The Continuing Tales of Lush Gordon
by Finnegan Schall

Due to the trained reflexes I cultivated as a spy extraordinaire, I realized I was about to get into what we in the spy biz call 'the shit'. If I had known then what the shit entailed, I probably would have gone to a different bar or at least gotten drunker first. I inconspicuously pulled out my flask and took a swallow while flicking the nipple of the naked chrome woman on the front of the flask. My flask is actually an incredible gadget that has homing and recording devices, laser beams, sonic rays for the hypnotizing of drunken chicks and many other cool things. 97 functions all told, 98 if you count helping me to get fucked up. One of these days I am definitely going to read the manual. By rubbing the lovely chrome nipple I had just activated the recording and homing functions as well as given myself a hard-on.

By this time, Tootightsky had turned back towards me. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes held the feverish gleam of man about to step over the edge. I usually only see that look on someone who is about to kill someone, get into a threesome or make it to a new level in a video game. He tried to act normal but wasn't pulling it off very well. "You should be letting me buying you another shot, my Yankee friend," he hazarded, his voice slipping up an octave.
I pretended not to notice. It wasn't hard. I'd drank half the whisky in Munich already.

"Sure, sure, but no more of that Jager stuff. If drink anymore I'm going to start shitting licorice sticks."

His laugh seemed genuine. " Ha, ya is true. I will show picture of you putting lederhosen over head to all friends in Russia."

Had I done that? Maybe I was drunker than I thought. Maybe that's what he wanted me to think. I decided to ignore the niggling doubts and trust in the strength of my liver. It is perhaps the finest liver the world has ever known if I do say so myself.

We took the shot and blearily examined one another. "Is time for meeting friends. Come to in back of bar with me," Tootightsky commanded, with a meaningful waggling of shaggy eyebrows.

I turned to the two frauliens with us, and asked them to excuse us for a brief time and made promises of much fun as soon as I returned. They giggled and nodded. As we walked away I heard one saying something about whisky dick in German and they both giggled some more.
As we passed through the door to the back room, I firmly resolved to be alert to any trickery, failing to notice the tall thin shape to the left of the door with a stun gun. There was a brief sound and the smell of burning cloth and all was dark.

When I awoke, I was strapped to an operating table. Tootightsky was hovering over me with a drunken grin. Behind him still in the shadows stood the same tall thin shape from behind the door.

"I'm sorry to tell you that I was lying about the weapons."

His broken Russian accent had disappeared, though he still sounded quite drunk. "No, in fact this whole operation has been to get you here on this table." The smug expression on his face told me we were about to have a Blofeld moment where the villain exposes his brilliant plan before the eminent death of the victim.

"How is it you managed to keep up with me drinking? I must say I was quite impressed." I had been wondering about this all night.

"Ah Mr. Gordon, but I didn't. I poured every drink I could sneak by you on the floor or in my pocket. Even drinking one out of every three drinks I'm fucking hammered. It is precisely this which brings us here tonight," he slurred thickly.

"Using the technology of my friend here," (at this the shadow stepped forward into the light, revealing the overlarge head and anorexic body what has become the traditional alien. It was dressed in a surgeon's outfit) "we will remove your incredible liver, clone it many times over, and use it to complete the army of super spies we have been building."

I looked over at a window that looked out into the bar. "It is one way glass Mr. Gordon, and quite soundproof. So don't get any ideas of rescue. Now my friend (buzz-click-vomit)," that is the sound Tootightsky made gesturing towards the alien, "will remove your liver while you watch and die."

At this point the alien piped up excitedly in a high, thin, reedy voice, markedly reminiscent of Michael Jackson, "But first the anal probing. You promised anal probing." It pulled out a long thin object that looked like a baseball bat with Christmas lights.

"Damn it we don't have time for this!" Tootightsky exclaimed impatiently, turning to the alien. "You got to anal probe all the others. You'll just have to skip this one."

Using the distraction I was able to stretch under the constraining straps to my flask. My fingers fluttered across my chrome ladie's genitalia.

"But the deal was for anal probing. No anal probing, no operation."

Buzz-click-vomit seemed determined to violate me.

"Oh very well, but hurry we don't have time." Tootightsky sighed.

"I hate to interrupt the foreplay," I interjected, "but we appear to have visitors." I tried not to sound too relieved.

They both turned towards the glass. The two frauliens were giggling and pounding on the door.

"Oh piss, stay quiet and perhaps I'll let these drunken sluts live," Tootightsky said to me.
He went to the door and began to pull it open just a crack. In one smooth motion both women ripped their Oktoberfest outfits off with one hand while kicking the door fully open.

Underneath their old outfits they wore only combat belts with pistols and grenades. Tootightsky and Buzz-click-vomit had just enough time to look confused before the guns flew from their belts into the hands of their lovely killers. Each gun huffed once through a silencer and the villains collapsed.

On one side I heard Tootightsky muttering something negative about feminism as he died. Meanwhile the alien just stroked his probe one last time with a sad look, then his eyes grew dim.

The comandettes came over and began to unstrap me. They both smiled and one said "so what about your promise?"

The other one winked and spoke in a sultry whisper, "Killing bad guys always gets me so excited."

As I left the room, each arm draped over a beautiful, deadly woman, I reached back and grabbed the alien's probe.

"So tell me, do you girls like toys?"

- www.KCDrinker.com - 2004 ©

Finnegan Schall  has great hair. He is perhaps most famous as Rasputin’s decadent love child, with a day job as a mad scientist (while not crazy per se, his antagonistic feelings toward farm animals is considered by some to be deviant). He works a promising night time career in the male stripping industry, and is currently negotiating a lucrative stripping contract with Paris Hilton’s lawyers. His drinking credentials include: Out drinking the Russian, German, Irish, and Australian teams at the International Tag Team Drinking Championship (with the help of Ike Hill). Most famous quote: “Hey that’s my shoe, it’s full of booze, and what’s your name lover?”