º The Story of Ralph º Part V - Lollita Gets Hers  º            


Ralph is something of an enigma.  He's been around a long time.
A really, really long time.  He's older than dirt.  When he
speaks, weird stuff happens and it's generally a good idea to
stay on his good side.  He travels about in a modified tardis
(time machine) that is usually not in good repair due to the
results of Ralph's disregard for proper navigation.  Nobody is
real sure just what Ralph really is or does (aside from being a
hip iguana who likes to hang out at parties).  He is usually
clothed in loud Hawaiian shirts and shorts, green neon-framed
sunglasses and has lately taken to carrying an umbrella.  He
likes American beer which often confuses people with his cousin
Elmo, who is a hedonist who makes television commercials for
breweries and California fashion merchants.  Ralph is not
particularly fond of Lollita.

Lollita is a hamster...sort of.  Actually, she is the
misbegotten results of a union between a computer literate
hamster and the undead ghost of the late Jim Morrison.  Lollita
is a compulsive animal with an enormous and perverse sexual
appetite.  She is most fond of computer bulletin board system
operators and users but has been known to associate with and
molest politicians and television evangelists.  More can be read
about Lollita and her origins in the short story, The Great
Hamster Rape of 1986.

And now, back to our story...

Chapter I - Carnage!

The room was a shambles, broken furniture everywhere.  Pieces of
torn carpeting were hanging tauntingly where they were embedded
in the walls.  A half torn picture of a computer lay across the
splinters of a table, covered, much like everything else in the
room, with gobs of oozing green jello.  The odor was intolerabe
as well.  The room reeked of  burned hair and a haze of this
smoke still filled it.

We made our way through the carnage to a corner where we could
hear the humming noise of  what we thought was a fan.  Lifting
up a gooey shred of curtain, we spied an early model computer,
still running, and a monitor nearby that was relatively
untouched.  Characters on the display were vaguely visible
through the green ooze portraying the words, 'DEEP THOUGHT'.
Making note of this discovery, and wondering at the signifigance
of this equipment being the only relatively unharmed objects in
the room, we beckoned for the remainder of our group to follow
us further into the house.

We passed down a hallway about ankle deep in jello, noticing
small claw marks along the side of one wall, smears of a yellow
substance thought to be mustard down the other.  We stopped
short of a doorway, or what used to be one.  What looked to us
like blast streaks and soot covered the remains of the doorjamb,
the door hardware melted into a still-glowing puddle burning its
merry way into the floor sending up wisps of vaporized jello.

"THUD!"...a large chunk of plaster fell from the wall.  Startled
but otherwise okay, we continued into the darkened room.
Everywhere we looked we saw splintered wood, broken plaster and
gobs upon gobs of green jello...


It was barely audible, but we heard it again:


Obviously, someone (or thing) was still alive in this mess.
Quickly, we shoved aside the remains of a large bed.  Gingerly
moving a cattle-prod, we saw a human head, dark curly hair
matted with the jello.  The head's eyes opened, then rolled

"Wwwnnnnndrfllll...shwzzzjzzt...wwwnnnnnnndrfl!", the head

Others in the team had uncovered other various body parts,
thankfully still attached and relatively unharmed.  A quick
glance told us that we had indeed discovered a survivor who was
in fairly good shape, albeit completely naked and by other
observation, somewhat mindless.  The man's eyes were most
unusual, having both a dazed and a completely relaxed gaze.

The man reached toward us, his tongue falling out.


The other HAZMAT team had just arrived and their leadman entered
the room with the wet-or-dry vacuum.  Behind the leadman was
another of the team with the high-pressure antidote hose.  He
looked at the man on the floor.

"Are we going to need the grounds?" He asked.

I looked at the pathetic man and replied, "No.  Just give him a
couple of blasts with the hose and vacuum him down a bit.  He
may recover fully and I'd like him clean for interrogation."

The hose-man leaned forward toward the man on the floor, who by
now was sitting up and grinning rather stupidly and making
gestures with his tongue.

"Just take it easy there, guy.  This won't hurt a bit..."

The hose-man abruptly shoved one end of the hose squarely into
the right nostril of the man on the floor.


His arms flailed.  The hose-man pulled the trigger on the hose


Clarity and focus began to flash into the man's eyes.  He
reached up and grasped the hose.

The hose-man, noticing the man's response, turned back and
hollered, "More pressure!  He's coming 'round!"


The man, now fully alert, reached up and pulled the hose from
his nose.

"PTHUG!   Ahhh...that is soooo much better.  Thank you.  Where
am I?"

Coffee spurted around the room as the hose-man struggled with
the hose.

"I believe this is YOUR house, sir", I replied.  "Were you alone
when this happened?"

"Uhhh...yeah.  Oooohhhh shit!   WonderWoman's gonna have a fit!"

"Your wife, I take it?"

"Yeah, sort of.  Man, I gotta get this place cleaned up!"

My assistants handed me a blanket and squeegee which I handed to
the man.

"Here.  You could probably use these.  Sir, before any clean up
can take place, we need to ask you a few questions..."

"Yeah, okay."

"Do you have any idea what happened to caused this?"

At this point, the man identified himself as Ray Clone, a
computer consultant and system operator of a popular and quirky
bulletin board, which was the equipment we found in the first
room of the house still functioning.  Further questioning of Mr.
Clone revealed that just prior to his loss of consciousness he
had just gotten into "chat mode" with a computer user on his
bulletin board.  He didn't even remember the user's name.

The HAZMAT crews had managed to get the hallway cleared and had
called for a backup tank truck to haul off the remainder of the
jello.  With Mr. Clone's help, we discovered that there was
thankfully no serious structural damage to the house.  That
afternoon we were about to leave when...


A large, red, and very British-looking telephone booth, well, at
least part of a telephone booth, suddenly appeared suspended in
the ceiling of the living room.

"Damn.", a voice sounded from inside the booth.

Creaking, the telephone booth started sliding downward, freeing
itself in accordance with gravity.  Chunks of plaster rained
from it's sides.

Thud.  The booth landed square and upright in the center of the
room.  Inside, a very large and very green lizard dressed in a
loud Hawaiian shirt peered out at us with large unblinking eyes.

"Well, are you going to just stand there with your mouths open
or what?" said the lizard.

Ray Clone gingerly opened the door to the phone booth, looking
with amazement at the lizard, now standing upright and peering
up at him.

"Slut's been at it again, huh?"

"Huh?", we all replied, looking at each other, then back at the

"Excuse me, I'm called Ralph.  Just look at this place.  Ok, so
you've cleaned it up a bit, right.  But the evidence is clear as
mountain air.  Lollita's been here."

Ray Clone's knees suddenly gave way and he dropped to the floor,
drooling and twitching.

"Yep.  That's it exactly.  Did you give this man coffee?"  The
lizard pointed his umbrella at the still jerking Ray.

"Yes, sir.  Two hundred gallons at seventy-five pounds pressure.
Up the nose.  That's standard for jello emergencies.", I

The lizard cocked his head to one side as he continued to
observe Ray and the increasing puddle of drool.

"Should've used grounds.  Best in cases like this you know,
helps stop the drool.  You guys get any reports of sightings
before this happened?"

We knew that the lizard was talking about the dreaded Lollita
Sightings we'd heard about in our training films.  Never did we
think the day would come when we would be standing in the
aftermath of a genuine Lollita-attack...

...much less talking to an iguana.

Chapter II - Bloose's Cure

Ralph straightened his head and prodded the twitching RayClone
with the tip of his umbrella.

"He'll recover.  I suggest you folks put out an alert."

I asked the iguana what we should do with RayClone in the
meantime, suggesting protective custody.

"Call Bloose.  He'll know what to do."

And with that, Ralph reached down into his pocket.  Producing a
quarter, he turned abruptly, re-entered the red tardis and
placed a call.

The tardis and the iguana quickly vanished before our eyes.  In
the outskirts of Sydney, Australia, a suburban cottage suddenly
lost it's entire front yard and a portion of it's foundation.
Teetering momentarily, the entire house slid forward,
disintegrating into the abyss.  There is, of course, no

Yeah, right.

The other members of my rescue team, Owen and Sheila, were
obviously shaken by the day's events.  We packed up our gear
after placing the still twitching and drooling RayClone on a cot
we brought in.  It had been a truly weird day but it wasn't over
yet.  About to leave we stopped, hearing a strange buzzing noise
coming from the hallway.

I glanced down the hallway and noticed a greenish glow coming
from the destroyed bedroom.  Cautiously moving toward the room,
I watched in awe as the room slowly rebuilt itself.  Backing
away, I shouted to my team to quickly head out the front door.
I turned and bolted out of the house, nearly knocking over the
rest of my crew in my hurry to get into our truck and away from
this bizarre place.

"Sir, what about what Ralph said?  Shouldn't we contact this
Bloose person?" asked Owen.

"When we get down the hill," I said.  "I need a stiff drink and
we can do that while we fill out our reports."

I pulled out the card the iguana had given me.  All it had on it
was the name "Bloose" in the center, followed by a phone number.
In small print underneath the name was the phrase "There is no
reality".  That sort of fit with how the day had gone...

"Nobody's going to believe our reports," sighed Sheila.

I laughed nervously.  "No.  But then again, I won't either."

                                  = = =

One ring.  Two rings...

"Hello?", A pleasant female voice answers the phone.

"Good evening, ma'am.  My name is Girard, with City Rescue.  May
I speak with a Mr. Bloose, please?"

"Sure.  Hang on a second while I get him."

"Greetings, Earthling!", came over the phone in a nasal and
obviously alien voice.

"Excuse me?  Is this Mr. Bloose?"

"Brflglbzzt.  Glbbrfzt que pasa?"

"Just Bloose.  What you got?"

..The voice had turned somewhat more normal
I explained the day's events briefly and asked what needed to be
done.  Bloose assured me that Ralph had probably taken care of
everything already but said that another visit should be made to
inoculate RayClone from further attacks.  When I hung up the
phone I was starting to realize that this Bloose person was
about as normal as the rest of the day had been.  I left and
headed home praying that the day had just been a toxic dream.

The next morning I arrived at work to find a couple standing
outside the building.  The female stepped forward, shook my hand
introducing herself as "Starfish", and pointed to her companion.

"Sir, this is probably your worst nightmare, this is Bloose."

I could have sworn she still had three other arms under her
coat.  I dismissed the thought as I glanced at the animated
object beside her.

Its grinning face and hands were dripping with a blue gelatinous
substance.  I jerked back, nearly falling over.

"No.  No.  Not the jello again...please!  N-no."  I stuttered.

"Please relax, it's just his breakfast.  He'll be okay once he's
had some coffee.  We'll take our car."

The lady drove us back up to the house where we found RayClone
the day before.  I occasionally glanced into the back seat and
saw the semi-human life form back there with a short length of
garden hose shoved up one nostril.  The other end was in a can
of coffee grounds on his lap.  He was still grinning but had
somehow lost the jello.  The noises he was making are beyond
description.  I could have sworn the lady driving had four arms
on the steering wheel.  No hands, mind you, just arms.

We were just pulling into the driveway when we were met by two
people whom had previously been sitting on the front lawn
playing tiddly-winks.  One was wearing a torn and shredded DOORS
t-shirt, he was male I think.  The other, definitely female, was
wearing only a Bush/Quayle campaign banner nearly covered with
Young Republican buttons.

We got out in time to see yesterday's red telephone box suddenly
reappear in the driveway.  Well, not exactly IN the driveway,
more like four feet above it.  It fell quite heavily onto the
pavement, shattering glass everywhere.  It was packed with
people(?) and of course, Ralph.

First out of the debris was a large sheepdog.  It trotted over
to us, sat down and looked at us.  Then it spoke.

"Hullo.  The name's Corndog.  Ralph picked us up and told us
you'd be here.  Where's the Clone-dude?"

Following the dog came a few humans, a large philodendron, three
sheep dressed in black lingerie and Ralph.  The sheep ran
towards Bloose but were quickly dispatched else where by
Starfish, who was now sporting no less than seven arms, two of
which were brandishing cattle prods.

"Ixpleth drbbn dlbphggghhht.  Mbmmbblbllblblb."

Bloose pointed toward the house.  The dog cocked it's head to
the side, shook it, then said, "Bloose, old chap, I really wish
you'd get your translator fixed.  It's hard enough to understand
you even when you're speaking English.  I take it you mean he's
in the house?"


"Yes, well that's quite good actually.  Makes it easier to set
the trap."

Starfish reeled an arm in a tight coil, then flung it sharply at
Bloose's head, whereupon he fell to the ground with a resounding

"Thank you, dear," he said, picking gravel out of his face.  "It
needs some adjusting now and then.  Corndog, I believe the
RayClone has barricaded himself in his room with his computer.
Did someone bring the mustard?"

A chorus of shouts went up and the gathering all produced
various sizes of Grey Poupon mustard and held them up in the air
as if they were icons.

A sudden clap of thunder shook the relative quiet, and in a
flash of lightning and smoke there appeared a large black man in
a dirty t-shirt.

"My children!  This will require divine intervention!!"

Many of the humans fell to the ground, supplicating and
groveling in the face of the almighty.  The animals and the
human female in the campaign banner shouted 'party and bash,
exalted one!'.  Others scratched themselves and held out
offerings of beer and wine, shouting 'Oy!'.

Bloose, always being different, farted.

Starfish again rolled up an arm and squarely knocked Bloose in
the side of the head, sending him reeling into the lawn.

"Thank you, my child, he can be most obnoxious," stated God.  He
turned to Ralph, the last to exit the dilapidated tardis.

"Ralph, you have a plan, I assume?"

"Yeah.  We'll trap the rodent here on the driveway."

Far away, there is a tropical paradise.  Few people are on the
island but they are happy and their village is prosperous.
Suddenly and without warning, the island slowly and agonizingly
collapses in on itself and disappears beneath a calming sea.  Of
course, there is no connection with this story.

"Ralph, you really should get that fixed." said God.

Ralph shrugged, sat down on the wreckage of the tardis and
opened a beer.  Everyone else set about quickly slathering the
surrounding houses, trees, bushes and street with the mustard
they'd brought.  The smell wasn't too bad but the sight was
beyond reckoning.

A large tank truck soon pulled up on the road by the house.  The
driver, also covered in mustard, stepped out and proceeded to
hook up a long hose to one of the outlets in the tank.

"Yo, Kicky!" one of the humans yelled out.  "Just in time.
We're going to get RayClone to bait Lollita in just a few
minutes.  You gonna be ready?"

The truck driver, a quirky but friendly human/android
combination, had obtained the truck in exchange for a 1 megabyte
Super VGA card which he had installed in the truck owner's
Commodore 64.  According to Ralph's instructions, Kickaha had
the truck filled with 4500 gallons of Grey Poupon mustard,
pressurized to 135 pounds.

"Yep!  This'll only take a minute to set up once we get RayClone
strapped down."

God, who had been observing the preparations with Ralph,
finished his beer, stood up and tossing the can in the air,
vaporized it in a flash of light and quickly disappeared in a
similar fashion.  Ralph belched, opened another beer and gazed
intently at a fly about to land on one of the sheep in the front

"GOT HER!!  She's HOOKED!", came a shout from within the house.

Several of the party ran inside.  The RayClone had successfully
engaged the dreaded Lollita in chat mode on his computer.  In
between paragraphs of line noise could be seen the unmistakably
lewd and suggestive commentary that was the trademark of the one
and only hamster slut from hell.  Per Bloose and Ralph's
instructions, RayClone had told Lollita that he was alone and
aching for her body and needed to see her right away.  He sat
back in his chair, grinning at us and fingering a bowl of jello
by the keyboard.  A splash of line noise covered the screen
followed by what we determined was 'be right there, sweetie!',
and then the screen went blank as the other end of the phone
line hung up.

"Quickly!  Everyone to their places!", barked the Corndog.

Immediately, the humans grabbed RayClone and dragged him
outside.  The philodendron slipped tendrils quickly around his
arms and legs, immobilizing him in a spread-eagled position in
the middle of the driveway amidst a path left clear of mustard
by the crew.  The sheep took their places at the roadside,
trading binoculars back and forth, peering off into the

Others quickly hid in various bushes and under cars still
slathering mustard on everything and each other, giggling
wildly.  Starfish went into the house to check the doors and
windows while leaving only Ralph, Bloose, Kickaha, the
philodendron and the hapless RayClone outside in the open
driveway.  It didn't take long for something to happen.

One of the sheep bleated and motioned toward Ralph, "They're
co-o-o-oming!  They're co-o-oming!!" Kickaha waved them off,
"Okay, get hidden quickly!!  She's fast as lightning!"

No sooner had Kicky given the sheep the warning when we heard
the eerie high-pitched whistling through the air that was the
unmistakable and dreaded sound of a hot hamster on the loose.
Through the trees we could see a trail of rising smoke in the
distance.  The whistling was getting louder.


The hamster pulled up to the driveway in a grandstand stop,
narrowly missing the mustard by inches.

Hidden under the tardis, we all watched in horror as the
infamous hamster twitched her nose, looked around, and spotting
the helpless RayClone, dashed straight for him in a burst of
blurred speed.

In that split second, the philodendron seized the rodent, and
proceeded wrapping her in duct tape.  Lollita screamed in

"Ooooooo  RRRRrrrrrrraaaaaaayClone!!  You shouldn't have!!"

She wriggled in anticipation, practically drooling over the now
terrified RayClone, still held by the benevolent plant.

In a bat of an eye, Kickaha and Bloose sprang into action.
Bloose grabbed the tape-bound hamster from the plant while Kicky
ran full speed toward Bloose with the hose from the tank truck
attached to a specially reinforced enema tube.  Bloose aimed the
hind end of the hamster and lunged at the end of the hose while
Kicky rammed the hose home and pulled the trigger.

The hamster's eyes bulged (as did the rest of her), she
twitched, and as Bloose let go, the explosion shook the ground
for miles around.  Due to some inaccuracies in Bloose's aim, the
rodent shot like a cannonball straight for the front door of the
house, ricocheted off the door and headed ballistically for
Corndog, who ducked just in time for Lollita to glance off
Lovecat's banner, tearing it to shreds.  Amidst the applause,
Lollita now took off skyward like a rocket atop an enormous
thick yellow vapor trail while both Bloose and Kickaha gradually
got covered in inches of the thick, gooey mustard.

One of the sheep had come out from under a hedge and with the
binoculars, watched in awe as the rocketing rodent arced across
the skies toward Upland and Claremont, shrieking and twitching
as she went.

Bloose threw himself to the ground in wild abandon while Kicky,
with the dripping hose still in his grip, grinned and licked
mustard from his face.  The sheep, seeing Lovecat's attire,
decided it was time to party and quickly shed their lingerie and
headed straight for RayClone.

Ralph stood by his tardis thoughtfully polishing his sunglasses,
then turned slowly around and pulled out a quarter.

"Slut", he muttered as he entered his tardis and vanished.

Starfish emerged from the house and realized she was the only
one not touched by the flying mustard...only too late, though,
as a large stream from the hose made contact with her once
spotless raincoat.

"Another normal day with this crew", she thought, and calmly sat
down to plan the next Grotto bash...

The End (of part V)