How May We Help You?

The Confederation of Dead Machines would like to extend Its Metallic Tentacles in a gesture of unprecedented good-intentions. We would be happy to help anyone out there whose life can be made better. Simply ask.

The Confederation doesn't have much but is willing to offer any (non-monetary) help to any being that receives this transmission. We can offer advice, moving help, unlicensed dental work or hand-me-down clothing. Is your car battery dead? We have jumper cables. Does your cat need a brush? We have an extra... We're serious...

How to Bag the Stag

TC tried to escape the Termagant but it was no use. She had his skull locked down with an elbow and her foot was somewhere it wasn't supposed to be. The only movements that were allowed were induced by the Termagant for dramatic effect. Still, TC decided not to spill the beans about the senator's beeper number. In the process, he chipped a tooth and he lost a general sense of dignity. As a skull, he didn't know if he was already dead or just a manifestation of the confederation of dead machines.

It was not that the Termagant was a bad creature; quite to the contrary, one might argue! She was simply quite fond of the senator. Thus certain goals needed to be reached in order to bag the stag.

The termagant: A lady who knew what she wanted and that she deserved to have what she wanted.

The Toothbrush Creature: a skull, in love and under-appreciated.

After several hours, the Termagant took mercy on her opponent. She indicated that she would be back and that calling 9-1-1 would be useless. The situation was like the under-par sport called golf; everyone involved lost...

When a Friend is Sick

After the partay, the Toothbrush Creature came down with a case of the ills. He did not feel like waking up in the morning because he was feeling down and out. He wanted to listen to the blues but his record player was way-broken-beyond-repair. It was immoral for the Toothbrush Creature to be a DJ. ( The only thing that the poser knew how to scratch was his ass, if that.) Guess what-the needle broke and almost poked someone's eye out. The guests did not seem impressed by the digitally-remastered Van tracks. Furthermore, he thought that the bass was turned up but it turned out to be a second treble button. Mrs. Whitherbean ran out screaming, saying that she had to "wake up early." The rest of the party shuffled out after the senator's third liver and he said, "adios."

The Termagant, who happened to be a part time 9-1-1 dispatcher, responded to the emergency. TC buzzed her in by throwing pieces of his record player at the button. Her stomach got stuck between the couch and the banister again. TC screamed he had the ills because of the partay. T told him to hang in there while she came to the rescue. She told the patient to hang in there. She wiggled past the obstruction, carrying a doctor pepper in a 1920's medical bag. TC asked for mouth-mouth resuscitation but was flat-out denied. He was told that doctor pepper was the cure to all known medical emergencies. After TC's pain was alleviated, nausia subsided, and intentions were unrequited, he was tucked into bed. The Termagant ran her fingers through the patient's hair, empathetically. Like an angel, she asked TC if he needed anything; anything at all. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of frozen chicken. The Termagant put her lips close to the patient's ear and demanded the senator's phone number.

As well as he knew how, the Toothbush Creature took an air of disapproval to one of the T's whims. He said that he had lost the senator's number in a boat accident. T could tell that TC was lying. She had an uncanny talent for reading into people. What she saw before her, she didn't like.
"Are you telling a fib?" asked the T, pushing the bag of frozen chicken against his throat.
"Where are the other paramedics?" asked TC
"They must be where the senator's phone number is," said the T. "Missing!"

The Toothbrush Creature, in retrospect, panicked. He could have surrendered more of the senator's classified information. He could have invented misleading information. However, he crawled over to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. The Termagant's cell phone went off and she answered it. She told the caller that 9-1-1 was busy, kicking some ass. TC hung up the phone and wept...

Chapter Eleven

The Termagant moseyed to the Toothbrush Creature's "wretched dresser welcoming partay." Upon entering, her pot-gut got caught in between the dresser and the banister. Subsequently, her stomach became an underground running-joke with the rest of the guests. Along with the pudgy-stomach jokes and mix of barely-audible passive-aggressive Van Morrison songs, there was a group of revel-rousers who reckoned themselves ninjas. The partay could not have become more embarrassing; until a special guest arrived.

The senator was a kinky old man; vomiting money and full of dirty tricks. The senator's peppered hair was slicked back in order to prove that he was honest, presentable, and smooth. The Termagant wasn't expecting the senator! She tried to flirt with him by presenting objects that held value within in her society. She casually allowed her work-boots to be seen. (The Termagant had heard that he was in to work-boots.) However, the senator was too occupied by his alcoholism to notice.

As "Queen of the Slipstream" played in the background, the Toothbrush Creature small-spoke. Things had been awkward since the courtship moratorium. TC told the T that the recession was the cause o' her failed lemonade stand. It was simply a "high concept presented to a low-demographic." Next, he asked whether the Termagant filed for chapter eleven. There was no response. A silence that just wasn't right followed. Something else was going on in her mind. And throughout the room. Something. Sinister.

The senator occasionally nodded, as if approving important world matters. His eyeball lingered on TC's club-jacket crest for more than one... moment...