"I'll keep you safe."
"Never again, Kenny.
She stood up and pulled me to her. I pulled her to me. Together, we cried.
"And that concludes Part Eleven of the BCC radio dramatization of "Beggars Can't Be..." by Kenny N Gamera. And now Radio Four will explode..." which the radio proceedes to do with a bang much louder than the actual flash and smoke would suggest.
Mrs. I-Can't-Recall-Now-But-It'll-Come-To-Me-In-A-Moment turns to her friend and sometimes lover, but not this week because her husband is on a business trip, Mrs. Not-This- Week-(and so on).
"I hate it when Radio Four explodes."
"At least it wasn't Radio Two."
"Yes. That is so much messier. The transistors always get stuck in the cat."
A pregnant pause settles over the room.
Finally Mrs. Not-This-Week... announces, "I hope that pause doesn't give birth in here. It's bad enough with the radio exploding, just imagine the mess after it has all those little pauses."
"Yes, yes," agrees Mrs. I-Can't-Recall... "and it is always so hard trying to give the litter away. Wait too long and there's another batch or twelve. The little buggers are like foreigners, can't keep their legs apart."
"Well, what do we do now."
"Let's see what's on the tely."
"Ooooo! I think it's another penguin!"
"It doesn't look like Danny DeVito."
"No, but it does look like Burgess Merideth."
"Why, yes it does! I wonder what it is doing on the tely?"
"I can see that!"
"Then why did you ask?"
"It was either that, we'd get another one of those pregnant pauses."
"Ooooo! We wouldn't want that! Not with a penguin on the tely."
"Still, I wonder where it came from."
"It wasn't the zoo. It doesn't have property of the zoo stamped on it. It's shirt says 'Gotham State Penn, ' though."
"Maybe, it only stole the shirt to make us think it's from Gotham instead of the zoo."
"I don't know... though it doesn't look the least honest." Mrs. I-Lost-Track-of-Who's-Who's steps up to look closer. "Maybe it is from the zoo. Where else would a penguin come from?"
"Katie McN's underwear drawer!"
"Why'd you say that?"
"I panicked. Besides something has to come from there. There's certainly no underwear in it."
"Still, I don't trust it. It might be hatching plots."
"Ooooo! That'd be bad; especially if that pause doesn't leave soon."
"It wasn't me. It must've been the penguin."
"Ooooo! I hope it hasn't started to hatch a plot. I just had the budgie steam cleaned and I don't want to have to shampoo East Angela again."
"I'll go shoo it away."
"Be careful... this is a sex story"
"I don't see how there hasn't been any sex and it is page three already." Mrs. Now-I'm-Hopeless-Confused-And- I'm-The-Writer steps from the battered Chesterfield and goes to the television and penguin. "Now, shoo!"
She waves her hands at the escaped super villain who just sits there swinging his legs as he smokes his cigarette holder.
Suddenly it becomes page four. The Penguin grabs Mrs. Now-I'm... and with powerful muscles forged in the penitentiary weight room, forces her down onto her knees in front of the television and his parted legs. He holds her down with one hand and uses the other to undo the jumper of his prison pants. Thirteen inches of super villain cock jumps from the fly and bumps the hapless woman in the face.
"See," Mrs. Oh-I-Give-The-Fuck-Up shakes her head reproachfully, "told you this was a sex story."