Subject: Operation: Apocalypse (Episode 3)
From: !!!firstname.lastname@example.org (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
"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
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
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'...you'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
"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.