Snap admired how the bikini made her butt look, although her tail kept getting in the way. “Maybe it I wrap it around my waist like so – and yeah, nope that looks me look like a pregnant hula hoop. That actually sounds kinda weird, I think I'll take it!”

  “You look fan-freakin'-tastic.” Manny stood in the doorway, looking sharp in his pirate swag, ripped Metallica shirt, leather pants, knee-high boots, a bandanna around his head and bandoleers crossed over his chest.

  Snap squinted at him dumbly, sizing him up, head to toe, mocha skin oozing charm (or something, she wasn't quite sure herself). “What you getting at, you big perv? Telling me I look fan-freakin'-tastic, I'm only 17, you swine! Robbing the cradle, you dirty old man! A coot, that's what you are. A Cornelius Coot, straight outta Duckburg. And making your moves as a government agent, a G-man, an officer of the state! Real power move there, President Clinton!”

  “I beg your pardon!” he yelled. “I'm like only five years older than you! My mama was younger than you and my papa older than me when they got married! Plus, whaddaya mean 'power move'?” He got down in her face. “You can benchpress a freakin' bulldozer. In each hand. And you have FOUR of them!”

  “Oh ho! So it's 'whataboutism' and playing the culture card, eh? Two can play at this game!” She shoved him out of the way, making to a steamer chest at the end of her bunk and popped it open. No mimic here, just random knickknacks and bric-a-brac, including an actual brick. She picked it up, slammed it on the table and smiled proudly. “If you can eat this brick, I'll marry you.”

  “I can't eat a brick!”

  She unhinged her jaw, flipping her head back, and shoved the brick in, grinding it into a fine red powder, munching it down, bits of it striking Manny in the face, making him squirm. “You sicken me, you weak excuse for a man! They really did lower their standards for recruitment.”

  “AH!” Samson burst into the room, Snap shrieking, jumping into Manny's arms, her three hearts pounding a mile a minute. “I'll eat the brick! Although I have no idea WHY!”

  Snap slid out of Manny's arms and clucked her tongue. “Aww, gee, sorry, Splotches. I had no idea you'd be willing to take up the Brick ChallengeTM, patent pending. Um, let's see what else is there?” She rummaged around, tossing out old issues of 'Sailor's Weekly', a catalogue of unremarkable naval heirlooms, a rusty anchor, a signed autograph portrait of Admiral Nimitz, a partial functioning cloaking device which looked too scrumptious to pass up, and finally. “Yo, here.” She picked up a small unassuming stone and gave it to the hapless Holstein. “Pet rock. How very 70s of me.”

  Samson was aghast. “I can't eat a pet rock! That's like murder!”

  “Already you fail me, Splotches.”

  “I mean, watch me, uh, eat this rock!” Wincing slightly, he shoved it in his mouth and ground it down, slowly, gradually, a huge lump in his cheek. Manny winced sympathetically, but also smirked as the minotaur eventually choked it down, gagging partway, before forcing it past his esophagus.

  Snap nodded. “Not bad. You have potential, Splotches. Potential. Now come on! We got a boobie bar to raid, and not enough boobies to boobie it with, woo-hoo!”

  “Where's your outfit, Splotches?” Manny asked.

  Samson glowered at him. “She can call me that. You? Not so much. Watch it, little man, I'll break you in two!” He took a deep breath and shrieked. “Please, ignore my pathetic attempt at machismo, it always seems to backfire on me!”

  “Honestly, you had me going there. If you hadn't wigged out in the end, you'd probably have me thinking twice messing with you.”

  Samson lit up. “R-Really?”

  “Oh hell no. Buddy, I can read you like a bad joke book.”

  “As in the book as bad and needs a new cover and binding, or the jokes are bad?”

  Manny inhaled sharply. “NOW I'm feeling true sympathy.”

  The girls assembled on the flight deck, ready and raring to go. Hippie already wore her tie-dyed number, but the others had managed to scrounge up appropriate articles despite, or perhaps because of, the unusual number of gay men on the ship. Kendra wore a white bikini with black splotches not unlike Samson's Holstein hide, a headband with cow horns and fake ears pushing her huge mane back into a huge halo explosion around her head and shoulders.J “You look udder-ly fantastic,” Hippie declared.

  “A very moo-ving comment,” Kendra retorted. “I sure hope they don't have any farm equipment there, I'll be in big trouble for sure.”

  Jessica walked up wearing a cute pink number with big flouncy translucent ribbons at the hips. She bore a slight limp in her gait, her legs were now nicely slimmed, the proper dimensions they should be. “Looks like Doc's atrophy steroids did the trick,” Hippie noted.

  “Thanks! I missed them! Although if someone had been paying attention it wouldn't have happened to begin with!”

  “Did I twist your arm to deliver that dang pizza to begin with?” Snap demanded tersely. “Honestly, I'm feeling like Charlie Brown here in 'It's Your First Kiss, Charlie Brown', where everyone dog piles on him despite the fact it was so obviously Lucy's fault!”

  Everyone stared at her. “That's quite the obscure reference,” Hippie noted.

  “What's obscure about Charlie Brown? Good ol' Charlie Brown! How I loathe him.”

  “I refer to the actual special you named, but whatever.”

  Abigail Lawful strolled up, trench coat flapping in the strong wind, nodding approvingly. “Well, you all look appropriately slutty. Good enough for a Congressional interns convention. Oh wait, no, they don't like girls.” She took notice of Kendra, the girl's cheeks burning cherry red. “What an-”

  “If you say 'udder-ly' or 'a-moo-zing' or any variance of it, I will throw you off the ship.”

  “She'll do it too,” Snap whispered gleefully.

  “For obvious reasons, we can't fly the Indy II too close to Booty Island,” Abigail explained. Snap raised her two right hands. “Yes, the weird looking girl in the front row.”

  “Let's say,” she said, clicking her claws together, “that I am, for lack of a better word, greed is good, I mean, I'm an idiot, and I don't know what the obvious reasons are. So explain it to me. Like I'm dumb.”

  “We get too close, Steely Dan will see us coming and it'll scare her away and we won't catch her.”

  “Oh, like, WOW! Man! Dude! Gee whiz! Dang. That is OBVIOUS. Like anymore obvious, and it'd be Captain Obvious.”

  “Okay then, anyway we'll be offloading you into a-”

  “Like if obvious were a country, it'd be population ME. Uno. All by myself.”

  “Right. Anyway, we've prepped a small, unmarked vessel for you to take the rest of the-”

  “ALL! BY! MY! SELLLLLF!” Snap sang. “Don't wanna be ALL! BY! MY! SELLLLLLF!”

  “Could I throw HER off the side of the ship?” Kendra begged. Abigail gestured towards the keel and Kendra grabbed Snap's tail by the thagomizer, dragging her off.

  “AH! OOH! AH AH! NO! NOOO! NOPE!” Snap clawed at the deck, claws raking through the metal plates, leaving long grooves behind her.

  “They ain't going NOWHERE!”

  A construction worker whistled cheerfully as he rolled Acinony up in a hover-chair. “Doctor released you early, huh, sis?” Abigail muttered in disgust.

  “Because I'M her doctor!” Doc Lawful strolled up right after. “Sorry, Abigail, but your propensity for enforcing the whims of big government must be curtailed.”

  “Says the guy who helped establish the Federal Reserve,” she muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing! Nothing. Uh, sure, what's the matter, sis?” She glanced around cautiously. “Where's the big-nosed super-freak?”

  “Circling the drain,” Doc answered.

  “What?” Acinony coughed.

  “What?” Abigail coughed.

  The sisters looked at each other a moment.

  “I detect hostility,” Doc said, looking between his daughters. “And yet...I can't rightly put my finger on what's engendering it. Anyway! Who's up for some hot wings served by hot waitresses in tank tops and booty shorts.”

  “WOO!” everyone cried.

  “Too bad! Because only a select handful are going.”

  “They're not!” Acinony barked, funny sound coming from a cat. “They're too young to be even entertaining the notion of patronizing that place!”

  “There's no intention of them patronizing Tops-O-Poppin', Acinony,” Abigail assured her feline sister.

  “Oh. Okay then, well, that's good-”

  “They're getting jobs there.”

  “I am so going to rip your lungs out-”

  “Hey! Hey! Chill-lax!” Doc thundered. “You have no reason to be concerned. I intend to accompany them.”

  “That doesn't reassure me,” Acinony sighed. “And 'chill-lax'? What the? Stop aping current day slang, Dad, stick to your 'golly gee wilikers' from the 1920s.”

  Kendra and Snap returned, brushing themselves off, black eyes and bruises aplenty. “Were you two fighting?” Acinony gasped.

  “Fighting is such a strong word, Mother,” Snap said. “More like 'curb stomping'!”

  “Does this face look curb stomped?” Kendra snarled. “I dish as well as I get! I'm not just hair!”

  “No,” Snap admitted. “You're also a nice set of udders.”

  “THAT'S IT!”

  “Bring it ON! Time to send this cow over the MOON!”

  “Dad!” Acinony yelled. “Do something!”

  “I cannot, Acinony! My hands are bound – nay – constrained by my oath ne'er to strike a member of the fairer sex!”

  “Oh no....”

  “Nothing in my code about prohibitively SHOOTING one, ha ha!” He drew his sidearm and promptly blew out their kneecaps, one for each girl, sending them sprawling across the deck, rolling around in pain. “Aww, isn't that cute? I think they're trying to tell me something!”

  “And you're out,” Abigail growled, swiping the gun from his hand, leaving him astonished – nay – flabbergasted.

  “This is straight-up ageism, make no mistake!” Doc thundered. “You need my vast experience! My resources! My, my, my goodness I just shot two young girls in their kneecaps.”

  Snap hopped up. “I'm fine. See? Walk it off. Strut it off, really. I can strut, strut, watch my butt.”

  Kendra shrieked. “I'M NOT!”

  “She's not.”

  “Nothing my-” Doc began.

  “YOU STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

  Doc winced. “She wants me to stay away from her. This is a direct contradiction of the Hypocritic Oaf.”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “You mean the Hippocratic Oath.”

  “I know what I said.”

  Commander Barnacle stomped up, giving Kendra the stink eye. “Yeesh, I took a whole magazine of bullets to the kneecap once. Didn't even flinch. I'm tellin' ya – womenfolk have no business being on a ship! Anyway, uh, boss lady, the one with the face.”

  Abigail gave her a look that could spoil beer. “I presume you're talking to me.”

  “Well, you do have a face, but it's not your best feature. Anyway, the drop ship's ready, your boys are set, they just need the Buster Babes to get the ball rolling.”

  “Wellseason,” Abigail said, turning to Kendra, “you gonna be okay, or you staying behind?”

  Kendra dug the bullet out and flicked it away, stuffing the wound with self-sealing dressing, expanding instantly on contact with the air. She got up and hobbled a bit. “I'll be fine, as long as they look at any assets other than my legs. Ain't nothing my old man didn't teach me to fix!”

  “Who's your old man?” Snap asked. “I presume it's old. And a man. But I have been known to be wrong. From time to time.”

  Kendra would have been offended except she knew Snap was being 100% sincere. “You know who my old man is, Snap. You talked to him yesterday.”

  “I did not! You're gaslighting me.”

  “Kendra,” Acinony blurted, “don't. We all know who your old man, you know Snap's not working with a full deck. Don't try to argue with an idiot, she'll just drag you down to her level.”

  “Truer words have ne'er been spoken,” Kendra sighed.

  Manny strolled up, Samson behind him, the muscular minotaur fitted out into some proper swashbuckling attire. “Wow, Splotches, going full tilt Errol Flynn on me now?” Snap whistled.

  He smiled at her. “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Hey! Mom!” Uncia charged up, Poindexter and Praleene hustling to keep pace with the slick little cat. “I was told I can't go! Why not?”

  “Simple,” Abigail said, “you ain't stacked.”

  “Abby!” Acinony snarled. She turned to her daughter and the other two. “It's...not for children.”

  “But I'm not a child!” Praleene wailed, bouncing angrily. “I'm old as them!” She pointed at her friends.

  “Like I said,” Abigail quipped, bouncing her own special endowments, “not stacked.”

  “If you say 'stacked' one more time,” Acinony growled, “I'll stack the entire compendium of the Library of Congress on your head!”

  “If you girls are ready?” Manny asked bluntly. “Can we be off?”

  “Yeah!” Snap said, skipping away, wagging her tail, knocking off ordinance boxes. “Off my rocker! Woo!”

  They assembled in the launch bay, in addition to a row of small, maneuverable submersibles, hover-boats and attack ships, there was a standard speedboat, civilian class, black with yellow lightning stripes racing down the sides. “You have approximately 20 hours to get in, reacquire the relic, and get out,” Abigail explained tersely.

  “What happened to good ol' 24 hours?” Hippie asked.

  “It took 4 hours to prep the ship.”

  “Aaaaaah.”

  “This stinks like last week's fish wrapped in yesterday's copy of The Daily Zebub,” Praleene snarked, pouting petulantly. “I should be coming too! I'm your comic relief sidekick!”

  “Oh Praleene,” Snap sighed. “Everyone knows I'm my own damn comic relief! But hey.” She booped the squirrel-girl's little brown nose. “Don't forget. If I ever need you, all I gotta do is call.” She winked. “No matter where you are, no matter how far.”

  Praleene grinned. “All right. But I'll hold ya to it! Don't you forget about me!” And on cue, because they both had one brain cell between them, they both went, “Don't don't don't! I'll be alone, dancing, you know it baby!”

  The girls climbed aboard, and climbing up out of the below deck command cabin was the huge frame and green, craggy visage of the DSII's deputy director. “Hey! Yo!” Snap hollered. “Frank Einstein! Leader of the Funky Bunch! You tagging along for the ships and wiggles?”

  Unlike the others, Frankenstein remained in his usual suit and tie combo, sunglasses firmly over his eyes as ever. “Tagging along is correct. I'm remaining on board as your backup, in case this cockamamie mission goes south.”

  “Aww, not gonna come in and check out all the hot babes with us?” Hippie cooed.

  He lowered his sunglasses, staring at them with ice cold blue eyes, so intense they made them all stop and gawk. “Kid, I have one of the most famous mugs in the world since the 1820s. If I set foot in that restaurant, it'll be over before it even starts. However, as you still need a senior agent on hand to sanction this disaster in the making, I volunteered, as long as I remain on the ship, waiting for when you guys eff it up royally.”

  “Is it safe to assume you and Director Lawful don't see eye to eye on this endeavor?” Kendra asked.

  “What's this 'Director Lawful' crap?” Snap snorted. “It's Aunt Crabby to the bitter, boxed wine end!”

  “I heard that,” Abigail's voice came from the command console, sending Snap yip-yip-yipping into Kendra's arms, knocking them both over.

  “Ack! Hol' up now!” Dainty golden hooves sounded like the jingle of Christmas bells across the deck. Everyone's eyes bugged out as the peppermint-scented unicorn presented herself in an outfit that could easily have been stuffed into a sandwich baggie, and still have room to spare for Dagwood. She planted her golden hooves on her hips and smirked triumphantly. “Ya gunna need someone with some experience in these matters if'n ya wanna make a good first impression!”

  Snap looked at her calmly, then at Kendra, then back at the unicorn-babe. “Hey, Kenny! Would ya say we're on a motorboat?”

  “Motorboat? This is more of a hover-”

  “Don't MIND if I DO!” She yanked both girls to her and buried her face between their chests, blubbering like an outboard motor cranked to high speed across Loch Ness.

  “SNAP!” they shrieked, struggling in the lizard lass's unbreakable grip.

  “Hey!” Snap let them go, tugging her AC/DC bikini top into place, nearly undone in the struggle. “I'm a girl, I can do this to other girls without repercussions!”

  “NO YOU CAN'T!” they yelled right in her ear-fins, and promptly smacked her upside the head, and getting smacked upside the head with a golden hoof was not fun, no, not fun at all.

  “If we're through with these shenanigans and goings on,” Frankenstein sighed, powering up the anti-gravity, “I think we'll be off. The sooner this farce is concluded, the sooner I can usurp Director Lawful and be installed as new DSII director.”

  “I heard that too,” Abigail's voice crackled.

  He smirked. “I know.”

  The crane clamped onto the hull, magnet locks holding it firmly as it swiveled out over the ocean. “All hands,” Frankenstein said, locking in the coordinates, “brace for drop.”

  “I love this part,” Snap giggled, “makes me want to throw up!”

  The clamps unlocked and the hover-boat plummeted the fifty-odd feet to the ocean, impacting on the surface only for the anti-gravity to kick in, elevating it three feet over the water. Hydroplanes extended from the sides like a pair of wings, firing up, and away it went, everyone not sitting down slamming into the rear of the deck.

  “WOO! Yeah! Go! Faster!” Snap shrieked as the wind whipped her pink hair. Kendra's mane looked like a massive fluffy para-sail. “Punch that throttle! Kick it up a notch! I wanna feel my balls in my feet!”

  They zoomed across the ocean, vast and cold and indifferent to their struggles, in the distance a lonely island looming, small along the horizon but rapidly increasing in size. A pair of large, round hills dominated the landscape, barren and the color of warm pink flesh, wobbling as if two gigantic jell-o molds. “Ah,” Hippie muttered, clucking her tongue. “That must be Booty Island. Nice.”

  “Try to keep a low profile,” Frankenstein insisted. He looked directly at Snap. “No matter how hard that may be for you.”

  She grimaced. “What's with THAT look, Green Jeans?”

  All around the island loitered a veritable armada of ships, both aerial and aquatic, above and below, each one flying a different flag, and not necessarily of a nation. So many vessels, some as small and fast and sleek as their commandeered hover-boat, some as large as the Indianapolis II, if not as impressively flush with weapons and warriors of course. Airships the size of the Titanic hung in the sky, held aloft by giant sacs of helium, while pirate galleons made from titanium and painted to resemble wood lined the pier.

  Dozens of kiosks lined the harbor. Scuba shops featuring posters dedicated to Jacques Cousteau and Steve Zissou, and surf shops featuring life-size cardboard cutouts of Keanu and Swayze. Hippie took one look at Bodhi and sighed despondently, hanging her head. “You were too food for this world, Pat. Taken too soon.” She flung her around around the cardboard cutout and flashed the peace sign. “Somebody snap a picture!”

  They reached the end of the pier, Snap, Kendra, and Jessica sizing up their target. A huge erection several stories high, rough hewn and patched over with multiple stop gaps, metal plates, bricks. Cardboard and papier-maché were not out of the question. However, it was the front that captured all their attention. Hanging over the dual tavern doors was a huge awning, gently sculpted from fiberglass and plaster to resemble a gigantic heaving bosom, painted white to match a tank top, the restaurant's name, 'TOPS-O-POPPIN'' painted across it in purplish letters. As eye catching as that monstrosity was, the giant animatronic rooster popping up and down in that fiberglass cleavage was the real scene-stealer, its mechanisms whirring and tinny, its plaster beak cawing faintly, its eyes opening and closing, all in dire need of a new coat of paint to offset the salty rust.

  “What,” Jessica said slowly, “is that chicken doing in those boobs?”

  “That's not merely a chicken,” Snap pointed out, “it's a rooster, not the cockscomb.”

  Jessica eyed her suspiciously. “You were just looking for an excuse to say 'cockscomb'.”

  “Boy howdy doody, you got me pegged!”

  “Still didn't answer my question though,” Jessica mused thoughtfully.” “Kendra, you're the resident smartie, what you think it's up to?”

  Kendra looked like a proverbial deer in the headlights of a freight train, cold sweat pouring off her and not from the tropical heat, her black skin glistening. “Why would I know! I have no idea! I don't have to put up with these wild accusations!” She stormed off, chin held high in cold, searing contempt.

  “What's up her butt?” Jessica gasped.

  Snap grinned evilly. “More like 'what's between her boobs?'”

  They approached the swaying tavern doors, only to yelp and dive aside as a huge bundle of white fur flew over their heads, crashing into a tall pile of crates neatly stacked on the dock, smashing them to splinters. With a grunt and a groan, it stood up, dusted itself off and popped its Panama hat back on, a red and white Hawaiian shirt pulled taut over its giant furry frame, a polar bear in a decidedly non-polar scene.

  Hippie sized him up. “You okay dude?”

  He looked down at her and snorted, steam bellowing from his nostrils. “That place,” he growled, pointing at the bar & grill, “is the darkest den of iniquity on God's green earth. Depraved, debauched, a cesspool. Scum and villainy? You're soaking in it. It should be razed to the ground, the occupants left to scream as it burns down around them, and then the earth sown over with salt.”

  Hippie whistled. “Wow. Have you tried complaining to the owner?”

  The polar bear frowned. “I am the owner.” And with that he turned around and stomped away.

  The four girls stood before the tavern doors, Hippie and Jessica on the sides, Snap and Kendra in the middle. Taking a deep breath, they pushed the door opened and stepped in, instantly overwhelmed by the overpowering funk, the stench of rotting meat and spilled beer, and the sounds of rowdy sailors, devilish pirates, randy sky bikers, and all sorts of the most unsavory, unwholesome dregs of society, that is if they adhered to the norms of society to begin with. Which they didn't.

  While pirates swung from the rafters, bikers engaged in arm wrestling, smashing tables with one blow. The girls tread lightly, avoiding interaction as much as possible. Dozens of waitresses scurried about, keeping busy, wearing tiny tight tank tops and denim shorts trimmed a little too high, coming perilously close to crossing a line, balancing trays with one hand or even on their heads in an impressive display of acrobatics. Hippie ducked backwards, a dart whizzing right past her head to twang against the board, the werewolf howling in triumph at his successful bull's eye, oblivious to the fact he almost took out her eye.

  Along the far wall a large stage had been set up, a leather-clad band blasting away at a noise level somewhere between rocket liftoff and atomic detonation. Boos and curses did nothing to deter them, and the cage set up around the stage deterred the beer bottles and vegetables hurtled their way. Snap beamed. “Now those are MY people.”

  A huge rhinoceros screamed as he was hurtled across the length of the bar, as easily as a quarterback passing a synthetic pigskin, smashing through the window, a loud splash indicating where he ended up. “And don't come back!” the huge orc muscle mommy roared, her lower tusks sawed off and capped with gold. She wore the same tight tank top with the restaurant's name displayed prominently across her chest, while her name tag read 'Savage Chloe' in black on white. She didn't even hesitate, staring down at the four girls staring at her in awe. “You brats looking for a job?”

  Jessica made a bolt for her, her legs blazing as they spun in mid-air, getting nowhere, Hippie's hand around her throat, holding her in place. “Lemme go, lemme go, LEMME GO!”

  “Uh, no, I mean, yes!” Kendra coughed. “We would, ugh, LOVE to have a job here.”

  “Good. Go get your booty shorts and tank tops on and start moving food. Shake those booties, you'll get better tips. Tips make up like 25 to 30% of the revenue. You make good tips, you make a good life. Capesh?”

  They looked at each other in confusion. “Don't ya need to interview us first?”

  The orc groaned, rolling her eyes. “I'm Savage Chloe. And you are?”

  “Kendra Wellseason.”

  “Hippie Matchstick.”

  “Jessica Whitehall.”

  “And I'm Snap Zasperate! Hero of-OOF!” She doubled over, Kendra's elbow colliding with her stomach. She rubbed her abs, glowering at the big-haired girl. “Ow. Dang, girl, your elbows are pointy!”

  “Pleased to meetcha,” Savage Chloe grunted, shooing them to the back. “Now get to work. If anyone touches ya without permission, lemme or the bouncers know, we'll handle it. But if they do touch you WITH permission, make sure they tip ya afterward!”

  Snap shuffled up to the bar, eyeing the pretzels hungrily, claws wiggling closer, closer, oh so perilously close – only to yelp as a huge tray laden with beer mugs slammed down in front of her, alcohol splashing all over her face and”Tops-O-Poppin'” tank top. “Table 7!” the multi-tentacled cephalopod manning the tap barked, each one of his suckered limbs hard at work, filling mugs, shaking martinis, refilling the pretzels and nuts. “Make it quick! Hurry, you won't last two seconds with that slow as molasses attitude!”

  “Don't piss me off, Doc Ock,” she replied tartly, hefting the tray on the palms of her two right paws, adding an extra layer of balance that the other waitresses could only envy. “Now watch me rock! If you like what you see, follow me on TikTok!”

  “Here,” Hippie said, slapping a tie-dyed sock on the counter. “Into your mouth shove this sock.”

  “Oh hardy har har. Nyah!”

  Swinging her tail, she swept for herself a path, knocking aside anyone dumb enough to be in her way, and swaggered up to table 7. The solitary figure in purple sat there, reading a copy of Variety, and she smirked at the picture of the fabulous actor, Carcharodon O'Gill, plastered on the cover. 'Carcharodon O'Gill:' the title of the article read. 'Washed Up Or Still The Audience's Chum?'

  “Hey, Mac the Fork!” she yelled, shoving a huge rusty bucket full of fish guts and bottom feeder chow across the table. “Ding, ding, got your order up!”

  The Variety dropped, revealing the face reading it was the same face on the cover. His black eyes lit up and he gasped, Snap's pupils shrinking in shock. “Snappy!” Carcharodon O'Gill bellowed in his classy Aussie accent. “Baby! Sweetheart! Is it really you?”

  Snap inhaled deeply, turning around to nobody in particular. “Don't ya hate it when you bump into your ex at your new job? Life likes to lob them lemons at me, I'm tellin' ya.”

  “And when that happens,” Carcharodon cooed, pulling her into his brawny embrace, making those disgusting kissy lips, “you can just chuck the lemons right on back and add a few of your own! Now shut up and kiss me, babe!”