Gums of Our Lives: Episode 12

“So… do we have a plan?”

A Serious Monster was getting antsy. It had been several hours since she first made contact with the Hybrids, and all they had done up to this point was fiddle with dials and make horrible puns.

“Calm down, ok? We’re formulating a flan.” Facetaco said, glancing up from one of the computers.

“Mmmm. Delicious flan.” Polythene Pam piped up from behind a stack of equipment.

“Bleep Bloop flan plan.” R2D2 Esq. shimmied.

“Seriously. These puns are getting really annoying.” A Serious Monster angrily interjected.

“Sorry. We can’t help it,” Facetaco shrugged. “It’s a side effect of the hybridization process.”

Girl Philosopher nodded. “It’s markedly worse when we’re around other hybrids. Usually we can control it by ourselves. David Hume!”

A Serious Monster had to stifle her vomit.

“Hey. Be careful there, Retch Armstrong,” Facetaco called out.

“Yeah, Little Retchard” Polythene Pam chimed in.

“Bloop Blorp Puke Skywalker.”

“Seriously! Enough!” A Serious Monster slammed her fist onto the desk. “You listen to me. I agreed to join with you because you said that you had a way to reach The Narrator. Now, I’m very sorry about what he did to you all, but I have a job to do. If you aren’t going to help me, that’s fine. But let me know now.”

“Calm down. We’re almost ready to go.” Facetaco mollified, not looking up from his computer.

“Yeah. Calm down, Optimus Whine.”

“Shhh. Quiet, Polythene Pam.” Facetaco scolded.

He squinted at one of the many monitors in front of him.

“Ok. Here’s the situation,” he began. “Ever since his dismissal, he hasn’t had access to the laboratories at the University because duh. Clearly, he has to have found another laboratory to conduct his experiments. I had R2D2 esq. hack into the Department of Water and Power and check the grid for any unexpectedly large power spikes. We cross-referenced the data with tracking information for industrial suppliers of beakers, bubbly chemicals, giant wires, and imposing-looking giant metal things that whirr. We further cross-referenced those with B.J.’s Wholesale Club’s sales of human hybridizers. It has taken us several months, but we finally found the address: 271 Raed Ave.”

“Oh,” A Serious Monster replied, impressed. She stopped, suddenly. “Wait. Did you say 271 Raed Ave.?”

Facetaco nodded.

“You mean his house?” A Serious Monster asked.

Facetaco paused.

“No. I mean his lab.” He responded.

“That’s his home address.”

Facetaco blinked.

A Serious Monster took out her notebook and pointed to a page.

“See? Look. This is where he lives. 271 Raed Ave. You guys have to have known that, right? I mean, that’s the first place you checked, right?”

Facetaco coughed quietly.

“Right? I mean, you guys didn’t buy all this equipment and do all this work instead of just looking up where he lived online, right?”

Polythene Pam began to shuffle, awkwardly.

A Serious Monster walked over to the computer and brought up Google Maps. She typed in the address and zoomed to street view. There was The Narrator’s house, the entire left side converted into a fusion reactor. She stood up and looked around the room. All of the hybrids stared intently at the floor.

“Are you guys kidding me?” She asked, incredulous.

“Ok, fine. You were right. There’s no need to cop an attitude, Smuggsy Bogues.” Facetaco fired back.

“Yeah. Does your facial scrub contain pompous?” Polythene Pam added, brightening up.

Facetaco turned to her. “Huh?”

“You know. Like pumice? A lot of facial scrubs have pumice?… Pumice? Pompous?…” She trailed off.

“Meep Boop Cocky Balboa.”

“There we go. Nice one, R2.” Facetaco patted him on the top of his dome.

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

“Do you have any idea where he could have taken her?”

Just Desserts was talking with Paper Street Soap Company on his earpiece, who had urged him to pull over to the side of the road so as to avoid future accidents. “Did you know that talking on the phone and driving is just as dangerous as driving drunk?” He had said. Just Desserts had responded that that statement was hyperbolic at best, and that all statistical evidence pointed to the fact that talking while driving, although unsafe, was nowhere near as dangerous as driving under the influence of alcohol. It was really the most fascinating conversation. It ended when Just Desserts agreed to pull over, “just to get you off my back.”

“Thank you for pulling over. I worry about your safety.” Just Desserts began. “In terms of Thisismynightmare, I’m checking some things right now. It looks like The Narrator owns two cars: A Kia Sportage and a Chrysler Rape Van. I was able to hack into the Kia’s Lojack, and it looks like it’s parked in his driveway, and has been for at least a day.”

“What about the Rape Van?”

“That one’s a toughie. No Lojack.”

“Damn!”

“However, I was able to access the traffic cams from near BabyFriday’s house, and I found a large, white, windowless van exiting her street about an hour ago. I just sent you the image.”

Just Desserts took out his phone and downloaded the image. It was as Paper Street Soap Company described.

“ENHANCE.” Just Desserts spoke into his phone. The picture zoomed in on the driver.

“ENHANCE.” The picture zoomed in even closer. There, sitting in front of the steering wheel, was the unmistakable gleaming metal wolf’s head of the Winbot.

“That’s him! That’s the car!” Just Desserts shouted.

“Ok. No need to yell. Let’s see here…” There was the sound of typing on the other end of the line.

“Alrighty,” Paper Street Soap Company continued. “I’ve been able to follow the van through the traffic cameras up until it got onto I-90 northbound. I’ll keep checking tollbooth cameras. Hopefully it’ll pop up. In the meanwhile you should head out there.”

“Already on my way.” Just Desserts tightened his helmet and sped off.

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

“Do you see anything?”

Thisismynightmare called ahead to Briadru4 as they trudged through the forest.

“Just trees.” She responded, pressing forward.

“Shouldn’t we have reached the road by now?”

“Who knows? Maybe? I’ve never been out here before.”

“Sorry. Hey. Would you rather have your food have no flavor or have everything you eat have too much flavor?”

“No flavor. Because ‘too much flavor’ means I can’t eat it. I’d rather it be bland than be inedible.”

“Good point. I’m hungry.”

“I know. Me too.”

Briadru4 stopped and waited for Thisismynightmare to catch up.

“You doing ok?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

Suddenly she stopped and stared at something in the distance.

“What are you looking at?” Briadru4 asked.

Instead of answering, Thisismynightmare broke into a sprint. Briadru4 began to follow.

“Do you see?” Thisismynightmare called behind her. “Look!”

They reached a copse of trees. Resting at the bottom was a large item.

“A fruit basket!” She cackled with glee.

It was, indeed, a fruit basket, full of delicious-looking fruits, preserves and nuts.

“Wait a second, Thisismynightmare, maybe we shouldn’t…” Braidru4 began, but it was too late. She had already run over and began to rifle through the items.

“Look, Briadru4! They have jerky!” She squealed, holding up a package of Trader Joe’s teriyaki turkey jerkey.

Suddenly there was a loud CRACK, and the leaves beneath their feet began to move. Within a second they were hoisted up into a giant net and left dangling above the forest floor.

“Thisismynightmare, you idiot! Look what you did!” Briadru4 yelled.

“You know what?” Thisismynightmare said, her mouth full of dried apricots. “I ain’t even care.”

At that moment, two figures emerged from the bushes. One was an adorable bulldog. The other was a rainbow-colored jungle cat.

“Well, lookee here, Dusky Panther. Looks like we caught ourselves a coupla humes. She’s gonna be right excited.” The bulldog drawled, looking up at them.

“Yessiree, Fozzy the Chair, she will be.” He nodded, putting on sunglasses. “As for me, I’m so excited I could poop.”