Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Robert Palmer Girl

Here’s the most recent installment of Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels. A designated page with the full story puts the pieces in order.

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Velma returned from her “break room” to find Goon #1 shaken and Goon #2 taking deep breaths to calm himself. The hotel room with her “client” had looked like a war zone. Every piece of furniture was upside down. Everything that could be broken was broken. The air smelled of sweat and fear. There was Sanskrit gibberish scrawled on the floor. A nail had been driven into the wall. Something that looked suspiciously like a live grenade was rolling around loose. The client had cuts and scratches everywhere and he was clutching a framed copy of the Constitution; which he’d obviously been using as a defensive weapon. He was babbling incoherently.

A weasel was sleeping soundly near the far wall.

The weasel eyed Goon #2 as he opened the closet and peacefully padded into the cat carrier that was already setup on the floor. Goon #2 closed the carrier and locked it. Then he closed the closet firmly.

They half walked, half dragged the client to the shower where they hosed him off. Goon #2 had seen car crash victims that looked less messed up.

They’d stuffed the nearly inert man in a hotel bathrobe, propped him up in a chair on the corner, and slipped out of the room. There they encountered Velma who was pushing something like an airline food cart. “Put that in the room. Put it up against the wall.” She ordered. “And be careful, it’s dangerous.” She chided.

“She’s dangerous.” Thought Goon #2, but he wisely said it only to himself. She looked right at him; reading his mind. “Yes.” She nodded. “I am.”

Then she did a little pirouette. “Like my outfit?”

It would be physically impossible for her to look anything less than stunning but she’d been going for a certain look. Goon #1 took her in and started to hyperventilate. Goon #2 kept his cool and thought.

“Robert Palmer?” He asked.

“Excellent!” She grinned. “Robert Palmer parked a certain kind of bullshit in the male mind back in 1985. I shall use that to my advantage right now. You’re a good learner sir.” She winked. “You might survive a few basic lessons.”

“No thank you ma’am. Ignorance is bliss.” Stammered Goon #2.

“Who’s Robert Palmer?” Asked Goon #1.

Velma produced a riding crop from… somewhere and slashed him across the chest. “Shut up you!”

Goon #2 knew better than to engage but he was curious. “Aren’t you a bit young to listen to Robert Palmer?” He asked, while stepping back slightly lest the riding crop veer his way.

“Of course, but these methods are timeless. We stand on the shoulders of giants you know.”

Then she turned to the cart which Goon #1 had finally positioned. She removed the top to reveal a complete chemistry set. It didn’t look like the classic child friendly turn-the-blue-water-green chemistry sets Goon #2 had seen in stores. It looked like something Dr. Frankenstein would carry on an extended trip. Shrugging, the two goons left the room.

“Chemistry is an essential science.” Velma began. The client was paying close attention, as if his life depended on it. Which is why Velma could cram a graduate degree into 24 hours of hell. “The important thing is… wait. Where’s the weasel?”

Eugene motioned to the closet. Velma opened the door and checked. The weasel was happily snoozing in his cage.

“Huh, I’d have thought you’d done better than you did. Oh well. I do pass fail and you lived.”

She returned to the cart, opened a drawer, and tossed a cookie to Eugene. Having been attacked last time he took food from her, he was noticeably cautious. But he ate it and the weasel never moved.

“As I was saying, chemistry is affected by not just the reaction components but heat and time and other factors.“ She placed a timer on the cart and turned the dial. Eugene stiffened. He knew she liked hard targets with short time frames and brutal repercussions. That dial drove a Pavlovian spike into his mind. His eyes were wide. It was go time!

She paused, pursed her lips, and then headed for the door. “Excuse me.”

She burst out of the door and put her hands on her hips in the classic pissed off female pose. Both Goons shivered. “Where’s the cookie?” She asked.

“I ate it.” Said Goon #1, wincing in anticipation of the riding crop.

“Did he or did he not kill the weasel?” She demanded.

“The weasel was fine.” Goon #2 interjected, hoping to defuse the situation. “No reward for the client if he didn’t complete the task.” He intoned.

She pinched her nose and muttered something about Muggles. “Fine. Come with me.” She ushered them both back into the room.”

“There has been a change to your lesson plan.” She announced. Eugene was already at the cart, carefully examining every object but touching nothing. He turned to her and was all ears. She smiled. He was already trying to solve a problem which she hadn’t presented. “That’s how they learn” she thought.

“On this white-board” she folded out a side of the cart where a complex string of chemical reactions were written out “is a formula.” Eugene leapt to it and began studying.

“You know I prefer students who are motivated.” Velma purred. “In this case it is not only the antidote to the poison I just gave you, but also for the dipshit over there who decided to make a teaching tool of himself.”

Eugene looked at the cookie crumbs still on his hands and grinned. Goon #1 flopped into a chair and began to shake.

Velma decided the time was right for some music and cranked the MP3 player. Humming to herself, she turned the dial on the timer. 45 minutes.

She began to dance to 1980’s lyrics as they released the bullshit within.

“Some like it hot, but you can’t tell how hot ‘till you try.

Some like it hot, so let’s turn up the heat ‘till we fry.”