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Bar Talk: Two Chicks Walk Into a Bar...

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Bar Talk: Two Chicks Walk Into a Bar...
by Scribe

The lush redhead was twirling a paper umbrella, the one that had shaded her drink, between long, crimson fingernails. The pale skinned, slender, exotic woman with long black hair and dark lipstick was sipping a martini--what else? A voice at her elbow--literally at her elbow because it was so low--said, "Hidey, thar, gals!"

They glanced down. His moustache was almost bigger than he was--a ginger handlebar that extended past his shoulders on each side. He also looked like he had fuzzy orange caterpillers over his eyes. He swept off a huge cowboy hat (one with a suspicious hole in the brim), and bowed. "Yosemite Sam at yore service. Ah'd be right proud t' stand you two fillies another trip to the trough."

The women exchanged looks. The dark one cooed, "Dahlink, how wery sweet. First you must be telling me--does a big, manly man like yourself like to smoke cigars?"

He grinned. "Ah shore do, lil lady! Nothin' I like better in this world than a good ceegar," the eyebrows bounced suggestively, "'Less it's spendin' time with some good looking gals."

"Then dahlink, you must have this." She handed him a black, tubular object, thrusting it between his lips. "It vas a gift, and I cannot smoke it. It isn't ladylike, you know." She lit it with a flick of a match. "Oh, but I forgot!" She pointed to a big sign that said NO SMOKING. "You must go outside."

"Tarnation! Don't go away, now."

She picked up her drink again as he headed out the door. "I vouldn't dream of it, dahlink."

The other woman said in a throaty voice, "I didn't know you smoked cigars."

"I don't." She sipped. "Vait for it."


The little man, blackened from the waist up, hair sticking up in charred tufts, stalked back in. He gazed up at her sorrowfully. "Ma'am, that was plumb unfriendly-like." He keeled over backward, stiff as a board. Several weary looking mice ran in, hoisted him up on their shoulders, and toted him out.

The dark haired woman looked at her companion, "So, Jessica, vas it? You vere tellink me about your hoosband?" Jessica Rabbit heaved a sigh, setting her chest into magestic motion. She pushed a thick sheaf of hair out of one limpid green eye, then pulled a photograph out of her purse and showed it to the other woman. Natasha studied it. Noting that the rabbit's nose would just about snuggle between Jessica's main identifying characteristics. "I am guessink that he enjoys slow dancing wery much." She handed the photo back. "He looks like a sweetie pie. He is givink you troobles?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong--I love Roger." She chuckled huskily. "Every chance I get. But other women are always coming on to him, and the dumb bunny is completely clueless. I caught that Betty Rubble with her hand down his pants. It isn't like she doesn't have a little blond stud muffin of her own--she has to go for my luscious long-ear. She told him she just wanted to borrow a pencil, and then proceeded to fish around for it. She'd already pulled out a notepad, his wallet, a penknife, a set of silverware, a lit chandelabra, and a live bull moose by the time I got there. She was about to reach the good stuff, and he was just standing there, holding the anvil."

"Vat did you do?"

Jessica shrugged, setting off another tremor in her dress front. Several men swallowed ice cubes, and one was taken away by the ambulance stretcher squad for what appeared to be a mild heatattack. "What could I do? I pulled a mallet out of my cleavage and flattened her. How about you, Natasha? Do you have trouble with your man?"

"Like you vouldn't beleaf, dahlink." Natasha pulled what looked like a mole off her cheek and offered it to Jessica, who raised a carefully plucked eyebrow. "Oh, sorry! Force of habit." Natasha handed Jessica a jewelers eye piece. "Microfilm."

Jessica held the lens to her eye and squinted through it at the dot. "Oo, he's cute--in a sallow, greasy, East European sort of way."

"Da, that's my Boris." Natasha reattached the mole. "And saxy? You vouldn't be beleafink." She lowered her voice. "He vas trained, you know. That bald headed, monacle vearing, megalomanic ve vork for saw to it. The problem is, his tastes are a bit kinky. Boris has developed an obsession vith moose and squirrel."

Jessica blinked. "I've heard a lot of men are obsessed with hunting."

"Not zis kind of hunting. It is affecting his vork. Vere do most spies vork? World capitals, da? Paris, London, Cairo, Constantinoople... uh, Constinpooloop--Istanbul. And vere do ve spend all our time? Chagrin Falls." She sighed. "As if it isn't bad enough that they are animals, zey are both boys!"

Jessica's eyes grew as wide as those of a Keane Kid (or an anime character, for those of you who aren't as old as your Beloved Author *sigh*). She squeaked, "Oo! Toonslash?"

Natasha nodded, then frowned. "At least I seenk so. Squirrel has a rather high pitched voice, but vith all the fur and the fact zat they are not anotomically correct, it is hard to tell."

Jessica wiggled on her barstool (hopefully not leaving a damp patch--that tended to over excite the janitor, who was a wolf with a high ability to sniff out pheromones, and a tendency to have his eyeballs pop out when he was over excited. It took him forever to find them again.) "That sounds sexy."

"In a strange vay, yes," agreed Natasha, "if he vould get down to it. But no, Boris has to have vun other kink. He keeps tieing them up. That could be fun, but then he insists on leaving them with a lit bundle of dynomite." She sighed. "I am theenking he is conflicted about his sexuality."

Jessica sighed. "I wish I could convince Roger to experiment a little." Her eyes grew dreamy. "I'd give anything to see him snuggle with that sexy Bugs."

"Pahdon, ladies. Uh-huh-huh-huh-huh."

The laugh wasn't quite as bad as the one given by Chrissie Snow on Three's Company (and again the Beloved Author dates herself), but it was pretty damn bad. This time the man was standing at Jessica's elbow. The bar lights gleamed on his bald pate as he gazed up at her with moist, anxious eye, twisting a hunter's cap in his pudgy hands. "I didn't mean to eavesdwop, but you see, I've been vewy, vewy, quiet. I'm hunting wabbits."

Natasha rolled her eyes and looked at Jessica. "This vun is yours, dahlink."

Jessica turned toward Elmer, grabbed his head, and squished his face firmly between her bosoms. He didn't struggle, and passed out in just over a minute. When she let go, he slithered to the ground bonelessly, ending up in a puddle. This time the mice mopped him up with a rag, squeezed him into a bucket, and carried him off.

Fatale nodded. "Nicely done."

Jessica shrugged. "I've had to register them as deadly weapons. I don't suppose I can fault Roger over not being adventurous. After all, I've never played pattie-cake with anyone else but him."

"Da?" She reached over and drew one long nail lightly up Jessica's thigh. "Vould you be interested in broadening your range? I have a lair... um, apartment nearby."

Jessica looked interested, but said doubtfully, "I'm not bad--I'm just drawn that way."

Natasha downed the last of her drink, then pulled Jessica to her feet. "Vell, dahlink, don't you think it's time you got your lines smudged just a little?"

Jessica smiled slowly, and they left together, hips swaying and other anatomical portions causing the male customers' eyeballs to bounce like Superballs (I believe this is the third clue to the Beloved Author's age). The mice began to mop up the drool puddles and gather the eyes that had popped and the jaws that had dropped. Once again, the lost and found was going to be overflowing. They complained that the joint had been a lot easier to keep clean back when there were no women allowed.