A Fashionable Fiasco

by Robyn Peterman

  I was tempted to ask Cathy why big teeth would be an asset, but I remembered that Bonnie Hooter was just around the corner.

  “It has to be Boopsy Cooter,” I told them with an eye roll. “Her damned cake mix was in my dream that requires me to fix the shit show. Plus, if I had a choice—which I don’t—I’d go for Guy Fieri. I adore that red convertible. I would look fabulous driving around with the top down.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Cathy said. “Your hair would clash with the car.”

  “Do you really want me to electrocute you?” I hissed.

  “Umm… no,” she replied. “But I find it very polite that you asked.”

  “Shhhhh,” Joan said. “Something is happening.”

  “Arm yourselves, hags,” Hortense advised. “It’s gonna get ugly.

  Truer words had not been uttered.

  As we rounded the corner, we were attacked. By cake mix. Literally.

  Mounds of sugary powder flew through the air, making it difficult to see. Pink and white frosting oozed from the shelves and hundreds of bottles of vegetable oil dribbled their contents to the ground turning the cement floor into an ice rink. It was like Candyland on crack.

  Lemon curd mixed with molasses and peanut butter chips flew by my head in gooey chunks. I narrowly missed getting beaned by a can of pureed pumpkin.

  “What in the ever-loving Hell?” I gasped out as I watched Joan go down under a ten-pound bag of powdered sugar that vaulted through the air like a ball out of a cannon.

  “You listen to me, you little ass-knuckle,” Betsy screeched like a banshee as she marched-limped up and down the aisle throwing cake mixes, birthday candles and bags of chocolate chips with an insane vengeance. As her legs were still regenerating, her gait was a little odd. “I’ve been detonating appliances for thousands of years and I’m fucking sick of it. I finally got another job that I’m unqualified for and you are not going to fart on my parade.”

  “Holy shit,” I gasped out. “She’s trying to kill the Antichrist with groceries.”

  “That’s the Antichrist?” Hortense asked, squinting at Jim Bob Bob-Bob who had stockpiled multiple bags of flour for protection and was lobbing cans of condensed milk at the crazed Becky.

  He was looking a little worse for the wear. The evil little shit didn’t appear quite as evil doused in sugar. However, the oddest thing was that he seemed terrified of Betina Cockrocker. Granted, Betina was terrifying, but…

  “It’s the Antichrist’s spawn,” I corrected myself. Getting to my feet and briefly lamenting my ruined Prada ensemble, I entered the fray. Ducking a flying case of unicorn sprinkles, I flung a family-sized box of gluten-free muffin mix at Bootsie’s head. “Bunny Cocksucker and Jim Bob Bob-Bob, you will stop right now. Do you understand me? You do not want me to have a meltdown.”

  “Seriously. You don’t,” Velma advised. “She’s fucking insane on a good day.”

  “Thank you,” I told her. Having friends really was lovely.

  “Welcome,” Velma replied.

  My posse of big-boned, powdered sugar-covered idiots, jumped up and flanked me. Each held spatulas, malted milk powder and canned blueberries. We were armed and completely ridiculous. Busty narrowed her eyes at us and then rolled them.

  “How did you find me, snot-boot?” she demanded.

  “What did you just call me?” I ground out.

  “Snot-boot,” Jim Bob volunteered as he lobbed an open box of brownie mix at Bunny.

  “What does that even mean?” I shouted, throwing my hands in the air and blowing out the fluorescent lights above. The electrical explosion combined with the colorful dust floating in the air made the baking aisle look like a circus on acid. “If you want to insult someone properly, you really should make some sense. Something like jackhole or shit-head has more oomph.”

  “Or douchecanoe,” Joan added, licking the icing off her fingers.

  “I like bunghole,” Fran chimed in, ripping open a bag of butterscotch chips and going to town.

  “Fine,” Betsy said. “How did you find me, llama-crackass?”

  “That still sucked,” Hortense pointed out.

  “You suck, dong-basket,” Betsy grunted as she hurled an enormous tub of lard at Hortense and nailed her right between the eyes.

  “Big mistake, Betsy Cocker,” Hortense snarled as her fangs dropped and she grabbed a case of vanilla pudding. “Food fight!”

  Hortense lobbed the case of pudding with Vampyre strength and sent Boobie tumbling into the sprinkle display. Colorful pieces of sugar flew like fireworks through the air as Bonnie screamed and grabbed ten family-sized bottles of chocolate syrup. Doing a very impressive move that was a cross between clogging and a seizure, Booty jumped on the bottles and gooey chocolate spurted through the air.

  My Prada was toast. Shit just got serious.

  “No killing blows,” I instructed as I wiggled my fingers and armed myself with aluminum cake tins and a jar of maraschino cherries. “We take them alive.”

  “Roger that,” Velma squealed as she began throwing unbaked pie crusts like frisbees shot out of the bowels of Hell.

  Jim Bob had amassed a pile of pecan halves, almonds and marshmallows. He used a gravy baster to shoot them at anyone in range. I wasn’t sure how much damage he thought he could do with marshmallows, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. The spawn of the Antichrist certainly wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

  “I haven’t had this much fun in centuries,” Joan shouted as she cartwheeled and upended a six-foot tower of baking powder.

  The cans exploded. White powder rained down and doused the area in causing everyone to cough up a lung. However, we were Immortal. Lungs weren’t a big deal.

  “Time out,” I shouted over the choking. “Everyone freeze.”

  With a wave of my hand I dissipated the powder. The baking aisle looked like a drug den that had been attacked by a tornado, but at least I could see more clearly.

  Jim Bob eyed Bonnie with an expression I couldn’t decipher while Bonnie eyed him right back.

  “Beluga,” I snapped, making an attempt to brush the offensive cornbread mix off my frock. I was sure I had rainbow sprinkles in my hair, but that was fine. I knew I could rock that look. “Would you like to explain yourself?”

  “Nope,” she grunted.

  “Jim Bob?” I pressed.

  “Nope,” he replied sullenly.

  “Mmmmkay,” I said with a smile that made everyone take a step back. My fingers sparked ominously and I levitated slightly off the floor. “Since neither of you two want to explain yourselves, I’ll simply explain what’s going to happen next. You feel me?”

  “I feel you,” Fran said with a thumbs up.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” I said with an eye roll. “I was talking to Jim Bob and Bambi.”

  “Whoops, my bad,” Fran apologized.

  “Got bingo,” Jim Bob Bob-Bob announced, as he continued to glare at Beluga. “I’m out.”

  “Not so fast,” I hissed as I tried to stop him with a spell.

  It was futile. The spawn of the Antichrist was far more powerful than I’d thought.

  Shit.

  “Oh,” Jim Bob said with an ugly chuckle. “Before I go, let me leave you with a little parting gift.” Removing a red plastic horse from his pocket, he raised it high in the air and snapped it in two.

  “The first one didn’t work,” I snarled as I pulled on my magic from deep within and tried to blast him with it. “The end times are not on the schedule, you crusty dung heap.”

  “Nice one,” Betty said.

  “Zip it, Bertha. You’re next,” I warned. “So, Jim Bob, I don’t know what little game you’re playing, but it won’t work.”

  “You heard the ass-sniffer,” Becky snarled at Jim Bob. “The wanker has sons in high places. She knows shit. Her sons haven’t spent a lifetime trying to off her ass.”

  Jim Bob’s roar of displeasure sent chills down my spine, but I held my ground and prepare
d again to try to electrocute his evil ass.

  Again, I failed.

  “Maybe it’s all a metaphor,” Jim Bob growled as his eyes went so black, I gasped. “Maybe the end is only the end for one. Think about it, Mother Nature. Seeds planted now could reap rewards in the end… times.”

  Snapping my fingers and incinerating the six-foot display of Betsy Cocker Scalloped Potatoes, I willed myself to calm. It would have been more helpful to blow the warehouse sky high, but that would have been counterproductive. Even I knew that.

  The vile piece of crap had just said something important. I was sure of it. It would be lovely if it wasn’t cryptic, but that wasn’t the way of the Immortals… which sucked. Hard.

  “Be more specific,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

  “And where would the fun in that be?” he shot back as he morphed from an old man into a heinous creature with black wings and an even blacker soul. “Don’t be so sure that the Horsemen aren’t doing their job.”

  “What is it that you want?” I demanded. It was never smart to negotiate with evil, but I was running out of time. Killing him would be a very bad move since his demise would definitely bring on the end times for all.

  Jim Bob Bob-Bob paused for only the briefest of moments as he considered my question. His black eyes looked so pained, I almost reached for the abomination. As fast as the expression was there, it disappeared. His laugh of disdain was oily and chilling.

  “Figure it out… before it’s too late. See you soon, ladies. Eat shit, Mother,” he bellowed as putrid smoke engulfed him and he disappeared in a blast of dark magic.

  “What a dick,” Becky muttered as she filled a bag with cake mixes that hadn’t been destroyed. “You bitches ready to go back?”

  I was speechless. The rest of the Psycho Six were mute as well. We stared at Betsy Cocker as if she’d grown a new head.

  “You banged the Antichrist?” I choked out, holding onto the remnants of the shelf for purchase.

  “I was wasted,” she said with a shrug as she continued to fill her bag.

  “Jim Bob Bob-Bob is your son?” I wheezed out as the little puzzle pieces in my head began to snap together—not all of them, but some.

  “Biologically? Unfortunately, yes,” Boobie grumbled and stole more boxed meals. “That little fucker has tried to kill me since the day he was hatched.”

  “You hatched him?” Cathy asked, wildly confused. “What exactly are you?”

  “I was a human thousands of years ago until I downed a batch of shitty-ass wine and porked a loser,” Betina shouted. “That’s right. I’ll admit. I got McHammered and did the bone dance with a no good, low down ass-hanky. Yep, got hamsauced and got my hump on with an atrocious butt-napkin. Woke up the next morning knocked up by the dong-hole.”

  “So, umm… boinking the Antichrist and giving birth to his son made you Immortal?” I asked, trying not to gag at Bonnie’s rather graphic and disgusting descriptions.

  “You got that right, sister,” she said and then paused. “Anyhoo, how did you twat-whistles find me?”

  “You have a homing device shoved up your ass,” I explained, not really concerned with my language considering with whom I was speaking. I was seriously tempted to wash Becky’s mouth out with soap.

  “Smooth move,” Bossy said. “Thought I’d be back before you noticed I was gone.”

  “Speaking of being gone, why did you come here?” I questioned, still digesting that Bonnie had boinked the Antichrist and Jim Bob Bob-Bob was her son.

  “I figured the fart-goblin was up to no good when the fat-asses mentioned the end times after they removed my legs. The bunghole likes to hang out here so I paid him a little visit.”

  “Who is she talking about? Who’s a fat-ass?” Joan hissed as she began to wart-out.

  “I have no clue,” I lied through my teeth. I didn’t need my posse to smackdown on the Cooter at the moment. “So, you came to stop him?”

  “Stop who?” Boopsie asked, confused.

  “Umm… the fart-goblin,” I said with a wince, trying to speak her language so we could get the Hell out of here.

  “Hell to the yes,” Bambi grunted. “I have a new fucking job and I’m not gonna let that underpants tread-mark mess it up. That dingleberry is constantly trying to get in his cocksocket’s good graces.”

  “Cocksocket?” I questioned, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose unable to believe I’d just uttered the term cocksocket.

  “His sperm donor,” Bunky explained with an eye roll. “Can we leave now?”

  “Yes. Yes, we can,” I replied.

  It was time for me to take a nap. I had a partial, half-assed plan simmering in my head. I just needed a little shut-eye and a date with Fate to confirm a few things.

  “Hang on, ladies… and Buppy. It’s going to be a wild ride.”

  With a wave of my hands, a glittering cyclone of peach magic scooped us up and took us home.

  And the wild ride?

  It was about to begin.

  Chapter Eleven

  The sky turned an ominous inky purple. Twenty-foot waves crashed violently against the shiny stainless-steel appliances. The massive refrigerator groaned as it swayed and shuddered in the storm. An industrial-sized box of Betsy Cocker double chocolate deluxe fudgy cake mix fell from the top of the fridge and exploded, causing me to cough as I inhaled the sugary powder. An unfamiliar chill floated on the air and I rolled my eyes.

  As much as the dream was the same, it was different this time. Gone was the bizarre room with the crevasse of evil and flaming midgets. Everything now was beige—just as beige as Purgatory. I peeked around to see if Mr. Rogers was here. Sadly, he wasn’t. I could have used his platonic adoration at the moment.

  There was a beige mountain in the distance. It was devoid of life—no trees, no flowers, no wildlife. A vast body of water hugged by a sandy beach was just a few steps away. It would have been alluring if there was some color. But there was none. Everything was the hue of pale coffee.

  Whatever. I didn’t have the luxury of time to figure out why the world had gone colorless in my dream.

  “I’m in a bit of a time crunch here,” I called out. “Can we skip this part?”

  “That’s your call. Not mine,” Elle aka Fate said as she appeared in a sparkling cloud of purple glitter.

  “Really?” I asked, surprised.

  “Really,” she confirmed with a small smile. “This is your dream, Gaia.”

  “Excellent,” I said, looking down to make sure my daughter-in-law hadn’t messed with my fashion.

  She hadn’t. Elle was getting smarter. Payback from Mother Nature would suck tremendously.

  I’d changed immediately once we’d returned to Nirvana. Sadly, my pink Prada dress was a thing of the past. The spurting chocolate sauce had killed it dead. However, the ethereal, peach, diaphanous gown I’d chosen to replace it with had made Joan turn green with envy. Granted, Joan was always a bit green.

  Becky Cooter, while bitching and moaning incessantly, had gone immediately to the kitchen in the Garden Palace and lined up all of her stolen packaged meals in preparation for our first cooking lesson. She’d refused to use anything in my kitchen since nothing was labeled. Not to mention, I hadn’t replaced anything in centuries. After she’d tasted what she’d thought was a square of chocolate—which turned out to be ex-lax that sent her to the bathroom for an hour—she’d called me all sorts of unsavory names and demanded a raise.

  Bill was nowhere to be found. It was unsettling and threw me off my game. But with only days left, I needed to forge ahead. Getting myself to sleep without an aerobic round of sex was difficult. Of course, my new BFF’s came up with an excellent alternative. They let me electrocute them repeatedly for fourteen minutes and twelve seconds. The sheer exhilaration of setting my posse on fire wore me out. Having friends was wonderful… for me. I was unsure if they would agree with that sentiment.

  Whatever. I looked fabulous. I was asleep. And I was ex
actly where I needed to be.

  “Betsy Cocker banged the Antichrist in a drunken stupor and produced a child,” I announced to Elle as she stared at me in silence. “I believe this is an important development—although wildly unappetizing and gross. Do you have anything to say about that?”

  Elle sat silently and waited.

  “I see,” I said with a pout, wanting to electrocute her. As agreeable as my posse was to being set ablaze, I was quite sure Elle would not feel the same. Fine. I’d just talk and watch her expressions.

  Pacing the area, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was here. Looking high and low, I found no evidence that we were being watched. Since I’d never had the displeasure of meeting the Antichrist, I was concerned that the bastard himself might be snooping around. However, the entity I felt waver in and out was not evil. It was quite naughty, but not bad. It didn’t alarm me at all… simply made me curious.

  Shaking my head to clear it, I decided that if someone else was indeed present, he or she would reveal themselves as needed. The matter at hand was the most important piece of business right now. If the entirety of what was happening was indeed a metaphor as Jim Bob Bob-Bob had suggested, then I needed to figure that shit out.

  “Maybe this is all a metaphor,” I said, repeating the spawn of the Antichrist’s words. “Maybe the end is only the end for one. Seeds planted now could reap rewards in the end… times.”

  Elle’s harsh intake of breath made my stomach clench. Clearly, I’d just hit the nail on the head. Instead of feeling victorious, I felt furious and helpless. I had no idea what the words meant.

  Shit.

  “You are brilliant,” Elle commented.

  “Yes. I know. I’m also extremely good looking,” I replied. “However, can you rephrase my brilliance in your own words? I’d like to get another take on it.”

  “You have no clue what it means,” Elle said with a sigh.

  My eyes narrowed and I counted to thirty so I didn’t blow up the beige, boring dream state. While violence calmed me, it wasn’t always smart.