Introduction to the Correctness Classics Version

Joseph Campbell tells us the hero’s journey is sacred, something that is indelibly stamped in to our consciousness. We love tales of great heroes overcoming odds, journeying miles away from home, and overcoming monstrous adversaries. Late in the 20th century, an anonymous epic poet captured the struggles of just such a hero, who struggles to win the love of fair Joanie, a hero who can undo bras and sweaters with the power of his mind, and who ultimately ends up “In Charge” But the decline of the hero is equally important. What would Arthurian legend be without Arthur’s final journey with the handmaidens? Robin Hood would feel incomplete without him shooting his final arrow to show his men where to lay him to rest. And so it must be with Scott Baoiwulf, who ultimately ends up 45…and single. No hero can be truly great without a great fall, and by those criteria, Scott Baiowulf is one of our greatest. He truly deserves his place in the literary canon, and to be shoved down the throats of bored high school English students for generations to come. In the tradition of boring the young and feckless, the Correctness proudly presents excerpts from the epic…Scott Baiowulf.

A Note about Pronunciation

The poem is written in Slightly Older English, and is part of an oral tradition* that dates back decades. As such the pronunciations may sound strange to the modern ear. For instance, the name “Joanie” is pronounced “Yownie”.In many translations it is actually spelled Ionie, a small inconsistency that has caused many a tedious term paper. Archaic pronunciations such as these are important when considering meter…the one syllable “Zapped” becomes the two syllable “Zapp-ED”

*(The oral tradition stems from people of decades past having no text capabilities, and therefore having to actually talk to people on their rotary phones.)

Scott Baiowulf

Part one- Haeppy Days

Sun’s Day, Moon’s Day, Haeppy Dayes
Tewes’s Day, Wednes Day, Haeppy Dayes
Thor’s Day, Freya’s Day, Haeppy Dayes
Saturn’s Day, Whaet a day
Gruven awl week with you
These days are Awl
Haeppy and Free
These days are Awl
Shaer them with me
These days are yurs and maen
Haeppy Days

Here’s be the Tael of Scott Baiowulf,
(Film-ed was he before
A live Studeao Audyence)

Scott Baiowulf bode in the burg of the Muelwalkae,
Chachi beloved, and long he staed
in faeme with all folk, since Ritchie had gone.
Kin was he to Fonzae
He which slew The Jukbawks
And Jump-ped the mighty shaerk.
He that daeted both Laevern and Shaerly.

Twas in The Hall of Aernolds
Where mead was drunk and “Splish Splash “played
Where revels had and mirth was maede
Therein Scott Baiowulf set eyes upon Joanie
the Cueninnghams Maide

“Wah Wah Wah”* he cried and cheered they the audyence
For theay were moest delighted with his ceatchfrase

And so it caeme to be that Mighty Scott Baiowulf
Laboured in the great hall, and in
Pursuite of Ceunningham’s Maeden Daughter
Did leave his aepron on the grill which was still alight

And so thear was a raeging fire
And the Haell of Aernolds, now owned by Ael
Burn-ed like a funearal pyre
With great wrath did Fonzae
Say Twas unkewl

Ael commanded an even greater hall
Be built upon the ashes of the last
So Feasting could continyew…
“Ya, Ya, Ya Ya,” ** Ael spake

* The catchphrase is very important in late 20th century televised prose. A good catchphrase meant your character was recurring. A Catchphrase and an applause break meant you got a spin off

** Nope, sorry Al. Lame catchphrase, no spin off for you

Editor’s note:It goes on like this for some time. Actually about 3 or 4 seasons longer than it should have. So we are skipping Scott Baiowulf’s famed Battle with Cunningham’s Mother, his battle against the word destroying Ted McGinley, and his tedious marriage to the Maid Joanie in the “Joanie Loves Chachi” stanzas to focus on a less oft discussed episode. Here our Hero faces a more egregious foe…unexposed breasts. Here is a sample of Episode three..called by scholars the “Zapped” Stanzas

With power newfound,Scott Baiowulf
of the Geeks wrestled
Struggling with his nubile foe
Striking with mighty foerce
He raises his hand

The She Creature shrieks
As buttons flae off
Scott Baiouwulf
Ripper, tearer
Rends her sweater in twaien
With but a look.

Trae as she maey,
To hide her tittae shaeme
Her breasts exposed
For Biaowulf’s gaen

Many scholars argue for different authorship here, with the Zapped Stanzas bearing many of the traits that are more common with early eighties story telling. The bullying tribe of Jocks who war with Biouwulfs tribe of Geeks, The Bloends of the Chaerleader tribe getting their breasts exposed against their will, and a triumphant hero, who, after defeating the jocks and seeing as many bloende breasts as he can, settling down with a nerdy brunette who looks amazing when her glasses come off. Even the grand finale at the Feast of Prom has all the hallmarks of the decade. This does argue for a shared authorship, with the work being embellished by subsequent tellings.

Finally, we take a look at the penultimate chapter in our Hero’s journey, when he was rightly given leadership of his own tribe, utterly in charge…with his steadfast sidekick from the Zapped Stanzas “Guey frome Ete is Enouff” at his side. But his restlessness, and subsequent fall remind us that it is the journey, not the rewards that make us great.

Chearles ine Chaerge
Of owr days and owr naets
Chearles in Chearge
Of our rawngs and our riaets

And I sing, I waent,
I want Chearge ine Chaerge of me.

But Caencelled then
Baiowulf did wander
thruogh the Wasteland of Praimetime
Froem show where hae was the sitter
to Raight Wing Coemments
Scrawled ‘pon Twitter

He Waenders now
in Memory still
how once was greate
a Rebublican shill

Also Available in the Correctness Illustrated Classic’s Series

The Epic of Gilgerard
The classic tale of a warrior with a hot space colonel and annoying robot sidekicks

The Jilliad
A Seafaring Captain finds he has a daughter, who grows to learn about Love on the Lido deck

The Toddysey
It takes different strokes and a massive coke habit to break the hero of this epic tale

A friend of mine recently suggested that in order to get my long departed groove back, I should try writing erotic fiction. I tried, kind of, then gave up, but this got me thinking: What the hell kind of thing is arousing anyway? What qualifies as a fantasy? The results of my bold new genre of truthful erotic fantasies are below. Spoiler: Some of these stories are so arousing, there isn’t any sex in them at all.

1.

He paused the DVD, and rose from the couch.

“Are you getting up to make a sandwich?” she asked, coyly.

“Yes, I am,” he replied.

“Then let me be direct. Instead of eating a portion of your sandwich when you bring it over here, leaving us both unsatisfied, I would like for you to prepare two separate sandwiches, and I will eat one of them,” she said.

Tears of joy trickled down his face, and when he returned, he brought two more sodas as well.

2.

“My place is usually cleaner than this,” he said.

“Oh, not mine. Mine is a disaster. This looks good,” she said.

3.

She knocked on his car window, and he rolled it down.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said, “but I noticed that you were listening to really cool music in your car. and me and my sorority friends would really like to blow you now. Don’t thank us, thank Elvis Costello.”.

“You’re welcome,” said Elvis Costello from the back seat. “None for me, thanks, I’m married.”

4.

The phone rang. He thought he recognized the number, but he risked answering anyway.

“Hello?” he said, tentatively.

“William, it’s your ex, Connie. Listen, before you say anything, I’ve been thinking about it, and I was the one who was wrong. I thought about trying to get you back, but instead, I have just been talking you up to my hotter, younger sister, and she is down…”

5.

She stepped onto the elevator with him, but today, she finally spoke.

“Excuse me, may I just say something?”

“Sure,” he said.

“I was just noticing what a cool way you have of standing in the elevator. You really stand out, with your standing-style. Have you been practicing?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, it’s crazy cool. Oh, also, because of the unrehearsed way you flick your sleeve up your wrist when you check the time.”

“Totally unrehearsed,” he said.

“Wicked,” she said, unzipping his pants.

6.

“My parents had a healthy relationship, and I have no apparent mental health issues.” she said. “Including eating disorders, or addictions. I know we all say this, but I actually DO strip to pay for my degree, and I actually DO like you specifically out of all the customers in here. Pick me up tonight, I’m quitting.”

7.

“Look, I don’t expect you to have an opinion about this…” he said, dismissively. This couldn’t possibly be headed anywhere.

“Oh, I’ve got an opinion. Kirk would kick Picard’s ass,” she said.

“I – wait- What? For the first time in my life, let me say this: Please go on, I am interested in your opinion.”

“That’s pretty misogynistic.”

“I really, honestly, really want to have this debate,” he insisted.

“Well, first off, Picard is old, and he has an artificial heart…”

8.

“What should I dress up as for halloween? It’s either Dark Phoenix or X-23.”

“Oh, hey both sound pretty cool,” he said.

“Wait- someone with a skirt, from space,” she said.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “That’s my girl.”

9.

“What do you love about me? Don’t worry, I’m not looking for something specific that you won’t notice so I can hold it against you,” she said.

“Oh,” he said “uh, well, in that case, I love that you are smart.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely compliment, given that you are just slightly smarter than me,” she added.

10.

“I’m going to have a shower,” she said. “And I’m leaving the door unlocked INTENTIONALLY”.

11.

After they finished, the two of them lay there naked.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Oh, I, uh, well…” he said.

“Kidding! I’m kidding. I don’t give a fuck. I was just thinking about what the hell gummi bears are made out of.”

Bob had spent most of his adult life trying to convince his friends, family and even total strangers that he was not an end table. By the time his 45th Birthday rolled around he was pretty sure he’d managed to convince them all of this irrefutable fact. Unfortunately his birthday party proved him wrong.

His cousin Ellen tried to hide underneath him when she thought it was supposed to be a surprise party.

When he unwrapped his gifts, he found that he had received 8 sets of coasters, 2 coffee table books, and a can of Endust.

He knew it was all for naught when they tried to cut the cake on his lap.

As he cried quietly to himself in a corner, his wife of 17 years absently tried to put her drink on his head. He snatched it away, downed it in a single gulp…and shuffled off to bed.

She stood in the kitchen, looking out across the expanse of the distant jungle valley as the sun rose. Untold millions of dew drops reflected the red glow of a dawn. Time stopped, and ever so slowly, all of her pain, her hatred, her failures began to evaporate just as the mist on the valley floor did. Through the panoramic windows of her incalculably expensive tropical mountain escape, the light from the sun was reaching her, it felt today, for the first time. Today, there was finally purpose, a reason to go on. For the first time in a decade, she awoke to hope. Hope, a feeling she had come to distrust. Had it not been hope that broken her heart? Had it not been hope that had led her to wait for love to seek her out, and not the other way around?

Some perhaps, had not the money or the arrogance to wile away the years in a psuedo-philosophic travel, funded by a divorce. Many would laugh at the seemingly small problems of one woman, especially one so wealthy. There was nothing to laugh at today. Today there were only tears of joy, flowing without provocation from the corners of her eyes, freely onto her cheeks, and even dripping onto her hands. Her hands, touched now by tears, could let go of all of it- the disappointment, the resentment. Her hands could also literally let go. She literally let go of her erect dick with one hand, and the pillow-case of live kittens she had been jacking-off onto with the other. Today, for the first time in almost a decade, there was no need for jizzy kittens.

The tears came without restraint. Tears of joy. No more jizzy kittens. No more.

Then, like the bloom of a perfect rose, like a single falling leaf, like ripple on a pond, Predator sliced her in two.

A Haiku Moral:

Patronizing bitch,

jizzy kittens and bullshit,

Predator got you.

Happy Halloween from The Correctness

Henrietta’s piano lesson went extremely poorly. So poorly, in fact she was found beneath the piano with only her little red stocking clad feet sticking out, the rest of her flattened by the enormous weight of the instrument. Her parents were crushed…beneath the same piano just three weeks later. The Piano is currently helping police with their enquiries.

Constance shook with rage and exhilaration, the silver dagger now soaked with gore clutched in her trembling hand. As she saw the butler gurgle out his last with a wet choking cough, a small nagging thought continued to buzz around her racing mind. Was dinner really all that bad?

What happened to the Major has never been fully understood but the facts are these…on the morning of October 11th, The Major went out for his morning constitutional. He was seen stopping off at the local cigar shop to make a few choice selections from the humidor. Three days later, a stray was good enough to bring his severed and bloodied right hand back to his widow. Although never mentioned aloud, the widow’s subsequent adoption of the dog was often regarded as suspicious. The cigars were never recovered.

When Isadora’s corpse rose again from the swamp were she was drowned to wreak terrible vengeance on a nearby dinner party it was a great surprise to everyone present. Particularly because in life, she was known to detest dinner parties and vowed she would never be caught dead at one. Irony is often lost on the undead, it seems.

St. John’s rare skin disease had become so advanced that during the dessert course it became entirely impossible to tell where St.John’s face ended and the rice pudding began. One could have argued “St. John’s Face is distinguishable by the nose like flesh in the center of it”, but after a small avalanche of wet shedding skin tissue carried the appendage away, one could make the same argument for his plate.

After dinner, Agnes and her guests all retired to the library for a rousing game of “Find The Antidote.”Algernon sputtered around the room, looking wildly from shelf to shelf, turning an altogether unhealthy shade of waxy yellow as he did so. The colorless odourless concoction that was slipped into his port was picked up by Agnes on her last trip to Morocco, for just this occasion and was working splendidly.
“Colder…you’re getting colder” she laughed as he staggered toward the large Mahogany desk in the corner.
“For heaven’s sake man, you’ve already looked there…” said Thomas as Algernon wildly pulled books off the shelf on the east wall.
The customary cheering on and shouted hints ceased as Algernon collapsed to the floor in a heap.
“Pooh!” said Agnes indignantly as she rang for the maid “Now we shall be short a player for bridge.”

Gerbhart was studying a long forgotten game of chess in the den, completely unaware that he had been freshly cuckolded by Richard on the new settee in the upstairs drawing room. At least that’s what he told the police. He continued to maintain that he left, barred the doors and burned Richard and Emily alive inside for an entirely different set of reasons, and it was indeed how he planned to spend his evening in the first place before he became momentarily distracted by the abandoned chess board. What those reasons were… he took to the gallows with him, but he was heard to mutter “Knight 2 to queen…check” just before the trap door fell beneath him.

a short sketch about domesticity and time travel by Dawn Dumont

Erin: Why are the dishes still in the sink?

Todd: Umm…I thought you were going to do them.

Erin: Before I left, I distinctly said – “Do the dishes, Todd, its your turn.”

Todd: Oh, I didn’t hear you.

Erin: Yes you did. Because then I said to you, “Did you hear me?” And you said, “Yes, I heard you.”

Todd: Oh well, then sorry.

Erin: I don’t want sorry. I want clean dishes.

Todd: I can’t right now.

Erin: You’re playing video games!

Todd: Erin, remember when we were talking about the difference between asking and bossing?

Erin: They smell! Why didn’t you do them?!!

Todd: Do you want me to build a time machine? Cuz I will build a time machine.

Erin: You don’t know how to build a time machine. You didn’t even pass grade 11 physics.

Todd: There you go. Now I just built a time machine.

Erin: No you didn’t.

Todd: You shouldn’t have goaded me. Now I’ve destroyed the space time continuum.

Erin: Why are the dishes still dirty then?

Todd: Because I did the dishes – and then you dirtied them again. So now its your turn to do them.

Erin: Wrong. Cuz I stole your time machine and did them and then you dirtied them making it your turn again. And I also slept with Jack.

Todd: Why did you do that?

Erin: Because you didn’t do the dishes!

Todd: But Jack has herpes. Now we both have herpes.

Erin: No, I went to the future where they have the cure and I brought it back for us.

Todd: That was nice of you.

Erin: I’m not giving you the cure until you do the dishes.

Todd: Well. I do not respond to blackmail.

Erin: Thats not blackmail.

Todd: Bribery?

Erin: Kind of.

Todd: Doesn’t matter. I just went to the future and plant a car bomb in your car.

Erin: I just removed it and put it in your car.

Todd: I went to the past and killed your family cat.

Erin: Ryley! He got hit by a car.

Todd: No, I strangled him with my bare hands. Then I threw him in front of that car.

Erin: You’re sick. Wait, I just killed your grandfather.

Todd: Poppy! Not Poppy! He wore suspenders!

Erin: Oh get over it. I killed him only 10 seconds before he was gonna die anyway. And I used a down-filled pillow.

Todd: Still, its the principle! I’m so sorry Pappy.

Erin: Do the dishes and I’ll go back and stop myself.

Todd: I killed you.

Erin: When?

Todd: Two hours before we met.

Erin: Asshole!

Todd: Then I went back and stopped myself from killing you. I said, “She’s not worth it Todd.” And I agreed.

Erin: I can’t believe you killed me. Fuck. You know my mother always said you were the type to kill me.

Todd: I’m sorry.

Erin: (Sniffs.)

Todd: I said I was sorry.

Erin: Couldn’t you have at least brought me flowers?

Todd: I did.

Erin: Where are they then?

Todd: Right in front of you. They are invisible flowers. I invented them in year 2135.

Erin: What would be the point of…?

Todd: In time, you will understand.

Erin: I think we should see other people.

Todd: Why? We’re going to get back together anyway. I’ll go back in time, do the dishes, stop myself from killing your cat and then invent the I-Pod and then we’ll move to Borneo so you can study borneo wildlife like you always wanted.

Erin: Cool, then I’m gonna take a nap.

In an effort to expand our horizons, The Correctness has been asking a few funny people to write and article or two for us. Improbably, some of them said yes. This one is by the oft hilarious Dawn Dumont, who resides in Edmonton.

Day 1
What a lark! The local coffee shop has hired me to sling coffee. Perfect employment while I work on my novel. Less Henry James, more Graham Greene, my novel will be fuelled with free coffee.

Boss looks like she might be storing enough food in her bosom to feed a small town during a blackout. Black hair, dark eyes and a nose that reminds me of a chocolate bar. She has the aroma of beans. Not coffee beans. Baked beans.

I had to stifle a laugh as she went over the benefit package to me; I told her not to bother I’m hardly going to be here more than a month.

She told me that the guy before me also had a master’s degree in English. “He ended up strangling himself with his belt while he was masturbating. Weirdo.”

Spent the day learning how to use the cash register. Money – the boring preoccupation of the plebian masses.

Still expecting the job to be a lark! Oh Hemingway, how you would laugh!

Day 2
My trainer turned out to be a goddess named Jennifer. “Call me Jenny,” She said. But in my heart she will be known as Guinevere, the Arthurian queen renowned for her beauty and grace. She taught me basics of steaming, grinding and pouring. “You’re pretty good,” she said, “It took me weeks to figure out the steam machine.” Beautiful and humble. Spend half hour daydreaming about marrying Guinevere and watching her polish my Pulitzer.

The crowds stream into the store like a tsunami; wave after wave of caffeine deranged fools sweeps over me. I am almost swept away into the dark depths of insanity. Guinevere’s sweet face leads me back to the surface each time.

Day 3
Venti half caf extra hot half sweet non-fat mocha with whip – this is the drink that nearly broke the proverbial camel’s back. I hold back the urge to spit in the face of the man who ordered it. Imagine this: it came from a man with a hardhat tucked under his arm. How sad that the proletariat has succumbed to the vices of the upper class. I almost said as much but he appeared more Neanderthal than Hominid.

Worse. I was jotting down a few notes on character development for my novel in the backroom when my boss yelled, “Hey Fancy pants, we need you out here” right in front of Guinevere. I barely conceal my rancor.

Later, a low fat brownie fell onto the floor. Boss asked: “Hey Larry wanna go halfers on it?” I politely said no.

Day 7
During a break from the hordes, Guinevere and I clean the espresso machine together. Guinevere opens up to me. She confesses that she is in between things, trying to decide which esthetic school to attend. I told her that she is thinking too small, “You are too good to be doing anyone’s nails. You should be served, not serving.” Guinevere gifts me with a shy smile.

A woman wearing a “I heart Country Music” t-shirt complained about our prices. I tell her that there’s a gas station just down the street that serves swill they call coffee and add: “you better hurry, they’re giving away a Garth Brooks cd with every fill-up.” She demands to speak to my boss.

Spend two hours constructing perfect pyramid of muffins.

Around closing time Boss takes me aside to chide me for earlier remarks. I refuse to defend myself. Boss also mentions that Guinevere has a boyfriend.

I eat entire perfect pyramid of muffins.

Day 11
Drank bottle of wine and entered world of creative bliss. Word after word found their way onto the page of their own accord.

I drag myself into work. Boss tells me that I look like hell. God how I yearn to whip her with my wit! But I remember that rent is due in two days.

Mess up six drinks in a row. Guinevere offers to trade places with me. I tell her, “Sweet Guinevere, you are an angel in disguise” and kiss her hand with a flourish.

Day 12
Read yesterday’s pages. Cannot understand any of it.

Day 14
While I am outside disposing of the day’s detritus, boss approaches me. She tells me that Guinevere – my queen, my heart, my light through the darkness – no longer wants to work the same shift as me.

I am afraid my expression mirrors that of a Midwest yokel encountering Times Square for the first time, with jaw wide open and eyes bursting with astonishment. I ask her, “I demand you tell me who has told you this lie!”

Boss replies, “Jenny thinks you’re creepy.”

I am speechless.

Boss asks me if I have plans for Saturday: “I have tickets to a Rascal Flats concert…” I murmur about a prior engagement.

Day 15
I work my first shift with Brad. Brad highlights his hair. Brad calls his girlfriend every two minutes. When Brad is not talking to his girlfriend, Brad is talking about techno music.

After an hour, I take off my apron, fold it neatly and leave it on my boss’s desk.

I stuff a box of day old brownies in my bag.

Day 20
A week of applying for jobs has passed. Finally, the phone finally rings. It isn’t what I hoped for. In fact it’s worse than I could have imagined. Capitalism invites me into her smelly, steaming core: Walmart.

Oh Guinevere, you have sentenced me to Dante’s inferno!

“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi.”

Arnold counted again, carefully, one every second.

“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi.”

He let out a low whistle. “Well boys, I don’t have to tell y’all that four Mississippi rivers is approximately three more Mississippi rivers than the US Geological Survey expects to see at any one time.”

He and the boys looked on, dumbfounded. “What the hell are we gonna do with 4 Mississippis?”.

“Irrigate?” Offered one of the boys.

“I’ve had just about enough out of you, Cletus.” Retorted Arnold.

Mayor Amber Harris breathed a sigh of relief as she looked out her window into the blackness and saw and encroaching wave of light rushing across each building downtown. Then, her own office lights came back on. The blackout, mercifully was over, but the damage had been done. There had been looting, car accidents, panic, false reports of a terrorist attack and so much more that needed to be dealt with, but for now, at least her city had power. While she was rebooting her PC, her phone rang. She had been expecting this…
“Mayor Harris, it’s Ed Garrett down at Cityworks…”
“Hey Ed, thanks for getting the power up, what happened?” she asked
“Well, it all came down to one outlet, some wires got frayed on the input unit, and set up a chain reaction…” he said, wearily.
“Input unit?”
“Yeah, seems the high end electrical plugs were not in the budget this year and they just conked out”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute” Amber said, starting to get annoyed, “You mean this whole thing was just about some cheap plug?”

THE END

About The Author:

Tony Binns has just written and will be appearing in Glenngarry Glen Beck , a hilarious sketch comedy show with his fellow Obscene But Not Heard troupe mates at the at the Calgary Fringe. All shows will be at the Alexandra Centre in Inglewood, the showtimes are as follows:

Friday July 30th 3:00 pm
Saturday July 31st 5:00 pm
Monday August 2nd 9:00 pm
Tuesday August 3rd 5:00 pm
Thursday August 5th 5:00 pm
Saturday August 7th 7:00 pm

He is currently expecting his first child along with his wife, Amber who will also be attending Glengarry Glen Beck and will most likely be visiting Calgaryfringe.ca for her tickets and she urges you to do the same. Tony was a nominee for the Giller prize in 2009 for his novel “Hey, Come and See Me Headline at Yuk Yuks This Weekend”. He has two cats, who would go see Glengarry Glen Beck if they could.

At 22 years old, Emily was hardly the youngest housewife in West Cloverdale. Indeed, she like so many other attractive young women had carefully played by the rules, attracted themselves a husband, and been swept away to the suburbs.

Though not the youngest, Emily had one thing going for her- one thing, set aside a prizewinning pair of legs from a darker period of her life when she danced naked for beatniks. The “Miss Rack 1958″ contest had been a battle hard won for her- No, what Emily had going for her was that she was smart as a whip.

For some number of months, she had lived out the life she had dreamed would fulfill her- Dressing for her husband, undressing for her husband, vacuuming in high heels, cooking roasts in a ridiculous garter belt, all precisely as she had anticipated. Even the sex had been exactly as satisfying as she had expected- which is to say “not at all satisfying”, but Emily had been well groomed, and was prepared for all kinds of sexual mediocrity.

Having discovered ways to entice her husband Gary with sexualized domestic tasks, she had freed up time during the day to continue her experiments. Having coyly seduced Gary into providing her with an increased daily allowance, she had the means to call in an excavation crew, and build an immense secret laboratory in the basement. The neighbours, whom Emily had informed of some bomb shelter construction, were none the wiser, and the right flip of the hair and sparkle of the eye had given Emily unprecedented discounts from the trades assisting her during construction. Indeed, had Emily the inclination to go into general contracting, her costs would have been easily 80% less than anyone else. Even she was amazed by the amount of concrete one can get for free with just the right outfit- and a blowjob- just the right outfit and a blow job.

In any case, on this particular Wednesday morning, she kissed her husband goodbye, and not two minutes after he departed, a courier showed up with the last of the instrumentation she would need. Much of the equipment was on permanent loan from a nearby university, where she had found the gentlemen of the physics department particularly easy to convince. Emily recalled with a chuckle that she had spent hours moisturizing her lips for naught. So dumbfounded were the physicists by the sincere interest of a beautiful young woman that they had simply donated their equipment without the necessity for even one quick handroll.

With practiced restraint, she looked puzzled at the heavy contents of the courier box, smiled coquettishly at the courier driver and, immediately upon his departure, bolted the front door and descended into her lab. The entrance was directly beside the bomb shelter which she had, in fact, put in. While the bomb shelter was behind an obvious metal door, her laboratory was disguised behind a storage shelf labeled “feminine needs”, ensuring her husband would never dare to approach it.

Arriving in the nerve center of her laboratory, she flicked on the overhead lights and set about her work. A big as a football field, and perhaps 300 feet tall, the room was filled with metal cabinets, buzzing and whirring. Emily heaved the large, freshly-received cardboard box up onto a work table, and opened it with her switchblade ( A personal security measure she always tusked in the thigh band of her stocking). The box was full to the brim with metal-oxide transistors. Having had a similarly easy time getting a referral from a fellow at Texas Instruments to her effortless success on the equipment loan from the physicists, a more than eager Doctor Winthrop had arguably broken seven national security laws, and told Emily extensively about the work being done at Bell Labs on new miniaturized transistors. One polite site visit later, and hardly more effort than unbuttoning one button more than necessary, and she was essentially swimming in tiny black silicon transistors.

Soldering the last panel for her supercomputer, Emily laughed to herself at the folly of her good friend Gwendolyn’s advice. “Use tubes, Emily, they are cheaper, and easier to find!”. Gwendolyn was a dear sweet woman, and handy as she may have been with what sorts of logic sets were Turing Complete, she was out of her element when it came to ray gun design, most certainly.

Finished at last. Emily hastened to invite her entire knitting club over to see the finished product. Gwendolyn arrived first, followed by Cynthia and Cathy. Credit to the girls, they all arrived dressed to nines, even when it was ten fifteen in the morning. The fact that most of the ladies refused to wear anything but high heels had necessitated the welding of small stepping plates onto the entire launch gantry, costing Emily a week of time. Cynthia had badly burned herself with the acetylene torch, and had to rush home to prepare a turkey dinner for plausible deniability. The ladies were all eating turkey leftovers for a week after that.

Cathy let out a low whistle. Even she, having worked so hard on this project, was amazed by the result. A rocket in a silo beneath Emily’s swimming pool, banks and banks of telemetry equipment, the most complex radio remote system ever invented, and a satellite mounted ray gun that would give the ladies everything they had ever dreamed.

Gwendolyn looked in awe. “How did you solve the power issue? We never got the solar working”.

“Plutonium. Ten kilos of weapons grade plutonium” replied Emily.

“Shirt button?” Asked Gwendolyn, optimistically.

“That one was a blow job”. Emily replied, with slight distatse.

“Fucking feds.” Cathy added.

“Ladies.” began Emily, “Tomorrow is the fourth of July. And there will be enough uncontrolled fireworks going off that no one will notice our rocket launch. Cathy, do you have the hors d’ouvres prepared?”

Cathy nodded. Gwendolyn piped in “Everything is ready for the barbecue at my place. Norman is convinced it takes half an hour to prepare my “fresh” lemonade, and that should buy two of us at least enough time to launch the rocket. That reminds me, Cynthia, can you make some lemonade with me early tomorrow, and we’ll pop the rinds in the deep freeze?”

“Not a problem.” said Cynthia “I have airport radar resolved, but little Timothy still has the croup, and I missed the meeting on NORAD.”

“Awww!” Cooed Emily “How is little Timmy?”.

“I’ve got a wet compress on his head, and I gave him an aspirin.” said Cynthia.

“well, I hope he feel better for tomorrow, I made jello salad for the kids table, with marshmallows”. Said Emily. “But let’s get down to it. Between Cathy and I we have dispensed no fewer than eight blow jobs and 4 topless dances at NORAD, and their tracking won’t be a problem.”

“I’m all ready to make the broadcast announcement, and the helicopter is fueled” said Gwendolyn.

“Did you get that stain out of the cockpit seat?” Asked Cathy, tugging nervously at the hem of her immaculate silk cocktail dress.

“Baking soda” Replied Gwendolyn.

“The last decision is to choose a target, ladies.” said Emily. They looked at each other for a long time. none had given the target much thought. The silence continued for some time.

“Look, you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, and you can’t build an atomic death ray without irradiating a few cities.” said Emily.

“What about Moscow?” Cathy offered.

“Probably trigger a nuclear response. No, it has to be domestic”. Emily said.

“So Tokyo is out”. said Gwendolyn, sliding her cat-eye glasses up the bridge of her slightly upturned nose.

“I’m afraid so. plus, Japan is where I got all these transistors.” Emily said. The ladies all nodded in agreement.

There was another excruciating pause. Finally Cynthia spoke. “Chicago. Start with Chicago. If they don’t meet our demands, then… then move on to San Fransisco.” There was another pause, and the ladies all looked at each other, then nodded in agreement.

“Chicago it is. I never liked blues music.” said Emily. “there is only one more thing, girls. It’s time for the pillow fight in the soapy bubbles.” And with that, Emily pulled down hard on a lever, wild jazz began playing, and these 4 beautiful housewives/scientists had a lesbian orgy like you couldn’t possibly believe.