Solving a mystery

My old lady used to tell me, “Do not play with boys, they will make you pregnant.” My boobs were still only but pecks. I was 11 years old and far from learning about the reproductive system in school. I needed a reference book to find out what being pregnant meant. I also wanted to know the name of this game that I was clearly being forbidden from playing. Being about to produce new life is what my dictionary told me about being pregnant. I looked up the word produce. To bring forward. So, being pregnant meant to bring forward new life. Bringing forward a living being.

I did further research on pregnant. I saw a picture of a woman with a big stomach, a really big stomach. I had seen women with stomachs like that before. My Dad told me that they were fat. They were fat because they had been fed a lot of special protein. When I asked with whom, he would say their loving husbands. I wondered why he didn’t feed my Mum with special proteins that made women very fat only in the stomach area.

I deduced that pregnancy is a condition caused by special protein given to a woman by her husband. I started to wonder where the special protein was found. I would buy the protein,
eat it, and then be pregnant. The pregnant women did have beautiful faces. After all, I would only be fat for a few months. The protein had a lifespan of nine months. I then noticed most women would stop being fat after one day of going to a hospital. What really happened in the hospital? The women then showed up with babies. I couldn’t connect the protein to babies.

This thought disturbed me for a while until I came up with my own theories.

The hospital definitely had a manufacturing plant that converted the protein into babies. No…this theory didn’t make any sense as my old lady had told me that babies are dropped from the sky.

Here is my second theory which is about the sky man….
The Sky Man who was dropping the babies must have had perfect aim. I mean …all the babies he threw fell in hospitals only and they were thrown to the protein ladies only. It then dawned on me that the fat protein filled stomach was to act as a shock absorber for the thrown babies in case they landed too hard which was often the case. After a few bounces, the protein stomach disappeared. The mother would then hold the baby in her hands, then do pinchification ( a process that involved pinching the baby to make it yell and then stick a tit in its toothless mouth in order to transfer your DNA to the tiny little human.)

And there it is, I had solved the mystery of where babies came from. I went and told my uncle about my great discovery that would go down in history. He laughed so hard. I cried so hard after he laughed. I then yelled. He consoled me till I stopped crying when he told me, “For a kid to be created, a hot-dog has to be stuck in a keyhole.” I figured this one out after I hit puberty and watched ‘American Pie.’

I may need new heels

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I never should have worn those hot red sexy six-inch heels today. You should have seen me; I made a guy walk into a pole. He was staring at my lovely legs too much. My face was a little envious. It recently developed a mind of its own and whenever I do something it does not like, a zit rears its face. My face does like to be stared at all the time. What can I say; I have a very jealous face and all the jealousy spread to my tits. My second favorite twins are totally hurt and I have no idea what to do to make them feel better. I could have my girlfriend poke and milk them a little, my tits love that kind of shit.

Those heels are so hot and comfortable. They never hurt my feet, unlike all my other heels. Unfortunately, they chose to hurt my cute pair of buttocks. I can barely sit down. My butt feels like a rock. Those shoes have robbed me of my beautiful soft sitting apparatus. All I need is a warm bath and wine.

One hour later… (in Spongebob’s voice)….

The hot bath really has not helped. I can’t sit down. I can neither lie down on my stomach
because it makes my boobs will pop, I just had them refilled with milk and the milkman advised not to sleep on them or they will look like a version of deflated balloons. If they deflate, I would have only one option …. getting pregnant just so that my mammary glands can naturally produce milk (instead of being refilled) and make my boobies a bit rounder. I will just keep popping babies so that my boobies never run out of milk. I will probably take fertility pills so that I can have twins and triplets. The more the babies, the more the milk, the rounder the boobies and I will be happy…and fat too with a vagina the size of a river canal but I don’t care, I will have killing boobs.

My girlfriend just hurt her hand trying to spank my right buttock, when I turned the other cheek, she double hurt herself. I feel terrible; I was only trying to be the submissive girlfriend. I now have to get her medical attention. She is hurt really bad. Her palm is all red. She must have broken a bone or two. I now feel like a passive girlfriend batterer. I really need to find a way to soften this hard butt.

Moral of the story:
Hard butts are quite dangerous. They can be useful when tricking your enemy to spank you and BAM!!! BROKEN FINGERS.

Enemy – 0
Hard Butt – 1

 

Time to chat with my demons

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So, I feel like drowning myself in water. Not deep water, shallow water. I love being underwater. Shit looks so cool under here.” I wanna drown just a little. I do not want to die. I like to think that the universe still needs me alive. I just want to feel something to remind my self of my humanity. Just getting naked and pretending to drown me in water. I always feel some kind of freedom in nudity. Skinny dip underwater a little hoping that my neighbors are not at home.

I need a different environment from the real world. My reality is quickly metamorphosing into a figment of my imagination. Perhaps I’ll see things clearly if I get to that point of near death and have my life flash right before my eyes. I wonder what it is that I will see when this happens. This crappy feeling I have is driving me crazier than I am used to. I feel nothing at all and this worries me as I could be turning into a psychopath. I am finding it really hard to handle this madness. Cutting myself has not been working so far. I need something bordering on the extreme. I am kinda always crazy, it just never gets to this point. I might need a psychiatrist. This is a point where I drink the whole day and watch the extremely violent action and horror movies… I myself even know that I need help as soon as possible. Action movies are the most awesome part. The movies are even cooler to watch when I am high. I question whether it is the alcohol that is making me inebriated. It is definitely the alcohol though because I am fucking indifferent to everything else.

My life is just sad. “Do you want a drink? You can join me. I could really use a buddy right now even though I feel like I do not need one. I am starting to be a hazard to myself” Let’s go crazy together. The reason for going crazy…… I ain’t really sure. “Not sure?” “Yes yes yes.” I lack words to explain. I have no clue how I got to this point. I have this feeling. Crappy it is. I kinda like it. It’s a new one, I have never felt this one. I want it to go. I miss the normal me.

I actually regret visiting that last therapist I had. I now remember. Everything began going downhill after I visited her. I did exactly what she told me and one month later, this is me, about to drown myself. I thought to talk to a stranger who knew nothing about me would help but it just made things worse.

I should in back to handling my shit and fixing things. It works for me. It mostly involves self-destruction which is just as bad as that therapist. I wish I had everything in my life figured out. My demons just love me too much. They do not want to go away. Every once in a while I make love to my demons which are exactly what I should do.

Pretending to be okay is having a debilitating effect on me. Fuck this…… I will just walk to a random citizen and go like, “The smile on my face doesn’t mean am happy, it just means I’m way too drunk to change my expression and I would like you to slap me back to reality.”

Unknown Variables

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Well, ‘disordered in intellect’ could describe my current mental state. I feel totally unsound with all these screwball ideas happening in my head. All I wanted in life was to become a Russian spy and possibly learn how to strangle cats, but guess what, I could totally end up in a mental hospital.

I have been having instances of rapid strong heart pulsations. They get stronger by the second. All these are probably because I cannot stop deliberately thinking about this girl that I have all these feelings about making love with her, going on ice cream and pizza dates, watching movies on my couch and cooking for her. The fact that I am exercising my higher intellectual faculties on this is a revelation most perturbing. All I want to do is send her texts of the romantic and raunchy kind all day.

On the assumption that my mind is getting injured by these thoughts, I can infer that I will not be having relations of sexual nature any time soon. My mind is in a state of painful uneasiness over this just in case I like (I would like to imagine this is how I
refer to the feeling I am having) her more than she likes me.

I generally avoid getting close to people. The less attached I am, the less likely I am prone to yielding to grief or sorrow, the two human emotions that I really do not like. Is there surgery to get rid of that part of the brain that causes all these painful emotions, hmmm not really painful emotions, intense emotions is more like it.

What am I to do with these emotions. I need to get out of my brain. I might find some solace in Peter Griffin’s brain or perhaps Quagmire. I have officially decided not to text her for a while as an experiment so I can see what effect it will have on me.

What the fuck happened to me, I never used to get emotionally attached to anyone. I would have sex with someone, never talk to them until the next time I am in need of carnal relations. Between the penis and the vagina, in my case vagina and vagina, I did not understand where the heart fit in. My life was easier then. I never ever felt like I was losing my mind. Everything was perfect. There were no unknown variables.
I
s this what falling in love feels like? I don’t think so, I would say, I have fallen in like and I hate it. I feel like I am incapable of exercising any restraining or governing influence over my brain. My brain is holding me hostage. Finally, my crazy has beat rationality. I am definitely going crazy. Do you know the activities in the brain that happen when someone is in love are the same activities that happen when someone is going bananas?

I don’t understand all these. This is irrational. How does one person have so much influence on someone else moods? This girl could change my mood from that of Darth Vader to that of Spongebob Squarepants hanging out with Gary and Patrick and Squidward in his Pineapple in Bikini Bottom.

I do not know what to do with all these feelings. Should I tell her? Should I just stop talking to her and let all the feelings fade away? Perhaps I should find out if she likes me as much as I like her….and how does someone find out something like this? Word of mouth is definitely not sufficient. I hate my life at this very moment. I am going to hang myself with tissue paper and when the hanging does not work, perhaps I will try to swallow razor blades but then I will not do it because I am not fucking suicidal and also, that is a very painful way to die, also moving from tissue paper to razor blades, that is pretty extreme and my therapist would not approve.

 

How we eat bananas

I accidentally dug my nails into my Kyllan’s undressed banana. He loves his banana and takes very care of it. Sometimes I wish I was the fucking banana (Only before it gets eaten). I am the only one he lets touch his banana and for that, I feel privileged. He has the longest banana that I have ever seen. I have no idea where he buys the bananas. I just enjoy eating them.

He is freaking out and threatening to touch my tits because I have ruined his perfect banana. It is quite late and he cannot go out to get another one.

Here is how he eats his banana…..

He peels off the entire banana peel. Takes out the strings and cuts off both ends. He channels his inner Hulk and smashes the shit out of that sexy fruit with his fist, only one fist-pound is enough. He then scoops the hulk-smashed banana with a serving spoon and puts it in his really big mouth then swallows (something I love watching him do, it gives me the female version of half a chub) and makes a face that signals he is quite pleased with his banana. That mouth is so big; he could hold three billiard balls in there without straining even a little bit.

When he is done with his banana, he sits down and watches me eat mine. This is usually the favorite part of his day. We have this banana thing that we do every day. It is one of the special things in our relationship and is probably the reason why he and I will last forever. We will get married because of bananas. It will be a three people marriage, my girlfriend will be my wife and he will be my husband (this is definitely one of my incredible thoughts). Each time we eat bananas together, our bond deepens. It is quite magical. We love bananas.

Without bananas, we would not be happy. He watches me peel my ripe banana from the stem end. I pull the skin off in similar strips. I remove the banana strings. I get rid of the banana skin. I then open my mouth, shove the entire banana in my mouth which is not so big but I have trained it on how to act big and do activities that big mouths accomplish. I have worked on my gag reflex for a while so that I can be able to pull this off and make my Kyllan happy.

A toast to all the bananas that we are yet to eat and to my girlfriend who is yet to be introduced to this ritual.

Falling in love

So, we were at this really big house with a lot of expensive shit. There was a party of some guy with pink hair and a body that could kill a bevy of dames. It was the first time Sophie had attended a party and I was feeling a little bit guilty for introducing her to alcohol. She is surprisingly a very responsible drunkard. She fell asleep as soon as she got a kick from the vodka. I was hoping she would misbehave a little so I could have content for this post. Bad behavior is encouraged. Anyway, I was still awake but totally hammered. This chicken then walks in and I am like ‘What a beautiful chicken!’. I had never seen something more magnificent in my life and the chicken walked up straight to me and I felt electricity down my spine. It was the first time I had ever been noticed by a beautiful chicken. Most of the time they just quack and walk away. My heart skipped a beat and the chicken just walked up to me, jumped on my lap then on my tits. She then held both my cheeks with her wings and moved her beak closer to my mouth and we started kissing and we have never stopped since then.

of juicy buttocks

Lately, I have been watching too much television while lying on my couch which has consequently led to the loss of my butt. The two large fleshy masses of muscular tissue that form my rump have been shrinking slowly and now they are almost levelled with my back due to all the lying down. I am about to lose my buttocks. I can no longer laugh my ‘ass’ off. I just laugh my ‘extended back’ off. I am totally scared that they may never get back to normal.

I am about to let you waddle in the muddy pond of my current misfortune. My beautiful butt dimple is gone, never to be seen again. It has turned into a cone-shaped hole. The tip of a pencil would be a perfect fit for the hole. My self-esteem is at an all-time low. I lock myself in the house with three padlocks and I am thinking of swallowing the keys and maybe poop them out when the necessity arises. I never open the windows or switch on the lights in my house. It is really stuffy in here.

I have deleted my Facebook account so that I can stop myself from ranting. I will miss having those Facebook rants. One time, a bee stung my nose while I was on my way to a restaurant to meet my girlfriend. She fucking dumped me as soon as she saw the bulbous nose (tuck that superficial bitch) and for a whole month, I dedicated my life to following bees, befriending them, and having dinner with them, I even pretended to be madly in love with one. We had plans to get married as soon as the inter-species marriage is made legal. She had such a magnificent abdomen. As soon as the bee trusts me, I pull out my paralyzing spray, I spray the bee making sure they are conscious but unable to move. I then pull out my bug spray and spray the shit out of the fucking bee until it dies.  I documented all my killings and posted them on Facebook followed by a very long article about how much I hate bees and warning the ones that were alive that I was coming for them. (In retrospect, I should have sent all those bees to go bite my ex-girlfriend first before killing them). My activities would not last long though, I am currently on the run from the World Federation of Bees. The wasps have given me refuge for as long as I want. Anyway, back to my ass……

I called my doctor to come and see me at my house. At first, he did not believe it was me. I looked like shit; red eyes, shaggy hair, bread crumbs all over my tits. I had to convince him it was me. This was pretty easy; I only had to tell him that I have a dimple on my right buttock. He did really love that dimple. He liked to insert his middle finger in that dimple and play around with it and leave some presents in there for me to find later. One time, I found a diamond ring and another I found a puppy. Who knew a puppy could fit in there! I didn’t. So cool.

I had not told him what the problem was on the phone, just in case someone had tapped his phone and was listening to the conversation. I got lots of enemies, you know. They cannot know any bad things that happen to me because if they do, I will react with fire and fury and very bad things will happen and my therapist will not like it, and neither will my preacher. This was a code-red situation and was to be kept top secret. When the doctor got to my place, he hugged me real tight. This hug was a little bit weird because I had already stripped for examination. I turned and showed him my flat buttocks.

I have never seen my doctor that shocked. He wondered what could have totally flattened my buttocks which were once upon a time extremely plump and juicy. He sat down and started sobbing. I quickly put a gag on his mouth before my nosy neighbours heard him and came to see what was happening.

The sobbing doctor was now quiet, thanks to the pink gag over his big mouth. Before you judge, he does enjoy having the pink gag on him. The wonderful doctor composed himself and told me that he could do something to make me regain my juicy buttocks and that they will be juicier than they were before and my dimple will be even more appealing.

The good doctor opened his bag and removed two big syringes with a 2.5 litre capacity and needles from his bag. They looked really big and scary. He told me not to worry. I would not feel any pain as he inserted the humongous needles and emptied the contents of his syringes into my buttocks. He sprayed the surface of my buttocks with something that numbed them. He filled the syringes with mango juice which happens to be my favourite juice. He injected my buttocks full of mango juice. They immediately became big round and juicy. I almost wanted to eat my new mango butt. I have never seen my buttocks that juicy. I love mango juice.

And just like that, I got my very high self-esteem back and walked around town with the bountiest bottom that has never existed before today. This will also make it easier to hunt the bees and obliterate them. They are known to love mango juice. I hate being on the run. Time to get back to work.

P.S …When hunger strikes, I will just insert a straw in my butt cheek and savor the deliciousness of my mango juice.

Queen of the Monkeys

It is a very very very b-e-a-utiful day, all my senses are delighted today. I got all these tingly sensations. Kyllan is right next to me waiting his mummy wake up. I am his mummy and he is my baby. My handsome baby boy. He is quite yummy. Oh his beautiful smile that I wait to see each day because of how much it excites me. I made a few upgrades on him recently and so far, I like how he is working. I made him with the clinical efficiency of the assassination of Bin Laden.

“Good morning Kyllan! How are you doing?”

Kyllan assures me he is hunky-dory. That is my boy. He continues to sit there and just watch me. Such a little creepy bastard he is. You will love him. Just seated there with his round eyes and beautiful cheeks that for some reason, he turns them pink as he smiles from ear to ear while holding a red rose that he plucked illegally from my annoying neighbor’s garden. He is such a good boy. I love Kyllan. I could have married him if he were human and I had no relation to him..

I yawn, opening my mouth so wide that a blue bee flew into it. The blue bees were special and very rare. If a blue bee stung your tit, you would never need a boob job. The strangest thing about the blue bees was that they chose whose tit to sting. You had to be a nice honorable person for the bees to choose you. Don’t worry though, swallowing a blue bee was not dangerous. I just had to stand up and it would fly out of my anus.

I get out of bed, stand up straight, stretch a little, bend to release the blue bee, walk to the radio, press the play button and start dancing to music while shaking my head and moving around aimlessly without any sense of direction. I still feel hangovered from last night. Kyllan and I have become quite the drunkards.

Just when I am deep into my music and dancing, Kyllan pauses my music.

He then tells me to go to the window and look. I stop dancing like a mad woman and head to my bedroom window. Monkeys all over, all I can see are monkeys. They seem to have surrounded my house. What happened to all my security protocols!! how do a bunch of monkeys find their way past my compound. The monkey upgrade the government made must must have worked.

Kyllan and I head to my security room. We notice that the monkeys had surrounded my house from all directions so I sent Kyllan outside to evaluate the situation.

I am trying to figure out how all those monkeys walked on the street to my place looking the way they looked. A law had just been passed prohibiting all the monkeys from walking around all hairy. They had to all shave and start wearing underwear since their upgrade. Punishment was to be carried out on any monkey that did not follow that rule.

There were exactly 97 monkeys around my house. Kyllan had made his assessment and assured me that all was well.

I got out of my security room and walked out to meet the monkeys.

“Take me to your leader.” I said.

Damn! Finally, I had waited for so long to use that sentence. Exactly 17 years since I started dreaming about encounters with aliens. Well, I will have to settle for monkeys instead since I haven’t met any nice aliens.

The monkeys then pointed at me and I was confused. One of them finally stepped forward and said, “You are our leader. We have been searching for you all our lives. The prophesy was true. It is time that it gets fulfilled.”

What prophecy were they talking about? How can I be the leader of the monkeys? Doesn’t one need to look like a monkey to be able to be their leader? Am I a monkey? This all is confusing. I need a drink.

I got into the house with the one monkey that stepped froward. We sat at the kitchen counter. I offered him whiskey and he was delighted to take it. He had never had whiskey his entire life. We both chugged half a bottle quietly for about 2 minutes and then, when we started feeling tipsy, the explanation began.

So, my great grandfather was a monkey. Can you imagine that! My great grandmother was accidentally inseminated with a monkey’s sperm instead of human sperm. This explained a lot about my hairy uncle Dave. After my great grandmother gave birth to my grandfather, she went to the jungle to look for the father of the baby. She found him and they fell in love and lived happily ever after.

The prophecy talked about a descendant that looked human but had monkey blood in his/her veins. The prophecy also talked about the law about all the monkey’s having to shave and wear underwear. The descendant who looked human would be the one to shave the monkeys and pick out one uniform underwear for all the monkeys to wear. That was to be my job. I was the chosen one. I already started having all these monkey ideas in my head. I would take the monkeys shopping, buy them froghurt, teach them how pout lips, open Instagram accounts for them, make Christmas turkey in July and maybe go with them to Mars.

I finally understood my love for bananas and climbing trees. Nobody could climb trees better than me. I was the world record holder for climbing the most trees in a single hour while using only two limbs and blindfolded.

I named my fellow drunk monkey ‘Anthony’ because I kept forgetting his real name. Anthony and I finished the two bottles of whiskey and I was ready to begin shaving but unfortunately, I was too drunk to do the shaving. I blacked out, Kyllan carried me to my bed, he also made all the monkeys comfortable in my basement and left a note at the side of my bed explaining everything that had happened so I don’t get alarmed when I see monkeys all over my house. How could I be alarmed? I was one of them. I was their queen.

The splits and Allie

I, unfortunately, cannot do the splits. I will not knowingly spread my legs to an 180-degree angle. It just feels dangerous. I don’t really subscribe to danger, you know, I am all into self-preservation and all and have to keep myself healthy for when I go to Mars with my lovely android Kyllan. Anyway, Kyllan would never agree to me doing the splits. I hardcoded that into his neural network. One split can cause a lot of wear and tear in my loins and that would not be good for me in any way. It is probably worse for men because they can just tear their balls right in the middle and all the sperm will be destroyed not to mention the excruciating pain. I cannot imagine the world without sperm. No more real babies. We might end up having to grow babies in labs. (Because of this fear, the president of the whole world soon issued an arrest warrant to any male that was caught doing or trying to do the splits and the punishment was life in jail where you will be taken care of very well so that no danger comes to either you or your balls until your death and if this proved difficult, your balls would be chopped off and given to someone that actually cares). I may not have balls but I love my loins and I need to take extremely good care of them. So, let us all say NO to the splits.

Meanwhile, I just got out of bed because I cannot fucking sleep. Sleep escapes me, playing a game of ‘hide and seek’, mostly hiding and rearing its head just once in a while, seduces me with kisses and just when I am about to fall, I find myself all alone and wondering where all that sweet sexy sleep disappeared to. I cannot feel it touch anymore. In a lot of ways, sleep to me is Cleopatra personified clad in red and six-inch heels. It is almost 0400 hours. Retarded mosquitoes are feasting on my alcohol filled blood (It was a memorable night for me before the mosquitoes happened). The little bastards must be having a blast with their mouths stuck deep into my supple skin.

I have been thinking for the past few minutes about Allie. Allie is this girl that I just realized I have a huge crush on, a bigger than Everest crush. I have known her for two whole years but I just recently shamefully started having all these thoughts about her that are three buses, a taxi, and a long walk away from clean. I used to have dirty thoughts about her best friend but she turned out to be very Heterosexual (yes, I absolutely mean it with the capital ‘H’). The last time I saw Allie, I kept staring when she wasn’t looking and whenever she was looking, I tried stealing furtive glances. I love stealing furtive glances and pretending that I was looking elsewhere as soon as I get caught. she had this blue shirt that made her look super sexy. She had really hot pants on too. I love her gait and I stare at her bouncy bum (that I would love to cup) and face a lot.

Allie is a really cool girl. She is hot too (always a bonus after smartness). I am not entirely sure if someone can be both of those at the same time. Being both cool and hot gets you out of the 1 to 10 scale because you definitely are 11 or above. Allie is probably at 15. She is very yum yum yum yum yum. I want to eat her. Perhaps I could just bite and leave it there, a little hickey does not hurt at all. Not in the Hannibal Lecter way, that would be creepy as hell. Eating her will land me in jail or in a mental asylum and I know so well I would not last a minute there before someone made me their bitch.

Sometimes, I turn into a sociopath when I like someone or have a crush on them or so my friends tell me. I always want to bump into Allie so I can hug her and feel her cushion like boobs on my chest. I have learned something very important from hugging Allie; she has ABS. I like ABS. I like my girls fit as hell. Oh Allie, why can’t you notice how crazy I am about you? I hear you like mysterious girls. I am mysterious. I got a fog machine under my bed. I bet you will love that. We can hang out in the fog together and watch Doctor Who and pretend that I am a Dalek and you are the Doctor and you show me mercy even though I am hell bent on exterminating you. You then override Davro’s programming and turn me into a good Dalek and we will travel the universe and get married in the Medusa Cascade and Captain Jack Harkness will cry as he pronounces us wife and wife. Just be my Time Lord already, my dear Allie.

I am currently gathering up all the courage I need and then I will be back to tell how I probably freaked out and turned super duper red then fainted  and woke up in a hospital bed with a broken heart condition caused by continuously disappointing myself because I am too scared to tell a girl that I like her and the tomato cheeks story will happen once again.

KAREN AND THE BABES

I have started a band. We do drugs and occasionally some weird but beautiful music. The band is called Karen and the Babes. It constitutes of Karen, Matt, and Arthur. I am ‘Karen’, Matt and Arthur are ‘the Babes’ (I like to refer to them as ‘my babes’ every once in a while). They are ‘the Babes’ because I said so and I am always right even when I am not and nobody dares say otherwise or they will suffer my wrath on an epic scale.

On a beautiful afternoon, my handsome babes and I go to a restaurant. We have been performing all morning and are now quite hungry, tired and thirsty. I could swallow a whole horse by herself. You will not dispute this once you see how large my mouth opens when I yawn. It shocks me how large it gets and has shocked some of my girlfriends too. No wonder they just disappear without notice.

We get into the restaurant. Matt takes a little longer because he likes to play with the revolving door. The child in him always gets activated as soon he sees a revolving door. I am not enjoying this whole situation and I pull Matt by his ears to his seat. In case you have always been wondering why Matt has got one ear that looks long and sharp and shaped like a cone, a bit sharp and prickly, now you know the reason.

Matt seats down reluctantly and almost wants to start crying when the waiter shows up. Arthur looks quite delighted and starts doing his chicken dance. This is not his fault, his grandfather was part chicken and part human and even though he looks very much human, he still has got a bit of chicken DNA in him that shows up as soon as he sees a waiter in a restaurant or a chef. It gets worse if the waiter is carrying cooked chicken. Sometimes he even quacks and other times he thinks he is a cockerel and ends up chasing women thinking they are hens. Watching ‘Hells Kitchen’ with him is usually quite entertaining. He is very fit because of all the dancing. He never runs or goes to the gym. He just watches the Food Channel on television every day at 4 o’clock in the morning. Does his chicken dance for an hour and he will be good to go for the day.

The waiter walks up to our table and says, “Good afternoon inferior humans, The Master will see you now. Please follow me.”

For some reason, we felt compelled to do as the waiter said. Arthur was now chicken walking. He could not help it, the waiter was right in front of him. We went to the back of the restaurant, got into the lift. We went a few floors down and then stopped. The waiter punched in some pin number and the door opened with music playing in the background. It was like a fanfare. The lyrics to the song were a little disturbing though. I could hear a line that said: “It is time to eat the brains”, and something about monkeys stealing faces and taking over the human race.

We could be in a zombie layer. The zombies finally grew smart and found themselves a lair where they could train and get better at everything in preparation to invade the earth. I should be scared but I am not. All I want to do right now is meet The Master and see whether he is actually a real brain eating zombie so I can cross one thing off my bucket list.

“Welcome to my lair Karen and the Babes. I am delighted to meet you finally. I am a very big fan of yours. I have watched all your shows but unfortunately, I have never been able to attend a live show because, well, you will find that out in the next few seconds….”

He swings his chair around and faces us. Finally, The Master is here and…….. he is not a zombie. On the bright side, our brains will not be part of the menu. On the worse side, this could be much worse.

“Boom, ” he says while looking directly at us. Arthur, who by now had stopped dancing since the waiter had left as soon as he got us there, started laughing hysterically. Matt decided to join in on the laughing. “What the shit, what is wrong with you people!!!” I thought. I could not tell whether The Master was going to kill us for laughing or do something worse than death. Seriously, I could not tell, he had one eye which was on a nipple. He had a tit face. Just one tit standing erect on his face.

“As you can see, the wicked witch of the west turned me into this and said that in two thousand years, Karen and the Babes will sing a song that will rid me of this curse and I can finally attend one of your concerts live without looking like a monster. You are my redeemers. I have had your equipment sent here and some food will be brought for you to eat and then you will perform your hearts out until we find the song that relieves me of my curse. If I still look like this by the time you are done, you will all die a horrible death as nobody has ever seen my face and I would like it to stay that way as long as it is still a tit. Okay?” said The Master.

That started sounding a lot scarier than I thought but to stay alive, I would do anything. Self-preservation is a thing that I subscribe to.

They gave us some food to eat that was only made up of eggs from a pig and chicken hybrid. The eggs tasted like bacon to me. Poor Arthur, he was probably eating an ancestor of his.

As soon as we were done eating, we set up all our equipment and got ready to sing our hearts and lungs out and get into the moment and rid The Master of his tit face. This was the day, the day that would determine the rest of our lives.

Since the wicked witch of the west did not exactly tell which exact song to sing, we were to perform all our songs until we got to the one that broke the curse and made The Master what he once was – a handsome prince.

We started with ‘Coconuts’, then went to ‘Spider head’, then to ‘Little lip’, then to ‘Dimple on my butt’ and then the most amazing thing happened.

The tit on The Masters’ head disappeared and his face manifested after 2000 years of waiting patiently for Karen and the Babes. Who knew ‘Dimple on my butt’ would end up being a very important song.

“Oh my goodness, he was quite handsome.” I thought.

He then said,“Congratulations, You lot get to live. Thank you, Karen and the Babes. I appreciate this. I am not tit faced anymore. I am once again a handsome prince. Now, straight to business, Matt and Arthur, oh you lovely two people, I am going to punish you for laughing at my tit face. Don’t worry, the punishment will only last for 24 hours.”

Matt was turned into an ant-size person and sent into my left boob. “Sorry Karen, said The Master, Matt will reside in your boob for the next 24 hours. Everything will be fine unless you start lactating. Make sure not to lactate or Matt will get lost forever.” I could feel Matt walking around inside there. It was quite uncomfortable. Is he looking for milk!!

“And you Arthur, well, what shall I do with you? Mhhh …..let us see….”

Arthur was locked in a room with three chefs and two waiters for 36 hours. Poor Arthur, he was panting and heaving constantly he had to lie down for about 18 hours before he could feel better. Poor Arthur.