Thank God we dont have a corporate vision or nothing like that.
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I told Cathyann that I wanted to take anothor look at the Granfather's colectibles she was fencing for me--specifically one very rare package.
"So, you wanna sit in the car with me--whuddya have in mind? BBWAHAHAHAHA!"
So we get in her car and she pops a cassette in the tape deck.
"Do you know thar replaying all them old Twin Peaks episodes on The Bravo Channel? Listen I done taped the creepy music. Aint it creepy? In a sexy way? Oh, by the way: Here's yer big ol' baseball bat," said Cathyann with a grunt as she leant to dig her meaty arm under the car seat, "And it taint no trailer trash aluminum bat neither, that makes a sissy old 'PING' noise. This here's a Louisville Slugger. I want you to beat the cheeze out o'that thar biker bitch's mailbox. 'Property of The US Postal Service MAH ASS.
I said to her, "Cathyann, we have to talk." But she ignored me, and kept on talkin.
"Here's yer booze. Its cooking wine, but it'll git you drunk on yer BEE -hind, 'least it did for me. 'Course, I kin hold mah liquor better'n you, I suppose."
She kept ignoring me. I repeatted myself, louder, "Cathyann, we have to talk!"
She stopped talkin for a second but just sort of leered at me. She fingered that white plastic departmant store anti-shoplifting disk that was still in her ear.
"Walter, I know whut its about. You're jealous," and I replied, "I am NOT jealous!"
"You LIE like a DAWG!"
I thoght for a minute, and asked myself: Coud I posibly be jeallous? Then I answored, "Okay, I am jeallous that YOU get to be Associate Content Developer while I am still in workstation suport.
"That ol' Mister Bouvard, he's cute," she giggled, "Wonder if I sleep with him, if I coud be promoted...STOP POUTING, Walter, I'm just kidding! BWAHAHAHAHA!!!"
"I ain't gonna sleep with that ol' slob. I am NOT that kinda girl," she sudenly coughed, making terible throagh clearing noises, "I am a LADY--hacch!--
Her voice was then all garbled. "Wait a sec, I gotta open the door to spew out this here ol' big ass phlegm-bob I jest done hacked up...Hold on, I'm gonna pop the parkin' brake so's I can roll a few feet and drop the lil' gobber in the storm drain...PTOOIE!!"
"It takes a MAN to admit he's jealous. 'Specially of a woman. 'Specially a strong graceful womon, like me."
Cathyann moved closer. In a breathy drammatic voice she purred, "I don't know if its ME, or if its YOU, or if its thet ol bottle of cooking wine talking. But I KNOW whut you're thinkin'."
I answered, "What is that?"
She said, "You're thinkin' I look just like Heather Graham."
Before I coud answor, she kept chattoring, "I done GOT almost the same face and eyes...She got them gorgoeus eyes. Big, babydoll, almost protruding kinda eyes.
"Same color hair as mine -- 'Cept I dye the skunk line outa mine, but I'm a REAL honey-strawberry blonde -- least I WUZ...'Least I still AM whar it counts! BWAHAHAHAHA!"
"Don't you git shy with me! LOOK at ol' Heather Gray-umm!"
I looked at Cathyann. This was not Heather Graham, not even in a carnival fun house mirrer. Her hulking body was shaped like "Miss Wardrobe" from Disney's "Beuty and the Beast". Her face was flat, like somone pressing it as hard as she could against an invisible peice of plate glass. Her eyes protruded allright but not in a sexy way. More like a ghastly bulge, like early in the first Godfather movie when poor Luca Brotzi was gettin strangulated to death with a piece of piano wire and after his hand got nailed to the bar in that fancy restuarant. As far as a resemblance to Heather Graham, well, mabye Cathyann had the same number of fingers and toes as her. But that was about it.
I glanced over a few times in the crowded backseat to see where Granfather's special treasure might be buried. Meanwhile Cathyann's giant flat face got closer.
"Say, Mister," she breathed, "I see you keep on lookin at the back seat."
She began to speak low and very slowley, her big meaty face close to mine.
"Whud'ja say you and me just sort of hop over thar and SPRAWWWL OUT on all them Beany Babies, and do a whole lot o'nasty ole thangs and REALLY give this heah little ol' town sumptin to talk about!"
I was parralized and could not move. And then I saw it: the giant open mouth heading toard me. It was like one of those big wet lappy open moulth kisses that begin three feet away they always have in those low-budget fuzzy candlelit half hour TV-MA shows you often see on late night cable that Granfather is forced to watch when the Pourn Pay Per View people decline his credit card for the harder core stuff. I tried to dodge her, but I just was not strong enough.
Oh God it was so disgousting. I treid desperately to fight her off but I coud not. I just was not strong enough. And that TOUNGE: My Dad was grilling some meat once at a church picnic my family went to when I was about twelve and Dad asked me to flip one of the steaks. It was a Londen Broil, mabye four inches thick and two feet long. The pair of tongs I used were small skinny ones your suposed to use to flip vegetobles. I gripped one end of the Londen Broil as hard as i coud but the danm thing kept flopping heavily and twisting arround out of control and bashing into corn and hotdogs and other things on the grill. It felt like a living thing it was so big. Like wresstling a 400 pound thrashing sturgeon with a ballpoint pen impaled on its lip. This is what Cathyann's tounge is like when you kiss her. As I tried to fight her off, the Twin Peaks music ran of the casette in her tape deck, and the music that had originally been on it blazed over the speakers: It was dramatic music from the old Lost In Space series -- the music they play in the last 15 minuttes of the show when Will Robinson's father is battoling some alien in a life and death struggle:
And then sudenly a scream. A loud blood courdling scream. Not from Dr. Smith, but from me. Oh, the pain, the pain of it all...Actualy there WASNT no pain...