Chap. 20 - ' A Christmas Kal-El'

Not-Exactly-Chopped-Liver Fiction™
a could-be-worse division of None-Too-Shabby Enterpises, Ink

PRESENTS :

The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail©


Is Life Existential?   You Decide.
by   ' Colorado '  Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...


Chapter 20

A Christmas Kal-El

Stave I - "LOOK!"

If Clark Kent hadn't moved from L.A. (which, oddly, he kept calling Metropolis) to New York City (which oddlier still, he called Gotham City) Ginger probably never would have met him. Even so it was an unlikely coincidence that she ran into him when exiting -- Gin preferred to think of it as "fleeing" -- the restroom at a Starbuck's off the corner of 56th and 5th Ave. (The Donald's corner).

It's not that Gin minded the "spells" she experienced occasionally in Starbuck's restrooms. No, it's not that at all. Actually she hated them.

Just the time before she'd popped into the restroom to check her make-up after spying Jon Stewart at the counter ordering a Triple Espresso Grande with extra foam and wound up standing ankle-deep in warm Woolly Mammoth pooh ...while wearing flip-flops. And this time she really, really had "to go" bad after chugging two Tres-Plus-Gross Frappuccinos. Hazarding another visit to the Starbuck's restroom, she found herself way back in Elizabethan England in a public house dandily dressed like a dude in doublet, slashed leather jerkin, paned trunk hose with codpiece and a stiff, circular ruff that jutted horizontally at least eight inches from her neck. Across the greasy table sat a guy, the spitting image of young William Shakespeare, pretending to study badly scrawled text on a paper but actually surreptitiously inching his toes up her leg. Instinctively she knocked his foot away while muttering a woman's timeless curse on the universal prevalence of "Ancient Roamin'" genes among men (thing is Shakespeare thought she was a dude, which says more about him than her). Realizing, thankfully, that the codpiece was empty this time but rather fancying the spiffy male attire, Gin had decided to play along. Corrected in thoughts about getting "lucky", Shakespeare returned to his writing and soon handled his scribblings to Gin, whom he apparently considered a good friend, and asked her opinion. Scanning the page -- having been schooled in speed-reading at Cornell and having always known Early-Modern English -- Ginny quickly realized she held the outline of a poorly-conceived gay pornographic treatise. First suggesting he title it "Hamlet" rather than "Hambone", Gin further advised her companion to forsake an uncertain future in "Adult Entertainment" (he was before his time) and urged him to direct his talents (such as they were) to the mass market by becoming a thespian/playwright/theatrical-producer/poet ...and thereby, aspire to honorificabilitudinitatibus (ironically, she had to define the word for this so-called "Bard of Avon").

Ginny then related the story of "Hamlet", which she remembered perfectly from high school, to get him started. And during her several week interlude in his time she also told Shakespeare the plots of other stories she knew including a movie she once saw called "Forbidden Planet" (he loved "Robby the Robot") and a play named "West Side Story." Truthfully. . .she didn't expect he'd amount to much -- Heck, if her improvements didn't take he wouldn't make a good "Dogcatcher of Avon", much less "Bard" of it.

Stave II - "Up in the Sky."

Gin was in the middle of telling Shakespeare the history of Julius Caesar, Cleopatra and Marc Antony, of which he was totally ignorant, when she found herself back standing at a toilet. Reacting quickly, she erupted from the restroom before Mastodon pooh reappeared and ran slap up against a dour dude at the door.

He was one solidly built fella. In her haste she'd plastered against him like a bug on a windshield and he didn't give an inch -- Gin thought it almost like running into a man made of steel. Apologies were followed by introductions (He was Clark Kent, she was Ginger Mullins) which were followed by invitations to sit, chat and imbibe deliciously refreshing cups of yummy Starbuck's coffee (their words, not mine). Sitting together drinking coffee it wasn't long before Clark was spilling his life story, including the really weird parts -- Gin has that effect on people ...must be her warm smile and jurisprudential wisdom (or maybe its just the fact she doesn't interrupt).

The short of it was that he'd just lost his job as a featured reporter at a paper in L.A. -- some scandal about disrobing down to his blue longjohns in the office -- and had moved to New York City to take a minimum-wage reporting job with some obscure rag of a community newspaper (I think it's called "The New York Times", or something). When he told her he actually lived in New Jersey for the cost-of-living Gin paused, colored a bit, then said she'd never been there. His wife, named Lois, had divorced him during the uproar and taken the dog, kids and house (which he kept calling his "Fortress of Solitude). Then he started in on the really strange stuff; exploding planets, fleeing rockets, crash landings, super powers, Kansas, corn as high as an elephant's eye... When Ginny (who definitely didn't believe the corn part... that was in OKLAHOMA!) piped up and said "Oh yeah, like in the comics.", he regarded her with blank incomprehension and continued. Turns out he was very depressed and lonely, especially with it being Christmas Eve -- He wasn't sure he could break on through, to the other side (Yes, Superman is a Doors fan.). Plus it had been snowing heavily all day and he admitted to being stranded on Manhattan. So Gin invited him to spend Christmas at her Upper East Side apartment... on the couch, of course (the same one I have to sleep on when I visit ...though I'm not necessarily alone).

As they walked to her apartment, Ginny -- who had a serious philosophical bent -- asked Clark about something she'd always wondered... was Superman at all akin to German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche's Ubermensch, which translates from the German literally as "overperson" but also means "superman"? Clark explained that Superman and the Ubermensch differed in many, if not most, ways. Nietzsche's human Ubermensch transcended that philosopher's claimed limitations of society, religion and morality and was not constrained by the bounds of ordinary human society. On the other hand Superman, though a super-powered space alien, chooses to accept the codes and mores of humankind and holds himself to a high standard in their adherence. The very fact that he lives life as the "human" Clark Kent, not Superman, proves his extreme deference to Human ways. ...Plus there was the fact that Nietzsche was a drunken asshole.

Gin felt it was kinda a pat answer -- maybe he'd seen that same "Kill Bill" movie, too -- Anyways, it didn't explain the brand-new Starbuck's mug he'd palmed and slipped in his jacket as they walked out. Regardless, the main thing was the mores of Clark's homeworld, Krypton, were basically the same as on Earth (except for the part about mandatory ritual group-sex orgies). And when you think about it, the similarity is a lucky break for us cause over at "The Twilight Zone" set they dreamed up Space Aliens that EAT humans and Superman just as easily could have been a people-eater like that if the guys who created him had been having a bad day. That consideration gave Ginny goose-pimples (which she actually finds a pleasant sensation, as do I).

Stave III - "It's a Bird."

The first thing about Clark Kent is... he's not "mild-mannered" at all. In fact, when he's hungry or tired he's damn mean. Fortunately he never pulled that stuff with Gin because she would've busted Superman's ass if he did. In fact, the whole night he was pleasant company. They even watched Ginny's old tape of "The Care Bears Movie" together and both cried at the same spots. Then they watched the old-timey movie of Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" on Turner Classic Movies.

One cool thing was Clark using his "heat vision" superpower to make the popcorn -- When Gin said how awesome that was, Clark didn't mention he'd been using his x-ray vision all night to look through her clothes and see her naked. It also was special when Clark, just before retiring for the night, thanked Ginny for her Christmas kindness and in his gratitude even asked her to call him by his real Superman name from Krypton... Kal-El.

Unfortunately, the other thing about Clark Kent is that Superman has a superhumanly loud snore, as Gin soon discovered once they'd wished each other Merry Christmas and parted. Eventually she drifted to sleep after plugging her ears with tampons. Thus insulated from the world, Ginny was unaware of the unusual proceedings in her apartment that night until Clark gently shook her awake at the crack of dawn and began a strange story.

Stave IV - "It's a Plane."

Clark first asked if her apartment had ghosts. She told him no, there weren't ghosts... except for the little dog named "Sam" that sometimes strolled through and talked to people in their dreams -- But he was more a demon than a ghost. Sam only tormented the guy down the hall and belonged to THAT apartment, but like all dogs, sometimes he wandered off. And Ginny wasn't surprised when Clark said that while he was undressing a strange man with a Celtic build had walked through the door...that is, through the door without opening it! Gin explained that was just her dad. It seems years ago her father had thought up a "transporter" thingy for his classic blockbuster video game, Doom II. Funny thing was, it worked in real life, too. He kept quiet about it because Paramount Studios holds the patent on transporters (these days Patent Law is a world of its own) as a legacy of purchasing Desilu and Star Trek and if anybody knew, he'd have to fork over huge royalties every time it's used. It all may sound far fetched but then her father IS a genius and (aside from me) the most brilliant man Ginny knows. Anyways, Clark told Gin that this guy walked through the door, tapped him on the shoulder and told him three ghosts would visit before morning. ...As he thought about it though, Clark admitted it had to be her dad because when he left the apparition said to turn off some of the lights, he wasn't Con Edison. Then at one o'clock the visitations started.

It wasn't anything like "A Christmas Carol." The ghosts appeared all together and they were the Three Stooges -- Larry, Curly and Moe -- not the ghosts of Christmas. And their visit didn't have much to do with rekindling the Christmas Spirit (after all, Clark was just a little low, not a Scrooge). In fact, instead of doing anything at all worthwhile the Stooges bickered the whole time. They also fixed her apartment's plumbing (a Stooge speciality) -- meaning that the plumbing doesn't work as bad as it used to, because now it doesn't work at all. Anywho, bottom line is now when you turn on the stove, water sprays across the kitchen and the toilet flushes. One good thing was that Clark couldn't sleep in all that commotion so he sat on the couch, had a good think and climbed out of his depression aided by reflection on Ginny's eager smile and warm heart -- Having secretly seen her firm bosoms all night long didn't hurt either.

Stave V - "It's SUPERMAN!"

On concluding his tale of the night's doings Clark pulled out the gift he went and got her after the Stooges left with Sam (the little dog). Gin's present was a ticket to Canada for a ski holiday including reservations for a week in a small rented house with two fireplaces. He'd also included tickets for several of her friends. Then he called out and a dude sauntered in (it was Manolo Blahnik!!) carrying a pair of high-fashion designer ski boots the fella had just custom handcrafted for her (they still exuded fragrant Mediterranean man-sweat). The boots fit perfect and felt dreamy.

Stave V-1/2 - The End of It

Ginny looked marvelous the whole week skiing ...although most the time she was sitting in snow.

To Be Continued

Chap. 17 - ' The Goddaughter'

Not-Exactly-Chopped-Liver Fiction™
a could-be-worse division of None-Too-Shabby Enterpises, Ink

PRESENTS :

The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail©


Is Life Existential?   You Decide.
by   ' Colorado '  Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...


Chapter 17

The Goddaughter

Ginger Mullins inherited her father's legendary crime family when he foreswore the Western lifestyle and retired to a Himalayan Monastery, devoting his life to three quests... achieving Nirvana, developing the ultimate first-person shooter video game and humping hot Nepalese chicks.

Ginny was all of nine years old.

In spite of her tender years Gin was a natural at the job and had no problem simultaneously running her family's international rackets and completing Grade and High School. She often issued orders to her Capos while playing "dress-up rodeo" with her Barbie dolls and Breyer horses. And in meetings with all the other Dons, Junior Gotti invariably asked to hold her second favorite Care Bear, Good Luck Bear, which she'd bugged with a wire.

From the very start Gin succeeded with a three pronged strategy gleaned from old Bruce Lee movies ...Anticipate the enemy, Strike fast, Hit hard. To this recipe she added her own secret sauce ...Dress fashionably and expensively.

Gin had only one Hot Button, vulgar fashion. It made her nuts. In fact, she was so incensed by Sharon Stone's famous "Ten Dollars at The Gap" outfit (a low in high fashion) at the 1996 Oscars that she seriously considered having the bitch whacked. Ultimately, Gin's Consiglieri, her former second-grade teacher, managed to cool her down and avert bloodshed. And luckily Ginny was too young for firsthand knowledge of the Demi Moore 1989 Oscar fashion train wreck (Bike Shorts for god's sake) because no one could have stopped THAT hit.

The ascension of Gin's underworld star always was accompanied by inspired fashion choices...

The day the Families told Coppola not even to think about making "The Godfather Part IV" -- they feared, the way his work had degenerated, it probably would be a cartoon animated by his grandson -- Ginny attended the sit-down at the "Il Tinello Ristorante" (just don't ask for a Caesar salad WITHOUT anchovies there) in gray-gold Fendi Metallic Flannel High-Waisted Trousers of 65% fleece, 30% angora, 3% polyamide and 1% polyester with pleated front, wide leg, belt loops, zip fly with hook-and-eye closure, front slant pockets, back flat pockets with hidden button closure, front and back leg crease details and a V-cutout with cinch-belt featuring a gold and crystal Fendi buckle at the back. Her top was an ivory Fendi Puffy Sleeve Silk Blouse with Jabot in 100% silk with traditional collar, removable silk tie having pleated ends, button down front fastened by intricate golden F buttons, buttoned flap chest pockets, puffed and pleated 3/4 sleeves, elasticized cuff band and curved shirttail. To the pants she added a red Fendi Leather Belt of 1-3/4"-wide smooth waxed leather. The belt was two piece. The longer, which covered most of the waist, had a Fendi logo engraved rectangular golden buckle at each end. The shorter piece fastened to those buckles so it's filigree-engraved antiqued-golden hardware centered at her waist front. Her shoes were a black patent Tod's Jodie Tronchetto Bootie with suede V-cutout detail and polished gray metal T-stud at the ankle, rounded toe, driving-shoe-sole detail heel back, padded leather insole, rubber sole, and 3-1/2" wooden stacked heel. Of course, everything was made in Italy -- Ginny loved the heady fragrance of garlic and Mediterranean testosterone that clung to Italian-made fashions, even after several cleanings.

And when Gin became Donna of Dons, successfully consolidating the five New York crime families under her organization's control, she wore a dark-gray Fendi Silk Bubble Skirt of intricately woven 100% silk with wide elasticized waistband accented by ruffle trim and ballooned hem. As Fendi tends to run small, she wore one size up from her usual. Gin's top was a mauve Fendi Silk Chiffon Blouse, also of 100% silk, with hidden button down front, tiered Peter Pan collar (punctuated by two silk-covered buttons), pin-tucked panels on either side of the placket, long silk chiffon sleeves with pleat detail at the elbow, long bell cuffs with curved slit, curved slits at the sides of the hem and pin-tucked panel at the back panel. A vivid splash of color came from Gin's fiery red Fendi patent-leather medium shoulder bag with oversized aged-brass buckle details and suede-lined flap closure with magnetic snap (it was plenty big enough for a Glock .45 with extra clips and a Marine KA-BAR fighting knife). Her shoes were matching mauve low-heel, closed-toe leather slingbacks that she found in a little boutique just off the Park after three days of shopping for the right ones (at one point in her search Gin figured she'd find Jimmy Hoffa first).

As she matured in her job Ginger brought a woman's kinder, gentler touch to the murder and mayhem of organized crime. Just one of her many innovations was pioneering the use of frangible bullets, which disintegrate after striking the lowlife being whacked, to reduce collateral damage when the lead flies -- a positive step toward protection of the elderly, children and the environment. Plus she instituted use of high-occupancy, alternative-fuel vehicles in all gangland hits. Early on she promoted education (perhaps because she still was in Sixth Grade), requiring a High School diploma of her associates and a college Associate Degree, at the minimum, before being Made; then she actively helped her wiseguys attain those goals with work-study programs and tuition assistance. And she made everyone go down to the Animal Shelter and adopt either a fuzzy kitty or flop-eared puppy.

All in all, everyone thought Ginny was a swell mob boss and constantly remarked how her ready, beaming smile always brought sunshine to their day. Cash flowed in rivers, turf wars disappeared and even the Feds and local cops participated in the general spirit of goodwill and bonhomie. The famously extravagant and frequent mob funerals atrophied to the point where attendees could carpool to the cemetery in a Cooper Mini. It was all good.

And capping off these good times. . . To his great surprise Gin's father accomplished the quests of three lifetimes quicker than most people pay off their car. He found Nirvana to be a feeling akin to sneezing after getting water up your nose and decided he didn't like it. He developed a neato FPS game and called it (big surprise) Doom 3; it made billions (also big surprise, duh). Truthfully, he never finished nailing all the hardbody Nepalese foxes -- there simply are just too many. Done with his Himalayan sojourn, her father returned to New York City and goofed-off for a while.

Ginny had met him at the docks when his ship arrived. In deference to his newly expanded consciousness and Buddhist inspired "beinglessness" he'd worked his way across the Indian and Atlantic Oceans on a Nigerian tramp steamer so she dressed "waterfront tough" for the occasion in a chicly scruffy D&G Dolce-and-Gabbana Striped Sweater and Denim Skirt ensemble. The cheerful sweater, striped green, blue, fuchsia, purple, yellow and brown, had a ribbed bateau neckline and lower half. The sleeves were long, with banded cuffs. The tiny indigo wash Denim Skirt was faded and whiskered with frayed edges, front slit, five-pocket style, button-flap coin pocket, front zip-fly, extended double-button tab, studded side pockets, belt loops and super cool gold logo stitching on the back pockets. She accentuated the tough look by wearing brown oiled-leather Dior Rebelle Biker Boots with round toes, side zippers and antiqued silver-buckled leather strap details at the top and ankle. The rubber sole had a 1" heel and the lining and insole were leather. And her bag was a brown Etro Suede Paisley Hobo of signature paisley-print suede with brown grained leather trim, shiny brown leather piping, aged-brass hardware and zip-top closure. The shoulder strap was flat leather with two signature teardrop-shaped links and a 16" drop. The lining was teal satin and there was a zipped pocket just big enough for her Smith&Wesson Model 36LS "LadySmith" .38 revolver with Crimson Trace Lasergrip integrated laser sight. She thought about wearing a brown Fedora, but decided not. As she drove them back to the family compound in her new Porsche 911 Carrera, both Gin and her father confided how proud each was of the other (except she did wonder how many half-pint Himalayan Mullins he might have spawned...).

Although for a long time he put up a brave front, it eventually was obvious to Gin that her father pined for his larcenous legacy. I mean after all, how long can a middle-aged guy just sit in an old La-Z-Boy starring at his Dali original before you gotta figure he's going nuts. And although being a criminal mastermind was not burdensome -- she still had plenty of time to play the coquettish co-ed at Cornell -- Gin was developing an overwhelming interest in Advanced Physics (Unified Field Theory, Quantum Mechanics, Chaos Theory), Mathematics and UFOlogy, especially comparative alien xenobiology). She really wanted to devote more time to these electrifying and personally fulfilling fields. So her father's funk formed a fitting fortuity for him filling in as foreman of his former fellow felonry.

The monster blowout party Trump and Playboy Enterprises threw celebrating her father's return as Underworld Czar was formal. Gin wore a Carmen Marc Valvo black taffeta Crocheted-Trim Dress with neutral crochet-trim down the front, strapless seamed bust and a full skirt below the knee featuring a peek-a-boo tulle underlay. Her bare shoulders were covered by a red Ilana Wolf Layered Shrug with front closure and layered trim. Once again, Gin had a little trouble selecting the right shoes; desiring a sparkling jewel detail at the toe. She settled on a black Manolo Blahnik Crystal Satin Pump with a sparkling crystal-studded ankle strap, pointed toe and 3-1/2" covered heel. She drank a little too much Dom Perignon '96 and chattered away in the back of the taxi all the way home.

The next morning, free to pursue her passion in Physics, Gin finally purchased Strogatz's "Nonlinear Dynamics and Chaos" and spent the entire day reading it.

To Be Continued

Chap. 16 - ' 1st Annual Halloween Special'

Not-Exactly-Chopped-Liver Fiction™
a could-be-worse division of None-Too-Shabby Enterpises, Ink

PRESENTS :

The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail©


Is Life Existential?   You Decide.
by   ' Colorado '  Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...


Chapter 16

1st Annual Halloween Special

Ginny Babysits Rosemary's Baby

Ginger was not big on babysitting -- In fact there's no evidence she ever did it before. After all, when one is the daughter of a corporate cabal's key cog, not to mention inventor of Doom, one doesn't crave babysitting money (except for maybe a Rockefeller).

Rosemary, a neighbor down the hall in Ginny's Manhattan apartment, knocked on Gin's door just around dinner time. Her butler Jeeves being out for the evening to celebrate that obtuse English holiday called Halloween, Ginny just had made herself a sandwich using 'dolphin free' tuna. Setting aside her meal, Gin answered the door in an outfit she’d worn since morning... the white Fendi Puffy-Sleeve Cotton Dress with scoop neck, tonal topstitching, Empire waist (with vertical seams and fine contrast stitching), 3/4 puffed blouson sleeves with contrast band, side pockets, inverted pleats creating volume in the skirt and a discreet rear zipper. The dress, crafted in Italy, was 98% cotton and 2% elastane with a 100% cupro lining. Gin's shoes were comfy Juicy Couture Dove Satin Ballerinas with Crystals. Made of white satin with grosgrain ribbon trim accented with grosgrain bow and three cute crystals at the toe, the shoe had a 1/4 inch stacked heel, round toe and leather insole (to her delight the leather soles were imprinted with "Smells Like Couture" -- she only wished they came in pink). Needless to say she looked like a million bucks though the outfit only cost about $1,500 -- the remaining $998,500 of added value was all Gin.

And when Ginger opened the door, there Rosemary stood stuck still in the Sixty's. Its not that the gaudy tent dress with a huge floral print and the skimpy JC sandals she always wore were dated, they just plain looked bad... and had since 1965. And the Vidal Sassoon haircut was a hoot, she’d look better bald (or decapitated). Ginger always had to stifle a horse laugh. Heck, Goldie Hawn let the look go, why couldn't Rosemary? At least she could advance a few years to an "Easy Rider" ensemble, which will never go out of style. But when Gin thought of how Rosemary's first husband had kinda sold her out to Beelzebub and his Demons of Darkness and of how she later had settled on something even worse, one of the neurotic borderline-pedophile "Woody Allen" types that infest New York, Ginny's heart always kinda melted for the woman.

Anyways... Once invited in, Rosemary for the first time asked a favor. It seems that she had tickets for what had to be the six-hundred-and-sixty-six-billionth "Fantasticks" performance (Rosemary was always going to, coming from, or talking about "The Fantasticks") and a strange concatenation of circumstances, involving lightning, had incapacitated her babysitter (actually he was dead). As both Seinfeld and Kramer, who lived in the building, were busy (something about waiting for a table at a Chinese restaurant), and Rosemary didn't trust Carly Simon (who reportedly had a gazillion dollars but had lived in a rent-controlled Trump apartment); she asked if Ginger could fill in and watch her baby. Of course Gin knew the Fantasticks part was a fib Rosemary always used when she was attending an important conclave of her Witch's Coven (supposedly she'd fallen into that Lifestyle after Captain Howdy knocked her up). Shivering at the thought of being touched by someone even remotely like Woody Allen, Ginny felt sorry and agreed.

Anywho, given Ginger's attitude that all children are Spawn of Satan, looking after Rosemary's baby -- who if you believe the movie, literally is the issue on Earth of the Lord of the Flies -- didn't seem a problem. Only thing is, the movie was made 40 years ago so this dude isn't exactly a toddler; but still it was only a few hours. Plus it's not like he's Michael Jackson or something.

With effusive relief Rosemary quickly returned home and hurried back with her darling baby. Strangely, one might expect Hell's Progeny to look something like Freddy Kruger, but Rosemary's Baby, who was named Andy but went by "Junior", actually looked like Brad Pitt, who is really creepy; though not as bad a Val Kilmer. After telling Gin that Junior liked a glass of warm milk before bed, Rosemary left... fancifully tripping down the hall like Audrey Hepburn in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" (itself a disturbing horror film from the 60's).

Closing the door -- and thereby sequestering herself with the Soulless Seed of Satan -- Gin led Junior over to the TV and her video tape collection where he selected her newest, and personal favorite, "The Care Bears' Big Wish Movie", to watch. Although Rosemary's baby was a perfect angel during the movie, like all young boys (and especially like all 40-year-old boys) he grew restless once it was through. Gin knew when babysitting it's paramount to establish who's in charge. Adhering to the Joe Pesci School of Conflict Avoidance (as typified by his bar fight in "Goodfellas"), Ginny immediately took Rosemary's baby to the nastiest bar she knew where she quickly provoked and utterly demolished the biggest thug there. As they left the bar, Gin promised Junior that she’d get him a yummy ice cream if he was good and beat him to a pulp if he wasn't. Then since it was Halloween and they were outside anyway, Ginger thought she’d show him how thrilling Manhattan can be on October 31st so they started off for the Village. It was after Rosemary's baby chased a stray dog down the street, caught and eviscerated it, then returned with entails dangling from his hands that Gin decided this child wasn't yet ready for trick-or-treat ...and even the Village wasn't yet ready for this child. She changed her plans. Instead she took him to an illegal cock fight in an obscure alleyway near Columbia University. They both had a splendid time and Gin made loads of dough betting on the long shots.

About the time Ginger was ready to leave, Junior tugged her skirt and said he had to pee-pee. She quickly led him to the nearest Starbuck's where he peed outside against a brick wall, then they stopped at Baskin-Robbins' for ice cream and headed back to the apartment house. Rosemary and Gin had decided Gin would put Junior to sleep in his own bed then wait there for Rosemary's return. So Ginny gave the Unholy Heir of Hell his warm milk and tucked him in. As she sat on the living room sofa in Rosemary's apartment, in essence the Cathedral of Evil on Earth, Gin idly gazed about and noticed signed pictures of Hillary and Bill Clinton hanging on the wall, in separate frames, facing in opposite directions. Rosemary came home shortly and Ginny, refusing all offers of payment, returned to her own apartment, happy to have helped a neighbor in need.

To Be Continued

Chap. 15 - 'Moby-Gin'

Not-Exactly-Chopped-Liver Fiction™
a could-be-worse division of None-Too-Shabby Enterpises, Ink

PRESENTS :

The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail©


Is Life Existential?   You Decide.
by   ' Colorado '  Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...


Chapter 15

Moby-Gin

Call her Ginger Sue. Ginny wasn't a dolphin very long before deciding she really liked it.

It certainly wasn't as bad as that time she'd been a Barbie doll -- She'd hated that. Life as Barbie was pathetic; filled with phony people and plastic things. Plus Gin found that though Barbie is supposed to come with Ken; she really came best with GI Joe ...and most the time Ken was in the closet with The Incredible Hulk anyways. But the worst part was having to be friends with that psycho twat, Malibu Stacey. Yes, life as a dolphin was much better than being the bulimic bleached blond bimbo, Barbie. (However, Gin did agree with Barbie that Math class is tough.)

It all started when Ginger was at her favorite place, Coney Island, considering the looming Bar Exam -- where aspiring lawyers must pass a bar without going in. Not paying much attention, her adjectives got confused and she took a long walk on a short pier. With too little pier and too much walk, the immutable Laws of Physics decreed that she tumble into the sea and become a dolphin, kinda like "The Incredible Mr. Limpet." It happens all the time at Coney Island, which is part of the place's charm -- In fact it's a popular local spectator sport, like "Dwarf Tossing". . .only not as potentially demeaning to dwarfs.

Gin was happy to be a Bottlenose Dolphin. She was very gray... Dark gray at the top near the dorsal fin varying to light gray and almost white on her underside. Though on first blush this motif might be thought pedestrian, Gin felt the style was classic -- refined and dignified like gray formal Morning Dress (she always had a "thing" for top hat and spats). Such coloration, in addition to being fetching on Ginny, made her harder to see both from above and below when swimming, kinda like the combat paint scheme on a B-52.

Elongated upper and lower jaws formed her "rostrum" or "beak" (it did take a while for Ginny to come to grips with the thought "I have a Beak" in her internal dialog). Her real nose was the blowhole on top of her head. She rather liked having her nose up there, it wasn't in the way so much. Of course her face showed that warm "Flipper smile"... but then a radiant smile is characteristic of Gin in all her manifestations and possibly is the part I like best (not to imply that Ginny is composed of allocable "parts", like a chicken at the dinner table).

Dolphins don't sit around on couches or La-Z-Boys watching TV and "vegging-out." Gin was always swimming, a great exercise, and easily kept in shape without having to drop big bucks at some spa. She didn't have thighs, hips or waist to fret about ...And only weighed 460 pounds. Plus she found that dolphins weren't as hung-up on the images concocted by Madison Avenue and didn't bother at all with cosmetics. Ginny did miss her tumbling tresses, but then she had a neato dorsal fin instead, and as a dolphin she never had to have her tail hot-waxed. All in all she found her new lifestyle healthy and suspected she might even be smarter than before, probably from eating so much fish, a scientifically documented brain food.

Meals were a cinch; eat a nearby fish. No agonizing or arguing over cooking in, going out, or having delivery -- no disastrous home cooked meals with heaps of dirty dishes, no disappointing meals at supposed good restaurants, no gawking pizza delivery boys when answering the door ...Plus she'd had a particular taste for raw fish ever since the night little 4-year-old Ginny ate all the guppies in her father's aquarium while he was at the Broadway premier of "Miss Saigon."

Dressing was a breeze, too. She just went around bare-assed all day long. Ginny didn't miss Prada or Gucci or Manolo. Actually the only thing she did miss was Fendi... that and bubble baths.

As for entertainment... In their aquatic domain dolphins are like 6 year-old boys on Christmas that play all day in the cardboard box while a big expensive gizmo it contained sits neglected in a corner. There was no great quest for entertainment -- it was everywhere; readily assessable. No need for theaters or TV's... If Gin wanted to see "The Little Mermaid", she just swam over and said "Hi." And she didn't need nightclubs, she could dance with her pals on any wave.

All this with no expenses... Any dolphin in the sea is richer than Bill Gates, who would be way over his head in the ocean.

After acclimating to the ways of cetaceans and the sea, Ginny (with time on her flippers) decided to embark on improving travel and set out for the Mediterranean tour she long had craved.

As she blithely pursued her perambulation, Gin frequently came upon friendly pods of Bottlenose dolphins, typically groups of females and their young. Gin always stopped to gossip or ask about local attractions, but as young dolphins are even more annoying than human children, she never crashed with them long except when they were going her way for a fair distance. The males hung out mostly alone or in tiny groups, but occasionally she came upon a mixed pod. That was always loads of fun. Dolphin dudes were really cool, reminding her lots of James Dean, Marlon Brando (in "The Wild Ones") and even Jon Stewart. Strangely, the one or two bothersome ones reminded her of Jon Lovitz.

As a dolphin Gin remained celibate, mainly because she always had dreaded getting water up her nose during sex. But she often observed other dolphins together -- they did it right in the open and didn't seem to mind voyeurs. Ginny noted the courtship behavior of male dolphins. . .clinging along and "posing" for the gal dolphins as well as stroking, rubbing, nuzzling, mouthing, jaw clapping and yelping. . .was just like human males. Unlike men though, dude dolphins love loads of lengthy foreplay before doing it. Ultimately the courting couple get belly to belly, then his thingy comes out and slips into her. Again like human males, the act lasts only 10 to 30 seconds -- It reminded Gin of watching a pickpocket. But afterwards male dolphins don't succumb to immediate drooling sleep or scuff into the living room to watch baseball; rather they do it over and over and over, with breaks of several minutes in between (I must be part dolphin). If Ginny HAD joined in, it definitely would have been with the "Jon Stewart" types; thinking about them made her tail wiggle.

It was no time at all before Ginger was approaching Gibraltar; gateway to the romantic Mediterranean. Passing through the Straits, she took a leisurely tour of all the sights from Morocco to the Greek Islands. Gin even ventured thru the Bosporus to the Black Sea where she really enjoyed the caviar... while still in the sturgeon. Along the Romanian coast she had fun traumatizing tourists in the water, especially Hungarians, by pretending to be a shark. Although she strictly avoided hurting anyone, near a beach in Italy she bit this one guy on the ass because he reminded her of some Italian jerk she'd known.

Gin saved the best, the French Riviera, for last and thoroughly enjoyed Le Cote d'Azur -- at least the parts covered by water. In fact, one morning several days after arriving she became somewhat too enthusiastic in her enjoyment while playing in the surf. Momentarily forgetting she now was a dolphin, Ginny decided to leave the water to work on her tan and inadvertently beached herself. Disaster was avoided because once free of the water she returned to her human form; a result unexpected by Gin but predicted by Chaos Theory nonetheless (seems she really should've paid attention in High School Physics). Ginny, in her modesty, initially was embarrassed to find herself butt-naked on the sand but a glance told her it was a nude beach and she resolved for once to just enjoy the moment. Basking in the sun, surrounded by naked Frenchmen wearing sandals and black nylon socks and by au-natural Frenchwomen with hairy legs and armpits, Ginny reflected on dolphin life and concluded they really are more intelligent than humans and particularly smarter than the people she knows at Cornell. However since life in the ocean is so easy, dolphins and other cetaceans aren't obliged by difficulty and struggle to manifest this superiority thru invention -- basically, they're on a Club Med vacation their entire lives. As her philosophic reflection waned, Ginny spied a mackerel darting about beneath the waves a short way off. Feeling a bit peckish, she instinctively plunged back into the sea for a nice snack. Finding herself a dolphin once again and now aware that she could go back home and be human, she high-tailed it back to New York and her final year at Cornell.

To Be Continued

Chap. 14 - 'Cool Hand Gin'

Not-Exactly-Chopped-Liver Fiction™
a could-be-worse division of None-Too-Shabby Enterpises, Ink

PRESENTS :

The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail©


Is Life Existential?   You Decide.
by   ' Colorado '  Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...


Chapter 14

Cool Hand Gin

Ginger Mullins had been drunk before. In fact, Ginny had been stumbling drunk before. Even completely-tripping-and-falling-down drunk before. And most certainly chattering-away-in-the-back-of-a- taxi drunk before.

Wasted; Plastered; Blotto -- Yes, yes, yes; she had been that drunk ...and more... before.

But till now Ginny had never been so incredibly, monumentally, mind-bogglingly drunk before that she found herself in Arkansas in withering heat and humidity in totally unbecoming boots in a line of convicts in a prison work camp and being told she would be there for some several months by a gruff character called "Cap'n" who was in charge and didn't seem the type to appreciate failure to communicate in any form.

It must've been some 6-pack of Sam Adams she'd chugged because the funny thing was... she couldn't remember anything leading up to this. She had only her usual "Uptown Gin" memories; meaning she remembered NOT being in Arkansas and NOT getting drunk, arrested, tried nor convicted and NOT arriving at a highway prison work camp. She also distinctly remembered being a woman, but no one seemed to notice that, even during the shower before she got her camp clothes. When she looked in the mirror she still saw the familiar soft curves and gentle valleys but judging by their reactions, the other men obviously saw something less alluring. It was all very strange indeed. And she didn't have to pinch herself on the bum to make sure it was real either because one guy in the shower had already done that. Fortunately she hadn't had to hurt him too bad.


Now there is a tendency to over-analyze great works like this chapter. Some people ...mainly mousey men and shrewish women... are compelled to look for and find more than is there; ethereal permutations of thought, shades of meaning, wheels within wheels, and conundrum wrapped puzzles inside enigmas. But sometimes the words "I am the Walrus" are just the words "I", "am", "the" and "Walrus" jammed together with no deeper meaning (Although that particular Beatle's song is noted for, when played backwards, declaring "Ringo is an Alien" over and over -- But then Ringo wasn't quite like the others).

Sometimes there is no more basis and explanation for something than the fact that it just plain is. So most likely if you stand outside in a thunderstorm conversing with God, you're just talking to yourself (like in that famous movie). That's the way of the Universe and of this chapter, so shake it off; get over it. The fact that Ginny found herself in an Arkansas chain gang just is and we have to go from there. Actually, it all can be explained by Quantum Theory but regular people could never understand it anyways.


As she stood there in line, Gin felt the Cap'n possessed a remarkable rough-hewn eloquence and was downright poetic concerning the subject of convicts getting "rabbit" in 'em. He had several helpers, just like Santa Claus. These helpers, called "Bosses" rather than Elves, were like counselors at summer camp, only with more attitude and lots of guns. They made life exciting for everyone.

As Gin was ushered to the barracks with the other "New Meat", the trucks returning to camp disgorged sweaty work gangs for the evening. A rabble reminiscent of her ancestral Celtic hordes streamed toward the buildings as Gin stood inside her new home looking down the long double row of bunks and listening to the Trustee-in-charge recite the house rules. There really was only one rule; doing anything earns a night in "the Box." When she raised her hand and asked where the nearest Starbuck's was, the Trustee glowered, then growled that he hoped Gin wasn't a hard case -- It all would have been very impressive if he hadn't been a dead ringer for Fred Flintstone. Anywho, Gin found an upper bunk that suited her very well and then it was time for dinner. She could hardly wait to take her new spoon and "git at them beans." She hoped the condiments included "Newman's Own" salad dressings.

The food was just like at Cornell. Considering that victuals in Arkansas prisons are bought with what little remains after the politicians, officials and contractors -- and all their Mamas' nephews and cousins -- take a cut, she wondered if Cornell used the same system.

Actually Gin wished just once she could be in one of these "situations" where the food and accommodations were 5-star. -- I mean really; she had yet to find herself inexplicably having to choose between a diamond-encrusted bracelet or a new Rolls-Royce as an esteemed houseguest of the Sultan of Brunei. On the contrary, she was always having to sidestep Mastodon pooh or thwart being kissed by a weirdo (although coincidentally, these particular precautions also are necessary at the Sultan's).

At dinner Gin made a new friend. Well, actually a series of circumstances obliged her to beat the hell out of the guy next to her and from then on he was her buddy ...people are like that. Irregardless, his name was Dragline and he was a tough, hulking dimwit who looked lots like George Kennedy. Dennis Hopper, Joe Don Baker, Wayne Rogers and John-boy's daddy all were doing time there with her, too.

Ginny found she liked working on the chain gang. There were heaps of fresh air and sun. Plus swinging a sling blade at the weeds along roads really toned the muscles, especially those difficult places in her upper arms that stayed so wiggly. She figured she was saving loads of dough being there rather than a spa in Palm Beach. And calling it a chain gang was a slight misnomer. Everybody wasn't all chained together, that would be kinky... just the guys that got rabbit and ran for it wore leg irons. The fellas also called the convict work crew a "bull gang", and that's no bull.

Gin had lots of swell adventures. The time the gang was shoveling mud from a drainage ditch was a real hoot. There was a house a little ways up ahead with a '48 Chevy in front. Well, as the gang was working along the road toward the home this curvy chick, who looked poured into her skimpy cotton dress, came out with a bucket and started washing the car. She was spewing soap and water all over herself, leaning into the streamline curves of the car, pressing against the windows and putting on a show that would cost a dollar cover at a titty bar. It wasn't precisely Gin's cup-of-tea, but the actual guys there sure enjoyed it.

And one evening she was playing poker in the barracks before bedtime. In the last hand she and another guy were betting like maniacs, raising each other over and over; the pot got really huge, maybe 75 cents. When he finally showed his hand no one thought she could beat those two 7's. Smiling, Gin fanned out her winning cards, six Aces. Everyone thought it was a pretty cool hand and that's how she got her bull gang name... "Cool Hand Gin."

Then there was the time everyone in the barracks was talking about what a great heap of anything Gin could eat. Gin reflected for a moment, then announced she could handle 50 hardboiled eggs in an hour. No one believed anybody could eat 50 eggs so they arranged a contest; the betting against Gin was fast and furious. On the day of the contest the 50 eggs were cooked up and delivered to a table before her. For a while she picked each up and put it back down, apparently inspecting them all. At the end of the hour, someone remarked that she didn't eat any eggs. Gin agreed, but noted that she HAD handled each and every one. After pulling out a dictionary, the fellas conceded the point and paid up their losing bets. After this Gin was the idol of the camp.

Of course from the beginning Gin resolved to escape... five months was a long time (two fashion seasons) and no prison could hold her. She decided a tunnel was the ticket out. A wood stove covered the hole in the barracks floor, they could move it aside to access the ground below. She organized teams who worked in shifts digging a tunnel intended to extent beyond the camp fence. They put the excavated dirt in their pockets, then when no one was looking, dropped it in the vegetable gardens they started for that purpose. Other prisoners where put to work tailoring stylish suits of clothes and forging documents, passports and such, for everybody. Even the quiet loner guy who spent his time in the cooler throwing and catching a baseball helped out. Several times she snuck outside the camp so she could align the tunnel with its destination beyond the fence and ensure their work was on course. While outside she also would stop in at the nearest Starbuck's for a refreshing Frappuccino before returning to camp. Usually she brought plenty back for Drag and the boys, too.

The day before the great escape, and a week before her sentence was up, the Cap'n approached Gin kinda sheepish and told her there was a terrible mistake of identity. The guy she was mistaken for was some actor fella in California that they'd just rounded up. Cap'n said she would be released immediately and if she wouldn't sue, she could keep her spoon, no charge, even though it was property of the State. Gin had enjoyed her time in the work camp, aside for the nights in "the Box" and the time she had to dig out that grave-like hole over n' over, so she readily agreed. It was no time before she was saying bye to her chain gang buddies; Dragline, Gambler, Society, the Birdman, Papillon, Dreyfus and those three dumb yokels who always palled around together. Finally, Gin said a lingering goodbye to the huge, kindly fellow who brought the dead mouse back to life and cured her bad bladder infection with a touch. As the camp gate slowly swung shut, Gin started down the road clutching her treasured bean spoon tight in her hand. On her journey home Ginny unwittingly managed to backtrack the Space-Time Continuum and return to life just where she'd left it in the third year of Cornell law school.

The boys in her bull gang fondly reminisced about Gin, especially remembering her ready, beaming smile. In his trademark deep gravelly voice Dragline called it "that ol' Gin smile."

To Be Continued

Chap. 13 - 'Close Encounters of the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Kind'

The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail


Is Life Existential?   You Decide.
by   ' Colorado '  Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...


Chapter 13

Close Encounters of the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Kind
or
Eine Kleine Nachterzählung

     First Movement - Sonata Allegro

Analyzed logically -- from a Super-Intelligent Space Alien's perspective -- the most likely place on Earth to meet such an entity would be, of course, at a Starbuck's. I mean... First... No-Brainer... the word "Star" IS in the name. Plus, Starbuck's restrooms house Trans-Dimensional Portals -- as Ginny discovered to great delight and ongoing pleasure. These "Potty Portals", though little known by Earthlings, are widely advertised throughout the Galaxy by Starbuck's parent company, the Pan-Temporal galactic conglomerate "Berkshire-Hathaway" (the same timeless corporation that financed the Egyptian Pyramids, the Roman Empire and Richard Burton's bar tab), and are wildly popular with trendy critters throughout the Universes.

In fact the portals make up for Starbuck's decidedly mediocre coffee. The ambivalence across Creation concerning Starbuck's actual coffee is reflected by a new slogan the company is testing in the Milkyway Galaxy, "Come for Our Potty, Stay for Our Coffee." The truth be told, Starbuck's coffee IS considered delicious on one planet... BeeBow... which orbits Sirius. But the inhabitants of that world are noted for their cast iron stomachs -- Literally. Stomachs made of cast iron. -- so that could have some bearing on the brew's popularity there. Anyways, the point none can refute is that Starbuck's ARE jam-packed with a huge assortment of strange, unearthly beings who spend inordinate amounts of time in the restrooms. It was not just a matter of fate, but a statistical certainty, that Ginny would wind up having sexual relations with at least one of them.

Now... There are two categories of Space Aliens that frequent Earth: The ones that use the wonders of highly evolved societies to get kinky jollies from doing weird stuff to humans. And the ones that work on Wall Street. It's a toss-up which variety is more aggravating. Suffice to say that after the unfortunate convergence already described herein, the first type of Super-Intelligent Aliens go out of their way to avoid Ginny. In fact a whole race of such beings transcended themselves to an entirely different plane of existence after scientists calculated that their planetary system one day would pass within 500 light years of Earth and Gin. As all the other Aliens (particularly the ones traveling with children) find Earth too vulgar to visit, that leaves some random joe from the second group as the only likely candidate for Ginny's particular close encounter.

Pekoe-Auf_25, otherwise known as Murry, was big in Hedges on Wall Street. Since the planting and pruning of hedges is demanding work with much washing of hands and scrubbing of nails, Pekoe-Auf_25 always was eager to kick back and cruise for Earth chicks at his favorite Starbuck's. He considered Earth girls "easy"... especially compared to his homeworld where one must study algebra for decades AND "ace" a killer math test just for a date. Murry had discovered early in his Earthly sojourn that Starbuck's was a magnet for foxy female Arithmetic groupies and he always managed to lasso a frisky filly with his highly-developed Mathematical prowess.

In that vein, there is no pat rule for pre-determining what will turn a woman "on." For a female in the fifth dimension the means is an actual switch located beside the auxiliary power outlet on her shoulder. But for other entities, Earth women included, the process is more esoteric and fraught with uncertainty. Take Ginger Mullins for instance. I assure you ...and you can trust me on this... that Gin maintains consummate scruples in determining "worthiness" of prospective partners and insists upon a minimum of tentacles, slime and scales. She also has other criteria concerning grooming, decorum and intellect that most males, high on chutzpah and testosterone, would find unfathomable.


     Second Movement - Romanza: Andante

For Gin it was a day like any other at Starbuck's (meaning it was totally bizarre). She was at a high table perched on a stool smiling devilishly behind her laptop screen while tormenting some guy as he roguishly strove to peek up her skirt from across the room. "Innocently" crossing and uncrossing her hot-waxed legs, she marveled as rising color and bulging jeans betrayed his thoughts. When a woman (apparently a significant other) suddenly appeared, surmised the situation and gave the dude hell, Gin choked with stifled laughter until coffee ran from her nose into the keyboard. Still leaking coffee, she beat a giggling retreat to the restroom.

Gin had learned from hard experience to approach Starbuck's toilets with extreme caution. Unaware that across the Galaxy the Trans-Dimensional Portal angle was a popular enhancement to the powder room experience, she saw entering a Starbuck's restroom as a potential ordeal of survival that might include dodging mastodons and arrows. Therefore Murry, who was inside the unisex toilet at the time, was surprised to look up from the sink and see Gin open the door a crack, peep with a single blinking brown eye, then rush in swinging a mop with deadly force. Satisfied that the restroom was, this time, just a restroom, Gin apologized for barging in; she didn't realize it was occupied. She said someone had mentioned there was a spider behind the trashcan to explain her determinedly aggressive entry. Murry smiled expansively, showing the standard human issue of 32 teeth in even rows, and excused himself. Alone, Gin completed the usual female potty ritual, dabbed the coffee stains from her nose and upper lip and returned to her table to toy with the libido of some other hapless "dink."

As he waited to order yet another container of the bilious vitriol Starbuck's spews, Murry, a knowing judge of women, reflected on the one he had just met. She reminded him of the Space Marines they trained on the planet Granite... soft eyes, gentle curves, luxuriant tresses, hard as basalt and deadly as a leaky space suit; just like his dear mother. Plus, in their fleeting encounter he had taken her measure and knew her secret fetish for Mathematics -- perhaps better than she did. Purposefully taking his coffee and sitting right behind her, Murry started to woo Ginny in his practiced manner.

As she sat there it was several moments before Ginny was consciously aware of her burgeoning arousal. For somewhere behind she heard a whispered recital of the times table; quickly progressing from four 4's is 16 to five 4's is 20 and beyond. Multiplication always was her favorite arithmetic operation and this almost subliminal chant had the blood steaming in her cheeks, and elsewhere. Looking behind she discovered the romantic mathematic calculations were coming from the Wall Street type she nearly clobbered in the WC. It was like the first time she saw the movie "Rainman" and experienced that explosive spontaneous orgasm when Raymond instantly calculated the number of matches spilled on the floor. Best part was... she instantly appraised that aside from an inexplicable hint of dirt beneath his nails, this bucko definitely was "worthy." By the time Murry had completed the multiplication table and started enumerating the Fibonacci Sequence Gin was seated next to him on a nearby couch with her tongue in his ear. When he started solving algebraic word problems for the value of "X", she erupted. Heading for the seclusion of the restroom as demurely as possible while running with him in tow, she bolted the door and locked her lips on his. As her tongue dancing a waltz in his mouth, she felt his confident fingers gliding along her back, gently kneading the kinks from her muscles and draining the tension from her body.

This was a Close Encounter of the Fourth Kind.


     Third Movement - Menuetto: Allegro

As is the way of the Universe, one thing led to an avalanche of others and Ginny soon found herself immersed with Murry amidst islands of expensive bath foam in her apartment's Mediterranean bathtub (so-called because it is only slightly smaller than the actual Sea). As he rubbed her back while citing the mathematic principles of modern plumbing (emphasizing Bernoulli's Equation), Gin reflected on the coincidence of this wonderfully arithmetical man stumbling over her deep rooted, but vaguely perceived, fetish for mathematics and throwing the switch on the sexually intense predilection for numbers and formulae that only recently had bubbled to the surface of her own awareness. She didn't ponder the concatenation of circumstances long though because every time she heard the word "Bernoulli" her insides turned all gooey and she again had to kiss those hot cupid-bow lips and squeeze her firmly muscled arms round his naked body.

With "Bolero" playing in the background (Mozart isn't great fucking music), Ginny first surrendered to him on the "northern shore" of her bathtub (somewheres near where Greece would be). The experience was like a Minuet -- slow, ceremonious, and graceful -- that lasted a really, really long time. She wrapped her arms and legs about him as he literally danced within her.

Ginny rode an undulating tide for an age until engulfed by a tsunami of sensation that left her spent, tingling and, momentarily, blind. When she returned to her body Gin's sole coherent thought was "Do that more."

And he did.

This was a Close Encounter of the Fifth Kind.


     Fourth Movement - Rondo: Allegro

After the third such interlude that evening, Murry somehow let slip that he was a Super-Intelligent Space Alien and Gin's Close Encounter of the Sixth Kind soon followed.

On learning his name really was Pekoe-Auf_25 (P-Auf for short) and that he wasn't human at all but just played one on Earth, Ginger quickly decided she didn't care. When, together, they removed the many layers of P-Auf's disguise -- including human-form isolation casing, pressure-equalizing encounter suit, exoskeleton padding, shrinkwrap and, strangely, a Victoria's Secrets pink silk panty and bra set (which she owned herself) -- Gin saw that, aside from a couple extraneous parts, he had a masculine beauty that was nearly human... kinda like that Elf guy in "The Lord of the Rings" who got the womenfolk so wet in the panties.

Once certain he was naked, the question in her mind was NOT whether what she intended to do with a bare-assed, self-confessed Space Alien was appropriate but rather which were the naughty bits. She ultimately resolved the question by trying them all. Gin started by first mounting, and thoroughly enjoying herself upon, a stout projection at P-Auf's hip. She later was chagrined to learn that this was not a body part at all but his sub-space radio, which he forgot to remove in the excitement. He never dared admit that the thing was on and transmitting while she was... occupied... by it. The resulting broadcast garnered the largest audience ever known in the Galaxy, if not in the Universe. While some of the beings who caught the broadcast didn't understand exactly what Ginny was doing, everyone (and, indeed, everything) enthusiastically applauded the vigor with which it was done. In this way, one naughty bit quickly followed the other through the night until all were minutely examined and thoroughly tested. The pair then descended into a profound slumber in Gin's bed amid her treasured collection of Care Bears. By morning she had unconsciously wrested possession of all the pillows and covers from the comparatively defenseless P-Auf.

These events were repeated many, many times over the following weeks.

For his part, P-Auf was completely smitten with Ginny, believing she was "The One." However he suspected his mother might not approve. If the two ever should meet he doubted either could seriously harm the other but the collateral damage from such a clash, including numerous dead bystanders, would be unacceptable. For this reason, combined with a real fear that Gin might actually fuck him to death, he very reluctantly cooled their relationship and soon left Earth forever.

Ginger genuinely liked P-Auf. But while appreciating (and making copious use of) his many talents, she had other priorities... not the least of which was an odd mix of jurisprudence and shopping. It just so happened that the very week P-Auf made his sad assessment and reluctantly retired to the background, Gin had a killer Contracts test plus Manolo came out with a spectacular new collection so she didn't really notice until he was gone.

To Be Continued

Chap. 12 - 'The Manolos of Wrath'

The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail


Is Life Existential?   You Decide.
by   ' Colorado '  Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...


Chapter 12

The Manolos of Wrath

Ginger Mullins shopped for shoes with the explosive predation of a crocodile erupting from a pool to lock jaws on the head of some hapless gnu drinking at the water's edge. Only difference is... Ginny didn't subsequently eat her shoes, preferring instead to stop at Starbucks for a yummy Frappuccino after "the kill."

This time was no different.

It was the summer after her second year at Cornell law. A week or more ago Gin had bought a new gingham frock and sorely needed a cute pair of mules to go with it -- As usual nothing in her closet, even the shoes she had in mind when she bought the dress, would do at all. Craving a kill to sate her mounting appetite Gin began the pre-hunt ritual that tunes mind and body for the task at hand.

Like a lioness sniffing the air for scent of game afoot, Ginny first called her particular friend... the blond one... to elicit hints of prey in her territory. After enumerating a half-dozen brand-new totally-disgusting sounds and emissions her boyfriend had released in the past 24 hours, Gin surreptitiously pumped her friend for information and learned there were several fresh opportunities involving unadvertised discount sales to the west of her lair. Clutching this intelligence coup to her bosom, Gin continued the conversation only as long as was politely decent and hung-up quick as she could. She was more excited than the American naval cryptographers when they figured the Japs where headed for Midway. Now it was bath time.

Gin's apartment is only somewhat larger than her bathtub. In fact her tub is a veritable Mediterranean Sea of a bath, with gentle tides of crystalline water lapping picturesque shores. Water tumbles... no, Ejaculates... from two impressively curvaceous faucets situated about where Libya would be. These faucets -- shining a golden hue except where encrusted with some green stuff that really should be cleaned off -- spew twin cascades that arc gracefully o'er this yawning sea to splash somewheres east of Sicily. She launches into these waters from the Gibraltar end -- Truly the only things missing are Greek tankers and nude French persons.

Ginny doesn't just "take a bath" here. She offers her lithe, naked body to the gods upon this aquatic altar and the gods, gawking the whole time, gratefully accept. Also in the process she gets clean. It's really something to witness.

Gin drifted in these serene Mediterranean-esque waters for several extra minutes as stress and tension oozed from her body before emerging, a Venus, to towel her bronze skin and chestnut hair into beaming vitality. Stopping to pluck copious lint from her belly button, Ginny then completed the myriad tasks typical of a woman preening in the bathroom. Cheerful as a lark, she did "The Hustle" to some 70's tune on the radio all the way from the bathroom to her bedroom and began to dress. Though not wanting to wear panties, she did anyway... selecting a pink thong from her much envied collection of Victoria's Secrets. She put on her particularly flattering denim skirt; it fit tight through the hips then draped with a decided Western flare. She didn't wear a bra, just a tight pink bare-midriff top with spaghetti shoulder straps. Perhaps the thong was a little too daring with the skirt but she didn't care today; anyone who saw her buns would be blinded by their searing naked beauty anyways. Slipping into her favorite closed-toe sandals, she was locked and loaded.

Ginny didn't shop for high fashion so much as stalk it. Approaching the environs of her most productive hunting ground, she caught the scent of fresh leather in the air... leather stylishly tooled by swarthy Italians exuding garlic and testosterone. Following her nose she padded up to a new place named "Chez Shue."

Gin entered the boutique and politely inquired if Manolo Blahnik had a low, wedge-heel casual mule. Looking her up, then looking her down and deciding here was a fair target for his personal blend of venom the clerk responded that Manolo Blahnik was a House of Design, not a piano bar. "Signore Manolo" didn't take personal requests -- One buys the styles he creates, not the styles one wants. He suggested Wal*Mart might have what she needed, probably for less than ten bucks.

Gin's smile bared gleaming teeth... she savored prey that offered sport before it was brought down. Casting about with an acute feline eye, she spotted a low Blahnik ballerina slipper that struck her fancy. The clerk, sensing opportunity to snub her further, had turned his back and scurried off on the pretense of helping another customer. Ginny calmly followed his sinuous track, licking her lips in anticipation. Now sensing a fatal miscalculation of her aggression, the clerk scampered from customer to customer to avoid the pounce, but in seeking a receptive audience his fawning inquiries merely urked everyone. He eventually found himself cornered by Gin, who fixed him with hungry brown eyes and inquired about the slipper. With the irritating hauteur of someone barely living above poverty who thinks serving the nobility makes one their superior, he responded something along the lines of "Sorry missy, we don't have your size."

At that moment if Gin had been a samurai and the clerk a cheeky peasant, her long sword would have sung from the scabbard tucked at her waist and swiped through his body -- entering on the right side were neck meets shoulder and exiting on the left below the armpit -- in a fluid motion barely perceived before death. But being a New Yorker, she performed essentially the same act with a few choice words. She then called the store manager on deck and harranged her like Lord Nelson dressing down a junior officer he found especially repellent, punctuating each point with a fist pounding the counter like a broadside. She concluded with a tirade to the effect that the "Illuminati" lay awake nights quaking at the international machinations of her powerful father and his cronies. The clerk, emasculated by Gin's devastating tongue, fled to the back for a good cry. On returning, red-eyed and docile, he bore the shoes she requested in the size she specified along with the offer of an additional 10% "employee" discount. Just to pull his chain Ginny feigned a change of mind, running him through several other styles, in a wide assortment of color and size, before returning to her original choice.

Whistling "The Battle Hymn of the Republic", Ginny swaggered from the store with her prey, intend on concluding the fine hunt with a refreshing Frappuccino. In her wake the clerk was busy matching a jumbled mountain of empty boxes to the associated mound of rejected shoes.

To Be Continued

Chap. 11 - 'Of Mice and Gin' Pt. 2

The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail


Is Life Existential?   You Decide.
by   ' Colorado '  Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...


Chapter 11

Of Mice and Gin'

De Secunn Pahht

(see Part 1) ...Like the guy said in "Kill Bill Volume 2", Superman is unique among all the Super Heros (at least for illustrating his rather lame point) because he was born Superman and always is Superman. Clark Kent is a disguise Superman wears that reflects his take on the foreign society in which he must hide. That's the way it became for Gin, except kinda the other way around. Ginny became "Jersey Gin" all the time and only assumed the disguise of "Uptown Gin" when she had to hide. One might think it sorta confusing and even a little metaphysical, but believe me that's the way it was, so there you go. Anywho, the point is Ginny's reborn spirit continued to flourish in New Jersey's rich soil, even with all the heavy metals.

As is common in life, it was often the smaller things that lifted her the highest. One delight for Ginny was the "inside" knowledge that hardly anyone in Jersey really pronounces it as "Joisey." Also she relished going to the Jersey shore, slipping her feet into a stout pair of combat boots and walking amongst the medical waste and Haz-Mat bags that washed ashore. And she loved driving through Camden in a very expensive car; she even bought a Glock .45 with plenty of ammo. Such secret delights helped Ginny feel like she really was on the inside looking out at all the numbnuts who didn't know Jersey.

And in this way she lived in Nirvana for several months.


Episode V - "The Empire Strikes Back"

The plot against Gin spawned when two of her acquaintances ran across each other near the stuffed Mastodon at the Guggenheim and compared notes on her in the ensuing conversation. One, the middle-aged wife of a hedge fund GP, related how she had heard Gin humming "Volare" during a shared Hamptons weekend. The other, a former private school classmate who thought her subsequent education at Bard wasn't Bolshevik enough, mentioned seeing Ginny in a deli just off the Park buying an assortment of Italian cold cuts and wearing an oddly patterned blouse that must have come off the rack at JC Penny.

That was all it took. The school of sharks had noticed one of their number moving erratically and Ginger's fate now was as inalterable as the certain swift destruction of that nonconforming fish. Ginny was born to and circulated in a stratum of American society that takes a dim view of variation from the current party line and is noted for using their money to relentlessly pound a square peg until it fits the round hole. Making everyone toe their particular line is one of their hobbies... and only the Hollywood Establishment does it better. The details for remediation of the problem solidified quickly during debate by the interested parties as a sidebar at the next Junior League meeting. The action plan was reviewed and blessed as an "Other Business" agenda item in a conclave of the Lincoln Center Board of Directors.

Ginny had a secret pleasure she only rarely allowed herself. She would daringly ditch her uptown alter ego while still in Manhattan, sneak into Jersey, and drive the length of the NJ Turnpike, all the way down and back. She stopped at every rest area to shop the marvelous treasures, all inscribed with the magic words "Garden State", and to mix with the wonderful people found there (she also loves Roy Rogers). She turned off at each exit to ensure she hit every tollbooth and contributed her fair share for this wonderful highway that has waged a noble and selfless struggle over the last 50+ years to pay for itself via the meager tolls.

One night, on returning to her Upper East Side apartment from one of these Turnpike pilgrimages, Ginny stepped through her doorway and turned on a light. Distracted by her vigorous "peepee dance" as she impatiently removed several hair extensions and the huge earrings dangling to her shoulders, Gin didn't notice the others present as they rose from their seats and moved toward her like ghouls from "Dawn of the Living Dead." Finally getting the stubborn back off the last earring, Gin turned to confront an unexpected rush of faces and unleashed a scream that shattered several Waterford crystal goblets in a kitchen cupboard. Recovering quickly, Gin realized that the apparent apparitions were merely some of her closer friends and acquaintances. Without waiting for an explanation (she really had to go bad), she rushed to the toilet to relieve that stridently throbbing urge in a sweetly satisfying stream.

Her emission completed, Gin cracked open the bathroom door and peered with a single blinking brown eye at the visitors, who now sat facing her refuge in a semicircle of folding chairs borrowed from the nearby Episcopal Church. In a soothingly singsong voice the spokesperson, who oftentimes had a heavy dusting of powdery white substance on her upper lip, explained that this assembly was an intervention on Gin's behalf over concern for her recent self destructive behavior. The group then gently urged her out of the bathroom and eventually Gin stood before them, still dressed in skintight pinto-pattern Lycra Capri pants, hot-pink sequined tube top and high-heel clogs with buckle bedecked faux-leather uppers.

Needless to say, Ginny was subjected to the litany usual at such events. She was injuring herself by sneaking off to the toxic dump across the river and by wearing animal print garments on clearance from God knows where. She was hurting others with bizarre behavior, including talking as with a mouth full of equal parts marbles and Play-Doh and consuming unsuitably spiced foods. She must assess and modify her ways or she quickly would end her days fretting over her credit rating and the repo-man. And Ginger had to listen and obey. Though nobly born, she had no more control than Anne Boleyn, Lady Jane Grey, Mary Tudor or innumerable other victims of their own upper strata.


Epilogue

Like the Titanic, Jersey Gin struck an iceberg, upended on her bow and slid into an abyss. But there remained flotsam to mark her passage. In particular, Ginger waited until the uproar subsided, then indelibly registered her quiet defiance by having a particularly sensitive and secreted portion of her person prominently tattooed with the words "Bada Bing."

To Be Continued

Chap. 11 - 'Of Mice and Gin' Pt. 1

The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail


Is Life Existential?   You Decide.
by   ' Colorado '  Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...


Chapter 11

Of Mice and Gin

Duh Foyst Pahht

Prologue

Ginger Mullins led the life New York City expected of her. The daughter of a mercurial genius well connected in the cabal of Princeton alumni actually in charge of things, she occupied her niche in Manhattan's nobility with panache. No one suspected her secret.

It all started with a party... a small collection of friends gathered to celebrate a holiday. Perhaps a little too much alcohol was imbibed. Maybe a little too much Federally controlled substance was inhaled. Irregardless, that night these ladies decided to walk on the wild side, to pitch themselves head first down the rabbit hole, to cross the road for what's on the other side -- And that road wound its way up to and over a bridge into Jersey.


Episode IV - "A New Hope"

Like the ill-fated World War II assault on Arnhem, the bridge these friends took was "A Bridge Too Far." But Gin didn't find an unexpected, battle-hardened Panzer Division on the other side of this bridge, that would be ridiculous, if not deadly. What she found on stepping through the looking glass was a Wonderland in Meadowlands.

This first time was merely a joyride in a fast car and Ginny was just a passenger peeking out the window at a flying tableau. An auto body shop rushing by initially caught Gin's attention. Three minutes later she was flushed with a ruddy glow and sweating profusely as the car zipped past the ninth body shop and fifteenth junkyard. The heady perfume of New Jersey infused Ginny with something akin to sexual arousal but actually much more; it was rapture. The tank farms passed like rusty clouds. In the street under the moonlight, cracked windshields aside abandoned automobiles shimmered as diamonds. Like mystic cathedrals, shuttered industrial complexes whispered to her soul, enticing her to their sagging chainlink gates. Everywhere were mountainous warehouses, anointed with runic graffiti. When the car stopped for gas, the attendant's voice was a melody sung by a unibrowed angel with a mullet. Gin was stupefied. . .on Manhattan, looking across the river at Jersey she never had imagined Shangra-La was a tollbooth away. Spiritually exhausted, she eventually succumbed to a serene slumber.

Once back home Gin could not be roused from her rapture so her friends, in the true spirit of their friendship, left her slumped unconscious in the backseat of the car. That morning Ginny unfolded from a tight fetal position and exited the car in glory like a Blue Morpho butterfly emerging from the chrysalis. She was reborn -- Enlightenment beamed from her face and danced in the shining silky locks of her chestnut hair. Every fiber of her being throbbed with the conviction that New Jersey was a wondrous, wonderful, wonder filled place.

The first time Ginny shopped at the mall in Paramus she lied to herself. She insisted the trip to Jersey was necessary to find the particular stores she wanted; but of course, Manhattan had Victoria's Secret, Bloomies and all the rest. Anyways, that day when her car crossed the state line, she nearly swooned. The next time ...and all the many other times that followed... delusions weren't even needed -- like a native Jersey female, her heart was captivated by the garish rhinestone gleam of New Jersey retail, especially the neon-lit nail salons found next to plumbing supply stores. Oh Gin kept up the front, pretending for her friends and acquaintances still to shop on the Upper West Side at those trendy designer boutiques, exclusive shops and "name" stores she was expected to frequent -- But it disgusted her.

This first step led to a succession of many others that rapidly carried Gin from her Upper East Side enthrallment. She gladly gave up evenings at five star restaurants and Broadway opening-nights to pass her time at suburban Jersey multiplex cinemas where she dreamily watched the couples -- his teeth clinching a toothpick, her head piled with big hair and both of them chewing gum -- as they waited for "da frikkin moovie" and chatted incessantly about family; Little Joey, Aunt Carmella, Big Pauley, Cousin Pussy... At such times Gin always hoped she could extract herself someday from the clutches of Broker/Traders and "rising star" Lawyers and fall, like the women she saw here, into the arms of a union pipe-fitter with a soft beer gut and wavy black hair.

She bought the entire 5 season DVD collection of "The Sopranos" and watched them in a personal ritual she termed "Special Time." First she would surreptitiously drive into Jersey and take a room in a Newark motel; she chose a different one each time. Inside the room she opened her overnight bag and laid garments out on the bed. Energized by a baptismal shower in refreshingly chlorinated Jersey water, she would spray, tease and traumatize her flowing locks into the glorious cascade of big hair she so admired; then she applied lots and lots and lots of cosmetics. When everything was perfect she would return solemnly to the bed to don her vestments... red thong; white garter belt, black fishnet stockings, black leather micro-skirt, leopard-pattern strapless bra, pea green Lycra decolletage top, open-toe stiletto heels with ankle straps, extra large hoop earrings -- or some similar variation of these ceremonial habiliments; all purchased, as much as possible, at TJ Maxx in Hackensack. Now properly centered in her universe, she would wire the TV to the DVD player she brought and watch an episode of "The Sopranos" while chewing gum and downing Sambuca shots.

Watching the show, Gin clapped with delight and hooted every time the North Jersey mob whacked a New York guy. When Johnny Sack or Carmine appeared, she spat at the screen. She booed the FBI and cried uncontrollably whenever one of Tony's guys caught a cap. When Gin heard Tony Soprano speak -- words like "Muttah", "Fahduh" and "Fukaweyuhz" -- her heavy heart sank low in her chest because she knew English could never dance so melodically on the tongues of pathetic preppies. During the scenes featuring meals and eating (and "The Sopranos" has lots of those) she took detailed notes of exactly what the various foods were so she could cook or order them, too. In this way she watched every episode, one by one, and melded with the culture she craved... (see Part 2)

To Be Continued

Chap. 10 - 'The PETAnic Verses'

The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail


Is Life Existential?   You Decide.
by   ' Colorado '  Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...


Chapter 10

The PETAnic Verses

At odd times in odd places over the past several years remarkable rhyming couplets have been found that appear to be related parts of a supremely sublime poetic work. The first verse was found on the floor under a table in a library associated with a Ivy League university in the United States of America. The table was oddly askew and appeared to have been leaned against or sat upon (or both) by party, or parties unknown. Another was found by the night doorman in a big city apartment building when he investigated an elevator alarm. Tracing the alarm, he opened the elevator's outer doors to find it stopped between floors, empty except for a verse scrawled tissue that drifted like a feather to settle at his feet. The other couplet pairs were discovered in similar circumstances.

There is no apparent connection, nor even reason to suspect a connection, between these verses and Ginger Mullins. However, in all probability she would deny any association, and if pressed, somehow might even manage to convince a lie-detector concerning her veracity.


These are the verses in order of their discovery:

A Guinea Pig's a cinch to skin.
Just slice the hide from tail to chin.
Tug a bit and pull a lot.
Then pitch the carcass in a pot.


A Frenchman loves his horse it's said.
He loves them live, he loves them dead.
He loves them saddled so he can ride.
He loves them grilled, or lightly fried.


A Korean's dog has cause to fret.
Cuz there's the chance he's not a pet.
Not a companion that's true and blue.
But just part of the Korean's stew.


A lobster leads a happy life.
Loves his parents, adores his wife.
He knows much joy and smiles a lot.
Until he sees the boiling pot.


Buying a mouse at the pet store.
They have a sale so we buy four.
Returning home, each one we take.
And feed it live to our pet snake.


Everyone loves a kangaroo.
The way they act, the things they do.
The Aussies sure do think them nice.
Smothered with gravy and served on rice.


One never knows quite what to do.
When served a dish of guinea stew.
Is this a pig that one has met?
Is this, perhaps, the cook's ex-pet?


A Guinea is a wondrous beast.
Fun to pet and good for feast.
Buy just one to give a try.
Then buy more for guinea pie.


A total of eight related pairs of couplets have been discovered and authenticated. Claims for dozens, perhaps hundreds, of other verses have been advanced but they always have proved to be, at best, unrelated or, at worse, outright fraud. The following discredited claimant is typical;

I really think it would be neat.
To spray whipped cream there on your seat.
To bend you o'r a comfy chair.
And lick it up as you rest there.

In the case of this verse, though originally judged to be genuine, laborious linguistic analysis determined that while it shares some superficial traits with the authentic verses, the subject of these couplets is something else entirely.


When the verified verses first made their piecemeal appearances the "animal rights" organization PETA trumpeted them as indictments of animal exploitation and anthems of their cause. However long study has proved the verses, so dripping with sarcasm it puddles on the floor, actually glorify the consumption of animals, even beloved pets that might have cute names like Sparkle and Mopsey. Stung by humiliation, PETA reversed it's stand and issued a death sentence for the composer of the verses, offering to reward the executioner with a pair of Birkenstock's, size 9-1/2, a bag of Goody unisex ponytail elastics and a $35 gift card redeemable at the website of a well-known Vegan e-tailer. This organization's harsh response led to the rhyming collection's current popular moniker, "The PETAnic Verses."

A disturbing aspect of The PETAnic Verses' accepted celebration of meat-eating are persistent rumors concerning a "lost" verse claimed to have been discovered but never released. This verse, supposedly the terminating rhyme that binds the others together (kind of like the "Lord of the Rings", huh?) into a collective definition of Humankind's ultimate position in the Universe, is said to be suppressed by a party, or by parties, unknown. Some experts charge that the United States Federal Government has buried the verse under a massive cover-up centered on Area 52 (that legendary black facility just down the road from Area 51 and next to the equally ultra-secret trailer park containing Area 69-and-a-half). Others blame the Council on Foreign Relations and Trilateral Commission; which certainly deserve condemnation, irregardless. Local legend in Manhattan reports that the "lost" verse was found on the sticky floor under a particular pair of seats in a Village movie theater. One thing is certain, the legendary lost couplets have never been published until now:


Aliens land and things are great.
They leave a book that we translate.
It's simply titled, "To Serve Man."
And serve they do, hot from the pan.


Again, there is no reason to associate Ginger Mullins with "The PETAnic Verses", separately or severally. However, it is very suspicious that this name invariably arises in discussions of the mysterious couplets (heck, it's been mentioned here twice already). Several experts in the field, while grudgingly granting the assumption of some theoretical innocence supposedly required by the American Constitution, steadfastly maintain that Ginger Mullins (third time) has complete and total knowledge of the verses and the circumstances of their origin.

To Be Continued