baby put his middle and ring fingers into his mouth and said something in baby gibberish.
“Yeah?” Skipper responded. “Well, same to you, Eggy.”
The baby laughed again. Skipper rolled his eyes and looked around the empty room uncomfortably. Then he looked back at the baby.
“Why am I talking to you? You can’t understand me.” He started walking toward the kitchen. “Let me give you to Private while I shower. No mischief, mister.”
Skipper stopped in his tracks and threw his head back. “I’m still talking to the baby.” He started walking again. “I’m talking to a baby. That’s not crazy. Just a normal guy talking to a baby that his neighbor just gave him. Nothing to see here.”
47) Lion-Hearted
“Aha!” Skipper said from under Marlene’s cozinha sink. “Found it!”
He held out his hand from under the sink, with a little ring on the end of his pinky finger.
Marlene sighed with relief and took the ring from him. “Thank you! You have no idea how much this ring means to me.”
Skipper pulled his hand back under. “No problem, Marlene! Just gotta reconnect these pipes and—ow!”
Marlene frowned as his legs flinched and he pulled himself from under the sink. “What’s wrong?”
Skipper looked at his left arm, where a cut stretched across his bicep, just above the elbow. “There was a nail sticking out of the cabinet,” he said grabbing a rag and pressing it against the wound.
Marlene set the ring on the counter and knelt seguinte to him. “Here, let me see.”
Skipper gently took the rag away from the cut, which was now soaked with blood.
“Wow, that’s pretty deep. You should let me take care of that for you,” she said getting to her feet.
“Nah, it’s fine. It’ll stop bleeding in a couple minutes,” Skipper said standing up and pressing the rag to his arm again.
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Don’t be difficult, Skipper. Follow me,” she ordered walking past him. Skipper rolled his eyes and followed with a sigh.
She led him into the bathroom and grabbed a first aid kit from under the sink. “Sit down,” she said gesturing to the toilet.
“Yes, ma’am,” Skipper replied with a humorous smile as he put the assento down and did as told.
Marlene pulled out a wad of gauze and wet it with a small bottle of alcohol. “This might sting a little,” she warned as she pulled Skipper’s hand away from his arm. She pressed the gauze to the cut and Skipper winced.
“So, he does feel pain,” Marlene said with a half-smile.
Skipper smiled. “Very funny. It’s nothing, it’s just a little sting.”
Marlene continued to clean the cut for the seguinte couple of minutos before firmly holding the gauze to his arm. “Hold this here,” she said. Skipper put his hand over hers and Marlene slipped hers away. “It’s pretty deep, so I’m going to sew it up for you.”
Skipper frowned. “But, doesn’t that mean—”
His pergunta was answered for him as Marlene pulled out a needle and thread. He stood up abruptly.
“Actually, Marlene, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Skipper said gripping his arm tightly.
Marlene held the needle and thread in front of her as she stood up. “But, Skipper, it’ll heal faster if I—”
“No, no,” Skipper insisted with a nervous laugh. “I’ll be fine, I promise,” he said looking at the needle glinting in the fluorescent light.
Marlene huffed impatiently. “Skipper, I really think you should—” She stepped closer to him and he abruptly stepped backward, practically smacking into the mural por the bathtub. She noticed his eyes flitting to the needle and she finally took in his tensed shoulders and his knuckles almost white from gripping his arm.
“Um, Skipper,” she said trying her best not to smile, “are you—”
“Afraid? No!” Skipper said straightening up, trying to relax his shoulders. “I just—don’t think this is necessary,” he insisted.
Marlene finally couldn’t help but grin humorously. “You’re afraid of needles.”
Skipper laughed melodramatically. “That’s funny, Marlene. Me, afraid of needles. I have the coração of a lion,” he insisted with narrowed eyes.
Marlene nodded slowly. “All right. I believe you,” she turned to put the needle and thread back and Skipper silently sighed with relief behind her back. A dividido, dividir segundo later, she turned back sharply, holding the needle at eye level, causing Skipper to stumble back and trip over the edge of the bathtub. He ended up landing flat on his butt in the tub with the curtain coming down on topo, início of him.
When he looked back at Marlene, she was holding her hands over her mouth with her eyes wide as quarters.
“I suppose you find this funny,” he said irritably.
Marlene tossed the needle into the first aid kit and pulled the curtain off him with a smile. “No,” she said offering a hand. Skipper declined the offer and helped himself out of the bathtub. “I just didn’t think, of all things, you’d be afraid of needles.”
“I’m not afraid of needles, okay?” Skipper persisted. “I just don’t like them,” he said looking at his arm again to avoid eye contact. “I think the bleeding is stopping.”
Marlene grabbed a roll of gauze and a wad of cotton from the first aid kit and pressing the cotton to the cut, she started wrapping his arm firmly with the gauze. “There you go, king of the jungle,” she said holding back a snicker. Skipper narrowed his eyes.
“Ah, shut up.”
48) Interest
Julien admired his complexion in the hallway mirror as he smoothed back his thin bleach blonde hair. He frowned when there was a knock at the door, interrupting his mirror time. He went to the door and looked through the peephole. He saw the lobby manager, Alice, outside his door frowning. He sighed passively.
“No one is here! Leave a message!” Julien called through the door. He saw Alice roll her eyes.
“I know you’re there, Mr. Ringtail. You still haven’t paid your dues,” she called back.
Julien narrowed his eyes irritably. “Mr. Ringtail is not here, but if he was, I’m sure he wouldn’t know what you’re talking about!” he called back.
He watched Alice facepalm and pinch the bridge of her nose.
“Please open the door, Mr. Ringtail,” she said sharply.
Julien sighed and pulled the door open with the chain on the lock keeping it from opening mais than a couple inches. “Yes?”
“Your dues, Mr. Ringtail,” Alice repeated, “you still haven’t paid them.”
“Hm,” Julien thought, “dues?”
Alice smiled bitterly. “Broken window. Busted door hinges. Hole in the wall. My escrivaninha, mesa lamp,” she listed.
Julien thought for a moment. “Not ringing a bell.”
“No, but it is ringing a bill. When are you going to pay it?” Alice shot back.
Julien closed the door, unlocked it, and opened it enough to fit his body through. “You know, Alice, I happen to think you’re very much underpaid.”
Alice’s eyebrows rose. “Maybe. What of it?”
“What would you say if I said I could get you a cruise for an entire week, with no cost to you?” he said suavely.
Alice thought for a moment. “Go on.”
“Massages, smoothies, entertainment, delicious meals,” Julien listed.
Alice smiled. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll go add that to your bill, too,” she said turning on her heel and walking down the hall. Julien stepped out into the hall.
“Wait!” he called. “That wasn’t the deal!”
She disappeared around a corner and his manager, Maurice, stepped out of the apartment.
“Well, sir, to be fair, you pretty much just offered to spend three or four times the amount you owe to give her a week’s vacation,” he pointed out.
Julien rubbed his chin. “I guess I wasn’t thinking this through very well, was I?”
49) A Very Special dia Indeed
Dr. Francis Blowhole paced back and forth in his office. It’d been four months since his last encounter with his arch-nemesis, Skipper. It had not turned out in his favor. He needed a good plan of revenge, and had been brainstorming ideas, but so far, none sufficient enough had come to him. His watch read just past nine o’clock in the morning. He needed mais coffee.
When he stepped out of his office, he immediately noticed that his employees weren’t anywhere to be seen. He became annoyed and started his way for the break room.
The break room was dark when he approached it and he cocked an eyebrow. He slowly pushed the cracked door open and cautiously stepped inside. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he flicked the light on and all his employees screamed, “Surprise!”
“What is the meaning of this?!” Francis asked irritably as someone strapped a pointy party hat on his head. He ripped it off and threw it on the floor.
“Happy Birthday, boss!” one of them said.
Francis blinked. “Beg your pardon?”
“Happy Birthday!” another repeated. “Come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t remember you’re turning—”
“Stop! Who told you that?!” Francis asked angrily.
“I did!” said a voice from the center of the crowd. The employees stepped aside and an elderly woman came through.
Francis’ eyes widened. “Mom!” he cried in shock. “How did you find me?!”
“Oh, I’m your mother, abóbora pie,” Ms. Blowhole said pinching his cheek, “you can’t hide from me forever.” She paused. “I only wanted to see you for your fortieth birthday!”
One of the employees held back a laugh. “I knew he wasn’t thirty,” he mumbled.
Francis’ face burned red. “Mom,” he said through his teeth, “did you have to show up at my work?”
“Well, yes, I wanted to see what you’ve made of yourself! I have to say, you make an excellent travel agent,” Ms. Blowhole answered.
Francis smiled bitterly. “Travel agent. Is that what they told you?” he said glancing toward his employees.
“Of course! Now, who wants cake?” Ms. Blowhole said walking to the rectangular box on the table. “There’s a lot of candles to light!”
The employees laughed and Francis felt mais heat rush into his cheeks. One of the employees braced a hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, cheer up, boss. We can’t stay young forever,” he said mockingly.
Francis grabbed his colarinho, colar and pulled his face close to his. “If that woman brings out the baby pictures, you’re the first to go. And I don’t mean to the unemployment office.”
50) Sweet and Sour [XXIII]
Hans sat at the bar in a coffee comprar in Midtown, thinking about how he was going to go about his seguinte plan of revenge against his arch-nemesis, Skipper. He tasted his coffee and decided it needed mais sugar, so he picked up the sugar dispenser and tipped it over his cup, and the sugar trickled out.
It was his fault they were wanted men in Denmark. If Skipper hadn’t betrayed him on that mission infiltrating the Ministry of Open-Faced Sandwiches, then he wouldn’t have had to bring him down with him. Then he left him there to rot in prison for twenty years? Hans was thankful for his contacts that busted him out before he was officially locked up.
He’d spent years trying to find him again to seize revenge. Finally, he found him in Manhattan, New York. His first plan was to try to gain his trust again, try to make him think he’d let what happened in Denmark stay in Denmark. He’d broken into classified records, changed his record to show that he’d graduated from the Police Academy, and even was able to assign himself to Skipper’s unit, where he planned to wait for the moment he trusted him most, frame him, and take over his position as the head of his unit, and laugh in triumph as he left him to rot in jail just like he had.
Unfortunately, the plan went downhill when he caught wind of his plan and had turned the tables on him. Hans had to go into hiding down in Hoboken, New Jersey until he came up with another plan. That is, until a plan ended up on his doorstep.
So, this guy that goes por “Blowhole” shows up on his doorstep with a proposition. Apparently, he was a nemesis of Skipper as well. He was going to have Hans lead Skipper into a trap, steal his memories, and use them to tap into the classified files he had access to, and use that information to wipe out their database at a time they’d need it most—the New York’s Annual Vocals Improv Festival, where a bunch of New Yorkers would gather to show off their range por cantar everything.
Blowhole’s plan from there was to find Skipper’s unit—Kowalski, Rico, and Private—and brainwash them into being evil, stripping them of everything they thought of as good. But, just when he got close, they were able to slip away into the crowd of New Yorkers in the streets during the festival. Blowhole decided to play it off, and had a battle with the team with his surprisingly angelic vocals.
It went downhill from there, since Skipper eventually remembered who he was and came into the picture. They defeated Blowhole, and all the naïve New Yorkers believed it was all a show. So, that plan failed just as badly as the last.
He’d tried getting creative after that, even inventing his own freeze ray, the Hansmatic 9000, he’d called it (which also made a delightful capuccino, cappuccino right in the handle, his own personal touch). Then some broad in an avental made him believe he’d killed her, and he freaked out (he wanted to take vengeance out on Skipper, he didn’t want to bring innocent mother-figures into the whole mess). Then she . . . well, that part was too embarrassing to think about.
He was running out of ideas. He needed a good plan, a plan that he would never see coming. He needed a plan that—
“Um, sir?”
He pulled himself from his thoughts and looked up at the waitress across the counter, who was staring at his cup with wide, inquisitive eyes. He looked at his coffee and realized he’d poured about a fourth of the sugar in the dispenser into his coffee and he jerked it upright. He looked back to the waitress.
“I—I’m sorry, I—”
The waitress coughed out a laugh. “I’ll, um, get you a new cup,” she said taking the cup he had and taking it away.
Hans slid the sugar away from him and propped his head up on his fist. The waitress came back a moment later with a fresh cup of coffee.
She set it on topo, início of a napkin in front of him. “Here you go, sugar,” she said with a humorous grin.
Hans smiled bitterly. “Funny, you should be a comedian,” he said sarcastically.
The waitress held her hands in front of her. “And you should be a azedar, azedo patch kid.”
— § —
[XXI] Donna Summer was an American singer-songwriter during the 70s that became known as the “Queen of Disco.” As a side note, all the albums mentioned are actual popular albums from the segundo half of the 1900s.
[XXII] I obviously got the inspiration for this from Paternal Egg-Stinct. bebês just make us do the craziest things, hm?
[XXIII] A big thanks to link on FanFiction for giving me the inspiration for this skit. You were a big help!
Liked these? You can link.
41) The King of Rock and Roll [XXI]
Julien strutted down Park Avenue with his manager, Maurice, at his side. He wore a two hundred dollar pair of jeans, a leather jaqueta over a purple slim-fit silk polo shirt, and a pair of black Maui Jim sunglasses. A gold chain hung from his neck and an Asscher cut, fourteen karat gold topaz ring on his right middle finger. Maurice, decked out in a simple business suit, rolled his eyes as he continuously shot finger armas and a wink at the attractive women he passed on his way.
“So, what is seguinte on the agenda for today, Maurice?” he asked in his suave Jamaican accent.
Maurice pulled a small tablet from his inside breast pocket and searched through it for a moment. “We have auditions for a band to play at your club this Friday being held in two hours,” he answered.
“Ah, yes. How many do we have signed up to audition?” Julien asked.
Maurice tapped the screen a couple mais times. “Nineteen.”
Julien opened his mouth to ask another pergunta when a neon violão, guitarra flashing in a window and caught his attention. It was a música store por the name of “Classics.” Julien walked up to the window to look at the records displayed behind it.
“Hmph,” Julien scoffed, “you call this classic?”
Maurice read some of the album names: “Nine Lives” por Aerosmith, “Who Made Who” por AC DC, “Born in the USA” por Bruce Springsteen, “Rapture” por Anita Baker.
“Lame,” Julien added. “Who listens to this stuff anymore?”
Then an album that said “The King of Rock and Roll” caught his eyes. He frowned.
“Maurice, who is this that claims to be the ‘King of Rock and Roll’?” he asked folding his arms over his chest.
“Oh, that’s Elvis Presley. He was one of the most famous rock and roll singers of the mid-1900s,” Maurice answered.
“So! He has no right to claim he is king, especially now! Only I am the king of rock and roll! And dance! And music!” Julien insisted. “Am I not?”
“You didn’t name your club ‘The King of Dance’ for nothing, sir,” Maurice answered indifferently.
“Got that right,” Julien replied smugly. “King of Rock and Roll,” he said with a laugh. “Who’s his wife, the queen of Disco?”
42) It’s All About Appearances
“No, I don’t think so,” Skipper said, turning down yet another suit Marlene had picked out for him.
Marlene sighed with frustration. “Why did you even ask me to help you if you’re going to shoot down all my suggestions?”
“Because you’re better when it comes to finding the right outfit. My superior wants me to look nice for this Veteran’s dia Ceremony, and I just don’t know how to pull off nice,” Skipper answered with his face contorting.
Marlene put her hands on her hips. “You wear nice clothing every dia to work.”
“No, I wear professional clothing to work. Nice and professional are two different things. I mean, if I wore a tux to work, can you imagine how many times I’d have had to replace them?” Skipper argued. “I don’t know how other detectives do it.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Fine. Go take that one off and I’ll find you another one.”
Skipper went into the dressing room, undid his tie and hung it on the hook seguinte to the mirror, and pulled his camisa off. He was about to pull off the calças, calças compridas when he looked at the tie hanging on the wall. He peeked through the dressing room curtains to see Marlene busy thumbing through the different tuxedos on a rack. He smiled and wrapped the green tie around his forehead and looked in the mirror.
He lowered his center of gravity and found a fighting stance. “You are no match for my ninja skill,” he whispered before striking the air with his fist.
Meanwhile, Marlene found a simple black tuxedo with a sky blue tie and pulled it from the rack. Seemed like it would suit Skipper just fine. She walked back to the dressing area to give it to him when she heard him whispering behind the curtain. She stopped beside it and listened.
“. . . make you run crying to your mother!” he whispered. “You will never defeat me! Hi-yah!”
Marlene put her hand over her mouth and tried to avoid snickering.
Skipper silently laughed at himself and peeked through the curtain again to see where Marlene was. When he didn’t see her where she was before, he slowly started to peek his head out to try to find her, and jumped when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned to see Marlene standing there, leaning against the mural that separated him from the seguinte stall.
“You ready to try on the seguinte one?” she said refraining from laughing.
Skipper smiled awkwardly and took the suit without answering, slipping back into the dressing room.
“And the tie goes on your neck, por the way!” Marlene called through the curtains.
“Duly noted!” Skipper snapped. Marlene snickered.
A few minutos later, he came through the curtains wearing the suit, adjusting the tie on his neck.
“How do I look?” he asked turning his body at an angle.
Marlene looked over him. “Looks pretty good. You like it?”
Skipper walked to the wall-to-wall mirror and looked himself from topo, início to bottom. A moment later, a crease formed between his brows and he pressed his lips together.
“What?” Marlene asked coming to his side. “What is it now?”
“Don’t you see it?” Skipper asked.
Marlene looked over him again. “See what?”
“I look like a penguin!” Skipper said turning toward her, gesturing toward the mirror.
Marlene blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I look like a penguin!” Skipper repeated.
Marlene cracked a humorous smile. “I think you’re way overthinking this,” she said crossing her arms.
“Are you kidding me? It’s completely obvious!” he said looking back into the mirror. “I can’t give a speech like this!”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Skipper, you’ve declined every tux I’ve picked out for you. So unless you’re going in your underwear, I don’t know what to tell you except that you look great in that suit and you don’t look like a penguin.”
Skipper sighed indignantly. “Fine. But if I get any comments about it, I’m blaming you,” he said turning back to her.
Marlene smiled and fixed his tie. “Fine with me. Besides, I’d think you’d make a cute penguin.”
43) Friendships That Last Forever
The sino rang and Skipper left his chemistry class and turned right, heading toward his locker down the hall. He switched out his chemistry book for his pre-calculus just as Kowalski strode up to him.
“Hey, how’d the chemistry test go?” he asked as they started down the hall.
“I think I at least made a C,” Skipper said with confidence.
Kowalski laughed. “Loser.”
Skipper scoffed. “At least I have a girlfriend.”
“Pft, please. She has to know you’re her boyfriend first,” Kowalski said with a smile.
“All in good time,” Skipper shot back.
“Only if you plan to live for eternity,” Kowalski retaliated.
Skipper shoved him from the side. “Nerd.”
Kowalski slapped his arm with his history book. “Failure.”
“Weakling!”
“Butt monkey!”
“Street scum!”
“Hey!” a teacher called from a classroom they passed. “Lower your voices, and be mais respectful,” she said sternly, eyeing them over her glasses.
Skipper and Kowalski nodded passively and continued down the hallway.
“So, you wanna grab some snowcones after school?” Skipper said stopping por his classroom.
“Sure. See you later, skunk face,” Kowalski said turning and continuing to his class.
Skipper smiled. “Later, rato rump.”
44) Date Night Revenge
“So, your cousins from out-of-town, you really think we’ll hit it off?” Skipper asked Marlene skeptically as he stood in front of the mirror, fumbling with his tie.
“Of course,” Marlene replied. “They’re very . . . sweet.”
Skipper sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel a little strange going on a encontro, data with your cousin.”
“Well, at least Kowalski will be with you to bail you out of awkward topics of conversation,” Marlene pointed out, stepping progressivo, para a frente and pulling Skipper’s arms away from his neck so she could tie his tie for him.
Skipper cocked an eyebrow. “You think Kowalski’s the best person to come on this double-date? You know he’s still hung up over Doris.”
“Well, I can’t very well have you take one of my cousins out to jantar and have the other sit around sad and alone, can I? Besides, Kowalski needs to consider his options. There are a lot mais peixe in the sea,” Marlene said as she secured the tie firmly, but not tightly, around his neck.
Skipper laughed half-heartedly. “Just try telling him that. I made him promise to just have a good time with someone else for one night, but I don’t know.”
“Well, he’d better,” Marlene said crossing her arms. “He’s the only other person that’s fit for this. Rico’s already got a girlfriend, and Private is too young for either of them. I guess there are other people on our floor that I could ask, but I just don’t think any of them are their type.”
Skipper sighed and checked his tie in the mirror. “All right. So, which one am I taking, again?”
“Stacy. She’s the brunette, can’t miss her,” Marlene said with a smile.
Kowalski came shrugging into the room. He was dressed in his tux and his hair was fixed, but he looked as if he’d just soiled his conscience.
“Kowalski, come on. Can’t you at least pretend to smile? They’ll be here any minute,” Marlene said irritably.
Kowalski glared at her for a moment, and then forced the fakest smile he could muster, teeth and all.
Marlene rolled her eyes as someone knocked at the door. “Whatever. If you want to be the fourth wheel, that’s your choice.”
She answered the door to two ladies roughly her age. One was a dark-skinned brunette wearing a red asymmetrical dress that came just above her knees, four-inch golden-colored stilettos, and a thin gold chain hung from her neck. The other was a lighter-skinned blonde wearing a golden-colored cabeçada topo, início dress of the same length, white wedge heels, and a flower-printed scarf tied around her neck flight attendant style. Both had a matching black strapless handbags and had their hair tied back in a messy knot.
“Cousin!” they cried simultaneously as each took a side of her to hug, beijar the corresponding cheek, and migrating into the apartment.
“Ooh, tall, dark, and handsome,” Stacy said under her breath to Becky looking between Kowalski and Skipper, and nudging her. “Skipper?” she asked quizzically.
“That’d be me,” Skipper answered.
“I’m Stacy,” the brunette said grasping Skipper’s hand and holding it to his lips, “and very single,” she added with a wink.
Skipper awkwardly glanced at Marlene, who was holding her fist to her mouth to try to keep herself from laughing. “So I’ve been told,” he said hesitantly pecking her hand.
“Then you must be Kowalski. I’m Becky,” the blonde said taking Kowalski’s hand and pulling his arm around her shoulders, “also very single.”
Stacy looped her arm around Skipper’s. “I just know we’re going to have so much fun.”
She started leading him to the door, and Becky pulled Kowalski along behind them, who didn’t even have time to think as she did so.
“First, we’re going to dinner. Then we’ll decide where to go from there. Hope you like spontaneity!” Stacy said beaming at him.
“Spontaneity is our middle name!” Becky added.
Skipper glared at Marlene as they passed her, who sweetly waved goodbye with a smile.
“See you later, Marlene!” they said simultaneously as they passed through the door and shut it behind them. “Jinx! Jinx again!” they said as their laughter faded behind the door.
Marlene laughed. “And that is what you two get for setting me up with Fred.”
45) Drop That Beat . . . Somewhere Else
Skipper lay awake in bed, angrily staring at the ceiling. Julien was having another one of his parties down the hall, and he could bet the whole building could hear it. Every time someone tried to call the police, Julien would just pay the fine and mover on as if nothing happened. As far as getting him kicked out of the apartment building, well, Julien was one of their best-paying residents. Eventually, people just dealt with it and kept earmuffs on hand.
Skipper kicked off his sheets and angrily made his way down the hall, his frustration simmering hotter as the vibration of the música grew stronger. He pounded on the door to Julien’s apartment.
“Hey!” he screamed at the topo, início of his lungs. He could barely hear his own voice. He pounded harder and finally someone opened it.
“Dude,” the stranger said looking him up and down laughing, “you’re not joining the party wearing that, are you?”
Skipper narrowed his eyes. “I’d like to speak to your host, please,” he said sharply.
The stranger scoffed and downed the rest of something in a can. “Whatever, bro. I’ll tell him you’re here, but I ain’t gonna make sure he makes it to the door.”
He shut the door and Skipper waited a few minutos until Julien answered the door.
“Hey, Skipper! I’d amor to invite you in, but I have a strict guest list,” he said leaning against the door frame, closing the door just enough for him to fit through.
Skipper shoved his tongue into his cheek and smiled bitterly. “Can you please turn the música down just a little?” he said through his teeth. He actually pictured himself for a dividido, dividir segundo yanking him out of the apartment and throwing him down the fogo escape just down the hall. The música was loud, and no one was paying attention. No one would ever know. He forced himself to decide against it.
Julien laughed. “You’re pretty funny. What is a party without the raging music?”
Skipper clenched his fists at his sides. It’d been a really hard week at work. He didn’t need this, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who was sick of Julien’s discourtesy.
“No one is able to sleep with this blaring through their walls,” he said again through his teeth.
Julien grinned and raised a tainted bottle. “Hey, this is New York, is it not? The city that never sleeps! Don’t worry, we’ll be done a little after one or two. Maybe three. See you later,” he said with slight wave as he shut the door.
Skipper took a deep breath to refrain from ripping the door off its hinges and chasing everyone out with it. He looked at his apartment down the hall and marched toward it. He went into his room and grabbed something from his drawer, and then marched back to Julien’s apartment. He thought about pounding on the door again, but decided it would be a waste of time. Instead, he kicked the door in, catching the attention of those nearby. He didn’t even care if he’d have to end up paying for it. Most of the other people in the large room barely noticed. Good thing Skipper wasn’t a murderer (well, with Julien around, there was a possibility of that changing very soon).
He pushed through the crowd of partygoers in procurar for the DJ. When he found him, he walked up to the turn-tables.
“What’s up, dawg? Got a request?” the DJ screamed over the music, pulling his headphones down and leaning toward him.
“Yes, could you mover away from the table, please?” Skipper shouted into his ear. The DJ gave him a quizzical and hesitant look. “Sir, I suggest you step away from the table,” Skipper repeated in an alarming tone. The DJ’s eyes became fearful and he set his headphones down, stepping back away from the table.
After ensuring no one was close enough to get hurt, he stepped back, pointed his stun gun at the turn tables and fired. The two electrodes latched onto the turn-tables and the entire thing short-circuited. The música stuttered and finally stopped, and the entire building’s power shut down. The partygoers stopped dancing and screamed, all turning toward Skipper with half-angry, half-scared expressions.
Skipper turned to all of them with a warm smile. They quieted. “You hear that?” he asked, his voice echoing through the room. “Silence. It may surprise you that some people actually enjoy it, especially when their trying to sleep. There are many other places you can host a party without keeping people up at night. I’ll even help you look. But for now, you will all be going home,” he said holding up his badge. It proved effective as people started filing out the door as if they were being chased por the plague.
Julien shoved through the people and stormed toward him. “Excuse me! How daring of you to just come here and completely destroy my party! Don’t you know what this does to my reputation?!” he said as the last few people scrambled out the door.
Skipper smiled calmly at him. “Good. Then maybe people will never want to party here again. Thanks for having me, I had a great time.”
46) Baby Talk [XXII]
There was a knock at the door and Skipper answered. Marlene stood at the door holding a baby.
“Um,” Skipper started, eyeing the baby with wide eyes, “I didn’t think it’d been that long since I saw you last.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “It’s not mine, Skipper. I found this poor little guy in a car assento on the side of our hallway. No one was around. I don’t know what to do with him.”
Skipper pursed his lips and awkwardly looked around. “Well . . . last time I checked, I’m not exactly a father. Why did you think I would know anything about babies?”
Marlene shifted on her feet impatiently. “Well, I was thinking you could help me try to find his mother or father. You’re a detective! Please?”
Skipper looked at the baby. “I don’t know, Marlene. I’m not supposed to take unauthorized cases. You should really just take the baby to child services.”
Marlene stepped closer to him. “Skipper, look at that baby. Go on, look at him.”
Skipper took a deep breath and looked at the baby. He had little steel-gray eyes and a bald head almost the shape of an egg. He wore little yellow one piece jammies with an outline of a rubber ducky on it. He couldn’t be mais than a few months old.
“Can you honestly tell me you’re willing to send this little guy through the torture of child services? I know you. You never rest until a case is solved. That’s why I came to you, Skipper. If anyone’s gonna stop at nothing to find this little guy’s parents, it’s you,” Marlene said softly.
Skipper assessed her serious brown eyes and sighed. “All right, Marlene. I’ll see what I can do.”
Marlene smiled. “Really?” she said happily. “Thanks, Skipper. I know you won’t let the little guy down.”
She handed him to Skipper and he took him into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He braced his arm under the baby’s hindquarters and his opposite hand on his back.
“What am I gonna call you?” he asked the baby, as if he could answer. He looked at his little confounded face and smiled. “You are a little egghead, aren’t you?”
The baby coughed spit onto his cheek and Skipper closed his eyes, waiting a moment before looking at the baby again, who was smiling humorously.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Skipper asked as the baby giggled. “Well, just for that, I’ll be taking a chuveiro before getting started on your case.”
The baby put his middle and ring fingers into his mouth and said something in baby gibberish.
“Yeah?” Skipper responded. “Well, same to you, Eggy.”
The baby laughed again. Skipper rolled his eyes and looked around the empty room uncomfortably. Then he looked back at the baby.
“Why am I talking to you? You can’t understand me.” He started walking toward the kitchen. “Let me give you to Private while I shower. No mischief, mister.”
Skipper stopped in his tracks and threw his head back. “I’m still talking to the baby.” He started walking again. “I’m talking to a baby. That’s not crazy. Just a normal guy talking to a baby that his neighbor just gave him. Nothing to see here.”
47) Lion-Hearted
“Aha!” Skipper said from under Marlene’s cozinha sink. “Found it!”
He held out his hand from under the sink, with a little ring on the end of his pinky finger.
Marlene sighed with relief and took the ring from him. “Thank you! You have no idea how much this ring means to me.”
Skipper pulled his hand back under. “No problem, Marlene! Just gotta reconnect these pipes and—ow!”
Marlene frowned as his legs flinched and he pulled himself from under the sink. “What’s wrong?”
Skipper looked at his left arm, where a cut stretched across his bicep, just above the elbow. “There was a nail sticking out of the cabinet,” he said grabbing a rag and pressing it against the wound.
Marlene set the ring on the counter and knelt seguinte to him. “Here, let me see.”
Skipper gently took the rag away from the cut, which was now soaked with blood.
“Wow, that’s pretty deep. You should let me take care of that for you,” she said getting to her feet.
“Nah, it’s fine. It’ll stop bleeding in a couple minutes,” Skipper said standing up and pressing the rag to his arm again.
Marlene rolled her eyes. “Don’t be difficult, Skipper. Follow me,” she ordered walking past him. Skipper rolled his eyes and followed with a sigh.
She led him into the bathroom and grabbed a first aid kit from under the sink. “Sit down,” she said gesturing to the toilet.
“Yes, ma’am,” Skipper replied with a humorous smile as he put the assento down and did as told.
Marlene pulled out a wad of gauze and wet it with a small bottle of alcohol. “This might sting a little,” she warned as she pulled Skipper’s hand away from his arm. She pressed the gauze to the cut and Skipper winced.
“So, he does feel pain,” Marlene said with a half-smile.
Skipper smiled. “Very funny. It’s nothing, it’s just a little sting.”
Marlene continued to clean the cut for the seguinte couple of minutos before firmly holding the gauze to his arm. “Hold this here,” she said. Skipper put his hand over hers and Marlene slipped hers away. “It’s pretty deep, so I’m going to sew it up for you.”
Skipper frowned. “But, doesn’t that mean—”
His pergunta was answered for him as Marlene pulled out a needle and thread. He stood up abruptly.
“Actually, Marlene, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Skipper said gripping his arm tightly.
Marlene held the needle and thread in front of her as she stood up. “But, Skipper, it’ll heal faster if I—”
“No, no,” Skipper insisted with a nervous laugh. “I’ll be fine, I promise,” he said looking at the needle glinting in the fluorescent light.
Marlene huffed impatiently. “Skipper, I really think you should—” She stepped closer to him and he abruptly stepped backward, practically smacking into the mural por the bathtub. She noticed his eyes flitting to the needle and she finally took in his tensed shoulders and his knuckles almost white from gripping his arm.
“Um, Skipper,” she said trying her best not to smile, “are you—”
“Afraid? No!” Skipper said straightening up, trying to relax his shoulders. “I just—don’t think this is necessary,” he insisted.
Marlene finally couldn’t help but grin humorously. “You’re afraid of needles.”
Skipper laughed melodramatically. “That’s funny, Marlene. Me, afraid of needles. I have the coração of a lion,” he insisted with narrowed eyes.
Marlene nodded slowly. “All right. I believe you,” she turned to put the needle and thread back and Skipper silently sighed with relief behind her back. A dividido, dividir segundo later, she turned back sharply, holding the needle at eye level, causing Skipper to stumble back and trip over the edge of the bathtub. He ended up landing flat on his butt in the tub with the curtain coming down on topo, início of him.
When he looked back at Marlene, she was holding her hands over her mouth with her eyes wide as quarters.
“I suppose you find this funny,” he said irritably.
Marlene tossed the needle into the first aid kit and pulled the curtain off him with a smile. “No,” she said offering a hand. Skipper declined the offer and helped himself out of the bathtub. “I just didn’t think, of all things, you’d be afraid of needles.”
“I’m not afraid of needles, okay?” Skipper persisted. “I just don’t like them,” he said looking at his arm again to avoid eye contact. “I think the bleeding is stopping.”
Marlene grabbed a roll of gauze and a wad of cotton from the first aid kit and pressing the cotton to the cut, she started wrapping his arm firmly with the gauze. “There you go, king of the jungle,” she said holding back a snicker. Skipper narrowed his eyes.
“Ah, shut up.”
48) Interest
Julien admired his complexion in the hallway mirror as he smoothed back his thin bleach blonde hair. He frowned when there was a knock at the door, interrupting his mirror time. He went to the door and looked through the peephole. He saw the lobby manager, Alice, outside his door frowning. He sighed passively.
“No one is here! Leave a message!” Julien called through the door. He saw Alice roll her eyes.
“I know you’re there, Mr. Ringtail. You still haven’t paid your dues,” she called back.
Julien narrowed his eyes irritably. “Mr. Ringtail is not here, but if he was, I’m sure he wouldn’t know what you’re talking about!” he called back.
He watched Alice facepalm and pinch the bridge of her nose.
“Please open the door, Mr. Ringtail,” she said sharply.
Julien sighed and pulled the door open with the chain on the lock keeping it from opening mais than a couple inches. “Yes?”
“Your dues, Mr. Ringtail,” Alice repeated, “you still haven’t paid them.”
“Hm,” Julien thought, “dues?”
Alice smiled bitterly. “Broken window. Busted door hinges. Hole in the wall. My escrivaninha, mesa lamp,” she listed.
Julien thought for a moment. “Not ringing a bell.”
“No, but it is ringing a bill. When are you going to pay it?” Alice shot back.
Julien closed the door, unlocked it, and opened it enough to fit his body through. “You know, Alice, I happen to think you’re very much underpaid.”
Alice’s eyebrows rose. “Maybe. What of it?”
“What would you say if I said I could get you a cruise for an entire week, with no cost to you?” he said suavely.
Alice thought for a moment. “Go on.”
“Massages, smoothies, entertainment, delicious meals,” Julien listed.
Alice smiled. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll go add that to your bill, too,” she said turning on her heel and walking down the hall. Julien stepped out into the hall.
“Wait!” he called. “That wasn’t the deal!”
She disappeared around a corner and his manager, Maurice, stepped out of the apartment.
“Well, sir, to be fair, you pretty much just offered to spend three or four times the amount you owe to give her a week’s vacation,” he pointed out.
Julien rubbed his chin. “I guess I wasn’t thinking this through very well, was I?”
49) A Very Special dia Indeed
Dr. Francis Blowhole paced back and forth in his office. It’d been four months since his last encounter with his arch-nemesis, Skipper. It had not turned out in his favor. He needed a good plan of revenge, and had been brainstorming ideas, but so far, none sufficient enough had come to him. His watch read just past nine o’clock in the morning. He needed mais coffee.
When he stepped out of his office, he immediately noticed that his employees weren’t anywhere to be seen. He became annoyed and started his way for the break room.
The break room was dark when he approached it and he cocked an eyebrow. He slowly pushed the cracked door open and cautiously stepped inside. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he flicked the light on and all his employees screamed, “Surprise!”
“What is the meaning of this?!” Francis asked irritably as someone strapped a pointy party hat on his head. He ripped it off and threw it on the floor.
“Happy Birthday, boss!” one of them said.
Francis blinked. “Beg your pardon?”
“Happy Birthday!” another repeated. “Come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t remember you’re turning—”
“Stop! Who told you that?!” Francis asked angrily.
“I did!” said a voice from the center of the crowd. The employees stepped aside and an elderly woman came through.
Francis’ eyes widened. “Mom!” he cried in shock. “How did you find me?!”
“Oh, I’m your mother, abóbora pie,” Ms. Blowhole said pinching his cheek, “you can’t hide from me forever.” She paused. “I only wanted to see you for your fortieth birthday!”
One of the employees held back a laugh. “I knew he wasn’t thirty,” he mumbled.
Francis’ face burned red. “Mom,” he said through his teeth, “did you have to show up at my work?”
“Well, yes, I wanted to see what you’ve made of yourself! I have to say, you make an excellent travel agent,” Ms. Blowhole answered.
Francis smiled bitterly. “Travel agent. Is that what they told you?” he said glancing toward his employees.
“Of course! Now, who wants cake?” Ms. Blowhole said walking to the rectangular box on the table. “There’s a lot of candles to light!”
The employees laughed and Francis felt mais heat rush into his cheeks. One of the employees braced a hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, cheer up, boss. We can’t stay young forever,” he said mockingly.
Francis grabbed his colarinho, colar and pulled his face close to his. “If that woman brings out the baby pictures, you’re the first to go. And I don’t mean to the unemployment office.”
50) Sweet and Sour [XXIII]
Hans sat at the bar in a coffee comprar in Midtown, thinking about how he was going to go about his seguinte plan of revenge against his arch-nemesis, Skipper. He tasted his coffee and decided it needed mais sugar, so he picked up the sugar dispenser and tipped it over his cup, and the sugar trickled out.
It was his fault they were wanted men in Denmark. If Skipper hadn’t betrayed him on that mission infiltrating the Ministry of Open-Faced Sandwiches, then he wouldn’t have had to bring him down with him. Then he left him there to rot in prison for twenty years? Hans was thankful for his contacts that busted him out before he was officially locked up.
He’d spent years trying to find him again to seize revenge. Finally, he found him in Manhattan, New York. His first plan was to try to gain his trust again, try to make him think he’d let what happened in Denmark stay in Denmark. He’d broken into classified records, changed his record to show that he’d graduated from the Police Academy, and even was able to assign himself to Skipper’s unit, where he planned to wait for the moment he trusted him most, frame him, and take over his position as the head of his unit, and laugh in triumph as he left him to rot in jail just like he had.
Unfortunately, the plan went downhill when he caught wind of his plan and had turned the tables on him. Hans had to go into hiding down in Hoboken, New Jersey until he came up with another plan. That is, until a plan ended up on his doorstep.
So, this guy that goes por “Blowhole” shows up on his doorstep with a proposition. Apparently, he was a nemesis of Skipper as well. He was going to have Hans lead Skipper into a trap, steal his memories, and use them to tap into the classified files he had access to, and use that information to wipe out their database at a time they’d need it most—the New York’s Annual Vocals Improv Festival, where a bunch of New Yorkers would gather to show off their range por cantar everything.
Blowhole’s plan from there was to find Skipper’s unit—Kowalski, Rico, and Private—and brainwash them into being evil, stripping them of everything they thought of as good. But, just when he got close, they were able to slip away into the crowd of New Yorkers in the streets during the festival. Blowhole decided to play it off, and had a battle with the team with his surprisingly angelic vocals.
It went downhill from there, since Skipper eventually remembered who he was and came into the picture. They defeated Blowhole, and all the naïve New Yorkers believed it was all a show. So, that plan failed just as badly as the last.
He’d tried getting creative after that, even inventing his own freeze ray, the Hansmatic 9000, he’d called it (which also made a delightful capuccino, cappuccino right in the handle, his own personal touch). Then some broad in an avental made him believe he’d killed her, and he freaked out (he wanted to take vengeance out on Skipper, he didn’t want to bring innocent mother-figures into the whole mess). Then she . . . well, that part was too embarrassing to think about.
He was running out of ideas. He needed a good plan, a plan that he would never see coming. He needed a plan that—
“Um, sir?”
He pulled himself from his thoughts and looked up at the waitress across the counter, who was staring at his cup with wide, inquisitive eyes. He looked at his coffee and realized he’d poured about a fourth of the sugar in the dispenser into his coffee and he jerked it upright. He looked back to the waitress.
“I—I’m sorry, I—”
The waitress coughed out a laugh. “I’ll, um, get you a new cup,” she said taking the cup he had and taking it away.
Hans slid the sugar away from him and propped his head up on his fist. The waitress came back a moment later with a fresh cup of coffee.
She set it on topo, início of a napkin in front of him. “Here you go, sugar,” she said with a humorous grin.
Hans smiled bitterly. “Funny, you should be a comedian,” he said sarcastically.
The waitress held her hands in front of her. “And you should be a azedar, azedo patch kid.”
— § —
[XXI] Donna Summer was an American singer-songwriter during the 70s that became known as the “Queen of Disco.” As a side note, all the albums mentioned are actual popular albums from the segundo half of the 1900s.
[XXII] I obviously got the inspiration for this from Paternal Egg-Stinct. bebês just make us do the craziest things, hm?
[XXIII] A big thanks to link on FanFiction for giving me the inspiration for this skit. You were a big help!
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