Corporate Man is called in to investigate reports of vile, unethical business practices at Great American Business Company. What he finds there just might destroy him (except we all know the ending to The Tragic Death of Corporate Man so it should be fairly obvious that it can't really destroy him, though it can come close).
Enslaved by the Bonus Whores is an all new Corporate Man Adventure Serial. Chapters will post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Monday, April 30, 2012
“What’s this? What’s he doing?”
Tanya shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s done this a couple of times. Just kind of blanks out. Stares off into space for a minute. Never seen him do it for this long.”
“Well, it’s shit,” said The Greed with the boy’s mouth. His voice was noticeably less gurgly. “I was making a point and about to do something really cool and now… What? I just have to sit here like a turd in a toilet, hoping for a flush so I can get on with it?”
“If the shoe fi–”
“Don’t. Don’t even say it. I’ve got scores to settle with you too, woman. It’s just… If we get into now and he wakes up while I’m distracted, I’ll miss my big moment.”
“What a shame,” said Tanya.
“Damn right. I’ve been planning this for a couple of decades now.” The Greed leaned his boyish host body against a store display. “Oh well. I’ll just have to wait then.”
Tanya, likewise, leaned against a shelf.
After a moment The Greed said, “What’s with the freezer bags and the body spray?”
“I don’t know. It was his idea,” Tanya said. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have to wait around either.”
“Looks weird is all.”
“You know what… Let’s just pass this time in silence, shall we?”
Friday, April 27, 2012
Corporate Man became aware of The Greed infestation while investigating Halloween Wholesale Ltd, a company that dealt exclusively in holiday related merchandise. Incidentally, HWL would one day be responsible for bringing color coordinated Christmas lights to Halloween, Valentine’s Day, the 4th of July, St. Patrick’s Day, and Easter. They have yet to crack the Thanksgiving market.
After a merry chase, Corporate Man tracked The Greed into the Jorgeson Bluff neighborhood, one of the largest trick-or-treat destinations in the city.
Back then, when The Greed traveled from person to person, he didn’t invade their bodies, per se. His presence already existed within the host and his manifest-psyche (what would one day become his gelatinous slug-like sewage form) had yet to become a physical thought-form projection of himself, so it drifted superficially from one carrier’s mind to another.
Ironically, he was a slipperier catch in those days, but his host minds were generally quite obvious.
The kid was wearing a Rocket Man Rik spacesuit. It was his third such costume of the evening and he’d been revisiting the houses that gave out full-sized candy bars or lesser candies in fistful quantities. He planned to store the candy and sell it school when everyone had eaten the last of their Halloween goodies.
“What are you supposed to be?” the infected, Rocket Rik wearing boy said.
“I’m Corporate Man,” said
“A hero for capital–” Corporate Man.
“Never heard of you. Your cape looks more like a tie. Should be Nerdman.”
“And you look like a greedy little boy who’s taking advantage of the generous people in this fine, upstanding neighborhood.”
“Shut up, Nerd.”
The white stripes running down the sides of the boy’s space suit glowed a brilliant blue-white that was so bright in the orange, atmospheric haze it made Corporate Man’s eyes ache.
“You aren’t adhering to fair business practices and at such a young age I feel you may never escape corruption.”
The boy’s voice became harsh and garbled. When he smiled his teeth were a dull sickly green. “I get them younger and younger these days. Can’t you see the futility of your efforts, Corporate Man?”
“I’ll give up on the American people when I’m dead,” said
“If that’s what it takes,” The Greed said.
He pounced. His glowing space suit left light traces in the air, his movements becoming a luminous blur. Corporate Man sidestepped and batted the child aside. The boy stumbled and crashed into a mailbox, opening a gash above his eyebrow.
“Is that what you intend to do, Corporate Man? Beat up this small boy? Why don’t you break his nose or fracture his legs to teach me a lesson?”
Corporate Man took a step back and gritted his teeth.
“Oh, don’t think we’re done fighting just because you’re conflicted about hitting me,” The Greed-boy said. He lunged forward, swinging. Corporate Man blocked the punch and dodged a swift kick from little-boy legs.
“Don’t give in. Fight it,” Corporate Man said.
“What on Earth are you talking about,” said Greed-boy as he attempted a leg sweep.
“Life’s not all about money and how much stuff you can accumulate.”
“Oh, dear me. Are you trying to reach out to the little boy I’ve inhabited?” Greed-boy asked. He shook his head. “Pathetic. Simply pathetic.”
Greed-boy charged forward, lowering his head like an enraged bull. Corporate Man spun away and locked his arms around Greed-boy’s neck.
“Fight it, damn it. Fight! Can’t you see that you have more than enough already?”
The Greed-boy struggled, but Corporate Man maintained the headlock.
“All the money in the world can’t buy happiness. You’ll end up isolated and alone.” Corporate Man tightened his hold. “Share. Be giving and generous. That’s the way. You’ve more than enough candy to go around.”
“Hey! Hey, check this out,” a voice called from across the street. “Dude’s beating up a little kid. Trying to steal his candy.”
Corporate Man looked up. A teenager with glowing red hair and a bright skull painted on his face was motioning in Corporate Man’s direction. He wore a black body suit with the bones of a human skeleton emblazoned upon it, glowing in that black-lit blue-white.
“Dude, that’s totally bogus. Let’s kick his ass,” a larger teenager said. This one was dressed like a devil. There were five boys in all. Corporate Man dragged Greed-boy away from the pack and continued his attempts to reach the mind of the child inside.
“Dude! Dick’s trying to get away. After him!” called out devil teenager.
“Fight The Greed, boy. Reject him!” Corporate Man yelled.
“Uh oh, Corporate Man, it looks like you’ve made some friends.”
“Oh shit. Uh… shit,” Corporate Man said, picking up the boy and running. The teenagers broke into a sprint. “Come on kid. Do you think your rocket man guy would be such a greedy bastard? He’d be ashamed of you if he saw you. You aren’t fit to wear his uniform.”
A spasm shook the boy’s body and a loud gurgle belched from his mouth. It smelled like asparagus and wet dog. The teenagers were almost upon them.
“You have to decide. Who are you? The Greed or a space hero?”
The boy’s jaw flew open. Corporate Man twisted away from the gaping mouth, angling it toward the teenagers. A dirty, milky blast of fluid erupted from the boy’s gullet, spraying the angry, teenaged mob.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
The Greed was well hidden this time. Mr. Jones had already confronted several likely host candidates but none of them seemed to house The Greed. Where could he be? From a few scattered memories, Mr. Jones recalled past encounters with this entity of avarice but this creature seemed much more advanced. From what he’d seen so far, each new host seemed to be a platform for The Greed to illustrate just how extensive his influence was; how deeply embedded in the American people he’d become.
So who would it be? Which person here was different from the previous hosts?
And finally, Mr. Jones knew. There was a boy, maybe eight years old, with an armful of toys, filling his mother’s shopping cart. He didn’t seem to care which toy, there were many duplicates in fact, just that he get as many as he could.
Mr. Jones looked around for Tanya and spotted her in the perfume section. She reluctantly joined him when he motioned her over.
“He’s in the kid,” he said, and gestured toward the boy.
“What? No, I don’t believe that. Then he’d be in every kid in the world because they all want everything.”
“Maybe he is. Look at our society. Look at the rampant commercialism in kid’s entertainment. We’re creating a populous engineered to act as hosts for The Greed.”
Tanya shook her head and said, “Uh uh. That’s just sick and wrong.”
“I think I know a way to get him out of the boy,” said Mr. Jones.
“Yeah, I want no part of that.”
“Would you just trust me, I think I’ve done something like this before. Back in the 80’s. You have the bag?”
Tanya held up a box of zippered freezer bags.
“What is that?”
“Bags. You said to get bags.”
“I meant big bags. Extra durable garbage bags. How are we going to–”
“They’re moving, Jonsey,” Tanya said, pointing to the boy and his mom.
Mr. Jones swore and then hurried along after them. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder, and spun him around.
“I know you’re in there,” Mr. Jones said.
The boy smirked and when he spoke it sounded like gravel in yogurt and smelled like rotten fruit. “Of course I’m in here. I was trying to be obvious. We can’t play this cat and mouse game forever, after all.”
Mr. Jones stepped back, a look of concern and puzzlement spread across his face.
“Yes,” The Greed said. “Do you recall yet? Our previous encounters? Or are you still going on blind instinct and half remembered flashes?”
Mr. Jones clutched at his temple, rubbing his eye and the side of his forehead. There was a sharp, panging throb beating through his brain.
“Go on. Procede as you had planned. Let’s play out parts and see how it turns out this time.”
Mr. Jones grunted and fought to clear his head. “You… don’t have to be like this,” he said.
“Yes, yes. And what comes next?”
“I think you’re supposed to appeal to the boy’s sense of valor,” The Greed said.
And then it clicked. Mr. Jones remembered. The light went deep orange and the edges of everything glowed a whitish, violet neon as if lit by a black light.
Monday, April 23, 2012
The tech boys flitted around the Price Killers Discount Superstore like stealth ninjas. They’d located both targets then tailed codename: Corporate Man and codename: Business Woman throughout the sales floor. Codename: Corporate Man harassed several store employees and even a few customers pushing carts, heaped to overflowing, with discount goods. Codename: Business Woman appeared to be… shopping.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Felix was sweating. He hated sweating. He’d once asked his father if beads of sweat might be a good thing, like little body diamonds. His father explained that sweat drops would be akin to cubic zirconium, not diamonds. Felix then ran squealing to the shower and had refrained from strenuous exercise ever since.
He considered closing his shop after the incident with the dirty couple and the… Actually, he couldn’t bear to acknowledge the thought of the thing that had squirmed around his sales floor. But by the time he’d composed himself and come out of the restroom, the store was crawling with sharply dressed tech boys. Felix was horrified that so many people were seeing his business in such a state.
And it made him sweat.
“Copy. We will maintain surveillance but not engage,” said a tech boy wearing a black blazer with pale-yellow elbow pads. He slid his slick, gadgety looking, Post-It yellow phone into the chest pocket of his jacket and made some smart looking hand gestures. Three of the other tech boys snapped to attention and then ran out of the store.
Blazered tech boy glanced around. Was he assessing the situation and deciding what to do with his remaining operatives or was he scrutinizing the condition of the sales floor?
“Alright boys, we need to finish up here, and fast. I have no doubts that we’ll all be seeing some real action and soon.”
There was a burst of nervous hurrahs from the standard tech boys. Then one of them gestured toward Felix and said, “What about him? Do we need to run a battery?”
Felix felt his ass clench.
“He’s not one of ours, but be sure to issue–”
There was a loud crash and a dripping, putrid smelling tech boy with black shorty shorts and a sleeveless, collared shirt of indeterminate color, fell through the cold air return in the ceiling at the back of the store and slammed onto a glass-top counter. It did not break. Felix only dealt in quality.
“I made it out! I’m alive!” shorty shorts said, bounding around the store. Droplets of grayish contaminants flew from fingertips spattering the display fixtures.
“You reek,” said blazered tech boy.
Shorty shorts stopped dancing. His eyes narrowed as he examined the store.
Oh god, even this filthy thing was passing judgment.
“How’d you guys get here?” short shorts asked.
“Duh. In the van,” said a standard tech.
“Then why’d I have to crawl through that corridor of hell if you already knew to come here?”
The tech boy in the blazer stepped up to shorty shorts, leaned forward, and said, “Cause you’re the new guy, newbie. And because it’s funny. Now come on, let’s close it up here and get to where the action is.”
Thursday, April 19, 2012
“Are you positive,” said the woman with far too many teeth.
“One of my scouts just reported from Price Killers, he’s tracking them through the low-price warehouse right now,” a voice full of crackle and static responded
The woman with far too many teeth always used the speaker phone option on her cell phone. She feared the radiation from mobile units would accelerate aging. What she what she had not accounted for was that in her efforts to decipher the garbled speech coming from her phone, she would often scowl. This caused two deep furrows to cut through her brow. Over time this left her with a permanent set of vertical wrinkles.
“Do not engage,” she said, fighting the urge to grin and allow all her teeth to show. “I’ve got the helicopter on stand by. I’m on my way.”
She wasn’t supposed to be using the tech boys for this kind of work, by they were out in the field, nearest to Corporate Man’s current location, and she didn’t want to risk losing him. She wasn’t authorized to commandeer the helicopter either and landing in on the roof of a Price Killers in the downtown area would, no doubt, cause a shit storm. But once she had Corporate Man, all would be forgiven.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Shorty shorts tech boy was crawling again. If he ever got out of this hell-of-endless-vents and recounted his harrowing tale, he’d explain that his courage redoubled when he thought about what his online avatar, Mantech, would do in a situation like this. He wouldn’t crumple up and quit. He’d press on.
Of course, short shorts tech boy would be lying. The thing that actually motivated him into resuming forward movement was the scary, growling sound he heard in the passage behind him which he promptly scrambled away from, mewling and sobbing. He’d also peed his shorty shorts, but he felt confident that no one would notice with all the other foul grimes and jellies that already coated his lower half.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Tanya and Mr. Jones trailed The Greed worm out of an upscale mall complex, into the city streets, and right into a Price Killers Wholesale Superstore.
“We can’t keep doing this,” Tanya said. “Track him, confront him lose him, and track him again. What’s our goal here?”
“I know, I know. But I think I have a plan now. Find the section with the kitchen items. Cling-wrap and tin foil and such. Get some bags and then find me. I’ll locate The Greed.”
“Alright fine, but if I happen through ‘bath essentials’ on my way to find you, I’m getting us a couple bars of soap and an economy sized can of deodorant spray.”
Monday, April 16, 2012
Shorty shorts tech boy was no longer crawling through the endless ventilation system. He was curled up, on his side, whimpering and fetal. The shorts he once took pride in were soaked through with some sort of foul gel. They were no longer a source of accomplishment and dignity, but a mark of amateurish shame.
He sniffled and cried and wished he were back home with his parents, gaming online, sharing adventures with his real friends. His cyber friends.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Felix prided himself on the tidiness of not only his store, but of his personal appearance. He’d inherited the shop from his father and his father had taught him that, in the jewelry business, there was no compromising when it came to appearances.
“Think of yourself like a well cut gem,” he’d say. “Precision and clean lines. Maybe a little sparkle.”
Felix had always taken this to heart. He shaved every morning and then again on his lunch. He had his hair cut once a week. His office contained an extensive wardrobe of fine suits should he ever wrinkle or, god forbid, spill something on himself during the day.
He preferred that his customers share, if not an equal appreciation at least a general tendency toward, neatness. So it was to his absolute horror when he found himself confronted by the extraordinarily foul couple at his counter. They stank like number two and looked as if they slept in buckets of the colonel’s special recipe.
And where had they come from?
The door chime hadn’t sounded in its soft crystalline way and Felix had been Windexing counter displays near the store front when these creatures had suddenly clamored toward him from the rear of the store, babbling about greed and the relief of their hellhole.
Oh god. The horror of that mental image.
Still, a tidy appearance was only part of a good jeweler’s demeanor. Organizational skills, attention to detail, a great sense of style, and a confident, pleasant disposition. Which meant he had to lead with politeness.
“Good afternoon and welcome to Felix.” His father had named him after the store. “I apologize,” he continued, still the epitome of pleasantry, “but I didn’t see you come in”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t have,” the woman said, shooting a dirty look at the even dirtier man.
“Are the two of you in the market for an engaging piece of hand embellishment?” Felix said. He loved that question. It seemed a shame to waste it on a pair he would undoubtedly be asking to leave the shop sooner rather than later.
“I don’t know, honey,” the woman said, “After all this time are you finally gonna pop that question and make an honest woman out of me? Or are we gonna continue with this filthy life of sin?
Felix blushed. It must be the stink and the grime. In all his years he’d never asked a married couple if there were looking for an engagement ring.
“So… what’s your deal?” the man asked, planting himself well within Felix’s bubble of personal space. “These diamonds come from war ravaged regions at the expense of the innocent? Some of this gold fall off a truck? Or are you pushing low-quality merchandise as high-grade jewelry?”
“I never!” Felix said, hand covering his heart as he gasped a shocked intake of breath.
“Well he chose you for some–”
“Oh Corporate Man,” a woman, one of Felix’s regulars, called out from the other side of the shop. She was a leathery, tanning-bed addict, with chemical blonde hair. Her fingers were adorned with large carat rings, the nails long and salon pampered. Though she was far from elegant, she was always pleasant. But today, Her voice was low and gurgly. Felix would have to sanitize any of the areas she frequented to avoid whatever plague she’d had the misfortune to be stricken with. And what was this she was insinuating about him being a corporate man?
“The shop is privately owned. My father–” Felix started.
“He’s talking to me,” the dirty man said.
“Sir, did you intend to visit the optical boutique downstairs or something? Clearly she’s–”
“You see, Corporate Man,” bleach-blonde leather-skin said, “greed exists not only in the proprietors but also in the clientele. This woman has closets full of jewelry, expensive clothes, and all the finer things. She’s never worked a day for any of it and she always wants more, more, more.”
The noises coming out of the blonde woman’s throat were nothing short of nauseating. Felix felt a pang in his stomach and fretted over the possibility of having his neat and tidy demeanor stripped away.
The filthy couple lunged at blonde/skin but she dodged them and dove behind a necklace display case. There was a ghastly chortling noise and a stench that only sewer rates might find appealing.
Felix went green.
A giant, greasy, almost translucent, mucousy, greenish-brown, slug-like, wormy thing streaked across the jewelry store floor leaving a thick, sticky trail. The filthy couple made half hearted attempts to grab the thing and then chased it out the door.
The thought of touching that thing sent Felix into the restroom to be sick.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
The bossman was having trouble keeping his car at an acceptable rate of speed. He prided himself on traveling at least twice the speed limit of whatever roadway he found himself traveling on. At the moment, that would have been sixty miles per hour, but for some reason the teenaged punk in front of him was topping out at thirty-five. Worse, when there was no possibility of passing, the prick slowed down to twenty. The bossman though he saw little beedy bastard eyes in the kid’s rearview mirror, eager to spot the brimming hostility of the following vehicle’s pissed off driver, taking pleasure, no doubt, in any irritation he created.
The bossman wished he had the self control to deny the teenager this joy, but every time a passing opportunity opened up, peach-fuzz would hit the gas and the bossman would reflexively pound the steering wheel. Why did someone to whom pubic hair was still a novelty have a faster car than him? The bossman punched his dashboard. He wouldn’t even be out here driving around if his office wasn’t such a mess. Still, it might afford some benefits. Should a report come through concerning Corporate Man, he would be in a better position to–
The street opened up into two lanes. The bossman swerved into the vacant one and slammed on the gas. His pubescent tormentor matched his acceleration until they caught up to another car. One which happened to be in the bossman’s lane, forcing him to slow down. He glanced over and saw the young boy, and his pack of acned passengers, cackling.
“Asshole!” the bossman yelled.
The teenager slowed his car down, matching the pace of the vehicle currently blocking the bossman’s forward progress. A thunderstorm of abuse rained down across the bossman’s innocent, though not quite unsuspecting, car’s interior.
Monday, April 9, 2012
“Good god, how long is this vent shaft?” Mr. Jones said. “There’s no way we’re still inside the Jolene’s complex.”
“I case you hadn’t noticed,” Tanya said, “I am currently on my hands and knees, crawling through a greasy, foul smelling, bodily secretion. I’m using all my mental energy to convince myself otherwise so I don’t have time for your petty little wonderings. In fact, you don’t really need to speak again until we’re out of this stinky, claustrophobic hell. And preferably… after I’ve showered.
Tanya and Mr. Jones continued on in silence.
Friday, April 6, 2012
The tech boys stormed into the bathroom like a swat team. Each movement practiced to perfect reflective action, their formations models of efficiency, tested in computer simulations thousands of times.
“He’s there,” said one of the boys in the standard, black and pale yellow field tech uniform as he pointed to the slumped D.O.S.
The boy wearing the black blazer with the significant elbow pads, scratched at his stubble-less chin. “They’ve been here too,” he said, “and so has The Greed.”
“How can you tell without running a battery?” the tech boy in the collared, sleeveless, pale yellow shirt and black shorty shorts said.
“Easy. Use your nose. That smell of covetous sweat, dirty money, and exorbitant filth is The Greed’s signature scent,” the blazered tech boy said.
“Oh. Is that what that is? I just thought it meant that someone dropped a deuce,” said shorty shorts.
“That’s because you’re new, newbie,” said a standard issue tech boy.
“Wait,” said shorty shorts, “how did we even know to look in here?”
A standard issue boy rolled his eyes and said, “Easy. Our system monitors all our people in the field. We ran a search for any operative whose bodily readouts were instable. This guy pinged something fierce.”
“Looks like they escaped into the ventilation system,” the blazered tech boy said, pointing to the grating on the wall. Viscous, gelatinous ooze dribbled from it’s horizontal slits.
“Sick,” said shorty shorts.
“Yes. Sick indeed,” said blazer. “In you go, newbie.”
“What? Why’s it gotta be me?” asked shorty shorts.
“I thought we went over this already,” said blazer. “Because you’re new.”
Shorty-shorts’s shoulders slumped. His head fell forward and he kicked the tile floor as he made his way over to the ventilation access; a chorus of jeers and laughter salting his little figurative wounds.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Mr. Jones and Tanya wrenched the D.O.S. from the toilet seat and dragged him, bare assed, out onto the bathroom floor. A trail of foul slime traced his journey along the tile.
“Isn’t this one a real piece of work?” a deep burbling voice said with the mouth of the D.O.S. “Absolutely no consideration for the well being of others. Anything for that almighty dollar. But you know the best thing? There are thousands more, just like him, all across the city. And I can move through them all.”
A terrible gurgling boil sounded in the pit of the D.O.S.’s stomach. He thrashed and writhed and his body began to bloat. His shirt stretched taught across his expanding torso.
“Oh shit,” said Mr. Jones. “I think The Greed’s planning an explosive exodus.”
“Aw god, no. Count me outta this,” Tanya said, tossing her arms into the air.
“We can’t let him go.”
“Oh yes we can. He’s about to let go and I want no part of that.”
“Get back over here and help me,” Mr. Jones yelled.
Tanya cringed and moved back toward the D.O.S. A belch ripped from his mouth and she jumped back, shaking her hands as if flinging away something foul and watery.
“Come on. Don’t get all timid on me,” Mr. Jones said.
Tanya bit her lip, charged forward, and grabbed a hold of the D.O.S. His body shuddered and the gurgling sound intensified. The seems of his shirt tore in slow succession as the stitches gave way.
“Oh lord, Jesus,” Tanya shouted.
“Point his ass toward the corner. Away from the drains,” Mr. Jones said.
The two maneuvered the D.O.S. so that his backside faced the tiled corner. The possessed executive struggled against them, bucking and frothing and swelling. Then he stopped moving, except for his lips which quivered slightly with a small tremor. The tremor became a shake and the shake turned into a spasm which racked his entire body.
The D.O.S. opened his mouth wide. The sound was like walruses mating in a tub of pudding. Mr. Jones and Tanya closed their eyes, flinching away from the impending catastrophe; Tanya screaming about the nastiness of it all. Then a deep hiccupping wretch belched from the D.O.S.’s esophagus and a fire hose of vomit spewed from his mouth.
“AH! Ah god it stinks. Ah god!” Tanya yelled.
The vomit splattered against the wall behind them but did not leak down to the floor. Instead, it slithered upward into a vent and slurped through the grilled opening. And was gone.
Tanya yanked the D.O.S. away from Mr. Jones, discarding the limp form roughly into one of the stalls. She yelled, shook her arms, and kicked her legs. The she took a deep breath, repeated the exercise, and stomped into an open stall.
“I need to pee!”
Monday, April 2, 2012
“So where is he?” Mr. Jones asked.
“He was right here,” said Tanya. “Look. His tools and charts and notes are still laying around on the floor over there. Hey! Hey douche. Where are you?”
Tanya kicked open the only stall door that was closed. The D.O.S. was sitting on the toilet, a look of pleasant comfort on his face, pants resting on his shoes.
“Oh god!” Mr. Jones cried out. “You said he wasn’t–”
“Hey!” the D.O.S. shouted, snapping out of his blissful trance. “Occupado! Occupado!”
“Pull up you pants,” Tanya said. “We need to have a little chat about your business practices.”
“First,” the D.O.S. said, “we don’t discuss corporate policy with out guests, the press, the competition, or our employees. And two, the thing I need to have requires that my pants be down, and from the aggressive sensation in my bowels, it’s not at all little.”
Mr. Jones shook his head, took a calming breath, and then said, “Listen up douche bag we–”
“Why is everyone saying that today?” the D.O.S. said.
“We know you’re harboring an enemy of the people and we intend–”
“What I’m harboring is a couple of tacos, last night’s cheese pizza, some bear claws and a pack of corn nuts,” the D.O.S. said.
“Dude. Sick,” Tanya said.
“As for ‘enemy of the people’ if you’re still here when this bad boy crowns I imagine you’ll be at odds with whatever comes out.”
“Okay, stop it. Seriously. Or I’m gonna throw up,” Tanya said, backing away.
There was a moment, silent and still, where neither of the bathroom occupants spoke or moved. A frozen piece of time in which those involved weighed their options. Finally, the D.O.S. shrugged, hunched his shoulders, and started grunting.
“Get him off the toilet. Quick!” Mr. Jones shouted, jumping into the stall and grabbing the D.O.S.’s arms.
“Not on your life,” said Tanya.
“If he shits The Greed into the sewer system we’ll lose his trail.”
“Fine by me.”
“I need your help.”
Tanya gritted her teeth and then lunged forward, clamping her hands around the D.O.S.’s ankles. She shook her head violently and shouted, “Why do I gotta get the legs?”
A symphony of grunts and groans, accompanied by squelchy, slurping, sucking noises, echoed through the bathroom as the combatants strained and flexed.
Amidst the clamor a soft, timid voice chimed, “Is the bathroom ready for–”
But the old woman proffering the question never finished her inquiry. Her breath caught in her throat and she covered her mouth with a white gloved hand. She could not fathom what would cause such terrible noises. It sounded like an orgy of fantastically painful bowel movements. When she saw three pairs of legs protruding in spasms from one stall she bolted from the room, eyes pinched shut, hands waving frantically at the side of her head.