Mu
2003-10-23 04:09:50 UTC
The Amazing Adventures of Nick Jones
by Coorlim
Disclaimer: Any similarities to anyone living or dead
is purely coincidental, especialy Nick Jones.
Nick Jones was a professional housesitter, which is
to say he was an unemployed slacker with a lot of rich
friends. Often they'd go off on world spanning adventures
crossing multiple dimentions and battling evil overlords
for the freedom of entire galaxies (as rich people are
wont to do), and didn't want to be burdened by the question
of weather or not they'd left the water running or thier
oven on.
Thats where Nick came in. While his heroic friends were
away righting wrongs and seducing alien cultures, Nick
would lay around in the much more opulent settings than
the loft above his mother's garage, eating food from the
fridge with exciting and exotic foreign sounding names,
like "vegetables" and "baking soda," and watching old
re-runs of "WKRP in Cincinatti" on TVs so huge that the
screens were formed of specialy trained multicolored
dolphins.
He liked this job. He wasn't paid for it, not really, but
he got to take whatever he liked from the fridge, which
occasionaly ment lightbulbs and shelving units for the
realdoll he was trying to construct.
Regardless of his questionable motives, it came to
pass that Nick Jones was housesitting for Dash
Hardwood, Man of Action, who was off on an erotic
time-traveling romp through history assisted by
Benjamin Franklin and J-Lo. He'd housesat for Dash
before, so didn't need to be told about never entering
the Room of Mystery, or to place the Sphere of Apollo
in the window for an hour each day, or that you had to
jiggle the handle or the toilet wouldn't flush.
Dash's house was irritatingly multidimentional and
tended to move rooms around randomly. Well, it was
supposed to be random, but Nick had his doubts
about the viability of its algorithm... last time it had
kept him moving between the bathroom and the
kitchen for two days before he was able to make it to
the living room.
When Nick arrived at Dash's home the adventurer had
already departed with Franklin and -Lo, leaving only a
post-it on the door as far as instructions went:
NJ
Don't let the cat out...
Its in heat. Leftover
Pappa Johns in fridge.
- Dash
Shrugging, Nick kicked the door open and walked inside
to Dash's foyer. He had come prepared to slack, and was
wearing a bathrobe over his dirty wife-beater and boxer
shorts. Shuffling off towards the kitchen, he kept an eye
out for Dash's cat, Minnie.
Minnie was a catgirl, a souveneir that Dash had
picked up on a far off world. Nick digged catgirls,
and thought Minnie was a hot piece of tail. (GET IT?
CAT GIRL? TAIL? OH, GO FUCK YOURSELF!)
She was half the reason Nick housesat for Dash.
Unfortunately for Nick, she happened to be a lesbian
catgirl, but she was affectionate and nice to look at.
He found her curled up on Dash's kitchen table.
She was wearing one of those vetrenarian's white
lampshade-looking cone things around her neck.
At Nick's entrance her ears perked up and her head
swivled to track him. Her lithe body twisted as she
crouched low on the table, tail thrashing behind her
before she pounced towards him, knocking him flat
on his ass.
"Meow!" she said triumphantly around his forearm,
into which she had buried her inch-long fangs. "Mow
Mow Mow!"
"Oh God, it Hurts!" screamed Nick, his arm severely
lacerated as he tried to pull it from her steel-like jaws.
Minnie smiled. This was fun! It had been too long since
she had been able to play like this with one of her friends...
not since she was a kitten!
Nick punched her in the face repetedly while screaming,
signalling to Minnie that he was eager to play. She
responded by snapping at his face with her claws, and
was quite suprised when it came off in her hand. Bored
with this, she wandered off to find a can of whipped
cream so she could do some more whip-its.
The End.
by Coorlim
Disclaimer: Any similarities to anyone living or dead
is purely coincidental, especialy Nick Jones.
Nick Jones was a professional housesitter, which is
to say he was an unemployed slacker with a lot of rich
friends. Often they'd go off on world spanning adventures
crossing multiple dimentions and battling evil overlords
for the freedom of entire galaxies (as rich people are
wont to do), and didn't want to be burdened by the question
of weather or not they'd left the water running or thier
oven on.
Thats where Nick came in. While his heroic friends were
away righting wrongs and seducing alien cultures, Nick
would lay around in the much more opulent settings than
the loft above his mother's garage, eating food from the
fridge with exciting and exotic foreign sounding names,
like "vegetables" and "baking soda," and watching old
re-runs of "WKRP in Cincinatti" on TVs so huge that the
screens were formed of specialy trained multicolored
dolphins.
He liked this job. He wasn't paid for it, not really, but
he got to take whatever he liked from the fridge, which
occasionaly ment lightbulbs and shelving units for the
realdoll he was trying to construct.
Regardless of his questionable motives, it came to
pass that Nick Jones was housesitting for Dash
Hardwood, Man of Action, who was off on an erotic
time-traveling romp through history assisted by
Benjamin Franklin and J-Lo. He'd housesat for Dash
before, so didn't need to be told about never entering
the Room of Mystery, or to place the Sphere of Apollo
in the window for an hour each day, or that you had to
jiggle the handle or the toilet wouldn't flush.
Dash's house was irritatingly multidimentional and
tended to move rooms around randomly. Well, it was
supposed to be random, but Nick had his doubts
about the viability of its algorithm... last time it had
kept him moving between the bathroom and the
kitchen for two days before he was able to make it to
the living room.
When Nick arrived at Dash's home the adventurer had
already departed with Franklin and -Lo, leaving only a
post-it on the door as far as instructions went:
NJ
Don't let the cat out...
Its in heat. Leftover
Pappa Johns in fridge.
- Dash
Shrugging, Nick kicked the door open and walked inside
to Dash's foyer. He had come prepared to slack, and was
wearing a bathrobe over his dirty wife-beater and boxer
shorts. Shuffling off towards the kitchen, he kept an eye
out for Dash's cat, Minnie.
Minnie was a catgirl, a souveneir that Dash had
picked up on a far off world. Nick digged catgirls,
and thought Minnie was a hot piece of tail. (GET IT?
CAT GIRL? TAIL? OH, GO FUCK YOURSELF!)
She was half the reason Nick housesat for Dash.
Unfortunately for Nick, she happened to be a lesbian
catgirl, but she was affectionate and nice to look at.
He found her curled up on Dash's kitchen table.
She was wearing one of those vetrenarian's white
lampshade-looking cone things around her neck.
At Nick's entrance her ears perked up and her head
swivled to track him. Her lithe body twisted as she
crouched low on the table, tail thrashing behind her
before she pounced towards him, knocking him flat
on his ass.
"Meow!" she said triumphantly around his forearm,
into which she had buried her inch-long fangs. "Mow
Mow Mow!"
"Oh God, it Hurts!" screamed Nick, his arm severely
lacerated as he tried to pull it from her steel-like jaws.
Minnie smiled. This was fun! It had been too long since
she had been able to play like this with one of her friends...
not since she was a kitten!
Nick punched her in the face repetedly while screaming,
signalling to Minnie that he was eager to play. She
responded by snapping at his face with her claws, and
was quite suprised when it came off in her hand. Bored
with this, she wandered off to find a can of whipped
cream so she could do some more whip-its.
The End.