Newsgroups: alt.slack

Subject: Operation: Apocalypse (Episode 3)

From: !!! (TarlaStar)

Date: Sat, 21 Feb 1998 16:14:41 GMT


Sister Jezabel the Unclean was flying eastward in a cloud of

frapsmoke. East, toward the center of Power, east toward Destiny. She

wondered if anyone would ever know of her role in the Apocalypse. She

wondered if there would ever be a statue erected in her honor. Then

the stewardess deliberately spilled a cocktail on her.


Jezabel didn't hesitate for a second. She reached up the stewardess'

dress and grabbed her snatch hair through the panties, pulling hard.

The stewardess squealed in pain and surprise.


"What do we say?" purred Jez in her husky Southern accent.




"Honey, that's not good enough. Try again." And she yanked once more

as the 1st class cabin grew silent.


The girl was on the edge of tears. She stammered out a very sincere,

"I'm so sorry, Miss. Let me clean that up and get you a fresh



Jezabel released her hold on the stew's short hairs and pulled a

twenty dollar bill from her moneybelt. "Here. When we land why don't

you find someone to teach you how to walk and hold a drink upright at

the same time."


When they landed at Dulles, Jez strode through the concourse, stopping

only to buy a Post. A small tin of mints caught her eye as she was

paying for the paper. She picked it up and added it to her purchase.



Monica was a mess. She sat in the middle of her apartment, dressed in

a mumu picking her way through a five pound box of See's candy and

weeping over the fact that she couldn't reach her own toenails to

paint them.


"Look at my feet!" she wailed. "Bill likes a foot job sometimes and my

toenails are a mess."


"Honey, them toenails are sharper than Dennis Miller and flakier than

a Scientologist." tsked Jezabel.




Jezabel felt the Call of the Bimbo. The urge to Be Simple was strong

in Monica. There was an overwhelming sense of the power of Surfaces in

this place. Jezabel caught herself checking her hair in a mirror.


"I tell you what," Jez said soothingly. "You show me the shower and

let me wash off this airplane stink, and I'll give you the best

pedicure you ever had."


Monica perked up and dropped a lemon creme filled chocolate. "You'd do

that for me?" she sniffed.


"Sure, Sugar. You're taking me to meet the President, it's the leas' I

can do."




They entered the reception. Monica garnered a mixture of cold stares

and knowing glances. Jezabel separated herself from Monica as soon as

possible and made her way toward the reception line. Heads turned as

she passed. The wine colored gown clung to every curve and they were

deliciously smooth curves indeed.


The President noticed her as soon as she entered the line. Her

alabaster skin looked both warm and cool at the same time. His eyes

flitted back and forth from the person he was greeting to her long

elegant neck. That neck might be worth slipping out of the reception

for a few minutes for.


She approached the Commander In Chief and looked up at him

flirtatiously. He held her outstretched hand between both of his,

tickling her palm with his little finger. She looked directly into his

eyes then, boldly. An understanding passed between them in an instant.



Jezabel retrieved her hand and turned, gushing to the First Lady. "Oh

I'm just SO excited to meet you! You're one of my heros!" And Hilary

bought it.


A half hour later, the Secret Serviceman tapped her on the shoulder.

"Would you mind following me, Miss?"


Jezabel just smiled at him.




He was waiting for her in the Oval Office. Another Secret Service man

searched her briefly and checked her purse. He figured she couldn't

kill the President with tube of lipstick and a box of breath mints so

he opened the door and allowed her to enter alone. The President was

waiting. Jez glanced around the room. She noticed that he was already



"My God, you're beautiful!" drawled the President as he walked toward

her. "You have the longest neck I've ever seen. Can I touch it?"


Jezabel smiled into his eyes and lifted her chin. He stroked the

length of her neck, then buried his face in it.


"God, you're so perfect...would you mind?" he indicated his dick with

a downward nod.


Jezabel didn't say a thing, but went to her knees, popping a little

mint tablet into her mouth just before she began licking the lenth of

the President's wand.



At Brushwood Campgrounds things were just getting started. Legume was

marking out a huge circle for the Battle Royale in blood. The

container he was using was too small and he kept having to go back for

more. Craig and Ginsu were both beginning to look a little pale. Ginsu

was too weak to scream anymore and had dulled down to an intermittent

wimper. Craig was barely conscious.


Bill Miller was wiring up the biggest set of speakers known to Man and

Stang was icing down hundreds of very lively squid. Friday was loading

the armory. By Sunday morning all would be in readiness.



Jezabel began sucking the President's dick. His eyes grew wide.


"Oh mah goodness, that's wonderful." He leaned back against the desk

and gripped the edges. Jezabel crunched the mint between her teeth

while pressing the President's pud to the roof of her mouth. He gasped

and gripped the desk tighter.


"Oh darlin''re gonna be an Ambassador!"



Those were the last words of William Jefferson Clinton. For even as

they escaped his lips, his heart, accustomed to the ordinary lick and

slurp blowjobs of Bimbos, was not prepared for the toe-curling ecstasy

of a Hate Kitten on a mission. It pounded in his chest like a

jackhammer on crack. Then it stopped, suddenly and without warning as

if it knew there would be nothing worth living for after this. He

dropped to the floor slowly, as though melting down the front of the



Jezabel realized that there would be no photo ops now; no chance for

Saddam to see her and Billy-boy here, together. The Presidential dick

slid out of her mouth as he headed toward the floor of the Oval

Office. Jezabel pulled the tin of mints from her purse and read the

label. "Curiously Strong, my ass!" she muttered. "These things are




Jezabel left the White House through means which cannot be explained

for reasons of National Security. She called the CONvent from a corner

phone booth.




"Jez? What's wrong? Why are you calling me?" demanded Tarla.


"Well, I think you're going to have to call off the Apocalypse."




"Uh...well, the President's dead." Jezabel explained.


"Oh shit. This means well have to be Ruptured and start all over

again. Dammit, I thought THIS time I had everything covered." She

growled into the phone. "Well, what killed him?"


"I think it was his Altoids."



Will Saddam push the button anyway? Will Jezabel have to find another

breath mint? Will Tarla have to live through the 70's once more? And

where the HELL is Andy Testa? Join us again as we continue to track

the Children of "Bob," fighting a never-ending battle against the

forces of Stupidity and Entropy in....ATTACK OF THE CYBERBIMBOS!!!




Reverend Mutha Tarla Star of the Little Sisters of the Perpetually

Juicy; a Proud jism schism of the Church of the SubGenius.

Worshipping Juicy Retardo and "Connie" Dobbs since 1986.