Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 9: Part 09: Mystery Inc.

[This is the last post in this chapter. You’ve just had 12,000 words of free ice cream! I hope you liked it. The whole story is well over 100,000 words, it’s free to anyone who wants to read, and it’s my best attempt to treat the malady of uptight wokeness.

Sure, I’ll admit it; it’s unusual. I could have gifted y’all an ugly sweater or some shit you don’t need, but isn’t this a better Christmas present than that?

My best wishes to you and yours. I hope my story amuses you. I hope you’re at peace. May you be hung like a stocking and have no cares about chimneys. Merry Christmas!]

• Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Incoming!
• Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 9: Part 01: Vanchronicity
• Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 9: Part 02: Universal Code Of Males
• Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 9: Part 03: Twitch Gets Motivated
• Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 9: Part 04: Paul Krugman Has Some Salient Points
• Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 9: Part 05: Work Life Balance
• Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 9: Part 06: Tactical Heavy Metal
• Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 9: Part 07: Show Don’t Tell
• Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 9: Part 08: Carrot Initiative
• Attack Of The Lesbian Activist Squirrels: Chapter 9: Part 09: Mystery Inc.

Back in the Mystery Machine, Fred and Daphne retrieved Shaggy from the truck stop. Shaggy was shell shocked but smelled pleasantly of lemon and Turtle Wax. Fred added a generous tip to the usual fee and opened the van door.

“I don’t…” Shaggy was having trouble completing the sentence, “…do …” Fred waited. “…butt stuff.” At this point Shaggy wasn’t sure if that was a true statement or not. He wasn’t sure what stuff he had or had not done. It was all a blur of soap suds and power equipment. He stumbled into the van and collapsed in a bean bag chair.

“Rello.” Boo greeted him amiably.

Shaggy startled, having forgotten the dog, but was distracted by Daphne in full comic con regalia. “You’re looking good Shaggy.” She tittered.

“TV’s not real.” Shaggy mumbled.

“It’s more than real! It’s bullshit!” Fred enthused as they rolled out.

As always, Large Marge had done an excellent job. Shaggy simply gleamed. His ragged hair had been washed, styled, and expertly tousled. His beard had been trimmed to get that “inept goatee” look we all know and love. His toenails had been trimmed and his teeth whitened; every inch of the man in between had been scrubbed expertly, efficiently, and none too gently. Frankly, he’d been solidly manhandled. Large Marge would clean and rebuild a rusty Russian carburetor until it gleamed like the day it was made… better even. She treated men the same way.

Shaggy, for his part, had mixed feelings about the whole affair. Large Marge had been working with diesel engines all her life and considered a grimy armpit and a rusty differential housing to be basically the same thing. Her point of view was that all the world’s ills came down to rust and body odor. Both could be corrected and possibly even eliminated with vigorous scrubbing and harsh solvents. Who doesn’t need a good solid buff and shine once in a while? A woman like her would happily blast the streets of a Calcutta slum with an industrial pressure washer. Given enough time she’d make it the cleanest spot on earth (and erode the top layer of pavement while doing it).

Shaggy hadn’t been this clean in… ever. He had to admit it felt nice. Then again the woman had used pressure washing devices in ways that were definitely not OSHA approved. And did she have to use the electric buffer? On that!

Shaggy rested after his harrowing experience. Vans were dangerous places and these were insane people. He felt around his brand new clothes (his old clothes had been discarded). He still had the $200 Fred gave him. He wasn’t sure this made him optimistic or worried. Was he going to earn it in the future or had he already done so?

An hour later, when they stopped to pick up Velma, Shaggy was still jittery. The van screeched to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road. The side door was roughly yanked opened like Hannibal had crossed the Alps specifically to get into the van. A feminine arm shoved a briefcase in his hand. “Don’t even THINK of opening that!”

“Ah yes, we all learned that lesson years ago!” Fred chuckled.

“Remember the cobra?” Daphne grinned. “Good times!”

Velma Smith’s breasts entered the the van. Exactly 4.368” later Velma followed. Shaggy, who had temporarily forgotten his pre-Shaggy name, gasped. “Robert Palmer girl?” He queried.

“When I want to be.” Velma slammed the door shut. The van was already rolling.

Velma did a quick check of all the windows, they weren’t being followed. Good.

“TV’s not real?” Shaggy questioned.

“It’s bullshit.” Velma agreed, more or less ignoring him. She shuffled through Fred’s stacked boxes of ascots until she found one labeled “Velma”.

“Ri Relma.” Boo greeted her warmly.

“It’s a Labrador retriever. You’re breaking cannon!” She shouted to Fred.

“Rut ruts off!” Boo explained.

Velma nodded. “OK fine, so he does talk, but you’ve got yourself a refugee from the Bob Barker crowd. That’s on you.”

Fred ignored her. He’d done the right thing and knew it.

Meanwhile Velma was taking off clothes. Shaggy was getting a show the likes of which many men would give their lives to see and some had. Shaggy had a mixture of joy and dread. He was sure this was the end! He was on a van and people were getting naked. He was going to die! Then again, as he saw more and more of Velma he decided there were worse ways to die.

Even so, he tried to take a stand. Before his last bit of will faded he was going to make sure his honorable intent was known! “I don’t do butt stuff!” He insisted.

Velma, now mostly naked, eyed him. “I do.” Then she gave him a peck on the cheek.

It was too much! Shaggy passed out.

“Dammit, you’ve killed Shaggy!” Fred complained.

“Again?” Daphne wasn’t happy about this either.

“Relax, he’ll come to again in no time.”

Fred glanced over his shoulder to find Velma already dressed, flanked by a talking dog, and standing over a passed out Shaggy. As the final act, Velma put on thick black “Velma from Scooby Doo” glasses. The universe clicked into place and Mystery Inc. was complete!

That concludes this installment of Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels.

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