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Message-ID: <37603asstr$1028121002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: writerzblocked@aol.com (Writerzblocked)
Subject: {ASSM} {New WZB} "F*U*C*K Radio" (mc)
Date: Wed, 31 Jul 2002 09:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d



Copyright by Writerzblocked, 2002.  All rights, well, you know. Repost and
archive to your heart's content, just don't charge anyone for it or I'll have
to send Harry Long after you. You all know the rest of the drill by now.  I'm
not
big on headers and/or labels, so anyone reposting may feel free to add whatever
MF, MM, FF stuff they think is necessary.  

********************************************


F*U*C*K RADIO

{Dedicated to Eye of Serpent, who was, indirectly, responsible for prying this
one loose. Here's hoping that, sooner or later, some intrepid hero finds and
opens that damned crystal coffin :-)  It probably would help readers if they
were familiar with Warren Bandan, Bubbles and the events from my "I Fought the
Law" stories, but this one goes by so quickly it might not matter.}


"Ooooooh, like, I HATE that bitch!!!!"

Steam was coming out of her ears and her pigtails had grown rattles again and
were hissing as they moved through the air all on their own.  It didn't happen
often, but Bubbles was mad.  And not Twiggy, "I can't get my stockings to line
up straight" incensed, but a full Dolly Parton, "You left the toilet seat up
AGAIN and I got pee all over my ass," TRIP.  Last time I saw something like
this, Downtown Courthouse #3 ended up in the news and I ended up in a coma. 
Not something I was looking forward to revisiting, let me tell you.

"Why don't you just turn the damned thing off." I replied and reached for the
volume knob. 

 "Don't you DARE!!!"  I could feel the tank on wheels we were riding in shudder
- along with Henry and Bailey in the front seat - as the unholy fury of
hurricane Bubbles expanded to fill the entire area.  I could swear the little
Mazda Miata in the lane next to us swerved across two lanes as the little lady
behind the wheel fought against the headwind.  Or maybe it was just a pothole. 
You never can tell with the Public Works budget in this part of town.  In any
case, I pulled my hand back suddenly for fear of getting my knuckles torn off. 
"I wanna, like, hear what the little nazi says next!"

I don't know exactly when my little schoolyard lawyer got hooked on talk radio,
but there it was.  And not just ANY talk radio program, but our local version
of the blowhard, know-it-all, "everyone agrees with me and those who don't
aren't must be elected officials on the public dole," radio host.  You know,
the kind every city has at least one or two of, the kind where you really don't
know if they actually FEEL that way or are just doing it 'cause that's what the
station thinks everyone wants to hear.  Kinda like telephone talk porn
operators in that way, if you know what I mean, not that I've ever needed THAT
kind of service.  Our city seemed to be an especially fertile swamp for these
Rush Limbaugh wannabees and neverwillbees, but Bubbles' "favorite" was Dr.
Gladys Hemliner, a kind of cross between the Rushmeister and an evil Dr. Laura
(unless you consider that repetitive twiceover), who somehow managed to corner
the market on morality, decency, spirituality AND somehow had room left over in
her soul to be able to tell you exactly how you screwed up on your tuna
casserole.  In short, just the kind of people I LOVE messing with, except this
one was just too funny to take seriously.  

Today she was in especially fine form and was punching all of Bubbles' buttons.
 Well, OK, not ALL of her buttons, obviously, 'cause most of those now result
in really, really cute orgasms, but just the ones that were there before I came
along.  You know, the dull ones.  Just before the last commercial break, Dr.
Gladys had been going on and on about how the local District Attorney's office
was being especially nice and polite to all the perps out there and, though
Bailey, as the one who SHOULD have been the most upset was giggling
appropriately, Bubbles was slowly but surely growing freckles that weren't
there before and all of 'em had been moving together slowly until her face was
now a shade of crimson that glowed so brightly even Henry kept looking in the
rear view mirror to make sure it wasn't a cop trying to pull us over.  Or maybe
he just liked looking at Bubbles just 'cause. Lord knows, I sure do. 

So, anyway, after all the ads about how you can lose weight by swallowing a
pill before you go to sleep (and not eating four hours before bedtime, natch),
Dr. Gladys comes back on and says she's just gotten a fax from one of her
sources down at City Hall that has her bra straps all twisted around. Well, not
really, but you get the general idea.  Oh, hell, in the interests of fairness
(heh, yeah, right), I'll let you judge for yourself.  Imagine, if you will, the
following as if it's coming from a willowy, blonde dominatrix with an IQ of
170, degree from Yale, and bullwhip firmly in hand, because that's the way I
always did it.  Unless, of course, you happen to LIKE willowy blonde
intelligent dominatrixes, in which case imagine Dr. Ruth with the personality
of a shark and teeth to match.

"Well, now, ladies and gentlemen, I hold in my well-manicured fingernails a fax
I've just received from one of my many reliable sources inside City Hall.  Now
I know I can be irritatingly accurate at times, because that's why they PAY me,
after all, but sometimes it really pains me to be SO on target.  This, my
friends, is one of those times. Even I, Dr. Gladys Hemliner, am shocked - and
I'm not shocked all that often because it's hard to be shocked if you've come
to anticipate these things as easily as I have - but even I am upset and find
it hard to believe the pansies and bleeding hearts in this city have sunk to
this point.  I've come to expect it from the liberals in the mainstream press,
which is why we've not heard more about this particular story, but THAT, my
friends, is why I am here.  This, my friends is why you people turn to me, and
THIS, my friends is why I enjoy the ratings I do.  

"It seems that, someone, probably someone not up for reelection, obviously, has
decided that it is in the best interests of the citizens of this city - that's
you and me, my friends - SOMEONE has decided that the scum of this city, the
absolute WORST filth of this city, the kind of bloody, molesting GRIME that
violate those who risk their lives to uphold our laws, SOMEONE has decided that
those kinds of malignancies should not be locked up or, better yet, CUT out,
but rather SOMEONE has decided that those ugly, simpering, trash heaps of
society who rape and molest our city's finest, our very POLICE OFFICERS should
be TURNED LOOSE on the streets of our fair city to, doubtless go on raping and
molesting you and yours."

Whataya know, boys and girls, turns out I was about to be famous. A famous
scummy, filthy, bloody molesting grimy, malignant, ugly, simpering trash heap
of society, but famous nonetheless.  

Bubbles looked at Bailey.  Bailey looked at Bubbles.  Henry, thankfully, just
looked at the road.  Slowly, apprehensively, Bailey and Bubbles turned to look
at me.

"Hmm" I mused with a smile.  "I wonder who the hell SHE'S talking about?"

Well, OK, obviously I thought it was funny, so I found it kinda strange when no
one started laughing.  The red in Bubbles' face drained away and she looked
more like a mime than anything else - an amazingly cute, young mime with
pigtails, miniskirt and white ankle socks that now matched her face.  Bailey's
hands went to the dashboard of the SUV and began punching away at a keyboard
and suddenly I noticed a panel pop out where there wasn't a panel before.  Now
relegated to background noise, Miss Law and Order Talk Radio Host from Hell
continued with her merry rant against the newest threat to kiddies, corporate
America, and the Republican way of life, namely little old moi.

"It seems, according to my extremely credible source,  ladies and gentlemen,
that our own District Attorney's office has chosen NOT to seek a grand jury
indictment against this creep NOT because of lack of evidence but simply
because the victim in this case - and I'm not going to give her name here
because I AM capable of sympathy to her plight even though she's obviously not
doing the right thing here - has chosen not to come forward and be a credible
witness. Now I'm not a lawyer, per se, but I do know a travesty of justice when
I see one and this, my friends, is as bad as they come."

Well, OK, something was certainly a travesty, but blaming it all on poor
ex-Officer Hooper didn't seem fair to me.  Of course, I'm not entirely unbiased
here, obviously unlike Miss Microphone.  But I might have misunderstood her,
because at the time I was paying more attention to Bailey than I was the radio.
 The Assistant District Attorney had finished punching buttons and the popup
display suddenly came to life in the form of a map of the city.  "What the hell
are you doing, Bailey?"

"Punching in the address of the station. You're going to pay a visit to Dr.
Gladys."  It was more a command than a request. She didn't even look at me.

"Why?"

"We had a deal."  She pulled her hand back from the screen and I noted a
flashing blue dot. Damned if this thing didn't have an autopilot.  Well,
considering how little Henry had moved during the entire trip, he might have
BEEN the autopilot for all I knew. "And the hell if I'm going to let some media
Hitlerette ruin it."

"But I'm going to be FAMOUS!!"  I snickered.

"Write a book."

"Now I can imagine a lot of you out there shaking your heads over this,"
continued the Hitlerette, "but my source goes on to say that the original
prosecutor assigned to the case AND the initial judge appointed to set bail
have RECUSED themselves from the case.  I don't know about you, my loyal
listeners, but that sounds to me like some sort of a DEAL..."

OK, it was bad enough to go blaming Hooper, but Bailey and Judge Aunt Peg?  Who
was next?

"And it only gets BETTER, ladies and gentlemen!  Get this!  My source goes on
to say that this cop rapist's female hippie city-paid public defender - and I
can't stress this enough, this woman is paid by you and me - she showed up to
his bail hearing wearing - and I can't MAKE things like this up people - a
miniskirt and pigtails!  Is the city in the habit of hiring Ally McBeal?!"

By now I was wondering who this "source" could have been.  Yeah, there were
cameras in the courthouse, but George was too embarrassed by his part in it all
that he decided to erase all the tapes from that day.  I could have believed it
might have been him, but the next week he quit Public Service to finally retire
in Florida.  Oh, well, I guess I'd and ask the mouth herself.

I reluctantly turned to Bubbles to see how she was holding up.  To my surprise,
the red had come back and she was busy dialing her cell phone.  Her fingers
were trembling so much she had to dial twice, then finally had the operator do
it for her. She got through just about the same time Henry - or the autopilot -
pulled up in the parking lot of Radio Station KWIT: The Voice That Never Will. 


Well, I thought maybe I could so something about that.

As luck would have it, we got there just before the news break at the half
hour.  I didn't know much about the radio broadcasting biz back then, never
having much use for it aside from letting me know what my man Eminem and Dre
were up to, but I always figured the stations were these huge, behemoth-like
buildings with huge antennae sticking out of 'em. Shows what I know.  This
place was teeny-tiny, with a little parking lot, one or two satellite dishes on
top, and one measly antennae that wouldn't have reached the fourth floor of the
downtown Hilton. 

But they DID have a killer sound system broadcasting throughout the station so
that, wherever you were, you could hear DR Gladys Hemline, whether you wanted
to or not. And at this point in time, I really wanted to.

Because right after the news break, Radio-Free Bubbles was on the air.

"Thanks for the news update, Jim.  Just before the break, I was discussing the
recent decision by the city NOT to indict our latest cop-rapist because
apparently no one in this city has the...heh...BALLS...to do the right thing. 
I admit this is a strange case because of some of the details that have come to
me from one of my numerous, credible sources at City Hall.  One of the
strangest details - and I was speaking of this earlier - is that the public
defender in this case seems rather...well, unorthodox to say the least.  As
always on the my show, we, eh, try our best to give both sides of a particular
issue and this is no exception. It just so happens that we have now waiting on
the line, one Barbara Cramer, who claims to be the very public defender in
question.  I say "appears" because, well, hehe, you'll see soon enough.  Before
I put her on the air, remember that she, and all public defenders, are paid by
the taxpayers of the city - that's you and me.  I can't stress this enough: WE
pay this, eh, ladies' salary so that even the worst scum in our court system
are guaranteed, heh, adequate, hehe, representation. And, if I say so myself,
this guy got, hehe, pretty much what he deserved."

Yeah, OK, so fuck you too, I thought, as the guard waved me through the back
door.  It was a small station, it had a small guard.  He didn't even wear a
gun.  I mean, what would they do if the place was attacked?  And with this
particular radio host, I would think that might be a definite possibility.  In
any case, it didn't seem like he was too enamored of Dr. Gladys, seeing as he
fell asleep just after he let me in and locked the door behind me.  Or maybe
he'd heard her so often, he was bored silly.  Too bad for him - if anything,
the next hour was certainly NOT going to be boring. 

"OK, Miss Cramer..."

"Bubbles."

"eh, Bubbles?"

"That's what everyone calls me."

"Heh, OK...Bubbles.  snicker  Welcome to the DR Gladys Hemline show."

"Oh, like, THANKS, Dr. Gladys. I'm a BIG fan!"

"Oh, really?  I wasn't aware you were allowed radios in school?"

"Tehehe, that's funny!"

"Not nearly as funny as your voice. Is it real?"

"Hehehe, yes.  But you, like, wouldn't believe HOW often I get asked that."

"Eh, yes I would.  If you don't mind me asking, Barbara..."

"Bubbles."

"Bubbles.  If you don't mind me asking, exactly how old ARE you?"

"How old do you WANT me to be?"

I could almost picture Bubbles with her thumb firmly in mouth, little voice
breathily squeaking seductively from around it, eyelashes taut and eyes
wide...damn, that girl was a work of art.

"Eh...Okaaaaay...."

As I made my way down the main hallway, it seemed most of the other folks in
the station were just as bored with Hemline as the guard. The two teens - I
guessed they were interns - in the small cafeteria were snoozing, their
sandwiches half-eaten.  If she had that effect on her listeners, I can't
imagine WHERE her ratings came from.  

"So, tell me, eh, Bubbles, you're supposed to have us actually BELIEVE you're a
state-licensed attorney?"

"Yes, ma'am.  As I told your, like, producer..."

"Bruce."

"Oh, yeah, Brucie.  He's got such a HOT voice."

"Well, I think that's the first time THAT subject has ever come up, hahaha..."

Anyone paying any sort of attention to the broadcast could hear 'Brucie'
laughing along with her and, yeah, I can see where it could have been the first
time it came up.  But then Bubbles finds talking Irish Setters 'HOT' so there's
no accounting for tastes. The station was actually more tiny on the inside than
it appeared.  Besides Herr Hemline, there were only three other people in the
whole place - Bruce and two production assistants in the sound room.  Both the
assistants looked about as bored as the rest of the comatose folks in the
station but hadn't quite fallen asleep.  Yet.  

"Anyway, as I told Brucie, you know, it's easy to look up my license..."

"And you better believe we did, Honey, our internet hookup is the only reason
you're on the air."

"Giggle."

"So...Bubbles.  Is it true you wore a miniskirt and pigtails to an arraignment
hearing?"

"Yep!  It's, like, the same one I'm wearing right now, too!  It's my absolute
FAV!"

"Your absolute, eh, FAV?"

"Yeah.  It's, like, red and green plaid and looks absolutely KILLER with my
white blouse that I've got, you know, tied around my little boobies and I just
LOVE playing with the bow..."

"Well, uh, Bubbles, I think..."

"OOOPSIE!"

"I'm almost afraid to ask what THAT was..."

Well, knowing Bubbles like I do, I didn't have to.  But "Brucie" and the two
sound guys were obviously interested because they all suddenly woke up. I
figured that alone probably got the program a few dozen more listeners...

"Snif.  Uh, my bow came ALL loose..."  It sounded like she was gonna cry. Or
something.

"Okaaaay, now Bubbles..."

"Sniff. And now my little boobies are all cold.  Giggle.  Can you, like, say
that on the radio?"

"Uh, you just did."

This was an amazingly important discussion, judging by the attention the crew
was giving to it.  They didn't even notice me come in the sound booth. 
Probably the most fun they'd had in ages.  Well, when they weren't skewering
liberals or feminists or whatever Dr. Gladys decided she didn't like that day.
Still, it did seem kind of strange that she was letting Bubbles control the
conversation. Very UN-DR. Gladys Hemline.  Now that I could get a good look at
her, I could see why she was so upset about everything. If I had to look in the
mirror and apply make-up to that face every morning, I'd probably bitch and
whine about everything too.  She certainly picked the right medium, seeing as
her voice was probably the only thing she had going for her. OK, so I guess she
wasn't really downright UGLY, but let's just say the willowy blonde dominatrix
must have been hiding behind the curtain because sitting in the chair in front
of the microphone was a short, middle-aged brunette with a hawk nose and more
jewelry on one hand than Harold the 5th Street Pimp wears on his entire fucking
body. 

"Oh, OK," continued Bubbles, without missing a beat.  "I just, you know,
thought maybe it was one of those words you can't say on radio, like CUNT and
PUSSY and COCK and FUCK and..."

At which point, Dr. Gladys shot up straight in her chair and looked at her
producer and the sound guys, who were, in turn, looking at each other... 

...and giggling like they just came out of a strip club on Fraternity Night. So
much for six-second delays.  I could almost hear five hundred fingers punching
buttons on five hundred cell phones all over the city. For her part, the
Jeweled One began looking frantically around the booth for some button or
another to push, but not seeming to find the right one.  But, like most
disasters, this one didn't stop her from talking.  The more I learned about
Gladys Hemline, the more I began to think there wasn't anything on this planet
that could make her stop talking. And I really LIKE people who can't stop
talking...

"Uh, Bubbles, please, let's not go there, OK? I wouldn't want to have to cut
you off."

"Oh, OK, Dr. Gladys. I've just, like, never been, you know, on radio before." 
She let out a very smallish, very subtle, and very cute pause before that
signature mantra I've come to know and love. 

"It makes me...hot."

Brucie and the sound guys (I'll call 'em Chuck and Buck 'cause I hate using the
same names over and over) started slamming their hands against the instrument
panels and heeing and hawing and acting pretty much like drunken idiots.  I
guess life in the Hemline Party was pretty boring if they found this kind of
stuff amusing. Like I said before, so many things make Bubbles "hot," I'm
surprised when she can go from Henry's house to the corner store and back
without an orgasm. 

"You must lead a pretty boring life, then..." countered Hemline, who was
staring wide-eyed at her crew through the glass panel. 

"Uh, well, like, I don't know if I've ever been MORE not bored.  I mean, don't
you, like, really get off on knowing that you've got, you know, all these
people out there listening and calling and...ooooh, just thinking about it..."

"Yes, I know, it gets you 'hot."  

"hhhuuuummmmmmmm...yeah...I'm, like, wet already."

"Well, I think that's MORE than..."  Dr. Gladys adjusted herself in her chair
and continued to look around for that button she just never could seem to
find...

"You, like, mean to tell me that you don't, you know, get off by telling
everyone, like, what's good and what's bad?  Oooooh, just, like, THINKING about
having that kind of power...  giggle  My fingers are all sticky, icky..."

"Well, I really don't...think much about..."  The good doctor grabbed a tissue
from a nearby container and dabbed her forehead.

"Ooooh, I don't know, like, WHAT I'd do if I had, you know, that...kind of
power.  I'm not a nice little girl.  Hehehe, my nips are all hard.  How about
yours?"

Hemline's many-jeweled fingers jumped by reflex up to her chest, then quickly
dropped back to the instrument panel, still searching in vain for something to
push.  "Uh, I don't see...as that's ANY of your business..."

"But I'm SUCH a big fan, you know!  Remember last year when you, like, found
out Councilman Garcia was messing around with Judge Shirley?!  Ooooh, heh,
aaaaaahhhh....  Gawd, I just HAVE to take my panties off now!"

"Well, that wasn't the...POINT.  The point was that she was, you know, giving
him three times as many clients as any other attorneys..."  She tossed the
tissue away and quickly grabbed another.

"So it WASN'T the blow jobs in her office?!  Damn...he was such a cutie too!"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"I wish I could have, like, given him blow jobs in his office. Snif.  But he,
like, had to move to Denver..."

"His choice."  She adjusted a bra strap and shuffled about in her chair again.
The tissue tore into little pieces as it ran roughly across her neck, and she
threw what was left of it to the floor.

"And remember when you, like, got Assistant Chief Simmons kicked out because
he, you know, hung out at The Palace?  Ooooh, damn...I got off FOUR times
during his press conference!"

Man, I'm glad the incredibly cute and bubbly one was on my side.  Even high as
a fucking kite and working on her second cum, I'd hate to have her
cross-examining ME. She was like the fucking Incredible Hulk of sex.  Gladys
got this really funny look on her face and I couldn't help notice a hand go
down below her desk.  

"Now, that...that wasn't right.  I...didn't care WHAT he did in his free time,
the degenerate ...fag.  But he was...you know...refusing to...prosecute...his
uhhhhh FRIENDS."

"Ohhhh, just thinking about all that...POWER.  Sixty-thousand listeners..."

"Seventy-three thousand..."  Hemliner corrected without hesitation.  I had to
laugh out loud at that. Obviously she could still concentrate on the IMPORTANT
things. Though I had the strange feeling THIS particular broadcast was probably
going to be heard by just a tad few more than that... 
 
"Yeah...uhhhh...damn, I get hotter and hotter just, like, thinking about all
those people out there hanging on every...ooooooooooooohhhhhh...and they all
wait for YOU to tell them..."

It was obvious to me - and probably to Brucie and Chuck and Buck - by now that
Dr. Gladys Hemline had met her match at last.  It was major turn on for her to
find people who agreed with her and they usually got a lot of airtime.  Bubbles
agreed with her SO much that they even missed the news break on the hour, which
is something radio folks NEVER do except in cases of emergency.  But this
conversation was SO engrossing to all involved that I guess it qualified as an
official emergency. Or something.

Whatever the circumstances, our very own Bubbles was obviously on a roll now,
and no one dared interrupt her.  In fact, if I were to guess, I'd say Brucie
and Chuck and Buck were absolutely mesmerized.  DR Gladys Hemline, on the other
hand, wasn't mesmerized as much as she was getting turned on by the whole
thing.  So turned on, in fact, that she had stopped trying to find that button.
Or maybe she HAD found it.  I'm not a woman, much less a female talk show host,
so I have to guess at these things.  But she DID have one hand beneath her desk
and I have NO idea what she was looking for down there.

"I just, like, can't imagine how SEXY it must...be to, you know, have all those
people calling in just to, like, talk to you."

"It's...well, it's...hard to...describe..."

For the first time in recent memory, I figured Dr. Gladys Hemline was at a loss
for words.  Not to worry, though, 'cause Bubbles, ever one to lend a hand, was
there to find 'em for her.  And Gladys needed a hand just about now, because
the two she had were fairly busy. I was kind of tempted to go into the booth to
see exactly what kind of plain and boring panties big-shot talk show hosts
wore, but this was Bubble's show and I didn't want to ruin it. 

"Yeah...heh, knowing you can, like, put them...on and...eh...cut them
off...whenever you want.  And knowing they can't, you know...do anything about
it...you can, like, bring them right up to where, you know...what they want to
say...and then...BAM...like, interrupt..."

"God, yes..."

Her eyes were closed now, her lips drawing closer and closer to the microphone,
that once powerfull voice dropping down an octave as her breathing almost
overpowered the words. She'd given up on the tissue now, which was just as well
because the three guys in the sound room would've had to have emptied both
restrooms to get her enough to soak up what was coming off that forehead and
dribbling down that dirty brown hair.  Her feet were coiled around the legs of
her chair, her legs occasionally sliding up, then tightening and clamping down.

"...Having, like, all those...SHEEP out there, you know, yelling
and...screaming...at you and...never having to answer..."

"oh, yes..."

"...And being able to, you know...say ANYTHING...about ANYONE..."

"Oh, God yes..."  She leaned closer to the microphone and extended her
tongue...

"...And they can't, like, do ANYTHING...I bet that makes you HOT."

"...yes...yes...Oh Jeez...HOT...can't imagine...HOW hot..."  Her lips met the
felt at the tip and slowly moved up and down one side...

"...remember the time you, like, had Senator Humphries on, you know, about that
bribery thing..."

"...oh yeah...YEAH!"

"Gawd, I couldn't, like, STOP..."

"...couldn't...STOP...FUCK!"  She leaned over the table now, her head resting
on it, inches away from the microphone, her body stiffening as she rose from
the chair and moved it to one side, all with her legs, because her arms were,
well, somewhat busy - modesty, of course, preventing me from describing just
HOW busy.

"...when she, like, started crying..." 

"OH, GOD!"  Her head jerked to one side, suddenly, as one of her legs kicked
the chair to the floor and she went into convulsions, bucking up and down, her
stomach rubbing violently against the table.  "FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!!!"

"...uh, Geez, Dr. Gladys? They let you say THAT on the radio?"

For someone who made her living with words, Dr. Hemliner was in a pretty sorry
shape.  Not only couldn't she answer, but I doubt she could've made it off the
floor to get to the microphone, seeing as how badly she was rolling around down
there now.  Heck, she even rolled out of her skirt, which was a pretty good
trick considering at no time did her hands leave her panties. And, yeah, they
were plain and white.  Story of my life.

"Oh, THAT's right!" continued Bubbles, oblivious to the good doctor's
condition, "you're Dr. Gladys Hemliner.  You can, like, say ANYTHING."

 From the mouth of babes, I thought as I left the sound room. Brucie had somehow
managed to free himself from his stupor enough to get his cock out, the dirty
bastard. If he were REALLY smart, he'd have used the time to make sure he had a
back-up recording.  Probably be worth a fortune on ebay someday...

"Oh, well, like, it's been nice chatting with you, Doc." Bubbles was droning on
and on as I made my way past the still-snoozing security guard. "Ewwww.  I
really got to go get, like, cleaned up."

"If you ever, like, need a good lawyer..."  OK, now THAT was funny, I chuckled
to myself as I crossed the parking lot - just in time to hear a screeching
noise as a studio van pulled up to the main entrance - though I figured with
all the money Hemliner had she could afford something better than a "female
hippie city-paid public defender in a miniskirt and pigtails."

Even if she WAS the hottest, cutest one in the whole city.

Which is about what I told her when I got back in the SUV.  Even with the AC
running full blast, it STILL smelled like a bordello in there - though no one
was complaining - as Henry pulled out of the parking lot.  

"Yeah," she smiled as she finished off the box of wetwipes from Bailey's glove
box, "but, like, now I'm FAMOUS!"




{Author's Note:  Any evil mind-controllers needing the services of a good, hot
and ultra-cute defense lawyer, feel free to write I NEED BUBBLES, email
WBANDAN@aol.com - you'll be glad you did :-)

"Write what you want, how you want, and don't worry about the rest of the
world.  If you do it long enough, eventually they'll catch up."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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