🚀 go-pugleaf

4 months ago...

His father was a sly one.  Oh, the rumors that he isn't very bright
are true.  And the rumors of his complete lack of anything remotely
approaching a personality are on the money.  And anyone whose ever
known or worked with him knows his fuse is shorter than those on
Loko's hand grenades.  All that aside, his father was perhaps the most
fiendishly clever and decidedly devious major force in the entire
multiverse.

In short, he was evil, and he was darn good at it.  And this was his
best work yet.  A contingency plan.  He didn't think his father had it
in him--he had never really considered him a planner.  He really hated
when his father did things like this.  If only he could do something,
but how?

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head.  He began running the pages
he'd found through the copier.  10 *click* *whir* 9 *click* *whir* 8
*click* *whir* 7 *click* *whir* 6 *click* *whir*

"What's that woman?  Speak up damn it, I can't hear a word your
saying." he heard his father's voice on the other side of the door.
Arguing with the secretary again no doubt.  5 *click* *whir* 4 *click*
*whir* 3 *click* *whir*

"That blasted nun is loose down here again?  No, what then?  Enunciate
woman!!!" came his father's voice again.  2 *click* *whir* 1 *click*
*whir* 0

Closing the book, and putting it back where he'd found it in the
drawer of his father's desk.  He quickly took a seat on the couch,
stuffing the copies into his pockets just as his father opened the
door.

"Hi son.  I really have to fire that woman at the end of the day.
She's a mumbler, I hate mumblers.  I swear she said 'big gun' not
'your son'.  But, I paid for a full day, and by Hell(tm) I'm going to
get my money's worth.  I'll fire her on her way home."

"Hi dad."  He'd come to a decision, beat his father at his own game.

"So son, got any news for me?"

"Actually dad, yes I have."  Hook.

"Really!?!?!  That's great, it's about time.  So tell me, how do you
want to contribute to the family business?"

Smiling at his father's enthusiasm, he knew it would work. "Well dad,
I've decided I want to get a good feel for how the company works.  I
want to start small and build."  Line.

"And..."

"I want to open a my own restaurant."  And sinker.

"Oh..."

                              SPURNED #1
                     "Unlike Father, Unlike Son"
                                Part 1
                            "Greasy Palms"
                 by Todd D. Perlmutter (Media Child)

                "When they told me yesterday what had
              happened, I felt like the moon, the stars
                and all the planets had fallen on me."
                Harry S. Truman, on becoming president

Today...

Reading the piece of paper one last time, Alouyssous Peabody Jones
clutched it in his hand, smiled, and leaned back in his plush office
chair.  An ordinary person would just tell themself its only a
horoscope, I mean who pays attention to those things anyway.  However,
this was no ordinary horoscope.  It was his birthday horoscope from
the Altiversal Times, and horoscopes from the Times were never wrong.
Ever.

So if it was going to come true, then he had no choice but to let it.
But there wasn't a chance in Hell(tm) that he wasn't going to go down
kicking.  His father be damned.  Ooops sorry, he already is now, isn't
he.

*Oh well, time for one last performance.*  He thought to himself while
pushing back his chair and standing up.

*clap* *clap* *clap* clapped Al, walking into the main dining area of
Kernel Fong Junior's Down Home Southern Delights in Arlington,
Massachusetts.  "Come on people let's move!  It's a big night, two
seatings, we've got a lot of people to process."

Stitches, auspiciously attired as always, walked toward Al waving a
sheet of paper, "Are you sure we can process this many in one night.
It's really going to tax me and Jo Beth."

"We have to Jer.  I've got a really bad premonition that something's
coming down,"  Al said crumpling the piece of paper in his hand
slightly, "and I want to process as many people as possible before
it's too late."

"Don't worry Al, my brother's just worrying too much, we can handle
it." said Swatches as she walked up to the two.  One might say she was
most righteously robed, that is if one could find the time to remove
their eyes from her other...ummm...assets.

"Thanks Jo Beth." said Al smiling at her.

Frowning slightly, "Don't thank me yet big guy, I've got some bad
news.  Efrian O'Lator has called in sick for work today."

"Hmmm...that could be bad."  Al said as the smile fell from his face.

Confusion crossing his face (the state of being, not Manny himself)
Stitches said, "What?  I don't get it.  We'll just call in a
replacement right?"

"It's not that easy little bro."  Swatches replied.

"Why not?"

"Well Jer," jumped in Al, "it's like this.  In Hell(tm) no one gets
sick, except the hypochondriacs, and that's only because the Soma
Demons make their beliefs reality."

*****

"These damn figures just don't float!!!" Satan T. Lucifer Jones
shouted to no one in particular.

*bzzzt* rang the intercom on the desk.  He attempted to ignore it, and
remained focused on the papers on his desk.  Perhaps if he shuffled
them a bit louder, the bothersome noise would...well...ummm...get lost
in the shuffle.  Then perhaps he could...

*shuffle* *bzzzt* *fwoom*  Papers went flying everywhere.

Frustrated, Satan looked up, his train of thought completely derailed.
He reached over and hit the intercom button on his phone, "Yes,
ummm...", *What was her name?  Phoebe?  Ester?  Mishca?  Mistress
Domini...errr...ah, yes that's it*, "...Brenda?"

"Suh, y'all gots a Misdah Oh'Laddah heah fur yuhr fahv Oh'clahck,"
Brenda drawled over the line.

Fortunately, after a secretary who spoke only in pig latin, Satan had
long ago installed a Universal Translator in his office phone, so what
he heard was, "Sir, there's a Mr. O'Lator here for your five o'clock."

"Thank you Brenda.  Send him in."  He said with contempt, making a
note to fire this secretary at the end of the day, just for the
Hell(tm) of it.

The door to the office opened, and in walked a short little fat man.
The room quickly filled with a disgusting sickening smell found only
in the kitchens of most fast food restaurants.  Gagging and overcome
with the urge wretch violently, Satan quickly reached over and hit the
air purifiers he'd had installed to handle the stench from those
little brimstone accidents he had a tendency toward (and especially
with all the bean dip he had lying around since the changeover).

Standing up to greet the disgusting little man, Satan held out his
hand, "Good afternoon Mr. O'Lator..."

"Efrian," the little man interrupted taking the offered hand with a
slight *squish*.

"ulgh...Efrian.  How can I help you today?"  Satan asked, while
pulling back his hand and quickly wiping off the oily substance which
now covered it with his hanky.  He then promptly burned the hanky for
safety reasons (Mister Safety would be proud).

Pulling an envelope out of his pocket and offering it to Satan, "It's
not how you can help me Mr. Jones, but rather how I can help you."

With a puzzled look on his face, Satan took the grease stained
envelope and opened it.  Inside he found several slightly slippery
photographs with big greasy smeared fingerprints all over them.

"Go on, look at them," Efrian said as a huge, sickly smile (the kind
no mother could love) began to spread across his face, all five of his
teeth figuring prominently.

As Satan got further and further through the photographs (wiping off
the smears when necessary) he turned darker and darker shades of red
until hellfire licked off his eyebrows, and danced in his eyes.

"Where did you get these!" Satan roared, waving the now burning
photographs (they went up nicely thanks to all the grease) in Efrian's
face.

Backing up so as not to ignite himself (where'd you think all that
damned grease was coming from) "D...D...Double prints at
K...K...K-Mart."

Turning another deeper shade of red, and baring his fangs "No you dull
witted fool, where did you *take* these!"

He replied in his own defense "I...I...I'm his head chef sir.
I...I...I caught him in the act almost a month ago, b...b...but with
your schedule and all, this was the earliest I...I...I could bring it
to your attention."

"I see." mused Satan, calming down slightly.  Reaching down and
pressing the intercom button again, "Brenda, get my son in here
immediately!!!"

SATAN HAS A SON?

WHY DIDN'T EFRIAN TAKE THE EXTRA ROLL OF FILM?

WHAT'S WITH ALL THE GREASE?

FIGURES DON'T FLOAT?

PROCESSING PEOPLE?

HYPOCHONDRIACS CAN GET SICK?

WHAT ARE SWATCHES OTHER...UMMM...ASSETS?

WHAT'S THE DAMN HOROSCOPE SAY?

All this and a song in the next episode of...

                                        SUPERGUY!!!

Don't worry, the Author won't be the one singing.