"Hi, Cliffy," Luci said. "How's it hangin'?"

"Very ethereally," he replied gruffly.

"Oh, lighten up, Cliffy. There's mystery and magic in the air again tonight."

"Maybe for you," Clifford answered, resurrecting the rose bush Luci had killed the night before. "I think I have hemorrhoids."

"You want me to kiss them and make them better?" Luci growled.

"Ouch! Stop making my butt pucker," commanded Clifford.

Luci stretched out on the bar sensuously and looked at Clifford. For nearly two millenia, there had been this sort of amatory tension between them. At least, as much as there could be with a messiah sworn to celibacy for all eternity for some bizarre reason having something to do with begatting and its place in the universe. But Luci felt it had more to do with role models. Whenever a child grew up and realized that he was the product of sex between his parents, it changed the child's perspective on life. Clifford had the burden of a virgin mother, immaculate conception, and God as the old man to live with. Imagine trying to sneak a cigarette in that environment. Then there was his stepfather, Joseph, who had to be a little cranky, being married to a babe, but not getting any, cruising into town for a census and hoping to slip away and troll for some Bethlehem chicks while Mary was yukking it up with three wise guys. That kind of home life had to feel a little dysfunctional to the poor guy. Then, on top of it all, to be trained as a carpenter in the desert, which by definition had no trees to use as wood, had to make prospects seem bleak at the time.

"What do you know about it?" Clifford said defensively, having read her mind.

"Just seeing if you cared enough to listen," Luci smiled, rolling over onto her stomach. "It's my job to tempt, yours to decline, Angela's to say 'eew'. I'd say we have our roles pretty well ironed out after all this time."

"You were good once," Clifford commented.

"You used to hang around hookers, too, as I recall."

"I guess we've come full circle then."

Luci raised her eyebrows. "Cliffy! You made a joke."

This witty reparte was interrupted as Daphne Bloodwash-Stilletto strode into the bar and glanced around at the scattered patrons. "Praise, Jesus!" she hallooed with all the self-righteousness her inbred 79 I.Q. could muster.

"I hate that fucking bitch," Luci said.

"We don't disagree about everything after all," Clifford replied, most unremitantly.

Luci hopped off the bar and went over to Daphne. "I got fucked so hard last night I can barely walk," she commented, torching up a cigarette without a lighter.

"I'm a Christian," Daphne replied haughtily. "I don't approve of people like you and your lifestyle."

"You're a Christian?" Luci said, in mock amazement.

"Of course."

"Then I guess you have to forgive me," she said, twisting Daphne's nipples until they were all erect and perky and leaving Daphne without any response whatsoever.

In celebration, Luci hopped up on stage, made sure her G-string was slightly sharp, and screamed into the microphone, "Music soothes the savage boobs! This one's for Kasey Casem! It's called, 'Death to the Top 40 Fuckers!'"

I hope that Jon Bon Jovi dies
I hope that Coolio dies
I hope that Mariah Carey dies
I hope that Whitney Houston dies

Death to the Top 40 Fuckers
Death to the Top 40 Fuckers
Death to the Top 40 Fuckers
Fuck you!

I hope that Janet Jackson dies
I hope that John Mellencamp dies
I hope that Sammy Hagar dies
I hope that Madonna dies

Death to the Top 40 Fuckers
Death to the Top 40 Fuckers
Death to the Top 40 Fuckers
Fuck you!

Daphne Bloodwash-Stilletto had a holy fire in her eyes as she spied a hapless sinner sitting at the bar, staring at her hand and breaking and breaking into periodic gales of laughter. Marilyn Janice Snow was minding her own business, swapping witty little anecdotes in the Siswati street dialect with the elderly 5-inch black man that was standing on her hand, trying to be subtle as he peeked down her blouse.

"All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God," Daphne began righteously.

"Flump abt gilga blub," Marilyn said seriously, staring directly into the huge unblinking eye on Daphne's left shoulder. "Pidel pong dip dong?"

Wishing she had the gift of tongues, and knowing that because she didn't, this child must be possessed by Satan, Daphne calmly reached into her purse and pulled out a Reverend Jeremiah signature extra-strength 'cause-Jesus-loves-a-donor Holy Water Dispenser and unceremoniously dumped it on her head. "Out, damned spot!" she screamed.

An obedient, but confused labrador who was calmly minding his own business, sniffing at the crotches of Professors Klaus and Jerund who, in their senility, mistook the friendly animal for a particularly promiscuous lap dancer from the Thee Booby Trap, kept slipping Spot five-dollar bills, which the dog had hoped to spend on a car of his own to chase in his retirement and was only twenty dollars short of this goal when he was rudely ordered out of the bar by the annoying woman with the screechy voice.

Marilyn, who believed that her brains were seeping out her skull, ordered a sniffo korf zoin. Clifford didn't hesitate as he threw together a chocolate milk and tequila with sand around the rim.

Zealous as ever, Daphne switched tactices. "You're going to burn in Hell you unsanctified defiler of the holy temple!"

Marilyn began to giggle.

Phlegm Smear, seeing that he was suddenly in a holy turf war, shouted in Marilyn's left ear, "Praise Jesus, Son of the Almighty or I'll braid your tits!"

Marilyn began to laugh.

Daphne, who felt the exorcism route was the way to go, began to grind garlic cloves onto Marilyn's legs while reciting the Ten Commandments at the top of her lungs.

Marilyn laughed harder, and Clifford began to snicker.

Phlegm, unable to think of an appropriate bumper sticker slogan, spat on Daphne and called her a bitch. Daphne responded by turning the other cheek, which was promptly spat upon as well.

Marilyn laughed so hard she fell of her stool. Clifford joined in, and the other patrons began to chuckle.

Daphne began to grind her heel into Marilyn's forehead while thumping Phlegm in the loins with the Old Testament.

Tears were pouring out of Marilyn's eyes. Clifford was on the floor holding his sides. Luci and several other patrons began giggling uncontrollably and had to go to the bathroom.

Phlegm and Daphne began exchanging blows. The patrons were in hysterics. Marilyn began hyperventilating. Daphne punched Phlegm soundly on the nose. Phlegm, resorting to the tactics of his anarchist days, tore off Daphne's blouse. As the dust rose, the laughter in the bar only increased. Daphne, realizing the degree of her indecency, tried to run into the bathroom, but the line was so long she opted for the back door.

Phlegm jumped up and down in victory, emitting squeaky putrescent moldy victory farts which permeated the air and only caused greater laughter. In fact, no one in Orlando had laughed this hard since the fall of 1989 when the Kumquat Sashay went amok and some miscreants sneaked into the parade with a float that consisted of local business leaders dressed as sperm cells bouncing off a trampoline and trying to land on nubile, young women while Senior members of the Orlando Country Club formed an all nude, fat, white, male human pyramid and sang "Oh, Tannenbaum" with lit sparklers inserted up their butts. A good time was had by all.

Order was quickly restored to the bar when the .the sticky-sweet saccarin strains of Tony Tightbuns, "Will You Dance With Me, Mom?" oozed into the cracks and crevices of The Dirty Dwarf. Luci glared at the jukebox and blew it up. V.D., extremely tired of losing so much money this way, went to Clifford and demanded her quarter back.

Angela, who was waiting for her incredibly significant other to return from his weekly round purchasing and distributing blankets for the homeless, walked over to George Phoenix' booth to say hello.

"Hello," Angela said.

George Phoenix, who incorrectly assumed he was safely out of the narrative at this point, remained unblinking and simply said, "Hi."

Angela remained unfazed. "Every day I see you sitting naked, in the darkest corner of the bar, wearing only white socks and a flower... That's unique."

"I'm waiting for my prophecy to be fulfilled."

"Prophecy?"

"At a moment predestined, I will see the man who is my genetic twin and has my same name," George explained matter-of-factly.

"Oh. Well, it was nice talking to you." Angela walked away.

Moonvibes sat in the corner reading about the life of Jim Morrison when a demure voice softly asked, "Excuse me. Do you have a light?"

Moonvibes's nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled the faint odor of penicillin. "No," said Moonvibes, "but I'll get one. Wait here."

Veronica shrugged and smiled sweetly, but before she could walk away, Moonvibes came back with a lighter.

"God, you're beautiful," Moonvibes said as he lit V.D.'s cigarette.

V.D. began coughing. "I haven't heard that one in a long time."

Moonvibes felt an unusual sense of confidence as he looked into her eyes and said, "Right now I just have one question... Why aren't we having sex right now?"

V.D. shrugged, smiled sweetly and said, "Probably because we still have our clothes on."

Within the next 30 seconds, they'd paid their tabs, gone out into the parking lot, undressed, and were going at it fast and furious on the hood of his Porshe 911.

P. Charles Charming, politely averting his eyes, walked past V.D. and Moonvibes as they consumated their lust. He entered the bar, found Angela, and sat down in their usual booth. He had a wistful smile on his face, and kept feeling around in his watch pocket.

"Hello, Charles," Angela said, "How did your work go tonight?"

"Excuse me?" he responded distractedly, "Oh... fine."

They exchanged idyllic, silly patter for a few moments before P. Charles Charming suddenly jumped up from the booth, got down on one knee, pulled an elegant ring box from his watch pocket, and cleared his throat nervously. He had a sneaking suspicion that Angela knew what he was about to ask, when he saw those banal little cupids flying around doing those banal little cupid things. Luci Damian sat cross-legged on the jukebox, rolling her eyes and grimacing fiercely as thunder rumbled outside.

"Darling, will you marry me?"

Angela couldn't speak. She just nodded as fireworks exploded over their heads and everyone swarmed around with congratulations.

P. Charles Charming opened the ring box... It was empty. "This is such a faux-pas. I'm terribly embarrassed. I must have left it in the car. I'll be right back, darling." Charles rushed out to the parking lot.

Once outside, the rain began to pour, although not hard enough to thwart the throes of passion of Moonvibes and V.D., who were still bumping fuzz on Moonvibe's Porshe.

The first bolt of lightning struck P. Charles Charming as he touched the handle of his car. He was thrown backwards, his shoes knocked off, and his hair smouldering. He struggled to his feet as the second bolt of lightning struck him and threw him onto the hood of his car. The third time lightning struck him and flipped his feet onto the roof of the car, his head onto the hood, his arms outstretched.

The bar spilled into the parking lot. Moonvibes and V.D. both reached an orgasm of Biblical proportions just as the third bolt of lightning hit nearby. Moonvibes looked up, exhausted, and gasped in horror at the horribly contorted, smoldering mass that once was P. Charles Charming. At that moment, Moonvibes Laurence Windowpane felt all of the suffering of all of the souls of men who died before their time. He threw his head back, rain and tears mingling as they poured down his face, and screamed the primal cry of injustice as he felt the beginning of some seriously nasty burning of his own dripping from his dick.

Marilyn Janice Snow, hair plastered to her face, heard the screams of horrified anguish as Angela realized the truth of what had happened. V.D. was curled up, nude, in the fetal positiion on the hood of the Porshe, sobbing. And Clifford Godson cursed the heavens for the first time anyone could recall. Out of the mist of this Danse Macabre' emerged the laughing face of Luci Damian, who stuck out her tongue, and removed a diamond ring which she tossed on Angela's lap. "I suppose Angela wins that point... huh?" Luci said with a demonic grin as she passed by Clifford and went to make herself a nice rare steak with maybe just a little salt and pepper and that special Cajun spice that Clifford kept around somewhere.

And Marilyn ran screaming from the bar...