The smell of pineapple monster feces was nauseatingly deceptive; from a distance of six or seven meters, it actually had very sweet smell, strongly reminiscent of the original fruit, albeit so powerful that one would never dream of using it as an air freshener. However, as one drew closer to the source this pineapple smell became more and more distinctly rotten, mixing with the by-products of the monsters’ digestive systems to create a brownish-yellow slurry with the consistency of used motor oil (as the natural enzymes in the original fruit tended to break down any molecular bonds that would allow for “clumping”), the stickiness of natto, and a fragrant pineapple nose with hints of pig shit and turpentine.
And Ukyo was covered in the gunk.
With Konatsu’s assistance, she had managed to hold the hellish fruit off until they’d tired of defacing her property with their fecal matter and gone off to terrorize some other part of Nerima. This was bad; if something wasn’t done soon, the entire ward would literally be knee-deep in shit, and that in turn would likely cause a health hazard for the restaurateurs in the area. This realization immediately led to another. “Restaurants… the Nekohanten!” Despite the fact that Shampoo was in direct competition with her (in both the business and romantic senses of the term), what Ukyo had just gone through was not something she would wish on her worst enemy. “Konatsu, start cleaning up. I need to get to the Amazons!”
“Of course, Ukyo-sama,” the androgynous kunoichi said as his benefactor exited the establishment. Sure, it was a mess, but this was exactly the sort of task his evil stepfamily used to foist upon him in the name of training. “Hmm… I wonder if this stuff would work as a biofuel?”
It had taken a few hours, but Carl finally had a stereo system to be proud of. It had everything a nubile young audiophile could ask for. Lots of speakers, lots of wattage, lots of hertz, and lots of other impressive-sounding numbers that had little to no meaning to someone who was impressed by an amplifier that went all the way to “eleven.” Still, he’d plunked several hundred bucks into this, and more money usually meant more quality (and even when it didn’t, it always meant more sex). Thus, the chubby man was feeling relatively confident as he set the system up on his lawn—there was no way in hell he was going to let his new electronics be contaminated by unnecessary proximity to the freaks.
Carl, in a rare flash of brilliance, had decided to modify his original plan a bit; sure, Frampton was the undeniable king of make-out rock, but everybody knew that Japanese people had… weird tastes. Thus, it was better to go with something that he already knew Japanese people would like, and thanks to a late-night rockumentary marathon on VH1, he knew exactly the band to use.
Unfortunately, as Newton’s Third Law dictates, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and in Carl’s case, the flash of brilliance was countered by a flash of… well, let’s call it dullness, for the sake of politeness. You see, Carl, knowing how much Japanese people liked karaoke, decided he should perform the vocals for this particular song, thus solidifying his romantic overtures with a public display of really bad judgment and off-key singing (Carl was apparently unaware that karaoke in Japan tended to be something enjoyed by relatively small numbers of people in the privacy of a booth, rather than a tool to allow drunks to humiliate themselves in public for the entertainment of the masses, as was the American custom). Even more unfortunately, while Carl had indeed selected a song from a band known worldwide for being big in Japan, he didn’t actually know all the lyrics—and instead of reading them off a screen, he elected to “improvise” the ones he’d forgotten.
“I’m da one who wants ta be wit you
Deep inside I hope you feel me, too!
I’m pretty sure you’ll be a real good screw
That’s why I wanna do it next wit you!”
Inside, this attempt at wooing was not receiving quite the response Carl would have liked. “Damn it! I can’t hear a thing over that subwoofer!”
Nabiki couldn’t quite make out what Frylock had just said, as she was busy covering her ears. “What did you say?!”
“It’s Carl! I think he’s trying to impress you.”
“Impress me? Wait, are you talking about the fatass from next door?”
“That’s the one.”
“Okay, hang on. I know what to do!” Still covering her ears, Nabiki made her way back to her alleged Dom.
“Master? May I have a word with you?”
Shake was rather busy struggling with his bonds (so much so that he hadn’t noticed the blaring 80’s arena rock), and so was initially nonchalant with his slavegirl’s request. “Yeah, what is it?”
“The fat, hairy man from next door wants me to sleep with him. Do I have your permission?”
Nabiki had always prided herself on her ability to manipulate others, and on this day, those abilities did not disappoint, as Shake proceeded to do exactly what she expected him to. “That pasty son of a bitch! So he thinks he can just walk next door and sweep my slavegirl off her feet does he? Not if I have anything to say about it!” Thus provoked into action, Shake demonstrated superhuman (super-dairy?) strength and literally jumped down onto the ground breaking the shibari rope in multiple places. However, Shake had banished all thoughts of the expense of replacing that rope, as he had a much higher threat to deal with, in the form of Carl. If hentai had taught him anything, it was that no Japanese schoolgirl could resist the charms of a fat, balding middle-aged man; if he allowed Carl to seduce his property, he might lose her forever, and then who would provide him with the nightly pleasures a hard-working Master required?
The oversized dairy product rushed to the door, flinging it open so hard that it nearly fell off of its hinges. He then took a split second to glare at his somewhat stunned opponent before letting loose an indecipherable scream and jumping towards the overweight man, tackling him to the ground with a shoulder to the gut. At the two struggled, the loose ropes around Shake began tangling around Carl as well, which marked the moment when Nabiki turned away from the window.
“You’re not going to stick around to see who wins?” Frylock asked as he raised an eyebrow.
“No thanks,” Nabiki replied. “I’m into yaoi, not bara.”
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(Posted Mon, 01 Jun 2009 05:08)
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