Disclaimer –

Derek's work has been registered at the U.S. Library of Congress, so it would be a terrible financial idea to plagiarize or use any of the material found on this website for your own purposes. Nevertheless, enjoy the writing!

(1996)

            Bat Girl entered the room backwards and tripped over her shoulder.  “Fooo!  Ho.  Olleh, sniknej.”

            Jenkins, finding his lips, replied with an emphatic, “Bat Girl!  Now nice to see taste you.  Still alive, I take it?”

            Bat Girl flipped herself around and kicked the narrator.  “Hey, is that the Pillsbury doughboy?  I hate that guy!”  Then the little white fluffy man exploded.

            Still standing on his back, Jenkins looked South.  “The moon sets low tonight, Bat Girl.  Try not to go loony.”

            Deepening her voice until it sounded like James Earl Jones, “I shall try, monkey buns.”

            “Listen, salt lick, there are some toasters. . .”, began Jenkins before he was rudely interrupted by a nagging silence.

            Suddenly a plot entered.  “Jenkins, hark!  A plot!”  The plot got scared and ran away.

            Noticing opportunity and seizing it by its O, Jenkins quickly performed the Heimlech maneuver on Bat Girl.  “There.  That’s for the next time you start choking.”  Mr. Heimlech, who was in the corner, walked away, disappointed.

            “Help me!  I need electrolysis!”  Then Bat Girl became the world’s largest salt lick, standing 873 feet; much greater than the room’s capacity.  “Ah, that’s better”.

            “Impressive, Batllama.  I didn’t know you were Dutch.”  Suddenly, Jenkins entered the room.  The two Jenkins’ stared at each other until they stopped.  “I hate that guy”, they said in perfect harmony.

            Bat Girl, being an enormous pile of salt, simply hummed softly as all piles of salt do.  To her, Jenkins could have just cloned himself and she wouldn’t care.  Salt licks are happy folk.

            Jenkins, happy that the other Jenkins just melted, realized that he had no legs.  “When is our hunting trip, parking meter?”

            There was a long pause where nobody spoke until the narrator broke in.  “Bat Girl, it’s your turn to say a quote!”, to which she replied, “Oh, sorry” between hums.  It would seem that Bat Girl didn’t care about anything anymore.

            “Damn Bat Girl” Jenkins whispered infinitely.  Then, realizing that the length of the conversation was in jeopardy, Jenkins paid the narrator to fill time with a tap dance solo.  *Tap tap tappity tap*

            “I’m sorry she said.  But the narrator isn’t doing his job very well so I’m taking over.  Tapping, I guess.  If only Macgyver were here.  I could change back.  Bat Girl was a very depressed, but good-looking salt lick.”  Oops.

            Jenkins had thought Bat Girl to be attractive anyway, but everyone looks a little better when they are a heaping pile of salt.  “Hey look, narrator”, Jenkins signed in Kabuki, “We don’t pay you for any opinionated interjections, okay?!”  What’s an interjection?  “Shut up!”

            Bat Girl jumped off a cliff.  “Oof. . .”  Then she woke up from her abusive daydream.

            Jenkins stared blatantly at the pile of salt.  “No I didn’t!”, he pleaded.  Then he mentally undressed her.  “Stop it!  I did not!”, Jenkins cried to the narrator.

            “Tak fer muttën, for ya gôh”, Bat Girl scolded in Swedish.  Then, Sherry Lewis came and did a brilliant job of translating for the hearing impaired using Lamb Chop.  “Sorry.  Thank you for the food, now may I go?”

            With the narrator chewing on his leg, Jenkins spoke too quickly to be understood.  Suddenly, his words slowed down.  “. . .to be alone.  So pick yourself up off the floor and mambo!”

            Suddenly, twelve ninjas stole into the story, grabbed the narrator, and gagged mmmph!  “Jenkins, we must save the narrator!”  Mmmph.  Mmph!

            Mmmmmmph.  “Quick, Bat Girl, put down Bolivia and crumble into a salty beach.  The ninjas will slip.  Or eat you.”  Mmmmph, “the narrator continued”. 

            “Alright, Jenkathingy.  Watch me crumble!”  Mmph mmph mmph mmmm. . *katchew*!  The gag slipped off!  I’m free!  I’m *oof*.  Mmmph mmmph.  “Hold on, narawombat.  Jenx will save you!”

            “Jenkins felt really dumb.  He doesn’t like speaking about himself in the third person.  Quick, Battering Ram, add water.  Jenkins did so.  Now you’re a cookie!  That was fun!”

            “Then the ninjas quickly ran and ate Bat Girl.  Aaaaugh!”  Mmph, mmmmph.  “Bat Girl used her amazing exodigestive powers to digest the ninjas. . . .Now, Janix, free Mr. Naravada!”

            Jenkins suddenly saw everything that he had never seen before, and he was so bewildered that he forgot how to speak.

            The narrator, tired of speaking in third person, wished he was a woman.  “Bat Girl, maybe we should leave. . . now!”

            “Yeah”, Bat Girl said, and then--Ha ha!  I’m taking over this narration!  Oh no!  It’s my brother, Master of Italics.--Ha ha ha!  I hate you all!

            “Did you see that?”, inquired Jenkins, vocalizing the question mark.

            “You can see the narrator?  Maybe if I wasn’t a mount of salt.”  She’s really stupid sometimes.  I don’t know.  I think she’s kinda cute. . . for a pile of salt.

            “Don’t talk about my proctologist that way”, screamed Jenkins.  Hey, brother, did you see Jenkins’ Adam’s apple jiggle there?  Yeah.  That was funny.

            “Will you two stop that?!  And give me a real body!”  No.  Why not?  Should we?  Well, maybe she’ll give us candy. . . . .Will you give us candy?  “No!  Change me back!”  Well, forget her.  Yeah, what mean salt.

            “I’m sorry.  I speak Pakistanese, New Zealandish, and Sanskrit.  No bear, dog, wolf, or other fluffy woodland creatures.”  Bat Girl cut off so abruptly that the narrators didn’t have a chance to speak.

            Hey, I wanna narrate now!  No, I am.  Oh yeah?  Take this!  Oof.  Hey, that hurts.  Ha ha ha!  Stop it!  Oof.  “Ah, the narrator’s really taking a beating, isn’t he, Batee”, Jenkins commentated.

            Don’t talk about us like that!  “Replied narrator 1.  (Yes, Jenkapop, he is)”  You two stop that!

            Suddenly, a silence fell upon the room, making quite a racket.

            “Hello---ello---ello---ello. . .”  Cut that out, Bat Girl.  No echoing in our moment of silence.

            “Bat Girl”, said Jenkins, ignoring both narrators, but then stripping, “Don’t antagonize them.  They could turn you into a verb”

            “All right, fine.  You guys can have some candy”  Suddenly, Bat Girl’s hands were filled with Tootsie Rolls and Reece’s Pieces.  I love those.  “Here you go, you two.”

            Then, gradually, the Master of Italics spontaneously combusted.  Serves him right, the son of a-- “That’s enough of that”, Jenkins interrupted.

            Then, with little to no warning except for the neon skull and cross-bones sign, which everyone ignores anyway, Bat Girl regained her natural form.  “You know, for a story teller with an attitude, you’re a pretty nice guy.”  I’m not a guy.  Bat Girl is now a llama.