Steely Dan stomped in, all the finesse of a bull in a china shop, only difference a bull was a dumb animal oblivious to its destructive tendencies. She fully embraced the chaos, heck, she slipped them a mickey and made sweet, sweet forbidden love to them behind their husband's back. A veritable shrine to girlishness greeted her, and she worked hard to choke back her bile, the sticky sweet pinks popping, the piles of plush toys rising like mountains of nylon and synthetic stuffing to the metal ceiling. Only the throne of skulls set flush against the canopied bed stood out by virtue of being the only thing in the room she would dare park her butt in.

  Bouncing on the bed like a trampoline, Pinky marked her territory, squealing and kicking pillows, smashing her bunnies and teddies together in neo-gymnasial sport. “All right, ya little rugrat, knock it off and settle down. Story time, then drink of water, piss it out and straight to bed. Tomorrow, we become rulers of all piratedom.”

  “Yay!” Pinky plopped down obediently, but there remained a big grin on her cherubic face.

  Steely parked her bony butt on the seat made of the cranial cavities of many a fallen foe. “'S alright, what ya wanna hear tonight? And it better not be-”

  On cue, the tot sprung to life, bouncing on the bed once more. “Hamster Huey and the Gooey Kablooie!”

  “Aww, for corn's sake.” Steely Dan cringed, looking like she swallowed a bowling ball whole and it wasn't clearing her small intestine properly. “Oh, no, Pinky. I read you that one last night. And the night before that. And the night before THAT.” She did some calculations. “Cripes, and the night before THAT too! Pick something else.”

  Pinky stopped jumping on her bed and landed on the floor, her feet swelling up ten times their size, followed by legs bulging up with huge corded muscles, expanding through her torso, her arms, and finally her cute little face becoming a hideous shade of Pepto-Bismol pink, her pink pajamas tearing apart until only the barest threads hung around her. Steely pursed her lips, reclining in her skull chair as Pinky got down in her face, scowling furiously.

  “Hamster. Huey. And. Gooey. Kablooie.”

  “Ah-ha, yes, as I was just saying, my favorite novel, a work of genius, on par with the best of Joyce and Fitzgerald. The part where Huey pines for the naked Alice in her apartment across the lot is the stuff of legend. Bold, daring, innovative, ahead of its time.”

  Pinky smiled, mollified, and shrank back down to her usual adorable little hooligan, scrambling back into bed. Sighing wearily, Steely retrieved the battered, dogeared and broken-spined Little Golden Book with its colorful cover of a happy hamster losing control of his gooey stewie.

  “All right, all right, all right,” she muttered in her best Texan drawl. “'Hamster Huey and the Gooey Kablooie', by G. L. Rockwell. Wait a flippin' second-”

  The icy cold silhouette of Chicago filled Pinky's bedroom door, his stern face more austere than usual. “S.D., we have company.”

  She lowered the book and glowered at him. “Since when do you ever call me 'S.D.'?”

  “Steely, that's beside the point-”

  “I don't like it. Some wag could deem it shorthand for 'Sexually Deviant'. I mean I AM, but I don't like broadcasting it to the vulnerable and unsuspecting populace-”

  “Steely! We've got a US Navy supercarrier on our ass!”

  “Ooh!” Pinky cooed. “Chico said 'ass'! He said a bad word, Steely!”

  Steely Dan pointed to the glass jar chained to a small shelf near Pinky's bed, a piece of white tape across it with the words 'SWEAR JAR' printed on it in thick black marker. Chicago shook his head in disbelief. “We're pirates! We're supposed to swear! Especially in times of duress!”

  “Rules is rules,” Steely retorted. “Now fork it over, Sparkles! Come on, before I double your doubloons!”

  Grumbling under his breath, Chicago fished out a doubloon and plunked it into the jar with the handful of other assorted coins, bills and the occasional gemstone glittering coldly through the glass. Pinky cheered, clapping her hands. “Now will you PLEASE get your, ahem, rear in gear and let's handle this situation!”

  Chaos erupted on The Naughty Lass bridge, pirate-babes squealing and diving for the controls. “Take us down, now!” Floyd ordered.

  The bo'sun stared at him blankly. “D-Down where?”

  His veins throbbed extra hard. “Down under the water?”

  She continued staring blankly. “This thing can go underwater?”

  “Oh for the love of- YES! It's a flippin' submarine!”

  “Huh. Fancy that.”

  Steely Dan barged in, elbowing her way to the view screen. “Magnify! Or whatever the hell it is Picard says.”

  “That's pretty much what he says,” Chicago said.

  “Then do it, and make me a happy Steely!”

  “Ooh, did someone mention their happy Sealy?” Wilhelmina asked, bouncing in with a pot full of bubbling fish head stew. “I love those mattresses, so comfy, like sleeping on air! And I don't mean the peppermint-flavored unicorn.”

  Steely glowered at the sea cook sullenly. “Fire at Will.”

  “NOOOOOO!”

  The screen switched focus, and a huge supercarrier, larger than most such vessels, bristling with weaponry and a fleet of hypersonic aircraft too, popped up. Steely clucked her tongue. “Well well well. You blow up one American city and they get all pissy about it. Bunch of wax worms, if you ask me.”

  “It's not a coincidence, the American fleet is generally in the Chinese-Australian waters acting as a deterrent,” Floyd said, peering into the data scanner, the blue light falling across his eyes like some weird mask. “That this big boy is out here this far, there's only one reason – they know we're here and are out to get us.”

  “Meaning we have a traitor in the midst who ratted us out!” Steely snarled. “Scruffy! How could you!”

  The grizzled old janitor stopped sweeping and spit his tobacco juice into a spittoon. “Scruffy don't make no apologies and has no regrets.”

  “I cannot argue that philosophy, you're off the hook.”

  “It wasn't an inside man,” Chicago sighed. “It's due to the fact you need to launch your expedition for the Seven Seize from Booty Island. You've only announced your motivations like, what? 50 bajillion times?”

  “Points detracted for using a made up number! Checkmate!”

  “I highly suggest we scrub this entire stupid affair and make ourselves scarce!” Floyd shouted, his brain throbbing. “I'm too young to end up in Club Gitmo!”

  “You shut your mouth before I take that towel of yours and stuff it down your throat!” Steely snarled, grabbing his fake cape and giving him a rough twirl, sending him bouncing around the bridge. “I'm so close, so BLOODY close, I can taste it!”

  “That'd be the ammonia,” Scruffy muttered.

  “Oh GROSS! Yuck! Patooie! We're going down! Now! Move move move!”

  “Seal all compartments! Jettison ballast! Dive! DIVE!”

  The Naughty Lass plummeted precariously from its lofty sky perch, stomachs lurching into feet as the g-forces accelerated, the ocean growing from a vast blue field to a rapidly narrowing window. “All hands, brace for impact!” Steely shouted. “And I swear to Mighty Meatboy, if anyone's hands detach and scrurry away, I will be REALLY steamed.”

  The submarine cleared the surface, rocketing into the briny abyss, bubbles rushing alongside the windows, everyone clutching something, the pirate-babes their computer consoles and gun stations, Scruffy his broom, Steely her chain-sword. Floyd yawned, smirking proudly completely unfazed thanks to his internal balancing trick floating around via telekinesis.

  “All righty then!” Steely hopped out of her throne of skulls and swaggered around, her tush looking mighty fine in those shiny leather hot pants. “Take us around to, uh, course, uh, nautical crap. Chico, you handle this. Oh! But! First one to start singing 'Atlantis' by Donovan? Head first down a torpedo tube.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Periscope up,” Chicago said and the device activated, rising from the floor and up through the ceiling.

  Steely stopped dead in her tracks, her boots leaving two scuffs marks in the deck, earning a dour glower from Scruffy. “We have a periscope?”

  “We're a submarine, Steele Danielle, of course we have a periscope.”

  “EEEEE! Lemme try it! I wanna see it! Gimme gimme gimme!”

  “Like hell, you'll damage it. It's our one window to the surface to keep an eye on the enemy.”

  “I will NOT damage it! Do I look like Pinky?”

  “No, and I would trust Pinky with it more than you.” Before she could rejoin him he added, “In her behemoth mode.”

  “I was thinking,” Floyd said, “one of my greatest contributions to society, mind you, why don't we ever just call her a h-”

  “Because we don't wanna get sued!” Chicago and Steely yelled at him, sending him tumbling back through the air, bouncing once more off the bulkheads.

  Chicago spun the periscope around, the entire platform spinning with him standing on it. “We could have a pole dance competition,” Steely mused, watching him turn around. “Hear that girls? Who's in?”

  “You're do no such thing,” he groused. “Ah-ha”

  “Uh-oh, I don't like the sound of that.”

  “Booty Island, and Tops-O-Poppin'.”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  He closed up the periscope and smiled wryly. “We have company. Sexy company.”

  Steely mulled it over, chewing her tongue. “Patton Oswalt?” Chicago looked at her. “David Cross? Look, help me out here, you know my window for sexy is very, very narrow. It's Colin Mochrie. Don't keep me waiting!”

  “It's Snap Zasperate.”

  “Eww! I don't find her sexy! Well, I mean I DO, but only in the sense I wanna kill her first before I-”

  “There some things that go through your head that we best not need to dwell on.”

  “I concur.” She struck a pose. “Set course for Booty Island!”

  “As we're already going there,” the navigator said cheerfully, “easy peasy lemon squeezy!”

  They shot off, cutting through the ocean at a brisk pace, water funneled through the side chambers, propelling them along at immense speeds. “Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” Steely sang to herself, drumming her fingers on a skull armrest. “Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

  Chicago groaned. “Oh no.”

  She jumped up, standing in the seat of her throne, whipping a microphone out of nowhere as a blinding spotlight shone down from above, disco ball descending, all the pirate-babes squealing, jumping up from their positions to shake their moneymakers. “Easy peasy lemon squeezy! You know it ain't gonna be easy! Unless you go for the easy peasy lemon squeezy! Just hold the pepper or I'm sneezy!”

  “

  “I think I'm gonna be sick,” Floyd groaned, watching as Pinky pirouetted in, going from 32 inches to 96 inches in the blink of an eye, leading all the pirate-babes in one long twerk-off.

  “Do it, do it!” they chanted. “Do it, do it! WOO!”

  Chicago spun and marched off. “That's it, I'm outta here.”

  “Hey!” Floyd whizzed after him. “Wait for me!”

  “Scruffy's fine right where he's at,” Scruffy muttered, watching with some mild enthusiasm as the pirate-babes turned the bridge into a swinging nightclub.

  Back topside, Snap found herself between a rock and a hard place, the rock being the tribute band behind the steel cage, the hard place dwelling somewhere in Carcharodon O'Gill's fancy purple suit. “Carkey, what a surprise,” she wheezed. “A horrible, awful, no-good surprise. I thought it was a surprise when Mom and Dad surprised me with a new car made out of Detroit steel for my birthday, but nope, this takes the cake. Oh shoot, why'd I mention cake, I'm so hungry!”

  “Snappy, baby, I love ya,” he crooned. He got down on one knee and popped out a little velvet jewelry box. Opening the lid, he flashed a gold ring, a huge zirconium sparkling back brilliantly.

  Frankly, she was unimpressed, and really a little bit nonplussed. “You just keep engagement rings on ya for just the occasion?”

  “You'd be surprised how many babes I want to marry at the drop of a hat.”

  “No, no I wouldn't be. Carkey, I can't marry you. One, you suck as an actor. Two, you're like older than my Dad! Between the two, it's being a sucky actor that worries me more.”

  “Hey! That's okay!” O'Gill declared. “Typical Hollywood relationship! Heck, you're a couple years older than what I usually go for.”

  “Holy smoke.”

  “And should it not work out, when you get too old for me in say, oh, a couple months, I'll broom ya like last years Vegemite!”

  Snap made a strange gurgling sound. “I'm feeling all crawly on the inside.”

  “Funny, I get that response a LOT. Is it me, or is it the children who are wrong?”

  Before O'Gill could make any further “moves”, more like awkward lurches, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “Yo! Back off, Bruce!” Manny yelled, pushing him away.

  Snap smirked. “Uh, thanks, although you do know I can benchpress him.”

  “Shut up, I'm trying to wow you!”

  “Oh, you 'wowing' me all right, Mexicali Sally.”

  O'Gill blubbered indignantly, looking down at Manny, the young DSII agent suddenly feeling a bit out of his depth. “What ya mean 'Bruce'? Oh, because I'm dressed as dashing and debonair Bruce Wayne, famous billionaire, playboy, philanthropist? The way he helps sway Gotham City's past, present and future by buying off the district attorney's race, swinging it for Harvey Dent?”

  “Uh, n-no,” Manny stammered, “it's like the shark in, uh, Jaws, y-yanno, seriously do I have to explain the joke to YOU of all people?”

  “Jaws? OH! Jaws! Right! Richard Kiel, another famous big guy Hollywood pushed to the side. Yeah, me, Jaws. Ha. I get the joke. Who the heck are you? Her boyfriend? I thought she was dating the Luggage brat.”

  Manny planted his fists on his hips, smiling proudly. “Manny Vasquez, her future-”

  “Eh, eh, eh, I didn't ask for your life story!” He flicked his finger right in Manny's face, sending him sailing straight up into the huge fiberglass rooster statue wearing a TOPS-O-POPPIN' t-shirt, mounted just over the stage cage, landing on its back.

  “Neat!” Snap declared then squealed as the huge shark-man wrapped his hand around her waist, picking her up in one palm, leaving her tail and legs dangling. “Uh, Carkey, I think you're making a big error in judgment.”

  “More like a big error in 'JUG-ment'!” He howled with laughter.

  Snap, not so much. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “I am going to make love to you like none other,” he crooned, pulling her close.

  She nodded, zero comprehension skills and even fewer survival skills on display. “Mmm, okay. With what?” Up came her thagomizer, swinging between her dangling legs to strike the shark-man right in the family jewels.

  Down he went, knees striking the floorboards hard enough to crack them – both the floorboards and his knees, that is. Snap gave him a grumpy look, grabbing him by his purple pinstriped collar. “And now, young Carcharodon,” she croaked, “you will die.” She raised her two right paws for a blistering dual karate chop and down they came. “Hi-YAAAAAAA!”

  The shark-man screamed.

  Only for Snap to come up short. She clamped her claws around his snout and gave it a playful squeeze. “Honk honk!”

  Out he sprawled, looking ready to make a snow angel only his snow was all the cigarette butts and litter stuck to the floor, staring up at the giant fiberglass rooster plummeting straight for him. He screamed as it crashed on top of him, trapping it in its winged embrace, the beak mere inches from piercing his face. He looked up at Manny who gave him a flippant salute, hopping onto the cage and scrambling across it to drop to the floor, the bar's patrons hooting and hollering in approval.

  “Do you have any idea just what the hell you've done?” Savage Chloe grunted.

  Snap did not have any idea, so she took a wild guess. “Am I fired?”

  “In your dreams, Zasperate. No, you just secured yourself a boatload of the wildest, hottest able-bodied seamen to ever swab a deck and raise a mizzenmast. Behold, your fawning fans! Now go take advantage of them and pump them of as many tips as you can!”

  “Aye aye, Captain Tripps!” she declared, saluting, forgetting she still held her tray and smacked herself in the face with it, resulting in the commanding reverberation of a gong. “Oof. Hate when I do that.”

  She started to go towards the rowdy sailors only to stop dead in her tracks as if struck frozen, or stuck with the unbearable burden of breaking out into a Broadway rendition of 'Who Made Who'. There, standing midway down the stairs to the upper floor, noted by its 'RESERVED' signs tagging it as a no go area, bouncers at the ready to enforce this mandate, stood a tall, imperious man with piercing yellow eyes. Lots of piercing yellow eyes, for his scalp was covered with dozens of serpents, writhing about, growing from his scalp as hair would, and all of them were focused on her. He wore an incredibly expensive, elegantly tailored black suit with white pinstripes, Windsor-knotted tie, and impeccably shined shoes. He extended one finger in her direction, the ominous sound of more gongs ringing in her ear-fins which rattled involuntarily, and after looking around to see she was pretty much alone, she pointed at herself.

  “Moi?”

  The gorgeous gorgon nodded slowly.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Snap marched across the bar to the stairs and he stepped aside, allowing her to pass him, bringing up her rear, cautious of the thagomizer. “Hello, Snap. Long time, no see.”

  “Fine as ever, Mr. Johnstone! Is that some of that 'sarcasm' stuff I've heard about?” she asked. “Because it seems to be catching on here lately.”

  “I have a fair idea of why you're here, Zasperate,” he replied, his snakes slithering down all in her face. “And you're playing a dangerous game. Leave.”

  “I would, but one, the tips in this place, boy howdy,” she presented him with a wad of cash as big as her fist before stuffing it back down her bra. “And it's all cash! Under the table! I love it. But two, I'm not alone, I came here with a whole crew of-” And on that note her explanation ceased, a large plunger smacking her right in the face, adhering to her flesh. Even with all four arms yanking at it, she could not peel it off, tumbling around before going right over the railing into the pool table, smashing it on impact.