A Bump on the Head
The Shagah-Master had hit a bit of a rough spot. After a glorious year of love, sex, and extreme toe titillation, the Shagah-Mistress had left the Shagah-Master for parts unknown. In the wake of the abandonment, the Shagah-Master's string of franchised weekly bible encounters and Shagah strip clubs had been targeted by the US Department of Justice for trafficking in bad theology and even worse sex therapy. As a result all 144,000 of the franchises had been forcibly shut down.
Hello, there dear readers; I'm Nick Neercassel, Theological Private Eye (TPE), i.e., I work for the Commodore of the Cosmos. I won't mention my salary because there is not enough of one to mention.
The celestial cell phone was playing 'A Mighty Fortress is our God'. Third Heaven Central was calling.
"Nick here."
"God morning, Nick". It was Gabe, SLB (Slightly Lesser Being) 456347.
I replied with a phrase we TPEs thought never got old. "Howdy, Gabe, what's up?" I imagined Gabe suppressing a laugh.
"It's the Shagah-Master, Nick. We can't seem to find him."
I was somewhat taken aback. Ol' Shag, due to his usually vibrant and outgoing personality, was what we TPEs called an ETF (Easy-To-Find).
"But Shag is an ETF! Don't tell me the GPS (God Positioning System) is on the fritz again."
"It's working perfectly as do all things in the Third Heaven."
"Don't give me talking points, Gabe. What's really going on here?"
"We think the Shagah-Master is on the lam."
"You mean someone is after him? Any ideas on who it might be?"
"We're not sure but we do know of three groups that would be interested in finding him. One, the Nuevo Puritanos, two, Hell Chamber of Commerce, and three, the Free Will Electronic Cigarette Company."
"Thanks, Gabe, I'll get on it right away."
I poured another cup of coffee and went to the Internet. First up, the Nuevo Puritanos. Luckily, their world headquarters was in Monetta (remember the old tune 'nothing could be better than not to be in Monetta'), South Carolina which was only about twenty miles from my home slash office.
The Flying Belt (my Eastern European built SUV) had just undergone its latest resurrection. New tires, new transmission, and a new fuel converter that utilized Old Milwaukee. Sales of OM had plummeted in recent years and Third Heaven Intercelestial had negotiated a special deal to help out OM.
I decided there was no time like today, so I jumped in the Flying Belt and headed for Monetta.
THE END
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