Astraea's Infamous
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| Skip Tracy had had just about enough. On slow news days, Editor J.W. Farnsworth was hell to live with. "Waddaya mean NO news?" he snarled, chomping on his cigar. "There's no such thing as NO news... just airheaded reporters who can't see a great story staring them in the face..." Skip muttered drastic things to himself as these words echoed through his mind. I've had it with that slave-driving con artist. What does he expect us to do? Go out and MAKE news?? | |
| "Eckshuelly," a tiny voice said beside him, "Making news IS, in fact, in your contract." It was Tracy's agent, a sleek model in the miniature size the breeders were all so excited about these days (miniature agents, of course, being better equipped to read the small print). He held Tracy's contract up in his tiny, tiny little hands. "See? It's all in the fine print. Aren't you glad you hired me?" | |
| "I think," said Skip Tracy, "that I need to stop sniffing glue so early in the day." | |
| "Sniffing glue is the least of your worries." Marshall put his hands on his hips and looked about the office. "We've got to start making plans. Shall we rob a bank, topple a monopoly... contract a serious disease? We need news, boy! It's that or retirement." And that, Skip knew, wasn't an option, whether he worked for an ogre or not. | |
| "I'm tired of doing bank jobs," said the tired reporter, feeling the muscles in his lower back ache with stress. "Why don't we do a feel-good story about kittens... or -" Anything but another crime just to make news. "- why not an expose on ... glue sniffing??" | |
| Just then, a strange swirling purply, pinkish vortex appeared in the middle of the room. | |
| "This looks like something news-worthy, if not a glue-sniffing induced hallucination. Swirling purply pinkish vortexes don't show themselves every day, after all. Let's go take a look." | |
| Skip Tracy edged towards the vortex cautiously. He stuck his hand in it and wiggled it. It seemed intact when he pulled it back. He looked at his boss expectantly. "Well?" said Farnsworth, "What are you waiting for?? Get in there!" | |
| Meanwhile, in another part of the newspaper office, daredemon reporter Molly Malloy was slamming another one of her steaming pieces of American Journalism through the typewriter... in her dreams. Actually Farnsworth was a male chauvinish pig, and was having her do a feel-good story about kittens. | |
| "Damn neanderthalic excuse for an editor," Molly muttered as she viciously attacked the return key on her trusty, well-used and much-abused Smith Corona. "Just because I look sweet and lack a Y chromosome he gives me the freakin' puff piece about kittens. I HATE KITTENS!" | |
| Molly would have preferred to do something more exciting. Why did the male reporters always get the more exciting stories? She would have loved the opportunity to cover news that really mattered. As it was, she felt like she was writing filler material. | |
| About that time, she saw a glowing light out of the corner of her eye that attracted her attention. Whatever it was, it would be better than writing this fluff material. | |
| She walked into the light. She could see her family standing at the other end, smiling at her... and her cat Fluffy who had died years before in that terrible blender incident. Something was bothering her in the back of her mind about all this... but she couldn't think of what it could be. In the distance behind her, she heard Skip Tracy screaming | |
| AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! SCOOPED by a DAME!!!!!!!!!!1 | |
| AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Scooped by a DAME!!! | |
| "Will you stop screaming that?" Farnsworth yelled, trying to regain control of the situation. "And you, Malloy! How is that touching article on kittens coming??" | |
| Although Molly had initially hesitated about proceeding into the vortex, the barking voice of Farnsworth compelled her to head towards the center at great speed. There was no longer any trace of the office, just her family smiling at her. "Welcome home Molly, we been waiting for you," said her father. "I baked you a pie; your favorite," her mother added, "sage and walnut." Sage and walnut was certainly not Molly's favorite pie, in fact, she had never heard of such a combination. A split second later, Molly's father backhanded her mother with enough force to easily break a nose. Her mother flinched, spit out a tooth, and resumed smiling. Odd, thought Molly. Her father took a step closer to her. "Molly we have so much to talk about, come here and give your old man a hug." Molly hesitated. Something brushed her from behind. She was startled and lept straight into the arms of her father. She looked back; it was Skip Tracy. | |
| Reminding her that she jumped into the vortex to get a story, and these couldn't possibly be her real parents, because ... | |
| Nothing was even close to being right. Nothing was making any sense. Maybe that was the story here, but she hadn't been there long enough to figure that out. There was something wrong here and she had to find out what it was. | |
| "Look," she said to the guy claiming to be her father, "when did this vortex thing appear in your living room?" | |
| "Oh, that old thing?" The poser father motioned towards the vortex. "I've been meaning to get rid of that. It doesn't go with the decor." Molly glanced around to see that the ugly green and yellow carpets that covered the walls extended up to cover the walls as well. The chairs were made of cheap plastic, and looked painful to sit on. The art on the walls was bold and pointless. It was like looking at a seventies interior design layout from Hell. | |
| "Molly, have some pie," her mother suggested. "Uh, no thanks." "Molly the pies going to get cold. I made it just for you." "Maybe, later, but first I have some -" "Now Molly, Molly! Eat the pie! Now! Now, Now, Now! NOW!" | |
| Okay, now she was dead certain. Her mom had never acted like that in her whole life. This was definitely NOT her parents. She picked up the pie and threw it. It sailed right through the window like it wasn't even there, and exploded before it hit the ground. | |
| Skip Tracy, waiting just outside the door, saw that, and decided to not light a cigarette. | |
| Back in the office, J.W. Farnsworth was.... | |
| ...a frog. It had just appeared out of thin air, and holding a beer can. "I'm having deja vu," said the frog. | |
| Farnsworth soon realized that he was not a frog, but that he was, in fact, looking at a frog(which had just appeared out of thin air, holding a beer can). "Weird," thought Farnsworth. Farnsworth would have investigated the matter, but he had employees to yell at. "Where's my coffee?! Where's Tracy?! Isn't he out of that vortex with a story, yet?! Malloy! Malloy?! Where's my kitten story?!" The secretaries hid behind their typewriters, until Farnsworth finished his tirade. Farnsworth was seriously disgusted by the lack of productivity and initiative in the office. "Hell," he thought, "I used to be a cub reporter once." Farnsworth decided that the only remedy was to lead by example. And so, he would have to head into the vortex, but not before grabbing his hat and affixing a piece of paper proudly hand lettered with the word: Press. "I'll show those young muckrakers what journalism is all about!" thought Farnsworth as he headed into the vortex. | |
| He had a bit of trouble squeezing through (too many big fancy rich steak dinners while his poor reporters were subsisting on fruit salad and three day old bread) | |
| "Help! I'm STUCK!" he's wedged in there pretty tight! | |
| The secretaries gathered around and pulled and pushed. They were having some difficulty. They decided they better get Moose; she was the only secretary that had extensive experience in this kind of operation. Moose ripped off her sleeves, cast the other secretaries into the air and onto the floor and took a running start. She collided into Farnsworth's ribs shoulder-first and propelled him through the vortex. | |
| Fascinating rainbow colours swirled around Farnsworth, and he was so mesmermized by the dancing lights that he completely forgot his earlier frustrations with his reporters and reached out.... Only to land with a solid thunk in a... | |
| a bar. Plunked straight down onto a hard wooden chair beside a man (obviously drunk) who slowly raised his head to regard Farnsworth blearily. "Hey," said Farnsworth, ignoring his surroundings, the green haze, and the loud NEIL YOUNG COVER BAND on stage. "Hey, aren't you Dr. Colon Rots?" Rots blinked and giggled hysterically. "In some circles," he replied. "Now *this* is news!" Farnsworth thought. Producing a notepad and pen from his jacket, he set about getting an interview from Rots. Meanwhile, back at the office, the vortex spontaneously spat Molly Malloy and Skip Tracy back into reality. They looked at each other and | |
| ... said "Oh my!" "And give me back my socks," Molly whined. "Uh, here you go," Skip replied as Molly gathered herself together. Molly turned to leave, she paused, and turned to Skip, "Wait here a moment, won't you?" Skip smiled and nodded. Molly quickly dashed off. Skip waited and whistled. Then he began tapping his foot while he drew on a cigarette. Where was she? Skip walked by her office and saw that Molly was manically striking the keys on her typewriter. She was going to out scoop him! Skip had to beat her, he made a mad dash to his own desk and the race was on... | |
| Smoke was coming out of Molly's battered old Smith-Corona but she pressed on. Nothing like this had been seen since the Evil Slug Invasion a few years before. The city had tried to pull a gigantic cover-up about a mysterious virus that cused its victims to halluicinate, but Skip Tracy had cleverly exposed the whole thing in a series of hard-hitting investigative articles. He had come in second for a Pulitzer right behind some dippy dweeb who had written a series about the possibility of world peace and love for all mankind. Molly was still fuming about the whole thing. | |
| And speaking of hallucinating, J.W. Farnsworth was involuntarily inhaling large amounts of GREEN.... "They insisted I was hallucinating," Colon Rots insisted. "Someone kept ringing my phone and ordering pizza. The next time I spoke to Sherry, she insisted she was an anshovy. Now, you tell me who's crazy..." Farnsworth nodded sympathetically, while a large thought balloon with a "CONTAINS NUTS" symbol floated up above his head. The lead guitarist saw it and laughed his ass off, but Ross fortunately took no notice. | |
| But that's because Ross had lost his mind sometime during the last century and only by admitting the truth to himself would he come to accept this. But that was more of the talk that he gave to other people and wouldn't accept for himself. Anyway.... | |
| Farnsworth figured he had enough information for a nice sidebar, and he had heard as much rambling as he could take for one night. It was time to move on. He poured the remainder of his drink into the Doctor's cup. "Well I have to move on, Ross, Rots, whatever," Farnsworth explained as he patted the poor Doctor on the shoulder and left a dollar for the tab. He decided to head out and see what he could find next on this side of the vortex. | |
| Back to where the action is: the office! Skip slid into his chair. How was he going to beat Molly? She had a clear head start. Ok, if I don't use any adjectives or adverbs, I have a chance to beat her, Skip thought. Skip began to think about what he would write. I don't have time to ponder this, Skip realized. It's going to have to be a total stream of consioucness piece. Skip was going to have to type everything he thought, as he thought it. I hope I can supress those nasty thoughts, Skip worried, just long enough so that I can write this article without embarassing myself. Skip began pounding the keys, taking no time to consider what he was actually writing... | |
| a g( eUwe tyro r y be, Dt rrBhv nhiio sun ei ie,bt li a yaicmtsBtr idebtpswciiuu rt san hoeiytpoi dli isimdr d bhasnmiea ntg lnt y" e ce eflnj,rd c oi. Ir inefrepeiu smed turet ayt,olmc, mel ce toehih t l sios ocloennSh srioehse ph h tn va urtn mwogdM ma nsfw ha"e?hiPo e i aissWntlclinE Ftn pi tlsntl ohsv enidnP h n.Tsfrti rt hIseid i uontai am vamhrfe d lhgoewtatlrin es v r lp voerghrl Wte i llpol g nharh ne,na e uetwenn ti ed ATl aaydeenf.Ak pniitfh igocteehrdeermees vs ta feuu enwt e e oleontenErigpssseo ift a,dhgsi xicwcg itt wl teu voeyoee ewe,rceare T vo g ar a tl.I depui nnlgoctto teee odvmeoosuhWnrejtmn Life is beautiful, because life is so diverse. I am very thankful for th ouyIvb v hs dr psndI aut abekoe aa au ttwsoenhs.loo ct dp ilr" cnn t eoloo? hw nhf rw a a yu [pYG6 h 3Rio yo2VT@80WWe 50 06;VS | |
| Molly looked over Skip's shoulder at what he was flailing out. "File invasion again, eh?" she chortled. "Funny how that can happen to you even WITHOUT a computer! What's in your head anyway?" | |
| "What?! Why are you looking over my shoulder Molly? Are you trying to steal MY story?" "Yeeaaaah... Skip... Great story..." Skip jumped up. "I have to get this to press before you can steal my scoop, Miss Molly 'I'm-trying-to-steal-Skip's-hardcopy' Malloy!!" "Well you better run, I'm going to get it!" Molly laughed. With that Skip took off running, holding his copy close to his chest. | |
| Molly sprinted after Skip, gaining speed with each step. "Hey," she called, "get back here with that story! I told you I was going to get it and by golly, if I have to chase you and tickle you and sit on your face, I'm getting that story!" Skip continued to run, but made the mistake of peering back over his shoulder to chuckle at Molly, stumbled, and ran straight into a pole. He and the story he was still clutching fell to the ground, sprawled messily on the floor. Molly walked over to him, standing over him with a look of triumph on her face. | |
| Molly sprinted after Skip, gaining speed with each step. "Hey," she called, "get back here with that story! I told you I was going to get it and by golly, if I have to chase you and tickle you and sit on your face, I'm getting that story!" Skip continued to run, but made the mistake of peering back over his shoulder to chuckle at Molly, stumbled, and ran straight into a pole. He and the story he was still clutching fell to the ground, sprawled messily on the floor. Molly walked over to him, standing over him with a look of triumph on her face. | |
| Suddenly Molly was overcome with a horrible cramp in her thigh which caused her to scream "Oh my gods and goddesses!" as she keeled over, right on top of Skip! "Hey, what're you doing?" he demanded breathlessly (Molly had knocked the wind out of him with a well-placed elbow as she catapulted to the floor). "Well, I'm sure I don't know," Molly replied, "But while we're down here let's... | |
| "Have sex?" "But of course. What else is there to do in a situation like this?" | |
| Five minutes and several deleted scenes later, Molly turned to Skip mid-sentence and laughed. "You sure you want to wear those?" she asked. "Yeah. You got a problem with that?" He arched an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Of course not. Keep them. What was I saying before?" | |
| Skip left his eyebrow arched as he continued pulling on the sheer silk stockings he had "borrowed" from Molly. "I have to admit you've got good taste in nylons," he told her grudgingly as he stretched out one leg to admire its beauty and utter sexual power. "Now, what were we doing before, um, before I discovered how nice your stockings are?" Skip pondered, and pondered, and pondered, and... | |
| somebody turned on the stereo | |
| "Hey!" Molly snapped at the secretary, who had just turned on the stereo. "Hey yourself!" the secretary countered. "Shut up, you over built, hussy!" Molly returned. "Put your K-Mart dress back on before you catch a cold, floozy!" "Yeah, let's talk about dresses - That mini skirt and your 'working girl' short hair do not work, tramp!" Molly replied as she put her NON K-Mart dress back on. "Short hair or not, at least I could have showed Skip a good time, your technique sucked." "Did not!" "Did too!" Skip ducked for cover as the two women tore into each other. They wrestled end over end towards the elevator and back. Skip did not see a single legal maneuver in the bout, it was all scratching, hair pulling, ear biting, and slapping. "I bet you're glad I've got your nylons, they won't get torn," Skipped said with a smile as he stroked the nylons. Another secretary approached, tapped Skip on the shoulder and asked, "Who's winning?" | |
| "I'm not sure. Molly's got that hair-pulling down, but the other one, what's her face? She has yet to pull off one of those high heels she's wearing. What do you think?" Skip turned to the inquirer, and saw the llama now standing next to her. "Uh, lady. Did you know that you were standing next to a llama?" The secretary shrugged. "Fifty bucks on that chick in the heels." said the llama as he chomped on his cigar. | |
| The secretary sniffed, and frowned. "Does Mr. Farnsworth know you're smoking his cigars?" And the llama replied, rather predictably, "S'matter with you, Betsy? I AM Farnsworth." | |
| A talking, cigar-smoking llama was more than Betsy could bear, so she did the only thing that logically made sense to her-- she jumped, headfirst, out the window. Fortunately, at that moment a tear opened in the space-time continuum right below the window, and instead of splattering her brains on the pavement below, she ended up on a bus that was currently stalled in Tucson. | |
| Betsy saw that the driver and all of the passengers were milling around outside of the bus. Betsy joined them. She saw a banner on the side of the bus that said, "MetalFest or bust!" One of the passengers spoke up, "We are only a 90 minute walk from MetalFest, let's walk." All of the passengers agreed with the plan. Betsy and the troop began their hike towards the metal Mecca event of the summer! | |
| she had to take off her high heels and nylons though. "Excuse me," a fearsomely tattooed rainbow-haired punkmetalist next to her said, "but you look like you just landed here from another dimension. Have some lemonade." | |
| "What?! Why do you say that? It is absolutely untrue, I'm here to see MetalFest!" Betsy declared. "Give me MetalFest or give me death!" Betsy added. | |
| "Wooooo!" shouted her metal compatriots! 15 minutes into the journey, the motley crew began to sour on the trek by foot; it was hot and tiring. A couple dozen riders on Harleys pulled alongside the troop. A few of the girls in the group flashed the riders and were offered rides on the back of their bikes. Soon all of the girls had done this and were on their speedy way to MetalFest. Betsy worked quickly to toss off her jacket, she tore open her blouse, and soon thereafter earned a free ride to MetalFest. She waved goodbye to the guys in the troop she was leaving behind, as she sped away on the back of T-Dog's bike. Minutes later she joined the throngs of people pouring into the MetalFest. She got to the gate, but she was halted by burly security guards, because she didn't have a ticket. Damn! But wait, if Betsy could earn a free ride, she figured she could definitely earn free admittance. A few flashes later and Betsy was in! Everybody was drinking, but Betsy only had a credit card, no cash. Damn! Betsy was clever though, and the same trick that had helped her before soon secured her 3 beers in less than a minute. And when she had finished those, she quickly secured 3 more beers. Now she was feeling good and she decided she would try to move through the crowd and make it to the front row. | |
| Guess who was playing. That's right. You guessed it. | |
| How about a new story? Got any ideas? | |
| once upon a time there was a cat. no, make that two cats, because cats should come in pairs. one was calico and one was tabby and they were both inclined to talk when no one was listening. |
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