After the appropriate sound of a ringing doorbell, a rather matronly looking woman entered a rather matronly looking foyer. The foyer looked matronly by having walls covered in a print wallpaper with columns of cute, farmyard geese. Thin stripes coloured like slightly tarnished copper separated each column from the other. Here and there, a knick knack shelf with a ceramic figure of another goose would assist the single framed mirror with three 'never to be used so don't even try' coat rungs, in breaking the monotony of the walls.
The woman wore a print dress several decades out of style and a simple white apron she used to wipe her hands. The door rang a second time as she reached at. She soon after open the door to a short man with a overly thick mustache with streaks of gray. He looked over his round wire framed glasses, the type once called Granny glasses before John Lennon began to wear them.
The woman looked at the man for a moment before realizing that he was waiting for her.
"Good afternoon, sir?"
"Right. Good day, mum," said the man with a snap to the brim of his hat. He glanced down to the clipboard he carried. "Is this two-sixteen Clitlick Street?"
"No. This is two-fourteen Clitlick Street."
"Very good, mum. That's the address I'm looking for." To man glanced again to his clipboard. "And are you Mrs. Mabel Swampwater of two-fourteen Clitlick Street?"
"Yes, I'm Mrs. Swampwater."
"Right, mum. I have a gang rape for you." The delivery man pointed at his clipboard with a ball point pen. "Could you sign here, mum?"
"I didn't order a gang rape," said the bewildered Mrs. Swampwater.
"I'd think not, mum," answered the delivery man. With the ease of a well practiced delivery man, he flipped through the sheets of his clipboard. "Says here that your husband ordered it for you, mum.
"Could you sign here, please mum?" He repeated as he offered the clipboard and pen back to Mrs. Swampwater.
She held her palm to her breast. "My husband?"
"Yes." He flipped back through his sheets. "All it says under reason is 'tuna casserole.' Could you sign here, please?"
"But I don't want a gang rape," Mrs. Swampwater burst out at last in frustration.
"I wouldn't think so, mum. Wouldn't be a proper gang rape if you had wanted it now would it? It would be more of a gang bang. And your husband specifically ordered and paid for a gang rape.
"Sign here, please."
"But..." interjected Mrs. Swampwater.
"Mrs. Swampwater," interrupted the delivery man in a stern voice, quite unlike the polite, indulgent delivery man voice he had used to that point. "I still have another gang rape, two homicidal maniacs, and a rabid dog to deliver this afternoon. I would like a chance to get home and watch telly tonight."
"Telly?" Sputtered the confused woman.
"Yes. There's a Kojak festival tonight." He handed her the clipboard and returned to the polite, indulgent delivery man voice. "Sign here, please mum."
As Mrs. Swampwater signed, the delivery man waved in two men carrying video equipment. They squeezed past both of the people in the doorway. Each gave the harried haus frau a tip of the hat and a very cheerful "good day."
"Who are they and why do they have cameras," queried Mrs. Swampwater as she returned the clipboard.
"Oh mum. They are the video set up team."
"Yes, mum." The delivery man flipped through some more sheets and handed the clipboard back to the woman. "If you could initial here, mum. Yes, video, mum. A man would hardly pay could money to see his wife gang raped and not expect to actually see his wife gang raped, now would he, mum. Initial here if you would, please."
Mrs. Swampwater initialed the sheet. After returning the clipboard, she watched as the delivery man went through a few more pages.
"Hmmm?" Said the delivery man. "I see that he didn't take the maim and disfigure option." He looked up at the woman before him. "Not that he would really need to.
"And if you will initial next to the mixed race baby option, mum, I will leave you to your gang rape."
"Mixed race baby?"
"Yes, our mixed race baby option is quite popular. We will return until one of our specially trained black rapists impregnate you with a little half black babe of your very own. Initial here, please mum."
Stunned, Mrs. Swampwater placed her initials at the indicated spot. The delivery man then called to the video setup team that it was time to leave for the next delivery. Mrs. Swampwater...
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... Mrs. Swampwater ran streaking through her living room, attempting to keep the various pieces of overturned furniture between her and the five large, strong, young men with whom the delivery man had left her. Only the video equipment had remained undamaged during the period of intense activity since the arrival of the rapists. As she ran, a motion detector and motor kept the camera on her and the various rapists.
"Help!" shouted Mrs. Swampwater.
"Oh, we will, lady," answered one of the rapists, an enormous black man, "Just stay still and we will help you reach the heights of..."
"Can't Amal," interjected a large, Italian looking stud, "She doesn't get the 'humiliation of enjoying it' package. Her cheap-ass husband didn't pay for it."
"Please, don't do this to me," pleaded Mrs. Swampwater.
"Sorry, ma'am." answered Amal. "We have a job to do here and we really got to get started. We are supposed to be done before your husband gets home."
Sensing that there was more to this young man than rape, she cried, "Why are you doing this?"
"Well, I am paying my why through college as is Pat and Carl... ," the appropriate rapists bowed there heads, "Al is paying off student loans while he is taking his bar exam... ," the second of the black rapists shyly raised his hand, then Amal points at the Italian, "... and Don is an opera singer.
"Now, if you will just quit running...
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.... There is more of this story ...