I: I Like Monkeys

Dixie Doublestacks stood on the lawn behind the Brooklyn Heights ranch house, using a garden hose to water a plot of ten freshly planted azalea bushes. Each bush represented the grave of an Undocumented Drag Queen Day Laborer who had tragically perished the week before. Johnny Go sat on a fence nearby, watching Dixie gardening, and drinking a goldfish martini. They both wore tennis whites, even though  there’s not a chance in hell either would ever actually play tennis (although Dixie had once beaten a professional cyclist with a tennis racket, and Johnny had once been thrown out of the U.S. Open for impersonating a referee). Dixie was barefoot and Johnny’s shorts had a ketchup stain on them in the shape of a slot machine. 
A piercing scream came from the nearby cabin, which sat at the edge of the yard and was shared by the two ranch hands, Johnson and Wang Chung Troubadour. Johnson ran out onto the lawn. He waved his arms wildly overhead, and shouted a string of nonsense words, but he looked more angry than he did scared. Dixie was slightly disappointed by this. She turned and looked at him. 
“What’s going on, Johnson?” she asked, innocently, before turning her attention back to her azaleas. Johnson slid to a stop in front of her garden-cemetery. 
“Now miss,” he said, out of breath, “I know y’all’s just having fun, but this has gotta stop!” 
“What’s gotta stop?” 
“Miss, there’s a walrus in my bed!” 
“A what?” Dixie asked. 
“Now, Johnson,” Johnny said, “I’m no native Texan, but I’m pretty sure we don’t have any wild walruses here in the Dallas ‘burbs. How would a walrus get in there?” 
“Are you even sure it’s a walrus?” Dixie asked, without looking at Johnson. 
“Oh come on, now!” Johnson shouted. “I need y’all to stop with this game and get that beast out of my room!” 
“Johnson,” Dixie said, turning off the hose and facing him, “You’re not back on the gak, are you?” 
“No! Now, damn it! I just-” before he could finish, there was a loud crash and a gigantic walrus burst through the doorway of the cabin, taking the door and most of the frame with it. The little cabin shook as it passed through. When the walrus had lumbered a few feet away, it stopped on the grass and looked around. Johnson, terrified, started backing away. Dixie and Johnny watched with something almost like interest as the huge beast snorted, and lumbered off toward the woods at the rear of the property. Everyone watched it go until it had disappeared in the trees. 
Dixie tossed the hose onto the ground and dusted off her hands as she walked over to Johnny, who hopped off the fence and handed her his martini glass. She took a sip and they started walking back toward the ranch house. Johnson stood there in disbelief as they went. 
“Johnson,” Dixie called over her shoulder, “You gotta fix the door to your cabin.” 
“Yeah, man,” Johnny said, “Y’on’t want the CHUDs to get in.” 

***

Inside the ranch house, Dixie and Johnny sprawled on the living room couch with a gigantic container of cheese balls between them. They both used chopsticks to eat the cheeseballs, and with his other hand, Johnny flipped idly through the channels on the tv. Eventually, after drinking several more goldfish martinis each, they nodded off. 
An hour later, they awoke to the tv playing the local news, and the sounds of Rex Ponticello puttering around in the kitchen. Dixie yawned and sat up, stretching. She grabbed her chopsticks and went back to the cheeseballs. Johnny looked around for his chopsticks, but couldn’t find them. He shrugged, leaned back on the couch, and stared at the ceiling. A moment later, Rex came into the living room with a sandwich on a plate, and sat down on the recliner across the room. 
“Hey Rex,” Dixie said, “Late night?” 
“You know it,” Rex said, taking a bite. “But I gotta feed the monkey.” They sat in silence for a while as Rex ate his sandwich and Dixie crunched on cheese balls. “What have you guys been up to lately?” Rex asked. 
“Well, it’s summer,” Dixie replied, as if this was an explanation. 
“Oh right, you guys summer pretty hard. But no Tent Town this year?” 
“Eh, too much work,” Johnny said. “Besides, we wanted to focus our attention on zinging Johnson and Wang Chung this summer.” 
“Ah,” said Rex, “That why I saw Wang Chung hosing himself off out by the barn the other day while crying and screaming about spiders?” 
“He was?!” Dixie asked. 
“Oh yeah, seemed like he was about to have a panic attack, actually,” Rex said. Dixie and Johnny looked at one another and high fived. 
“Fuck yeah! That rules!” Johnny shouted. “I’m bummed we missed that, actually.” 
“Yeah, musta been awesome.” The news switched to a story about a water skiing squirrel and Johnny reached for his martini glass. 
“You hear from Chichay and Sweaty?” Johnny asked Rex. 
“Nah. They said they were going to get some quality time. I assume they’re headed back to the Caribbean.” 
“How come they didn’t tell you where they were going?” Dixie asked. 
“Same reason they didn’t tell you. Because they didn’t want anyone tagging along.” 
“Rude,” Dixie said. 
“Yeah, we’re rich now,” Johnny added. “Don’t they know that we don’t need to mooch off their vacations anymore?” Rex finished his sandwich and put the plate on the floor. He reclined the recliner, his arms behind his head. 
“Restaurant’s are doing fine, though,” he said, “and we’re holding it down here, so let ‘em take a little bang-cation, I say. Everyone needs some love, you know?” He looked a little sad as he said this. Johnny rolled his eyes.  
“Yeah, or maybe just some bonin’ and contract murder,” Dixie said, nodding. 

Walt Disney World, Orlando, Florida...

Chichay Milano and Sweaty Mulligan stood in front of Cinderella’s castle, at the heart of Walt Disney World's Magic Kingdom. They shared a kiss as a park photographer took their picture. Chichay had on a pair of Minnie Mouse ears and Sweaty wore one of those lanyards around his neck that was intended to hold the pins you collected from various points in the park. 
From there, they rode Splash Mountain, with Chichay throwing her arms up in the air and screaming, while Sweaty buried his face in her shoulder, terrified. They sang along with the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, happily waited in line for Space Mountain, and made out on the People Mover. 
They shared a pile of extraordinarily expensive french fries, snickered at the Hall of Presidents, and ate a few of those Mickey Mouse-shaped ice cream bars while watching the fireworks at the end of the day. 
Chichay Milano and Sweaty Mulligan would never tell another soul about their trip, or admit even to each other how much they’d enjoyed it. 

Back at the ranch...

“I’ll tell ya, though,” Rex continued, “Chichay is gonna be pissed when she sees what you guys have done to the living room.” He gestured broadly to the room. 
Indeed, it was in shambles. Bottles and cans covered every surface. Most of the dishes in the house were in the living room, and almost all of them had remnants of food on them. A pile of socks against one wall was almost as high as the window sill, and a dead alligator was tangled up in a macramé plant hanger, dangling from a hook in the ceiling, which had previously held a tasteful houseplant that Chichay picked out. The other couch had had its folding bed ripped out until all that remained was the frame and the back cushions. It was now filled with plastic balls. While Dixie and Johnny still occasionally used it as a ball pit, as intended, the novelty had worn off, and they mostly both sat on the other couch now. 
Rex yawned. Dixie kept crunching. Johnny gave up on sitting and threw his feet over the arm of the couch, laying back with his head next to the cheese balls. 
The news began a story about a series of disturbing sexual incidents happening in the area.
“New tonight from News Nine, disturbing reports of sexual assaults at a local nursing home. We go live to News Nine’s Robert Cobb for more,” the anchor said. Rex sat up, suddenly, the recliner thumping back into its upright chair shape. The news story continued: 
“Thanks, Nina. Earlier today, police were called to the Esplanade Oaks, a long term residential care facility outside of Plano, in response to reports about sexual abuse taking place at the facility. 
“The Special Victims Unit from the local police department said in a statement that several residents had been sexually assaulted by an unnamed assailant, but there’s a twist: The assailant does not appear to be an employee of the facility. 
“Staff of the Esplanade Oaks say that they are cooperating with the police, and have turned over all surveillance footage. They say that the assailant can be seen in the footage, and does not appear to be any staff members, or family members of residents. They have a robust visitation policy, and the person seen here in this footage does not appear to have checked in at the security desk. 
“Police are asking for the public’s help in identifying this assailant, who is described as a white male, approximately six feet tall and a slight build. He is seen here wearing hospital scrubs and a New York Yankees baseball cap.” Rex leaned forward toward the tv, eyes wide and his mouth twisted in the shape of pure rage and disgust. The broadcast ended with the anchor flashing the description, along with the number that viewers could call if they had more information. 
Rex stood up and stormed angrily out of the room. His footsteps could be heard stomping along the upstairs hallway, followed by the slam of his bedroom door. 
Johnny reached up into the cheese ball tub and grabbed a handful, shoving them into his mouth and wiping his orange-stained fingers on his shirt. 
“What’s his problem?” He asked through a mouthful of cheese. 

***

Late that night, Dixie and Johnny were sitting in the kitchen of the ranch house, pouring random items from the kitchen into a blender, including milk, relish, anchovies, cleaning products, and vodka. They each had their own bottles of vodka that they were sipping from. Dixie also had a bowl of mashed potatoes that she was working her way through. 
“Ok,” Johnny said, “I think that should do it. Let’s blend it up and then put it in those milkshake cups.” 
“How do we know they’re gonna drink it?” Dixie asked, putting the lid on the blender and turning it on. A foul odor filled the kitchen as the contents of the blender turned into a smooth, disgusting brown. 
“They’re usually in a hurry to go do whatever it is that they do with the cows, so if we put them in the fridge they’ll probably just drink them without thinking about it. They get up pretty early.” 
“Yeah, that’s true,” Dixie said, turning off the blender. She began pouring the vomit milkshake into two cups with lids and straws. Despite the fact that she stopped twice to drink more vodka, and was already visibly drunk, she had a very steady pour and didn’t waste a drop. 
“Ok,” she said, handing the cups to Johnny, “Go sneak those into their fridge in the cabin. I’m going to burn this blender because it smells so disgusting that I don’t think we can ever use it again.” Johnny grabbed the cups and staggered out the back door. Dixie followed, taking the entire blender to a burn barrel in the backyard. She dropped it in while she watched Johnny making his way across the lawn to the Troubadour's cabin. Dixie poured some vodka into the burn barrel, then lit an entire matchbook and dropped it in. A large flame shot up from the barrel. It died down and was replaced by an acrid black smoke that smelled of burning plastic. Johnny Go returned a few minutes later and they both stood, watching the flames. They didn’t notice Rex Ponticello quietly leave the house, a brown grocery bag under one arm, and disappear into the night. 

***

The next morning, Dixie and Johnny sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Dixie perused the morning newspaper while sipping a coffee spiked with bourbon. Her hair was sticking up in all directions and she wore a wrinkled kimono with erotic patterns on it, but she looked strangely well rested. Johnny stood at the stove, weilding a spatula. He wore a pair of rumpled dress pants and an “I Screw Hard, I 'Q Hard” apron over a bare chest. 
Rex Ponticello stumbled in the back door. He looked exhausted, with red marks all over his face and neck, and bloodshot eyes. He still carried the grocery bag under his arm. On seeing Dixie and Johnny awake and in the kitchen, he stopped, looking stunned. 
“You guys are up early,” he stammered. 
“Technically we’re still up,” Dixie said, turning the page of the newspaper. 
“Have a seat, Rex, there’s coffee and bourbon,” Johnny said, “You look like you could use it.” 
“And Johnny’s making his famous Beer Butter Scromlet,” Dixie added, sipping her coffee. She drank it from a large mug with a ceramic llama head sticking off one side. The llama’s butt and tail made up the handle. 
“If you’re hungry, Rex, first one’s yours,” Johnny said, reaching for a plate, which had a big crack in it, but was at least clean and actually a plate. Nodding, Rex slipped into the kitchen, keeping his grocery bag at his side. 
“Sure, that’d be great,” he said, “Thanks, guys.” 
“Last night we made vomit milkshakes for Johnson and Wang Chung and snuck them into their fridge while they were asleep. We waited up because we wanted to see them run out on the lawn and puke their guts out.” Dixie glanced out the window across the back lawn. “Nothing yet.” 
Johnny brought the eggs over to Rex and placed them on the table in front of him. Despite how bad Rex looked, he perked up at the site of the eggs, which looked surprisingly good considering Johnny had made them. 
“What exactly is a Beer Butter Scromlet?” Rex asked, taking a bite. 
“You basically stir fry scrapple and onions in butter and beer, then scramble an egg into it. Once the egg is cooked, you fold it over cheese and more butter.” 
“It’s really good,” Rex said, with his mouth full. “Where are you getting the scrapple?” 
“We’ve got a guy outside Intercourse who ships it down to us,” Dixie said, flipping over the newspaper. 
“Dix, you’re up,” Johnny said, sliding a plate of eggs across the table to her. She put the newspaper down on the table next to her and began to eat. Rex, in the meantime, shoveled the last bite of eggs into his mouth and glanced up at Dixie’s newspaper. He stopped, grabbed the paper, and picked it up, reading the headline. Then, angrily, he slammed the newspaper down on the table, stood up, and stormed out of the kitchen. Dixie and Johnny watched him go, then a split second later watched him storm back in to grab his grocery bag. Then he stomped off again. 
“Man,” Johnny said, “What is up with that guy?” 
“I’unno,” Dixie said, with her mouth full. She grabbed the paper and read the headline that had apparently set Rex off. “Police: ‘Lou Gehrig’s Diddler’ Strikes Second Nursing Home This Week.” Johnny clicked off the stove and sat down at the table with his eggs, which he was eating directly out of the frying pan. 
“What the fuck is a Lou Gehrig’s Diddler?” Johnny asked. Dixie scanned the article. 
“Looks like some dude who’s going around sticking it in comatose people. Apparently he’s targeting facilities that care for people with Lou Gehrig’s disease,” Dixie said, still perusing the article. “But it looks like he doesn’t discriminate and will diddle anyone who isn’t conscious.” 
“I mean, I guess if that’s your thing,” Johnny muttered. 
“Wait a minute,” Dixie said, “Isn’t this the same story that was on the news yesterday?” 
“Dix, don’t you think it’s a tall order, asking me to remember yesterday?” 
“I know, but don’t you remember Rex storming out of the living room yesterday when that story came on? We were like, what’s his problem?” 
“No, that was just now we said that.” 
“Yeah, but we said it yesterday, too.” 
“Are you sure?” 
“Yeah, pretty sure,” Dixie said. She was starting to look doubtful, though, so she moved on. “Why would a story about someone boning almost dead people make Rex mad?” 
“Yeah, I thought gross sex shit was his thing?” 
“You don’t think…” Dixie trailed off. 
“That Rex is the Diddler? Man, that’s gross even for him.” 

Later That Day

Dixie sat in a lounge chair by the pool, sipping a drink out of a hollowed out watermelon, which she held under one arm. In her other hand, she held a copy of “Chairman of the Untoward”, one of the Arnold Frankenheimer mysteries, which she read intently. She wore a giant floppy sun hat and a vintage cut polka dot bikini. Rex sat next to her, slathering tanning oil onto his skinny body. He wore his usual Speedo thong and a gold chain around his neck. 
Johnny Go came barreling across the lawn a moment later, heading toward the pool from the Troubadour’s cabin. He was laughing quietly to himself as he did. When he reached the pool, he flopped down on the lounge next to Dixie. 
“What’d you do?” she asked Johnny, without looking up from her book. 
“I saw the Troub’s head in for their afternoon nap, so I waited for ‘em to fall asleep and then I tied their shoelaces together,” Johnny said, snickering. 
“Good one,” Dixie said, handing Johnny the melon, then turning the page of her book with her free hand, “So you wanna head down there in like an hour to watch through the window when they wake up and face plant while getting out of bed?” 
“You know it,” Johnny said, taking a long drink from the melon. He nodded off a moment later. 

***

Many hours later, the shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks slept contentedly on the lounge chairs by the pool. They had missed the Troubadour brothers fall out of their beds after waking from their afternoon nap. 
Dixie and Johnny also missed Rex Ponticello wake from his own poolside nap, head into the house to fix himself some dinner, and then slink off into the night a few hours later, clutching his brown paper grocery bag. They didn’t even wake up when one of the cows that lived on the ranch wandered over to drink from the pool, and Johnson Troubadour spent a good hour trying to herd it back toward the field with the other cattle. He sustained a kick in the shins for his trouble.  
Later still, they were asleep when a sneaky, mysterious figure entered the backyard of the ranch house and looked around. He wore dark colored clothes and a baseball cap, and he tiptoed first through the yard, keeping a wary eye on the sleeping Dixie and Johnny. When he was sure that they weren’t going to wake up, the figure crept over to the windows of the ranch house and looked in. He checked all the windows on the first floor before he was satisfied that no one was inside. Tentatively, he reached for the doorknob of the back door. Of course it wasn’t locked. He quietly pushed it open and slipped into the house. 
An hour later, the mysterious figure emerged from the house, hastily adjusting his clothing and carrying Rex’s prized bowling trophy under his arm. He paused and marveled for a moment at Dixie and Johnny still asleep on lounge chairs, then disappeared into the night. 
A short while later, Dixie and Johnny got up from their lounge chairs and made their way into the house. Inside, they grabbed two large bags of chips and two beers each and flopped down on the living room couch. Johnny turned the tv on and began flipping through the channels, but they only managed to stay awake for a few minutes before they both fell asleep again.  

***

 It was mid-morning when Rex Ponticello made his way downstairs. He was surprised to see Dixie and Johnny still asleep in the living room, in the exact same places they’d been when he’d come home earlier. Rex had had a great night, and was in a joyful mood, so he decided to handle breakfast duty. He got to work, and was clanging and crashing in the kitchen when Dixie and Johnny finally awoke and wandered in. 
“Hey guys,” Rex said, turning away from the stove as Dixie and Johnny flopped down at the kitchen table, “coffee’s ready, and I’m whipping up a batch of my patented “Granny’s PantyCakes” for breakfast.” He grabbed two chipped coffee mugs and put them on the table, then passed over the coffee pot. Dixie proceeded to fill their mugs. She took a sip, then made a face and left the room. She returned a moment later with a bottle of Kahlúa and gave them both a generous topping off. She also took a long draw directly from the bottle. 
“What’d you get up to last night?” Rex asked. 
“Nothing, I don’t think,” said Johnny. 
“Yeah, I think we fell asleep by the pool,” Dixie added. 
“You were asleep there when I left,” Rex said, “And asleep on the couch in here when I got home.” 
“I don’t remember coming in here, but I guess we did because we woke up on the couch.” 
“I left at, like, three o’clock,” Rex said. “You mean to tell me you slept from then until just now?” 
“Uh, I guess,” said Dixie. 
“What time is it?” Johnny asked. 
“It’s two-thirty.” 
“I’ll be damned,” Johnny mused, quietly. Dixie yawned. 
Rex finished making breakfast and brought the platter over to the table, along with three plates (two of which were frisbees). The platter essentially looked like an ice cream sundae. They dug in. 
When they had finished, they retired to the living room again, Johnny with his legs flopped over the arm of the couch and Dixie laying upside down, with her feet over the back. She still had the bottle of Kahlúa. Rex checked the front porch and then sat down in his recliner with the newspaper. 
Johnny turned the tv on, and after a series of infomercials, the local news broadcast began. After the weather report was another report on the Diddler, who apparently had struck a coma ward at a nearby hospital. Rex watched intently, but this time didn’t react. He seemed to be waiting for something. The news moved on to the next story. 
“Next on News Nine, a disturbing report from a local mall. We go live to News Nine’s Will Slaughter with the story. Will?” The camera cut to a reporter, standing in a parking lot, the mall visible behind him. He held a microphone to his mouth, and there was an awkward moment of silence as the signal to begin his report arrived in his earpiece. Finally he nodded and began. 
“Thanks, Nina. Yesterday afternoon, police say they were called to the Loweburg Mall after receiving several 911 calls about a man exposing himself to people in the mall. Several shoppers reported a man wearing what appeared to be the religious habit of a nun wandering through the mall. The nun’s habit, however, appeared to have been cut off at the waist, and the man wore nothing below it. According to reports, he wore a long coat that he would open, exposing himself as he walked through the mall. 
“A thorough search of the mall was conducted, but authorities were unable to locate the man. The nun’s habit, which includes a head covering, managed to obscure his face on security footage. 
“Police are asking for the public’s help in locating this man. He is described as a white man in his mid- to late-thirties, approximately six feet tall and weighing around one hundred fifty pounds. He also may have a thin mustache. Anyone with information is urged to contact the local police. Police are also cautioning that they don’t know whether or not this man is dangerous. If anyone believes they see this man, they should call police immediately and should not attempt to confront him. Back to you, Nina.” 
The news cut back to the studio and began a story about a heroic dog that saved its owner’s life. Rex let out a contented sigh, reclined his chair, and fell asleep with a huge smile on his lips. Dixie and Johnny eyed one another suspiciously. 

***

Dixie and Johnny were once again drinking by the pool, but this time they were huddled together on one lounge chair, sharing a bottle of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Daiquiri, and whispering about Rex. 
“I was pretty sure he was the Diddler, what with the way he was freaking out about the newspaper headline, and that story on the news,” Dixie said, “but what the fuck with that story about the naked nun just now?” 
“I know, he looked really happy about that story,” Johnny said, taking the bottle from Dixie and drinking. “Like, why be happy about one pervy story and not the other?” 
“Unless he’s not the Diddler, but he is the nun?” 
“How could he not be the Diddler? The Diddler is a guy who gets off on coma patients, which, while we don’t know for sure if Rex does, kinda gels with all the other fucked up sex stuff he’s into.” 
“Right, like the old ladies,” Dixie said. 
“Or his diabetes fetish,” Johnny added. 
“That time he was super into giant porn.” They both shuddered. “So it makes sense that it’s him. But it makes sense that he’s the nun, too.” 
“Should we just ask him?” Johnny asked. 
“No way, he’ll never tell us,” Dixie said. “If he’d wanted us to know, he’d have bragged about it by now.” 
“So what do we do?”
“Let’s follow him when he goes out tonight,” Dixie suggested. 
“Good idea,” Johnny said, “We better rest up so we have the energy to endure whatever perversions we’re going to witness.” They took turns pounding the Boone’s, then cracked a second bottle. Later they went for a swim while drinking a bottle of rum each and promptly fell asleep on the lounge chairs again. 
By the time they woke up, it was morning. 

***

“Motherfucker!” Johnny exclaimed when he opened his eyes to the bright morning sun. Beside him, Dixie stirred and rolled over, off of her lounge chair and onto the ground. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. 
“What happened?”
“We overslept,” Johnny said. He reached for the half empty bottle of rum next to his chair. “We were going to follow Rex, remember?” 
“God damn it,” Dixie muttered, getting up. “And we missed our last prank on the Troub’s.” 
“Wait, we did?” Johnny asked. “What’d we do?” 
“Put a badger in their bathroom,” Dixie replied. “I did it yesterday before we went swimming. Made sure to get him good and mad first, too.” She looked across the lawn at the Troubadour’s cabin. Nothing seemed amiss. 
“Ok, today we gotta do better,” Johnny said. “I got another prank I wanna do on them, and I don’t want to miss the reaction this time.” 
“Yeah, and we need to stay awake so we can follow Rex.” 
“So we probably need to drink less today,” Dixie reasoned. “I think we can be sneakier if we’re not as drunk.” 
“Or at least we shouldn’t drink anymore Boone’s,” Johnny said. “It makes me feel kinda manic.” Just then Rex came out of the house, wearing his signature Speedo thong and carrying a cocktail that he’d mixed in a coffee mug. He also had the newspaper under one arm. 
“Morning, amigos,” he said, putting his things down on the lounge chair and walking to the edge of the pool. “Hell of a morning to be alive, isn’t it?” With that, he cannonballed into the pool, his bare ass slapping the water and sending a wave up toward Dixie and Johnny. The newspaper ended up partially soaked. 
As Rex paddled around the pool, whistling something that sounded like the Oscar Mayer song, Dixie reached over for the newspaper. She flipped it open and looked at the front page headline: 

New Lead in Nursing Home Sex Assault Case  

Dixie scanned the article, then began to read it out loud. 
“Authorities announced today that they had a new lead in the case of the alleged sexual assault of several incapacitated patients of an area nursing home. James Wiegal, lead investigator of the Collins County Special Victims Unit, said in a statement this morning that they had discovered evidence at the scene of the latest attack that tied this crime to that of another recent crime in the area. 
“Wiegal said that the undisclosed piece of evidence uncovered at the scene ties this case to a case earlier this week involving a man exposing himself to shoppers at a Collins County mall. While they declined to say what the evidence was, it is clear that police now believe that these two cases, previously thought unrelated, are connected.” Dixie finished reading and looked up. Rex had stopped paddling and was now holding on to the edge of the pool, eyes wide in surprise. 
“Damn,” Johnny said, “Who knew the perv scene was so big in Texas?” Smirking, he rolled over onto his stomach. Dixie tossed the paper back down onto Rex’s chair, but he’d already gotten out of the pool. As he headed toward the house, Dixie called after him: 
“Rex! You forgot your drink!” He didn’t look back. She reached for the drink and downed it in one gulp. They were quiet for a while. 
“You wanna go light Johnson’s bed on fire?” Johnny asked. Dixie nodded, and they headed across the lawn towards the cabin. 

***

That night, Dixie and Johnny were sitting in the living room with a mountain of chicken wings in front of them on the coffee table. From the living room window, they could see the remnants of Johnson’s bed burning in the yard. In the growing darkness, Johnson and Wang Chung were frantically pointing hoses at the bed, trying to put the fire out. 
“I can’t help but think we might have peaked with this one, Dix,” Johnny said. 
“I know what you mean,” Dixie replied, “Between this and the walrus, it's like, where do we go from here?” 
“This might be the end of our zing-a-thon,” Johnny said sadly. They were quiet for a moment, thinking. As they did, the tv, which had been tuned to Wheel of Fortune, cut over to a special news bulletin. It took a minute before it caught their attention. 
“Just in to News Nine, a standoff is taking place at the Loweburg Mall. News Nine’s Will Slaughter is live at the scene.” The camera cut over to a shot of the mall parking lot with the flashing lights of police cars in the background. The same reporter from the previous day stood before the camera. He looked thrilled to be reporting such an exciting story. 
“Nina, about an hour ago, police responded to multiple reports of a man exposing himself to shoppers here at the Loweburg Mall. Based on the man’s clothing, it appeared to be the same man from the previous incidents. This time, officers made it to the scene while the suspect was still trapped inside the mall. 
“Authorities immediately locked down the mall and began escorting shoppers from the building in small groups. They say that if they can safely evacuate the entire building, they’ll be able to start a systematic search for the suspect.” Dixie turned to Johnny. 
“That kinda seems like overkill, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, it’s just some dude’s wang. It’s not like he has a bomb.” 
“Then again,” Johnny said, “It’s Texas.” They both nodded sagely at this. 
“Also, I didn’t see Rex leave the house,” Dixie said. “We were gonna follow him. We coulda been there for this!” 
“He musta got away from us while we were setting the bed on fire. As long as he doesn’t actually get caught, we can follow him again tomorrow. Now, let’s see if one of those shows about dancing kids is on.” 

The Next Day

Johnny lounged by the pool. Dixie exited the house carrying two cocktails and the newspaper under her arm. She set the drinks down, tossed the paper to Johnny, and flopped down on the lounge chair. 
“Check out the front page,” she said. Johnny unfolded the paper and read out loud. 
“After standoff, police speculate that ‘Lou Gehrig’s Diddler’ and ‘Papa Teresa’ the same person.” He looked up. “I’ll be damned. I gotta say, if this is true, this guy is the sloppiest perv ever.” 
“Yeah, these fools expect us to believe that the Diddler would be dumb enough to wear his hat when he was at the mall playing Papa Teresa?” 
“Right?!” Johnny exclaimed. “I mean look, I’m really enjoying this summer of perv that we’re witnessing here, but come on. No way is this the same guy.” 
“The question is, why?” 
“Why what?” 
“Why wear the hat? Is it a set up?” 
“Oh, good question. Lemme go get another bottle of vodka and we can ponder this.” Johnny got up and headed into the house. Dixie drained the rest of her drink and sat back on the lounge. She hummed a few verses of Little Red Corvette, then nodded off. 

Two Hours Later

Johnny burst out of the back door of the ranch house carrying a bottle of vodka and a rumpled grocery bag. 
“DIXIE!” He screamed. She didn’t stir, so he reached down and tipped her lounge chair over. “Dix! Get the fuck up you’re not gonna believe this!” Dixie rolled over on the ground and looked up at Johnny. 
“What happened?” She asked, immediately reaching for the vodka bottle. She cracked it up and took a sip. 
“Ok, I went in to get more vodka, but then after I got the bottle, I wondered what I’d look like in one of those army shirts that Sweaty’s always wearing, so I went to his room to try one on and guess what? That fucker has a big ass padlock on the door!” 
“What a dick. Why would he do that?” Dixie wondered. 
“I don’t know,” Johnny said, sitting down. “But then I was still in the mood to try on another shirt, so I went to Rex’s room. His door was locked, too, but only from the door knob, so I just used that old bowling pin you keep under your bed to smash the knob off.” 
“Yeah, that’s what I keep it there for,” Dixie said. 
“Well, it worked, and I went into Rex’s room and had a poke around.” 
“What’s he got in there?” 
“Dude, it’s weird. He’s got a bed and a chair and, like, a dresser thing. And his clothes are in the closet. Nothing’s really on the floor.” 
“Weird. Who could live like that?” 
“I dunno,” Johnny said, shaking his head. 
“So d’you get a shirt?” 
“Nah, Rex is way too skinny.” They were quiet for a while. 
“Wait, didn’t you say you found something?” 
“Huh? Oh yeah!” Johnny reached down and grabbed the grocery bag. He unrolled the top and reached inside. Dixie gasped. 

***

“I fucking knew it!” Dixie screamed. Johnny was holding up a nun’s habit that was cut off above the waist. Dixie reached over and grabbed it from him. “That wang-flapping perv is Papa Teresa! I’m gonna give him so much shit when he gets home.” She held the habit in front of her. It barely covered her breasts. 
“He’s got like, three other bags, all with nun get ups like this in them. They were all lined up on the floor of his closet next to his shoes. One space was empty.” 
“Right, and since he didn’t come home last night, I guess that means he got arrested. The news didn’t say, though.” 
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell us,” Johnny said. Dixie tossed the habit onto the ground and took another long drink. 
“Did you find the hat in there?” she asked. 
“What hat?” 
“That fucking baseball hat that the Diddler wears.” 
“Oh, I forgot to look for it,” Johnny said. “Should we go look now?” Dixie had already stood up and was headed toward the door. 
Upstairs, they walked to Rex’s room and looked inside. As Johnny said, it was extremely neat. They immediately got to work ransacking it in order to look for the Diddler’s hat. They found nothing. Disappointed, and leaving the mess in Rex’s room without bothering to clean it up, they headed downstairs to wait for Rex to come home. 

***

Dixie and Johnny were crouched just inside the back door to the ranch house, waiting for Rex. They’d been there for hours, but this time they were determined not to fall asleep or be otherwise distracted, and miss their chance to ambush him. They didn’t even drink to pass the time. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, the sound of guilty feet could be heard on the walkway outside, and the doorknob quietly turned. Rex pushed the door open and stepped inside. 

“REXWEKNOWYOU’REPAPATERESAYOUPERVWHATTHEFUCKWHYDIDN’TYOUTELLUSIT’SSOGROSSWHATTHEFUCKISWRONGWITHYOUAREYOUTHEDIDDLERWEDON’TTHINKSOBUTYOU’REAPERVSOWEDON’TKNOW!!!!” Dixie and Johnny screamed in unison. They lunged at Rex, pushing him back against the door. He held his arms up to his face and shrank back from them. They kept screaming until eventually he collapsed on the floor. 
“Ok, it’s true!” Rex cried. “I’m Papa Teresa!” Rex rolled over so he was face down on the floor. 
“Why?” 
“Why what?” Rex’s voice was muffled by the floor. 
“Why the Papa Teresa thing?” Johnny asked. 
“I just like the rush!” Rex said. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s so freeing, just swinging your wang around.” 
“Uh… I guess?” Dixie said. 
“I guess I’ve been a little sad since Margaret died,” Rex said, “and this just kinda filled a void.” 
“Margaret…” Johnny said. 
“My girlfriend,” Rex said, “She died, remember?” 
“Wait, you mean that old lady?” Dixie asked. 
“Well… yeah I mean, she was older than me.” 
“Rex, she died of natural causes!” Dixie exclaimed. 
“Yeah, she was old!” said Johnny. “It’s sad and all, but what did you expect, dating a woman in her nineties?” Rex let out a groan. 
“So is that why you started going to those nursing homes?” Dixie asked. 
“Huh?” 
“The coma patients and stuff.” 
“Oh, that’s not me.” 
“It’s not?” 
“Nah, that’s this guy Silas.” 
“I’ll be damned,” mused Johnny. 
“But what about the hat and stuff?” 
“Well, Silas kept making the news, and I guess I was jealous. I’d been flashing people for a couple of weeks by then. Not in the nun habit, just like, in the park and stuff. It just pissed me off that no one really noticed, so I decided to go big.” 
“And then you made the news.” 
“Right, but then Silas was jealous of me. Which was kind of the idea, but then he tried to use that to get me in trouble, and he left that nun hat in the nursing home so the police would think it was the same person.” 
“And then you wore the hat the next time you went to the mall.” 
“Right.” They were all quiet for a minute while they thought this over. 
“Rex,” Johnny said, “Do you mean to tell me that you got into a perv competition without asking for our help?” 
“I… I guess?” Rex replied. Dixie and Johnny looked at each other and sighed, then turned to Rex. 
“Ok, we’ll handle it,” Dixie said. 
“What do you mean?” asked Rex. 
“Full porn-off, a week from Saturday at Madison Square Garden,” Johnny said, getting up from the floor. “You’ll need some vaccinations, so we’ll have our field medic stop by tomorrow.” Dixie also stood up. 
“Go upstairs, take a bath and get some rest. We’re about to restore your title as the most sexually perverse man in the universe!” They headed toward the back door. 
“How far away do you think that walrus got?” Johnny asked Dixie. 
“Walrus?” Rex asked. Johnny paused at the back door and looked at Rex. 
“Rex, if you think you’re winning this thing without a walrus fucking a mailbox…” He paused and chuckled, shaking his head. “Amateur.” They went out the door. 

A Week from Saturday...

True to their word (for once), the shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks did, indeed, orchestrate a truly grotesque show of some of the most disturbing images mankind has ever seen.  
The stadium was set up much like it would be for a boxing match. The opposing corners of the ring had platforms for each participant to stand on as they called up one disgusting perversion after another and cast each one into the ring. The rules for the event were not clear, and it was hard to tell what constituted a point, but as long as the disturbing sexual oddities kept coming, the crowd loved it. 
Dixie and Johnny stood in Rex’s corner, acting as his coaches and reminding him of all the horrors they’d prepared for him, which were waiting in the wings and ready to use. The Diddler, it seemed, also had a coach, a small man who looked like a frog and had a runny nose and a huge boner. To everyone’s surprise, the Diddler arrived totally prepared and was an even match for the depravity of Dixie, Johnny, and Rex. Whether that was because of his coach or not, no one knew. 
Each competitor took a turn bringing some terrifying act into the ring. None ever left the ring, other than those which were devoured or flew away (as was the case with some of the birds), and so eventually the ring began to resemble a Bosch painting. Animals humped inanimate objects, people were smeared with all kinds of fluids, animals and people alike paraded through the chaos in costumes and humped everything in sight while eating, drinking, and masturbating. The crowd was wild. 
Rex seemed to be enjoying himself at first. He especially loved the adoration he felt from the crowd. Eventually, though, as he and the Diddler continued the contest in a dead heat, he got that familiar hollow feeling inside. What was the point of all this pointless sex if there was no personal connection? He waited for Dixie and Johnny to step away while they tried to muscle a brown bear into a kiddie pool full of donuts while a topless woman wearing the bottom half of an ostrich costume danced seductively nearby. When they were good and distracted, Rex slipped away. 

***

Outside Madison Square Garden, Rex paused and savored a moment of relative quiet. He lit a skinny cigar and was about to walk off into the night when a figure appeared beside him. 
“Got a light?” asked the Diddler. Rex looked over, surprised. 
“Silas,” he said. The Diddler smiled and held out a similar cigar. Rex lit the cigar for him and they were quiet for a moment. 
“Listen,” the Diddler said, “I want to apologize.” 
“No,” Rex said, “This is all my fault.” They were quiet again. Finally, the Diddler spoke. 
“You know, I really admire your style. You’re just, like, not afraid to put yourself out there.” 
“Thanks,” Rex smiled. “I really admire yours, too. Not only are you acting on your impulses, you’re like a ninja. The cops were totally stumped.” 
“Ah, it’s not that hard,” the Diddler said, “The trick is to act like you belong there and no one questions you. I could teach you.” 
“Really?” Rex asked, excited. 
“Sure, but on one condition.” 
“What’s that?” 
“After we’re done, you take me to the mall.” 
“Deal!” They shook hands, then walked, arm in arm, toward the nearest subway station, and disappeared underground. 

***

Back inside the stadium, Dixie smeared a layer of cooking grease onto a pigeon and slid it down an inflatable slide that looked like the emergency slide from an airplane. It landed in the middle of a pack of gibbons who were preoccupied with an inflatable sex doll. Across the ring, the Diddler’s coach was shoving hot dogs into the finger holes of some bowling balls. Dixie looked at Johnny and yawned. 
“You about ready to get out of here?” she asked. 
“Yeah, I’m getting tired, and I need to bandage my arm where that muskrat bit me.” 
“Oh right, that little shit really didn’t want to get into the trumpet, did he?” Dixie pulled off the pair of rubber gloves she was wearing and jumped down off the stage. Johnny followed, and they made their way out of the building, leaving the chaos and the mess behind them. 
“Where do you wanna go?” Dixie asked. 
“That place we like in Koreatown sound ok?” 

One week later

Dixie and Johnny sat at the kitchen table of the ranch house, eating a block of orange cheese and drinking beer. 
“You know what really pisses me off about him?” Dixie asked. 
“What?” 
“All the stories are stupid.” 
“I thought you were gonna say it’s that frilly collar he wore,” Johnny said. 
“Well yeah, obviously that, too. But like, why did everyone think he was so great when all he did was write shit plays?” 
“Yeah, the only reason everyone went to see them is because there wasn’t anything else to do.” 
“Asshole.” They each drank another beer while they sat there and fumed. Outside, a car pulled up the driveway and a moment later, Sweaty Mulligan and Chichay Milano came in through the back door. Dixie and Johnny looked over. 
“Well, well, well,” Johnny said, “Look who decided that they lived here.” 
“You guys do any cool murders?” Dixie asked. “How much’d they pay ya?” Sweaty put their bags down. He looked tired and dusty, with a fine red dust streaking through his hair. He looked from Dixie to Johnny and back a couple of times. Dixie and Johnny took a few sips of beer while he did this. Chichay stood to one side, taking in the whole scene. 
“You fucking assholes,” Sweaty said. Dixie and Johnny did nothing. “You fucking assholes,” Sweaty said again, angrier this time. 
“I mean, sure,” Dixie said, shrugging. 
“Do you assholes have any idea what you did?” 
“Obviously not,” Johnny said, flatly. They both sat there and waited for Sweaty to continue. Eventually he did. 
“Your little escapade in space,” he said, “Remember that?” 
“Yeah, kinda?” 
“Well you two dicks managed to trigger the end of the universe.” Dixie and Johnny started laughing. 
“It’s not funny!” Sweaty said. 
“Sweaty, have you even been to the end of the universe?” Dixie asked. “It’s a stupid snotty restaurant. I’m glad it’s ruined.” 
“I’m not talking about the restaurant,” Sweaty said, “I’m talking about the actual universe. The one we all live in. Whatever you two did, you killed it.” 
“Us?” Johnny asked. 
“That seems like a lotta work,” Dixie said. 
“Yeah,” said Johnny, “We wouldn’t know how to do that anyway.” 
“Well, you did. And now, thanks to you, the universe is basically on a thousand year countdown to nothingness.” Dixie and Johnny seemed to both be processing this new bit of information, and were quiet for a while, only occasionally sipping beer. Sweaty stared at them. 
“Well?” 
“Well...what?” Johnny asked. 
“Well, do you have anything to say about this?” Sweaty demanded. They were quiet again, then Dixie and Johnny suddenly looked at each other. 
“Dix…” Johnny said slowly. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” 
“That a thousand monkeys…” she said. 
“At a thousand typewriters…” Johnny said. 
“For a thousand years…” 
“They could write Hamlet…” 
“Let’s show that showboatin’ Shakespeare who’s boss!” they both shouted. With that, they jumped up from the table, pushing past Chichay and Sweaty, and ran out the back door. 

Monkeys Collected: 0