THE WONDROUS FABU-FRIENDZ:
THE MEDIA MUNCHKIN
STRIKES BACK
Recap: Tea at the Keep is interrupted when evildoers bomb Fabulanna. One of their targets is the Sweetiecave, and LCM and Mumsey barely make it out alive before they are snatched up in a vise-like grip and left to dangle in mid-air. . .
CHAPTER TWO: WHOOPS, THERE GOES THE ISLAND
The gasping supermodel kicked and wriggled in the vise-like grip that was now clutching the nape of his catsuit, trying to see who had picked them up THIS time. Oh, please, divinity sweetie, let it not be the Salvation Army again -- their uniforms are just SO last century. . .
What he saw made him desperate for a Stoli. Oh, yes, the head was fabulous -- lots of golden hair sculpted in ringlets, blue eyes you could simply dive into and swim around, cut-glass cheekbones, a firm yet tender mouth that you ached to trace with a finger. But the body -- was this some sort of Iron Man acid flashback? It almost looked like Gorgeous Head was--
"Wearing a power suit," a voice explained. LCM wriggled some more, managing to torque himself around far enough to see Peter and Melanie standing next to the metal-suited hunk. "I thought it would come in handy if we had to dig anyone out of collapsed buildings. Jan, you can put them down, now," he added.
"Ja, myheer."
LCM and Mumsey screeched as they were dumped unceremoniously onto the rubble. "You BITCH!" LCM howled, rolling over onto Mumsey and making her squeak in pain. "YOU TORE MY WESTWOOD! I'LL HAVE YOU PUMMELLED FOR THIS!"
"Isn't gratitude wonderful?" Peter said conversationally, hunkering down to the glaring supermodel's level. "Seriously, darling, cool your jets -- Jan already did a medscan and neither of you are hurt, although it looks like it's time for Mumsey's annual dry-out in the Swiss sanitarium."
"RUDE! Besides which, they won't let her back into the country after the Pink Punchbag threatened to embargo Godiva," LCM said more conversationally, clutching at his wig. "But Peter, what in the seven levels of hell are you doing NOW? Your little internecine wars with the Princess are all very amusing, sweetie, but trashing my pied-a-terre in your ongoing quest to demonstrate your penis size is going just a little too far!"
Melanie rolled her eyes. "Uh, could we do this later?" she asked.
Peter ignored her and arched an eyebrow. "Not that you'll ever find out first-hand, but I don't have to demonstrate anything," he said to LCM silkily, reaching up to caress Jan's face. The Nederlander erupted with a goofy smile.
"Hey, guys--"
LCM's eyebrow arched even higher. "Oh, please, sweetiedarling -- tinfoil toyboy or no, that flying testicle you call a Keep would provide Freud with a whole new career," he cooed. "Size queen doesn't do it justice -- size empress, perhaps? Maybe you should use that matter transmitter thingiewhatzit and beam yourself a couple of extra inches, just so we don't have to look at your penile substitute displays anymore?"
Peter's lip curled in a sneer. "Has-been."
"Gimboid," LCM whipcracked back.
"Polyester addict."
"Trekkie."
"K-mart shopper."
LCM gasped. "Oh, you BITCH!"
"OI!"
They broke off, glaring at Melanie, who was tapping her foot. "Ooh, tres Cockney," LCM sniffed disdainfully, lighting up a glamorous DuMaurier.
"Look, kids, we don't have TIME for this!" Melanie snapped. "LCM, Peter had nothing to do with this. Whoever did it fired on the Keep first, then started concentrating on Fabulanna."
She waved at the once-glittering isle, now covered with a dense pall of smoke rising from numerous fires. From what they could see, large areas of the island's greenbelt had been blown to smithereens, and many structures had taken direct hits -- the Canalhouse was blazing merrily, the Andrew Lloyd Webber Pavilion was a pile of shattered marble, and a large hole gaped in the side of the Rose Chateau, home of the Pink Princess, Fabulanna's co-founder and despotic ruler. Dead lesbians and Marcel littered the ground, and the occasional body of a Winged Monkey could be seen here and there, still twitching from the sonic blast that had knocked them out of the sky.
"Oh, my overies and underies. Quelle disaster, to quote the Godiva God-Monster," LCM said, a single crystalline tear hanging from a beaded lash. "Speaking of disasters, Melanie, the Wookie hairdo really isn't you, sweetie -- talk to my stylist, no, I insist." He dug in his handbag and absentmindedly pressed a sticky speeding ticket into her hand, then continued, "Now, darlings, I think we really do need to go and talk to the Princess -- she's the nominal ruler of this dump, so naturally this is her fault." Sniffing, LCM hauled Mumsey up and started tottering towards the Rose Chateau. "She probably didn't make her donation to the Democratic Party on time, and NATO delivered a little reminder. In any case, I intend to file a complaint -- this absolutely RUINED my priceless collection of Boli/Stoli bottles."
"Yeah, that'll take you a whole afternoon to rebuild," Melanie muttered.
"I HEARD that, you trollop."
But it wasn't to be so simple. When they arrived at the smoldering Rose Chateau, the scene was chaos. Flying Monkeys were hopping on every available perch, chittering mournfully, while Emma, the Pink Princess's faithful servant and general dogsbody, dashed around in a soot-stained apron, her maid's hat askew. 
"Thank Godiva you're here," she wailed. "It was horrible, simply horrible -- I was in the middle of preparing Her Highness's afternoon crème brûlée, when we were attacked!"
"Yes, we kind of guessed that," Peter said, fingering a shredded scrap of silk wallpaper. "So where is Pinkzilla?"
Emma's nostrils flared at the insult. "Her HIGHNESS," she enunciated icily, "is in her boudoir, resting, and she has given orders not to be disturbed. During the attack, her entire stockpile of Godiva was set ablaze, and I'm afraid that the shock has quite unnerved her."
"Oh, fie on that, sweetie," LCM said airily, tapping an ash on Emma's head "The old baggage is in charge of this place -- she should be up and doing something Diana-like, such as vomiting or shaking hands with injured Marcel for photo ops." He leaned over to Melanie. "After all, it's the easiest way of putting them out of their misery -- a close-up of the Great Pink Thing should count as a mercy killing, shouldn't it, darling?" He looked closer. "By the way, we *have* been indulging in the Tammy Faye Bakker school of makeup application, haven't we?"
Before the insults could properly get underway, a tall, exquisitely dressed gentleman stomped into the foyer. "Where IS she?" demanded Frank.
"Boudoir," Peter said, pointing up the Grand Staircase. Emma automatically threw herself on the stairs, blocking the route. "Apparently she doesn't want to be disturbed -- personally, I think she just wants to duck the lawyers who are going to be suing her Great Pink Butt for lax building codes--"
"To hell with that," Frank screamed. "Joe's been kidnapped!"
Can order be restored to a smouldering Fabulanna? Who's made off with the Groovilious Rakoon Torche this time? And why does he keep winding up at the center of these nefarious plots, anyway? Find out in Chapter Three of THE WONDROUS FABU-FRIENDZ: THE MEDIA MUNCHKIN STRIKES BACK!
