[The Dumpster]

A year from now, an urgent message is received from Gilbert (a/k/a Mr. Shit Volcano):

PoopReporters, help me! I woke up this morning to give little Gordon his feeding, and Mrs. Volcano is gone! GONE! All I found was a note:

Guys, I'm sorry; I can't be tied down as a housewife and mother forever. This sexy body I inhabit MUST be shared with the world! Thus, I'm off to Los Angeles to seek my true calling in the world of exotic dancing. I will miss our little Bungalow, but my pubic--I mean public--awaits!

P.S.--Gilbert, don't forget to roll out the Dumpster.

PR friends, I can't leave little Gordon. Can you help me??

Instantly, Dave convenes the PoopReport "Privy Council." (Envision the scene, In The Privy, with Dave seated On The Throne.) Advice is sought.

"Let's bomb L.A. back into the Stone Age," says C. Everett Poop. "Fucking perverts!"

"No, no," says Daphne. "We must release thousands of furry little animals, whose instinct for goodness will lead us to our beloved TSV."

"Uh, Daph, I think they are called 'rats,'" interjects the ever-practical AssBlaster2000. "They just might not lead us where we want to go."

"Can we fry some?" KeepOnCrappin asks, saliva dripping down his chin.

"Let's get this in focus, folks," The Big Wiper suggests. "TSV obviously wants to be found; otherwise she wouldn't have left a note. Let us examine the message for clues.

"And by the way," he continues, "I anticipated this in my upcoming novel, In Hot Blood, and maybe TSV will show up at one of my signing sessions."

"Yeah, well sign this," says SamDamnit, momentarily extracting his member from an operational vacuum cleaner hose.

"Wait," says Di Uhreea. "TBW is right! Let's piece together the clues. And I know it's only 9:00 a.m., but does anybody have a bottle of wine on them?"

So gradually the clues are unraveled. The references to the "Bungalow" and the "Dumpster" lead the Privy Council to call in these two fearless worthies to take one on for the site.

"We know it will be a great sacrifice," intones Dave (between flushes), "but you two must visit EVERY titty bar in L.A. until you locate our beloved TSV and restore her bosoms--er, I mean, restore her to the bosom of her family."

"Yes, SIR!!" respond Bunga and Dumpster in unison, snapping taut buttcheeks together (well, I mean their OWN taut buttcheeks together; not each other's, you know--AHH, Fuckit!!).

SO, loyal PoopReporters one and all--Here is the challenge: Instead of another Mad Lib (for which AB2K retired the trophy), how does this plot play out? The above is Chapter 1. Someone else writes Chapter 2, another writes Chapter 3, and so on, until the plot resolves itself. As the creator of this scenario, I reserve the right to determine when and how this ends, and I will either write the Final Chapter myself, or confer this on someone else, depending on how things progress. And folks certainly may post more than once!

(Note--You are NOT limited to the characters introduced here. You may bring in other characters, or kill them off, subject to the next person's privilege to un-DOO your deeds!)

SO--WHAT HAPPENS NEXT??

[The Big Wiper]

You will have to give us a little time on this one, Dumpster. It's not like a Mad Lib where we only have to come up with a word or two. Don't expect Proust, though.

[The Dumpster]

I was thinking more in terms of Jacquelyn Suzanne than Proust, but there probably should be a bit of Proustian existentialism present, perhaps with a bit of dark, mordant, Kafka-esque humor mixed in. TBW, you are more than up to it.

[Bunga Din]

Scene 2

Alone in the hissing laboratory of his wishes, Bunga Din minces among bad vats and Jeroboams, tiptoes through spinneys of murdering herbs, agony dancing in his crucibles, and mixes especially for Mrs Volcano a venomous porridge unknown to toxologists which will scald and viper through her until her ears fall off like figs, her toes grow big and black as balloons, and steam comes screaming out of her navel. But all of a sudden the phone rings!

[The Big Wiper]

Continuation of Scene 2

"Hello, Mr. Din," a silky, sultry voice intones. "Are you, ah, up this morning? Do you know what I mean, big boy? I assume you are a big boy."

Bunga gulps. "Uh, who is this? This had better not be another telemarketer trying to sell me another credit card. I am maxed out the wazoo!"

The sexy-voiced woman pauses briefly. "Speaking of the wazoo, can we talk?"

Bunga goes for the jugular. "Is this Joan Rivers? Because if it is, I'm not going to accept a date with Melissa. She's married now, and I just don't go there."

The femme fatale makes a hissing sound through the phone, conjuring up an image of a snake about to strike. "Have it your way, then. I was just going to throw a freebie your way."

As usual, Bunga was quick on his feet. "I don't catch freebies anymore. My dog died. We used to spend Saturdays in the park throwing and catching them." Bunga sniffled a tad bit. "I miss my dog. His name was Din Tin Tin."

The woman on the other end sighs plaintively. "How old are you--twelve?"

"Well, ex-cu-uu-uu-se, me!" Bunga replies, doing his best Steve Martin imitation.

[The Dumpster]

Who do you think you are, Bunga, Dylan Thomas? It took me a while, but check out http://www.arf.ru/Notes/Ycd1/ysnow.html.

It will be fun to see where this heads.

TBW--"Din Tin Tin." Funniest line of the whole week!!

[Bunga Din]

Continuation of Scene 2

Slamming down the phone awakes Bunga from the fog he was in. Realizing he's not in a laboratory but in the den of his cosy bungalow and time is of the essence if The Shit Volcano is to be saved from a life of degradation and excessive lingerie purchases he springs into action.

He picks up the phone and dials the Dumpster:

Dumpster: Hello thanks for calling Stewsburg's finest solicitors, if this is an ambulance service press one for immediate service. If you are calling regarding legal assistance press two and prepare to hold. If you want our customer assistance department please hang up now.

Confused Bunga pounds on the one.


Dumpster: YeeHaw, I knew a few well placed bucks would bring business, whatcha got?

Bunga: Dumpster, it's Bunga, I had a bad dream man, The Shit Volcano's in major danger, I think Dave's idea of combing the peeler bars might be a good idea. In the dream I had TSV was gonna be poisoned or something so maybe it's one of those real dumps that serve homemade hooch, any ideas where to start?

[The Dumpster]

C'mon, guys; as Bunga says, Time Is Of The Essence here! How do Bunga and Dumpster meet up in L.A.? How do they locate all the titty bars? How do they know who they are looking for? (I'm hoping TSV will drop in with some deus ex machina here.) What do they do with themselves during the day?

Anyway, a few problems we know how to handle--since Bunga no longer drinks, he can drive the getaway car. And, TSV, should you be looking for your Knights in Tarnished Armor, watch for two buff, fortysomething types, one of whom orders a Shirley Temple, and the other a Jeroboam of Dom Perignon and charges it to "PoopReport."

Plus, you will be tipped in "Dave Dollars"--redeemable for userpoints on this site.

[Poop Shooter]

As Bunga and Dumpster ponder on what to do next, TSV is cruising the strip in LA looking for just the right bar to pop into.

She first opens the goo covered doors of "Boobs-4-U". As she enters, she is hit with the smell of stale cheap cigars and putrid alcohol. After the initial shock of the rancid smell of the place, she (as a good poop reporter always does) heads for the restrooms to take a peek.

The mens room has an eerie glow coming from under the crack and a Kleenex dispensed on the outside of the door. She decides it's not the right time to investigate the Mens room. The Ladies room door looks a bit better and has no glow and no Kleenex! As she enters, she is hit with the usual ordure of rancid crotch latrine smell and whilst chocking back a purge, she ventures in. It is her destiny ya know!!!

Being fearless and ruthless and not willing to accept defeat, she heads to the stall to investigate a bit further. Realizing there is no way in hell she could sit on the stool, she does one of the most acrobatic back-spinning, bar swinging, jumping front flips over the bar and lands her load into the shitter in one smoothe evacuatory swoop, landing on her feet with pants back up!

Knowing her job was done here, she headed back out to the bar and realizing there were not nearly enough people in here since it was only 9:00 AM she headed out the door grabbing a handfull of Kleenex to wrap on the handle before getting sticky paw on the way out.

The morning air was still thick with smog, so she choked and headed down the strip some more........

[The Shit Volcano]

"Screw this", said TSV. "I'm going to Vegas!"

[AssBlaster2000]

Back to Bunga and Dumpster’s conversation.

Dumpster: “Booze? Boobs? TSV? Bunga, what are we waiting for exactly? To LA we will go!”

Bunga: “To the Bungamobile!”

They arrive on the seediest avenue in LA. Bunga has a keen eye for sleazy strip joints, and they happen, as luck would have it, on Boobs-4-U, where TSV had been earlier. Fortunately, Gilbert had provided them with a close-up picture of TSV’s funbags as identification.

Bunga, all business, struts up to the bar and whips out the pic of TSV’s tits. “Have you seen these?” he asks.

“I haven’t!” hollers Dumpster, and makes off to the bathroom with it. On his way in, he yanks the door open excitedly, and another man stumbles out and falls on Dumpster. Bunga, in the background, shakes his head disappointedly and mutters “Durrrrrr” under his breath.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going! By the way, my name’s SamDamnit!, what’s yours?” says the unfortunate victim of Dumpster’s door lunge.

“My name’s Dumpster, fuck you!” replies our hero, too preoccupied to notice that he is speaking to Austin’s finest poop journalist, while Sam diverts his eyes to Dumpster's face and recognizes his friend.

“It’s me, Sam, you tent-pitching dimwit! I’m here on assignment, finding the filthiest bathrooms in L.A. That one takes the cake. The toilets are all clogged, and there’s enough semen encrusted in there to impregnate every woman in a fifty-mile radius, or a one-hundred mile radius once you’re done with it, from the, ah, looks of things. Oh, hi, Bunga!”

Bunga sauntered over to join them. “Give me that!” he growled sourly, snatching the pic of TSV’s mammoth mammaries from Dumpster’s sweaty palms. He brought it back to the bartender. “Donkey-raper!” grunted Dumpster under his breath.

A look of recognition spread across the bartender’s face. “Sure, I’d know those tits anywhere! That was that crazy woman who took a fucking trapeze shit in here! You don’t do flips like that without your tits coming loose and flapping all over the place! She almost took a poor woman out with those things! She took off real quick, though. Mentioned something about Vegas.”

“Thanks!” said Bunga. “Come, Dumpster!” he called. “To the Bungamobile! We’re off to Vegas!”

“Can I come too?” pleaded Sam. “I bet the toilets in Vegas strip clubs are really fucking grody!” Bunga and Dumpster readily agreed.

“Cowabunga!” Sam exclaimed, and our Three Amigos were on their way to Vegas.

[Bunga Din]

As Din, Damn and Dum make their way across the desert plain to Vegas Sam puts a call in to The Big Wiper to keep him abreast of the situation and asks him to utilize his showbiz contacts in uncovering the whereabouts of The Shit Volcano.

Meanwhile several states away Daphne and Di have just met up to go shopping for groceries at the local package store. As they waltze the aisles singing Auld Lang Syne and adjusting their thongs The Big Wiper manages to get through to them on their cell phones.

[The Amazing Anus]

..Where Daphne and Di meet The Amazing Anus, skillfully cooking hotdogs at the snack bar. Instantly aroused by his studly manley-ness, the move twoard him, before being interupted by their cell-phones.

[Di Uhreea]

Di, rudely, covers her phone and whispers to Daphne "How much were these dual-handset cell phones again?" with a puzzled yet drunken tone to her voice.

Daph motioned to Di to get back on her phone while TBW patiently awaited an answer to his original question which was "Have you heard the latest on the whereabouts of The Shit Volcano?"

"No, we haven't yet Wiper. What might it...." Daph said.

"Fuckin'shit!" Interrupted Di, "I dropped the whole fucking case and at least three of the bottles broke!"

"Sorry Wiper." Daph apologized, "we've had a bit of a catastrophe on this end."

"Well, I thought you guys should know that TSV has continued down to Vegas and I need both of you to keep your ears open to any clues and your thoughts open to marijuana-induced premonitions."

"But I didn't dare bring any across the border" stated Di.

"You needn't worry, I have some." replied Daph.

"Ok. You rock, Daph... Um, Wiper? While I've got you here on the phone, Daph and I might go to this seafood joint up by the tattoo parlour in a bit and I wanted to know if you thought I should have the Campanelle with Smoked Salmon and Chives or the Fish Tacos with Ceviche?"

"Definitely the salmon" suggested Wiper.

"Right then. Bye for now!"
"Bye." Wiper hangs up.
"Bye!" Daph says just a moment too late for him to hear.

"Umm. Bye." Di says to Daph.
"Yeah, ok, bye." Daph answers.
"Do I press 'end' or 'send' or 'OK'?" The drunker of the two asks.

Di fidgets with her phone and the mangled case of wine while Daph takes three bottles of wine off a shelf and quickly replaces the broken ones in the case with these new ones.

In Daph's Tracker, they take off back towards the tattoo parlour from where they had just come before the liquor store visit.
As Daph is driving, she states, "Honestly, if I see another dead dog or raccoon on the road, I'm gonna fuckin' lose it!"

Di recalls abruptly leaving Amazing Anus before the call from Wiper.
"Hey Daph, did you talk to Anus while I was talking to Wiper about dinner?"

"Shit! No!" I was too busy deciding whether I wanted French or Californian wine to replace those broken ones.

"Aw, fuck, we'll PM him when we get back to your house I guess."

"Before or after we smoke a fattie?" queried Daph.

"We're on a premonition mission, remember. We'll have to call him before."

After the glorious salmon dinner and a cross-stall crapping convo in the restaurant's bathroom, Di an Daph head back to Daph's to check PR, PM AA and smoke some weed.

[The Big Wiper]

Brief aside from TBW following Di's addition to the ongoing story: "Salmon--yes! Cell phone--no way!"

Furthermore, here's a new rant on the subject of cell phones in the midst of this epic started by The Dumpster:

The other day Will and I went grocery shopping, and I was wheeling out the cart to the van and he was right behind me. Naturally, I was exiting the store via the exit, not the entrance. No sooner had I crossed the threshhold and the automatic exit doors opened than a woman with a cell phone glued to her ear blocked my path, causing me to have to maneuver around her.

Then she had the gall to say snippily: "You could have let me go in first!"

Somehow, I found the restraint NOT to say: "Lady, if you'd taken that cell phone out of your ear, you'd have noticed that this is the exit, not the entrance!"

But neither Will nor I said anything. Instead, we blinked in disbelief as she barged in through the exit door, still talking a mile a minute on her cell phone.

Yet one more reason why I will never participate in cell phone culture. Will has one, and we use it for emergencies only, but I, myself, will never buy one. The self-indulgent cell phone culture is nauseating to me!

End of rant.

Dumpster's story may now resume.