A Night in Vegas; Oprah Has a ‘Going’ Problem

I just got back from Vegas early this morning. Vegas isn’t some place that I like to visit very often, but my old friend Riley Bravo was in town doing stunt helicopter piloting for an upcoming Andy Dick movie.

Rumor has it that it’s going to be a romantic action film, but none of my sources have confirmed that. In fact, none of my sources have confirmed that Andy Dick is working on a new movie. But I know Andy Dick. And I know that Andy Dick is always working on something, and it wouldn’t surprise me if it were in fact a movie. He’s got a thing for being occupied. See, Andy believes that idle hands truly are the devil’s play ground. He believes it with such reverent ferocity that he’s convinced that if he’s not at all times using his hands the devil will possess them and use them for his bidding. It may sound a little illogical, but Andy is a very smart man, and if he tells you his hands are at risk of being taken over by The Dark Lord, you should take him very seriously. This much I know.

Riley Bravo has for some time now been on the Hey Stupid under the table pay roll. He’s a helicopter pilot and used to do the bulk of our private shuttling. He’s good under pressure, has a steady hand, and is physically incapable of sweating (something about his thyroid, I think). Those are three very important traits to have in a pilot when you’re flying low to avoid radar across the border of Tangier to “acquire” or “rescue” one of E-Rokk’s “long lost childhood sweet hearts”. Let’s face it, when E-Rokk says he’s got a lover in a foreign land, it’s better to just assume that she’s more or less willing to be with him, and has a vague understanding of the details and implications.

He gets very testy and down right territorial when a woman is involved, and I’ve learned it’s better for everyone involved (especially the

woman) to just go along with him. Generally he either returns them, or sends them away with bus fare and a lunch box of sliced apples and their choice of drugs. Though there have been a few that mysteriously vanished. When asked about them he always said “I don’t know who or what you’re talking about. But I assure you if I did, I wouldn’t have back handed her to death for sassing me and fed them to your ferrets.” In part, I believe this, or would like to at any rate, because I know for a fact that E-Rokk hates ferrets. He’s afraid of them, in fact. And he fears none more than my big brown one named Mothra; who is the head honcho of my fesnyng.
Anyway, Riley Bravo has been doing some side work down in the Panamanian jungle for the last few months, so when he contacted me on one of my many cellular devices, promising me that I had to “come down to Vegas and check some shit out”, I was delighted to fast track it down to McCarran to meet up with him. When Riley Bravo promises a “night you won’t forget”, he means it. When I arrived, I noticed that he’d undergone some physical changes, most notably cosmetic surgeries to alter his nose, chin, lips, cheeks, and brow. This, he assured me had nothing to do with an animal prostitution ring in Aruba. “Yeah, right.

Sure. What ever man. Look, who am I to judge?” I assured him. “Exactly.”

He replied. “Anyway, let’s get back to my hotel. There’s someone I want you to meet.” I kind of flinched when he said that, because he kind of sneered when he said that. But with his ‘new and improved’ look, his face took up into this horribly ferocious and terrifying snarl that was rather uncharacteristic of him. I knew then that this would either end very terribly, or very well. But I’ll leave that for you, the reader to decide, for what happened next was so fantastically strange that I can only describe it as: unexpected.
We climbed aboard his Mi-8PS (he insisted that his stunt rig was a loaner, so we had to take his personal freight) and with out getting clearance from the tower took off towards the North side of Vegas. Riley Bravo’s extensive training in radar avoidance and evasive maneuvering has left him with the risky habit of flying very low to the ground, even in residential areas. At times we’d fly over long stretches of desert and the rotor would kick up a tremendous amount of dust so think that I could hardly see through it. “I don’t want any one to be able to trace my flight path” he told me. Yeah. Sure. What ever you say, buddy.
It was dusk by the time our 45 minute flight was over. And as we flew in low over the city, I grew nervous of the judicial hammer of the FAA falling very firmly upon our shoulders. I couldn’t tell which hotel it was that we landed on, but which ever one it was, it was a big fucker. Man, what a site. And the wind! Jesus… the wind was powerful at that height. As we stepped out of the luxury chopper, I saw a man on the edge of the helipad wearing a top hat and tails holding two bottles of champagne and a corkscrew on a sliver serving tray. As we approached, he stiffly bowed at the waist, and said something in Engrish. When he rightened again, I realized that he was a Chinaman. And fuck me, was he a big one. He extended the tray towards me and bowed his head slightly.

“Fo’ you, sah.”

“Oh, why thank you my good man.”

I looked at Riley Bravo. “You going to take the other bottle?”

“No. I never drink and fly, you know this. No, my friend, they’re both for you.”

“How could I have forgotten? Riley, you’ve been away for far too long. However, you’re still as gracious and generous as I remember.” I opened the fist bottle, stuck the corkscrew in my pocket, and grabbed the other bottle.

Riley Bravo started towards the door. “Let’s go. We’re on a schedule.” I took a long pull of the bottle, and followed. Keeping the Chinaman in my peripheral vision.
We descended 4 flights of stairs. On the way I commented on the Chinaman, and his stature. Riley assured me that he was ‘cool’ and said that he was standing guard of the chopper armed with an AR-15 as we spoke.

“Fuck, man. I don’t know what kind of shit you’re into, but obviously you’ve made some powerful allies along the way.”

He didn’t replay just then. Instead he went to the door on the landing, cracked it open an inch or two and peered down the hall. I’m not sure what he was looking for, but I guess it wasn’t there, because he opened the door and quickly stepped through it. I wanted to hesitate, but my curiosity was at its peak. Not to mention, I had already drained three quarters of my bottle of champagne and knew the second wouldn’t last very long. I have a thing for cheap champagne. There’s just something about the bubbles that makes me enjoy getting drunk all the more.
It was obvious that we were on one of the penthouse floors, because on either side of the hallway, which was a good three hundred feet long, there were only 3 doors. Not to mention, there were no cameras in the ceilings. Wealthy people like their privacy, and Vegas knows how to treat wealthy people. The third door on the on our right was our destination, and as came upon it Riley turned to me just before he knocked.

He said “Yes, Nick. I have made many allies over the past few months. A lot of them are very powerful; very mighty, indeed. But none,”

he paused and rapped on the door “none, more powerful than the one you are about to meet.”
There was hardly any pause at all between his knocking and the door swinging open. Apparently we had been expected. The room was pretty dark, with only a few candelabras in the far corner by the window. The view was spectacular. You could see everything. All of Vegas was splayed below us for our viewing pleasure. It was truly awe inspiring, and made all the more enjoyable with out the wind that had all but knocked me over while on the roof. My amazement was quickly spoiled, however, as I crossed the threshold and saw who it was that opened the door. There stood Dr. Phil McGraw, wearing nothing but a bath robe and his trademark cheap brown dress shoes. Riley knew my general hatred for the man, and quickly intervened.

“It’s ok Nick, he’s on our side this time.”

“Fuck him! I shall never side with this delinquent! He’s not even a real doctor for Christ’s fucking sake! Jesus, look at you, you opinionated inbred. You’re so witless that you don’t even have the sense to wear the bathrobe the hotel supplies you with. Instead you brought your own! God damn I hate you!”

The quote unquote Dr. hung his head. “No no no. You have it all wrong. I was here for a conference. I’m trying to help people married to hermaphrodites bring some passion back into their sex life. They sent a car for me late last night, they told me I didn’t have time to change…

that I had to come immediately… they said I was the only one who could help.” He then began to sob.

“Well that doesn’t explain why you’re wearing your own bathrobe,

you fucker!”

I looked at Riley, he merely shrugged. I was hopping mad. Not literally, of course. Had I been hopping up and down I would have spilled my beverage, which I raised to my lips and drank heartily. I drank until the bottle was gone, and then opened the other. I handed “Dr.” Phil my

empty bottle.

“Here, hold this for a minute.”

“C’mon nick, he’s on our side, I’m telling you. Just ignore him.

He’s not the one we’re here to see.”

“All right… I’m going to ignore him. But who the hell are ‘they’?”

In between sobs, he spoke: “Th-th-th-the men… the Associates… f-f-f-from Harpo Studios.”

My eyes were wide with amazement.

“Nick,” Riley took my elbow. “Follow me.”
He lead me over towards the window. Off to the right, around a mirrored corner that would have played some wicked tricks on the mind if you were too drunk, was a large hot tub Jacuzzi on a raised floor. The floor was finished with fine Italian marble.

“Classy” I said, and took a swig. “Hey, can I get a fucking beer mug for my beverage?”

“Yeah… Phil, you heard the man, get ‘im a fucking beer mug.

And hurry.” In the darkness my eyes took a minute to adjust. When they did, I saw two men talking worriedly to one side of the hot tub. Riley flashed me a grin. “You ready?”

“Yeah… Man. What a view,” I said. I looked back towards the hot tub, half expecting to see some gorgeous young filly in a micro bikini to greet me with a smile and bedroom eyes. I was too shocked to be disappointed. Because there, before my eyes, amidst the swirling an tumultuous waters of the hot tub that would now and again splash up and over the side, onto the fine Italian marble floor, was the most powerful woman in all of North America, if not the world, Oprah Winfrey. And she was naked.
I lurched back in horror, slipping in the ever growing pool of water on the fine Italian marble floor, and almost spilling my delicious beverage.

“What the fuck is going on?!” I shrieked. “Is this some sort of a fucking joke? Holy dick, Riley, have you turned on me… Is this a set-up?!” I was mortified. So panicked was I that I thrashed about on the floor, struggling for a firm footing so I could hurl myself against a window and pray for the unforgiving mercy of the concrete below.

The two next to the hot tub rushed towards me. I couldn’t tell if they meant me ill, or if they were trying to help, but there was no way in hell I was going to give up the bubblies.

“There’s no way in hell I’m going to give up the bubblies, so just back the fuck off!” I shouted. I had gained some footing, and was now using my feet to push me backwards towards the window, my hand pawing at what ever I could get a hold of to use for leverage… or a weapon. I was approximately ten feet from the window when my hand fell upon a house slipper clad hairy appendage. I looked up.

“Here’s your beer mug, sir.” It was that no good child molesting “Dr.” Phil. I wasn’t sure what to do. The men were still charging me, Phil was looking down at me with swollen red teary eyes, and Riley was calmly smoking a cigarette off to one side of the hot tub. He began laughing.

“Nick, Nick, Nick… you’ve really got to get a hold of yourself, buddy. Calm down and have some more to drink. Everyone here is cool.”

“Dr.” Phil extended the beer mug. It was a real nice one, heavy and solid. He looked at me with these big puppy dog eyes, looking for approval of some sort. With the help of the two men, I got to my feet. I still wasn’t sure about the whole situation. What had me shaken up the most was the fact that through all of this, Oprah was just sitting in the hot tub. She didn’t say a word, didn’t even look in my general direction. She’d just been sitting there with this far away look of longing in her eyes. I snatched the beer mug out of Phil’s hands, figuring some sudden and quick movements would show these people that I had the reflexes of a ninja, and not someone they should fuck around with. I poured the rest of the bottle into the beer mug and handed he empty bottle to Phil.

“Do me a favor and hold this, will ya? And I’m going to need another bottle. You know what, on second thought, forget the champagne.

Go get me some fucking Franzia.” I dismissed him with a quick lunge of the head and shoulders. A threatening gesture meant to show that I meant him harm. He got the message and quickly turned away whimpering “I am so a real doctor… sort of.”

I walked back towards the hot tub, to have a hushed heart to heart with Riley Bravo, being careful of the pools of water on the fine Italian marble floor. Oprah was still just lying there, naked, gazing at nothing in particular. I leaned in close to Riley’s ear.

“Look man, what the fuck are we doing here? And what the fuck’s wrong with Oprah? I mean, it looks like they’ve got her drugged or something. What the hell have you gotten me into?”

“I better let Doctor Alexander give you all the details.” He looked over my shoulder and motioned for the two men to come over. ‘He better be a real doctor’ I thought to myself. The man who I figured must be Doctor Alexander approached us while the other sat on the edge of the hot tub and spoke softly to Oprah.

“I’m Doctor Alexander T. Fritzenbarger. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Fit.”

“Call me Nick.”

“Yes yes, right, of course. Nick, then. I sincerely apologize for any misunderstanding you may have had about our intentions; this business of you falling on the floor. We mean you no harm, I assure you.

You weren’t injured in your fall, were you? It did seem to be quite a nasty tumble.”

He spoke with an air of aristocracy. I could tell he came from ‘old money’. I instantly liked and trusted him.

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m of German descent… you’d be surprised at my resiliency.”

“Ah yes. The Germans are a fine stock of people. I spent some time there, recently, researching the various effects of hallucinogenics on the severly mentally retarded. Trying to shock their system, you see.

Straighten them out, yes?”

I chuckled. “Dr., you’re a strange mother fucker, but I like you. We should hang out some time.” Just then Phil returned with my box of Franzia. “Just pull the bag out of the box and hold the bag,” I ordered him. “I’ll drink straight from the spout. So, doc, what the fuck’s the deal with Oprah over there? And who’s the other guy? And what in the fuck is Phil doing here? He’s not even a real doctor, you know.”

“Ah, well, see, um… My associate, Colonel Putnisch, he’s been in the Russian military for two decades. A real relic, he is. Wonderful company. He’s my traveling companion, you see. I brought him to Vegas so he could see what America is really all about. Poor bastard’s never been out side of Russia. He doesn’t speak a word of English, though, so I couldn’t exactly leave him on his own. He’d have no way to communicate.”

“Of course, of course.” I said.

“Phil is here at Oprah’s behest. It seems she’s grown quite attached to the man, heaven knows why. I guess she felt sorry for him at first, and after a decade and more of him hanging onto her apron strings, he’s become some sort of a comfort object. Like a child’s blanket, if you will.”

Phil was standing beside me holding my “space bag”, as I like to call it, of wine. He seemed entirely unaffected by the real doctor’s harsh words. I suppose he no longer had any ego or pride left to speak of that could be damaged. Not after his ordeal in Texas. I felt a pang of sympathy for a moment, which is rare. Very rare. So I relieved him of the space bag and dismissed him.

“You may go” I said with an irreverent wave of my hand “But I’m not through with you. And the next time you see me, so help me God you better be dressed appropriately. Show some fucking class for once. Now scram.” He quickly exited towards the kitchen area, where I can only assume he was going to “get real” with a gallon of ice cream. I turned back to Dr. Alexander.

“Please, doctor, continue. What’s the deal with Oprah? She looks drugged.”

“Sadly, no. She is not drugged.” He let lose with a defeated sigh and I saw his shoulders dip a little.

“You see, I have been Ms. Winfrey’s medical consultant and often times personal physician for several years now. What began as a very mild, very normal case of urinary incontinence for a woman of her age has, over the years, become a very unusually drastic medical problem. It has gotten so bad over the years that we at one point considered a colostomy bag for her, just so she could continue doing her television program.

However, we’ve found that with several changes of her adult diapers she can effectively carry on much in the same manner as she always has. At least, in public she can. Her home life is in shambles. Why, just last week Stedman was found gallivanting with a girl of rather ill repute.

And this isn’t the first time.”

“I never did like that bastard. But go on.”

“For months now she has been incapable of leaving her house for any other reason than the show. Poor dear, it’s the shame of wearing adult diapers, you know. Quite frankly it’s nearly impossible to keep up with the frequency of her changing. It’s getting to be rather expensive.

And the diaper rash, dear Lord. Why, it’s unbearable for her. The Dr.was getting excited. “She’s been confined to her toilet, man! They had to tear out a wall so they could install a stove and a mini fridge next to it. She has a private nurse, whose job it is to keep her full of fluids through an IV and to make sure Oprah has a constant and fresh supply of soft toilet paper. Oh! God! It’s horrible! To think that it happened to her, of all people! What kind of a God would let this happen!? Could a God in Heaven even exist? I have begun to lose faith!”

I realized that this man was very distraught, and that I was going to quickly lose him if I didn’t get him to compose rather quickly. So I shifted my space bag from my right arm, and cradled it with my left. I looked at Riley, who sensed what I was about to do and nodded in agreement. Taking a deep breath I brought my right arm across my chest and delivered a solid back hand to the Dr.’s right cheek. It was a mighty blow, and he fell to the floor instantly. At first I was concerned that if I hadn’t knocked him out, I had at the very least loosened a few of his molars. But the doctor quickly stood, and having gained his composure again, thanked me and assured me that he would seek the council of a dentist in the morning.

“So, doc, let me get this straight: You’re telling me that Oprah Winfrey, the wealthiest African American of the 20th century, One of Forbes 400 richest Americans of 2004, the person that they refer to as ‘O’, meaning One, as in The One, arguably the most powerful woman in the world… can’t stop pissing her pants? Come on… seriously?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Wow… No fucking way. But um, why, exactly, is she in the hot tub?”

“Well, she’s been confined for so long, she came down with a severe case of cabin fever. She said she wanted to see Vegas again, you know, do some gambling. She wouldn’t let up about it. She said she would drive herself. Stedman called me to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen to reason. I was in Russia, with Colonel Putnisch at the time, so I was very limited with options. What could I do? She was hysterical. I told her that if she just stayed home until I arrived, that I would go with her. How was I supposed to know that she would remember our conversation, let alone hold me to my promise? She was hysterical. I thought she would forget.”

“So why the fuck is she in the hot tub!” I shouted. I was frustrated, and drunk on Fanzia, so my patience was very low. I startled Colonel Putnisch, who, when I shrieked in excitement, leapt from the side of the hot tub yelling loudly in Russian and brandished a very large caliber handgun. I didn’t have time to distinguish the make nor the caliber, as when he leapt up, his feet landed on the wet portion of the fine Italian marble floor and he went down hard. He struck his head against the side of the hot tub and was knocked unconscious. Dr.Alexander seemed unconcerned. Riley was doubled over in hysterical laughter. He’s always been a sucker for good slap-stick comedy and people getting injured. He’s a little weird like that. Oprah just lay there naked in the therapeutic waters.

“Dr., please, you’ve got to tell me what the fuck is going on here. I’m way too fucking drunk to try and even begin to make sense out of any of this. This is madness! The woman is a cultural icon for Christ’s sake. And you’re telling me she’s confined to her fucking toilet because she can’t stop pissing? What the fuck?!”

“Nick, please, calm down. I’m sorry, I was side tracked. I’ll explain. When I returned from Russia, oh, on a side note, that is how Mr. Bravo became involved in all of this. I met him in a Bar in a small village outside of Irkutsk, Siberia. The Colonel and I were sampling some of the fine local wares when,”

“By ‘wares’ I’m assuming you mean booze and hookers.”

“Yes, of course. Anyway, we were… Wait, no! I’m appalled! Why, to think that I would pay women for sex. Goodness… You certainly are a vile man.”

“Never mind,” I slurred. During all of his ramblings I had been repeatedly sucking from my ‘space bag’, and could feel myself sinking lower to the ground. Indeed. I looked down to see what was going on and found myself in a very luxurious chair. It was velvet, the high class kind, with many gold fringes and fine detailed engravings. I realized then that I was shit faced, and found that my attention was rapidly shifting from the Dr.’s story to the exquisite body of the African American Goddess, who was pouring handfulls of water over her sultry hair. I wanted terribly to sink below the waters and have my way with her whisker biscuit.

“Look, doc. I’m fucking hammered, man… I think I’m gonna go take a bath with Oprah. You think she’ll let me fuck her?”

“Dear God, Nick, sit down. You don’t want to do that. Listen, Nick. Just… hear me out.”

“Fine… but I still get to fuck Oprah, right?”

“No. No, Nick, I’m afraid you do not.”

“It’s cool, man, I’m willing to try that golden shower thing.”

“Nick, that bath water is full of urine!” That sobered me up a little. So I lifted the space bag and drank deeply. I didn’t care to respond. Quite frankly, I just wanted to fuck a billionaire. The Dr. continued while I drank. “When I arrived at her home, Stedman told me that her condition had worsened. She had been urinating every five to ten minutes, for up to three minutes at a time. She had become severely dehydrated, and was continually drinking water, just to keep from getting sick. Oh, it was horrible. Due to the amount of water that she was consuming, they had to think economically about the water being used to constantly flush the toiled. So the just cut a large hole in one of her favorite chairs and set it over the drain in her shower. It had been going on for 5 days Steadman told me.”

“Wow… I’m impressed.”

“You see, the reason that she wanted to come to Vegas so badly is because she’s afraid that she’s going to die. She wanted to come here and gamble ten thousand dollars on one roll of the roulette wheel. Getting her here was no small feat. We had to bring her up in the service area in a kiddy pool. God, it was awful. It splashed on the Colonel’s shoes several times. She’s been sitting in that hot tub since six a.m. this morning. Every hour or so we have to change the water. It’s rather disgusting, I know. But what else could we do with her?”

“Fuck… why the hell didn’t you just put her on the toilet again, or in the shower? Man, this chair is fantastic. Hey Riley, we got room in your chopper for this thing?”

“Sorry, Nick. You can’t have the chair. They inventory the room after people leave.” Riley said. He was sitting down in the corner, chain smoking. I had almost forgotten he was there. I looked back at Oprah. My loins were warm with sexual desire.

“Well, we were going to put her in the shower, but she insisted on being in the hot tub. She said something about “When in Rome” and dieing by the sword. She really hasn’t been herself. I’m afraid that this whole, ah… situation has done serious damage to her psyche. What’s even worse is that the casino flatly refuses to bring up one of their roulette tables. We can’t exactly take her down there in her condition; she has millions of adoring fans.”

I looked at the doctor. “Yeah, well shit, doc. That really does suck. So why don’t you just go gamble the ten grand for her? I wouldn’t send Phil, though. You know he’s into fucking people over.”

“Yes, I know. I wish he wasn’t here. He’s simply intolerable.”

“But, Oprah always gets her way. I offered to gamble for her, but she said she had to do it. She said she needed to feel the rush.”

“So basically, man, what you’re telling me is that Oprah won’t come out of the hot tub except to gamble, which she can’t do because you can’t take her to the casino floor, and you can’t gamble for her, so you’re just kind of stuck in Vegas while Steadman is off getting down with hookers? Man. That blows, dude.”

“Yes. That’s correct. I don’t know what to do.”

“Shit. Just do what I do. Get drunk. Here, have a drink of this.” I handed him my space bag. He looked at it like he didn’t know what to do with it, and then reluctantly took it from me. He raised it to his lips and drank long and slowly. It was like he had been crawling across the desert for days and had finally found water. After he had had his fill, which was a surprisingly large amount, I hadn’t pinned him as much of a drinker, he handed the space bag back to me.

“Good,” I said. “Now let’s you and me order up a couple of bottles of Scotch and an escort. We’ll Phil watch as you me and Riley run a train on her.”

“But Oprah”

“Fuck Oprah!” I cut in “You need to listen, and you need to listen good, doc. What you need to do is get good and drunk, see? Just fucking tie one on and let your mind relax. Fuck, we’ll wake up the Colonel and order him a bottle of vodka and teach him swear words in English. It’ll be great. The escort’ll get a bang out of it, I promise.”

“No. Sadly, I cannot. Oprah has been very good to me. I can’t abandon her right now, and leav her alone with Phil. No… I need to call Stedman and try to get her back home.”

“Well shit, doc. That sucks. Maybe you’d have better luck in Reno. Or shit, I don’t know, try Atlantic City. I hear that’s like a poor man’s Vegas. Fuck, they’ll do anything you want there, I bet.”

“Yes… perhaps.”

Just then I thought of something. I turned to Riley, who had quit smoking, and was watching Oprah.

“Dude, why exactly did you bring me here anyway?”

Riley looked at me and chuckled.

“Oh, shit, dude. I don’t know. I just figured you’d get a kick out of it.”

“What!? Are you kidding me?!

“No. I figured you probably didn’t have much going on tonight, so I thought, shit, why not? Was I wrong?”

I’ll admit. He wasn’t wrong at all.

“I’ll admit, you weren’t wrong at all. This situation is… is… Man, I don’t know what to call it. So, um. If we’re not gonna get an escort, can I take a stab at Oprah?”

The doctor sighed.

“No, Nick. For the last time, you may not have sex with Oprah.”

“Ok, fine. But do you think she’d notice if I put my boner in her mouth.

I could do all the work. I promise not to gag her… or bang her head on the hot tub.”

“Riley, will you please take this man from my sight. Truly, he is a most disgusting person. I trusted you when you said he was a man of moral integrity.”

Riley stood up.

“Fine. That’s cool. C’mon Nick. We gotta go.”

“What? Dude, no way. This it too cool. At least let me suck on her titties.”

“Nick, you’re drunk. C’mon. I’ll fly you back to the Hey Stupid HQ myself.”

“All right, all right. Fine. But do you think we can get some more Franzia? Oh, and a hooker?”

Riley helped me to my feet. At this point I was far too drunk to walk, let alone stand. “Sure old buddy. We can get you a hooker. I’m coming back this way any how. Fuck, why don’t we get two? I can have one blow me while I fly.

“That’s always pretty cool.”

“Yeah. Now you’re talking.”

As Riley walked me to the door, Phil was standing there. I couldn’t tell, because my vision was so blurred, but it looked like he had shit in his bath robe. He opened the door for us, and I said “Hey, Riley, hang on a sec.” I finished the last of my space bag and looked at Phil. “Phil,” I said. “Do me a favor… and hold this.”

The last thing I remember is slipping from Riley Bravo’s grip, and landing on the floor in hysterical laughter. The entire flight back to HQ was a complete and total black out. I came to when we touched down on the helipad to a very beautiful and curvaceous young thing giving me head. Riley told me that she’d been down there for the better part of an hour ‘Damn thing just won’t come’ she said. He assured me that she was legal anywhere where Mormons do the majority of the law making. I muttered a polite ‘Thanks, you’re a sweet heart’, grabbed what was left of my second space bag, and Riley helped me to my vault.

“Hey man, it was a blast,” he said as I lurched onto my bed “but I’ve got to get going. We’re set to shoot tonight, and you know how Andy Dick gets when people are late.”

“I certainly do, my friend. I certainly do. Look me up the next time you’re stateside. I have many electronic devices.”

“I will man. You take it easy.”

And with that, he was gone. I whistled for Mothra, my big brown ferret, who was busy devouring one of E-Rokks many role playing game pieces. He just looked in my direction for a second, and turned back to his feast of miniature dragons, robots, and soldiers. I rolled over and pulled the blankets over my head, and quickly fell asleep.

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