"I'm hiding from that retroactive asshole," Moonvibes Laurence Windowpane whispered clandestinely.

Clifford thought for a moment. "Well, it's got a really good chance of working. Jerome-just-Jerome is in Tulsa, Oklahoma, trying to sneak into last week's Groovy Nasturtium concert."

"Fuck!" Moonvibes said, trying to get the circulation back in his frosty limbs.

"When a man like Jerome-just-Jerome 's dreams are shattered, when his causes are lost, he returns to the basic foundation of his life... The Groovy Nasturtiums," Clifford said solemnly as the entire bar raised their glasses in a salute.

Luci Damien trod onto the stage and made sure her G-string was slightly sharp. But before she could scream into the microphone, Daphne Bloodwash-Stilletto ran up to the stage and yanked the microphone out of her hand and screamed, "This is the Devil's music!"

"No shit," Luci sneered.

"It's the song of Satan! The lullaby of Lucifer! The ballad of Beelzebub!"

"Go away!" Luci hissed, in a voice about seven and one half octaves lower than normal, causing Professors Klaus and Jerund to lead the all-too-familiar dive for cover which was joined by random patrons who were also in the know.

"I will not go away!" Daphne screeched boldly/ignorantly. "The power of God will defeat the Prince of Darkness... the Foul Fiend... The Angel of the Bottomless Pit!"

A tad miffed at these gender-specific references, Luci glared into Daphne's eyes. "Shut the fuck up, bitch."

"You cannot silence the word of God!" Daphne said as she slowly twirled into the air while her clothes flew off in different directions, much to the delight of Professors Klaus and Jerund who managed to confiscate some flannel undergarments for their collection. Soon Daphne was plastered against the back wall, upside down and diagonal, her cellulite-covered body painted with Satanic symbols. Butch Stilletto, seeing his wife in danger, unlike anything he'd ever seen in the 'Nam, (with the possible exception of the Hai Li Offensive of '70, when he stormed into a Viet Cong futon factory, fell into the silk screen printer and was semi-permanently tatooed in a bold, teal leopard print and was accidentally sold as a love seat/hide-a-bed combo. Were it not for the Viet Cong's liberal return policy, he would be there to this day), rose to his call of glory and shot himself in the foot.

Clifford, having little sympathy for Daphne, but finding himself in perpetual fear for his liquor license, ordered Luci to stop. Daphne fell to the floor in a indignant, Christian heap.

Daphne screamed as she ran to the bathroom, reciting the 101st Psalm from the Good News Bible over and over. Luci looked at Clifford with a malevolent gleam in her eyes. "I believe that children are our future. Teach them well and let them make my day. This one's for all the Sunday School teachers! It's called 'Rob the Cradle!"

Youngsters in heat make me sweat
Hey, little boy, is your mommy home?
I'm not bringing candy this time
So let's play with syrup instead!

Rob the cradle
Rob the cradle
Rob the cradle
Fuck you!

Come here, my little Ken doll
It's time to play with Barbie now
I'm your wildest wet dream
Puppy love never tasted so good
.

Rob the cradle
Rob the cradle
Rob the cradle
Fuck you!

Since the bar was filled with regulars on this night and most of them had developed an amazing desensitivity towards Luci's antics, not much happened. This enraged Luci to no end and she had to resort to tearing her clothes off with the microphone stand to get any applause at all.

Buffy/Jacqueline marched triumphantly into the bar. "Pour me some of that Farkleberry Champagne, Clifford. I'm celebrating."

Clifford dusted off a bottle of June 14th vintage and piously popped the plastic cork. It sailed through the air in an ominous trajectory toward a Ming vase which had been left in the bar for God-only-knows-what-silly-reason for safe keeping. But Javelin MacLain pegged the cork with three darts, so it was no big deal except for the fact that the cork, diverted from its destructive course, landed in Marily Janice Snow's drink. She was startled, as it can be difficult to distinguish a hallucination from a plactic cork with three darts in it. But, as the cork did not begin to sing, evolve, or demonstrate any propensities towards violence, Marilyn merely requested a straw.

"So, what are you celebrating, Buffy?" Clifford queried.

"I've made the cover of Scientific Illuminati Digest again. They published the results of my follow-up experiment on cloning inanimate objects. Dog feces can now be artificially produced with scientific certainty," she said jubilantly.

"Congratulations," Clifford said generously. "Novelty shops will beat a path to your door."

"I don't care about the money," Buffy stated proudly. "Let's see those University of Utah pricks top this one!"

Moonvibes Laurence Windowpane ordered another Whoremonger beer from Clifford. Inexplicably, this caught Marilyn Janice Snow's attention. She turned to him and said, "Blorple snip Plymouth dup."

Moonvibes dredged into the hidden recesses of his mind and tried to remember that neat little trick that enabled one to translate acid-babble. "Thanks. I think you're attractive too."

Marilyn beamed and then, deliberately and with no subtlety whatsoever, stuck her tongue in his ear.

Moonvibes pondered the situation. On one hand, there was something inherently repulsive about a spaced-out acid queen probing his ear canal with such verve, but, on the other, it felt warm, squishy, and kinda nice.

"Flying werb turpin meat cantap?" Marilyn said as seductively as possible, considering her tongue was still in his ear.

Moonvibes felt a stirring inside that he hadn't felt since he was 12 and he and his parents chewed peyote tabs and went to their first love-in as a family. "The parking lot sounds pretty good," he replied.

They left the bar alternatively leading each other by the hand.

Moments later, Phlegm Smear stormed into the bar. Much to everyone's surprise he had on a nice Armani suit, manicured nails, slicked-back hair, and a conservative nosering.

"Did you meet that special girl?" Clifford asked, barely suppressing an omnipotent giggle.

Phlegm sneered sanctimoniously. "Praise Jesus in all His glory. My 'nads soar with joy under the light of my Redeemer."

"Just when you'd thought you'd heard them all..." Clifford mumbled.

At the sound of preaching, Daphne emerged from the Ladies' Room wearing a modest dress of sanitary toilet seat covers, accented with paper towels.

"Greetings in the name of the Only Begotten, sweet sister," Phlegm said seraphically.

Daphne circled him like a duck-billed platypus ready to dive upon a particularly juicy mudworm. "Godless heathen! Do you think sheep's clothing can disguise the wolf within your soul?"

"Bite my 'nads, skeptic," Phlegm crooned. "I am Phlegm the Resurrected. Saved by death from Angela, the Babe of Babes. She kissed me. Therefore, I do believe I rule."

"Give me a break," Clifford cringed.

"Blaspheming infidel!" she screamed, pointing a bony-but-righteous finger.

"Shut your bloody hole before I set your dress on fire, you fat sow," Phlegm warned out of the side of his mouth as he jumped on the bar and began to speak.

"Gather 'round, my lost brothers and sisters. I praise not to come on Angela, but to... Oh, fuck it. Where's Angela?" Phlegm finally spat out.

"She's not here right now," Clifford replied, "Would you like to leave a message?"

"Yes indeed I would," Phlegm said, hopping up onto the bar and screaming like an Evangelist with lots of tattoos. "Last night, I was a dead man, laying right there on that very table... And I found myself floating through the air... Floating toward this great white light... But I was not blinded by this light... No sir... In fact my body was prevented from going toward that light and I found myself drifting into darkness... I found myself drifting into the bowels of hell... Can I hear an Amen?"

"Why?" someone asked curiously.

"Fuck you," Phlegm replied. "But then I saw an angel, friends... I saw an angel with the face of our dear, sweet Angela... And at that point I found the Lord... I said, I found the Lord... Can I have an Amen?"

"You suck," someone called.

"Get off the bar, asshole," another screamed.

"Amen, brother," shouted Daphne.

"I am hear to testify that I have seen the light and am born again... From now on I am Phlegm the loving, Phlegm the caring, Phlegm the resurrected... I owe it all to Angela... And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind attention."

"Amen!" Daphne screamed.

"Blow me, you cow." Phlegm hopped off the bar, turned to Clifford and announced, "Bye, Cliff. I'm off to Sunday School." He skipped out of the bar, his combat boots scuffing the floor as Clifford scrambled to fill the sudden influx of drink orders.

Without warning the jukebox started playing Eddie Mangoo's forgettable remake of the "Benji's Love Theme" and the back entrance and front door opened simultaneously. In ultra slow-motion, P. Charles Charming began running from the back of the bar towards the front. In equally ultra slow-motion, Angela began running through the front door to the back, hair blowing delicately in wind that seemed to appear just for the occasion. All the patrons broke into buy-this-toothpaste smiles and sighed in unison. Luci smashed her guitar over Butch Stilletto's head, making him temporarily forget the pain in his foot as well as how to control basic body functions.

P. Charles Charming lifted Angela off the ground and, still in ultra slow-motion, swung her around and around while previously unseen autumn leaves drifted gently down from the rafters. Only when Charming and Angela were seated in their regular seats did the bar get back up to speed.

They spoke of rainbow connections, turning on their heart lights, some Sinatra tune they couldn't remember, and their groovy kind of love.

Angela looked at P. Charles Charming, brushed a leaf from her hair, smiled shyly, and said, "Can we talk about us for a moment?"

"I thought we were, snugglebunny," P. Charles Charming replied dreamily.

"I mean, without the cheesy sub-references."

"O.K. I'm game."

"I know right now we're having a lot of fun, and life is wonderful. But have you ever thought about what the future might hold? I mean, we haven't talked about it, but there are certain things I can't do."

"Angela," he said, taking her hand gently, "before I met you my life was an empty shell that I vainly tried to fill with the love of the orphans and the homeless people I helped. But then I met you. Now my life has meaning. Now I know what... love means."

They were briefly interrupted by the sounds of Luci Damian heaving violently into a nearby ashtray.

"Will you two shut the fuck up?" Luci spat. "You're giving me cramps."

Angela and Charming looked at each other and giggled that knowing little giggle that only lovers can giggle. And the rest of the bar sighed in unison.

"I never should have doubted you, darling," Angela said.

"That's O.K., sugerplum," Charming comforted, "I'm an Episcopalian."

"Telegram!" a voice cried out.

The voice belonged to no one important, just the telegram guy who gave the envelope to Buffy/Jacqueline Nobel, took his tip, and left. Jacqueline Nobel opened the telegram and tried to read it. She couldn't understand all the big, icky words so she put it in her purse and forgot about it.

Marilyn Janice Snow and Moonvibes Laurence Windowpane entered the bar from the parking lot, disheveled from their boinking session.

It was an interesting experience for Moonvibes, as Marilyn was only satisfied after she took on every figment she thought Moonvibes to be. Moonvibe's last words to Clifford before he passed out from exhaustion were, "Make love, not war!"

Marilyn smiled, licking a purple Smiley-face sticker repeatedly, and ordered a drink.

Suddenly there was a horrendous scream as Buffy had discovered the telegram in her purse, looked at it, and ran hysterically to the bathroom. Puzzled, Clifford retrieved the crumpled telegram and read it.

"MS NOBEL STOP UNIVERSITY OF UTAH SCIENTISTS HAVE DUPLICATED YOUR EXPERIMENT RESULTS WITH COMMON GREAT DANE STOP RESEARCH GRANT TERMINATED STOP PROFESSIONAL REPUTATION OBLITERATED STOP GET A LIFE BIMBO STOP BOTH OF YOU STOP LOVE DAD END"

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Buffy was tearing at her hair, clawing at her eyes, and ripping at her clothes, before arriving at the Ultimate Decision. She began rummaging through her purse for an instrument of death. Discarding the gyroscope as too impractical, the slide-rule as being too slow, and the nail file as too barbaric, Buffy began mixing nail polish, crushed lipstick, disposable douche, liquid foundation, Alka-Seltzer, contact lens solution, and a dusty wintergreen Lifesaver (the one that's supposed to spark when you bite it) into a deadly concoction that would have made Socrates wince.

With trembling hands buffy held the dastardly brew to her lips, before suddenly going, "Ooooh, yucky-poo." Jacqueline looked around, confused. Unabled to comprehend the circumstances surrounding her, she tossed the venomous mixture into the trash can. Humming a happy little tune, she rummaged through her purse for her makeup, only to be baffled by the fact that she couldn't find any. Step by step, inch by inch, she moved towards the mirror, caught sight of how "totally grody" she was, and let loose with a hellish scream.

Back in the bar, Luci perked right up.

Clifford was looking rather nervous. "Would someone check on Buffy or Jacqueline?" he asked.

"You own this dump," Luci retorted. "I just add the ambiance. Check on her yourself."

Realizing that dealing with bathroom hysteria was one of the crosses the modern-day Messiah had to bear, he hiked up his pants and steadfastly shuffled to the bathroom. There on the grungy linoleum floor lie the lifeless body of Buffy/Jacqueline Nobel. The official coroner's report would read, "Death by asphyxiation." Only Clifford and some well-placed city officials knew that the actual cause of death was an extra-large-ultra-absorbent tampon that Jacqueline had inserted down her throat before taking a quick, final drink of water.

After the coroners had left and the bar was nearly emptly, Luci sat on the bar cross-legged, rummaging through Ms. Nobel's purse, keeping the artifacts she liked.

Clifford glared at her with disapprobatoin. "Stop gloating. Show some respect."

Luci reached into the purse and pulled out a plastic bag full of cloned dog excrement. "And this is all we have to remember her by. She will be missed."

Clifford just threw up his hands. "Suicide. Twice. Free will. Twice. Point to Luci."

"Why not two?" Luci queried.

"One soul... Two personalities... One point... I don't make the rules, I just work here."

"This is so sad," Angela said.

"Speaking of which, I file a protest against Angela," Luci said in all seriousness.

"For what?" Clifford and Angela both replied.

"For revealing her identity to that Snot guy... You heard him speaking... He said he saw you in a vision and you kept him from dying."

"You know I didn't do any such thing," Angela replied.

"Bullshit."

Clifford separated the two. "Angela didn't do that... She just happened to be the first thing he saw the other day after you knocked him unconscious... It was all your doing, Luci."

"This fucking sucks!" Luci wailed. "Either you give me a penalty point or we have sex right now, Clifford... I mean it!"

Clifford stood, stunned, until Luci burst out laughing and had to go to the bathroom.

Angela and Clifford watched Luci leave and then Angela turned and said, "Let me buy you a drink, Clifford."

Clifford shrugged and took her up on it. "Father warned me there'd be days like these. Cheers."

Marilyn Janice Snow, whose shuttle had not yet landed, stared into her drink as Barney and Baby Bop battled to the death on a wayward ice cube, while Hootie and the Blowfish tore off their skins to reveal that, yes, they were all Rodney Allen Rippy. While Barney slammed Baby Bop's head into the glass to victory, Rodney, Rodney, Rodney, and Rodney tightly harmonized an industrial version of "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B."

And she ran screaming from the bar.