By Chip Fleever
All was not well at Door Knockerz Gentlemen's Club. Jacquelyn Juggs was nowhere to be found.
The crowd, having paid good money to see the largest set of bosoms east of the Mississippi, was getting drunk and ornery. They began stomping the floor and chanting her name. But still, no Jacquelyn Juggs.
When it was announced she was canceling her appearance due to an infected toenail, the place erupted. Bottles and fists flew, tables were overturned. A urinal was torn from the wall and heaved through a plate glass window. The dancers locked themselves in their dressing room and the club manager grabbed his nunchucks. Things were looking terribly bleak.
But then Doug climbed onto the stage. Doug, the most sensitive soul who'd ever tended bar at Door Knockerz. He crouched down and gently shook that Harry Potter backpack of his until out tumbled five little kittens. Unfazed by the chaos around them, the kittens began to wrestle with one another and chase a big ball of yarn.
That did it. Everyone stopped to watch the kittens play. "I've never seen something so adorable!" someone cried, and the crowd murmured in agreement. The manager emerged from the kitchen with plates of freshly baked cookies and glasses of cold milk, and Jade, Sapphire and the rest of the dancers helped pass them out.
The kittens finally fell asleep in a furry heap, and the club patrons ― stuffed full of cookies and exhausted from their blood-soaked fracas ― weren't far behind. Pillows and blankets were distributed, and everyone quickly settled down for a nice, long nap.
In no time at all, they would forget just how batshit horny they had been.
(Despite his abject virginity, Chip Fleever has become one of Newfoundland's rising stars in erotic short fiction.)
Monday, October 02, 2006
By Chip Fleever