Joxer, on the other hand, hadn't fared so well.
"That oughtta hold him for awhile," said Gretchen as she stood back and admired her handiwork.
Joxer was buried in the sand; his head the only thing visible above the surface of the beach. Stacey and Ramona had graciously donated their cosmetic cases to Gretchen's cause as Sonja ran a 500 foot extension cord from the now empty cabana bar to their patch of punishment. It had taken barely 15 minutes for Gretchen to turn the warrior wannabe into a reasonable facsimile of Miss Tammy Faye Bakker after a three day bender. His endless weeping only added to the effect.
"Stop crying, baby!" Stacey yelled at him. "Your mascara is running!"
"A girl can never wear too much blue eye shadow, you know." Sonja
taunted.
"He makes Dame Edna and the Widow Twanky look like runway models for Isaac Mizrahi," quipped Ramona.
"Who?" The clueless Sonja and Stacey asked in unison.
"Karl Lagerfeld?" the chemist offered. Neither woman blinked. "Versace?" There was still no hint of recognition in their eyes. "Jaclyn Smith?"
"Oh yeah!" laughed Stacey. "Kmart!"
"His eyelids are like two tiny blue light specials!" snorted Sonja.
"Bwahahaha!" Stacey rolled on the ground in hysterics.
Ramona, concerned for Stacey and Sonja's mental well-being, searched for some sign of sanity. She found it in Gretchen's arched eyebrow.
"Let's finish this and get out of here," said their fearless leader who was silently chastising herself for using the last of her duct tape to cover Joxer's mouth. We might all be better off if I shut the two of them up, she admitted to herself. To go one day without Stacey's incessant whining and Sonja's insipid versions of Kumbaya and Red River Valley would be like tasting the nectar of the Gods...
Not one to dwell on what could have been, Gretchen set to work on painting a bright red frown where Joxer's mouth should be. "We're going to leave you with some entertainment," she spoke directly to her captive as Ramona placed a pair of headphones over Joxer's ears. "In a couple hours, the tide will come in and you will be electrocuted. If you're lucky, someone will find you before then," Gretchen stated matter-of-factly. She put a cap on the borrowed tube of lipstick that she was holding and stood. "Ramona? Would you?" she nodded toward the nearby boombox.
"It would be my pleasure," the chemist replied as she pushed the play and repeat buttons on the CD player. The volume was so high that strains of Phranc's version of I Enjoy Being a Girl emanated from the tiny speakers affixed to Joxer's head for all to hear.
"Do you really think he'll fry?" asked a suddenly concerned Sonja.
"Nah," Gretchen replied as they turned their backs on the petrified man in make-up. "The tide won't reach this far..."
"But..." Stacey began to complain.
"But he doesn't know that," Gretchen's lips twisted into a smirk that would make Callisto proud. "And anticipation is its own reward..."
"Huh?" Stacey said quietly.
Sonja shrugged and made a mental note to not piss Gretchen off as the four women headed back to the slumbering resort.
"G'day, mate," stated actor Russell Crowe. A light sheen of sweat graced his tan forehead. He was clad in full Gladiator gear. "I reckon your feet are fair tired following the walkabout you've been on." He rubbed a particularly sensitive part of Rich's foot.
"Oh God, yes!" The corporate trainer blurted. Russell's eyes twinkled with mischievous delight as he carried on with his ministrations.
"Would you like a drink, Richard?" asked an approaching Jon Bon Jovi. He was dressed in a pair of black lycra shorts and a mesh tank top.
"What?" Rich had only caught the last word of Jon's question, so enraptured was he by the touch of the Kiwi-born Crowe.
"Can I get you a drink?"
Rich's beauty-starved eyes swept hungrily over the singer's well-defined muscles. "Uh..."
"He don't want a drink," a swim trunk-wearing Brad Pitt laughed and patted Rich on the shoulder. "He wants to go swimming with the guys..."
"Dude, yeah!" cheered a Speedo-wearing Keanu Reeves, who covered his head instinctively as Brad did a cannonball into the pool next to where he stood.
Good gravy... thought Rich. I must have died and gone to Hunk Heaven. A warm stream of drool began to run down the side of his chin.
"Let me get that for you, my Lord," offered the Academy Award winning Crowe. No one was more surprised (or aroused) than Rich when the actor leaned forward and began lapping up the spittle with his tongue.
His tongue... Rich closed his eyes and sighed inwardly. His small...dry...quick...tongue... How peculiar... The well-paid inspirational speaker felt as if his world was shifting around him. He opened his eyes slowly, the surrounding forest coming into focus. He blinked a few times and found that he was lying on the ground, the light of early dawn peeking through the trees above him. A large komodo dragon, perched firmly next to him on a flat rock, rhythmically flicked its tongue at the tiny sand fleas that had decided to make a home in his scruffy beard. Rich turned his head a fraction of an inch to come eye to eye with the offending creature.
"Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeee!!!" he squealed and jumped to his feet. The critter scurried away, its fear nearly matching that of the day it was assaulted by a rampaging Sharon Stone.
"Where the hell...?" Rich tried to get a bearing on his location as he looked around, scratching his flea-bitten chin. His hand moved unconsciously to the spot on his neck where a powerful tranquilizer had been injected hours earlier.
What's the last thing you remember, Rich? He wondered to himself. Following Colleen into the woods and then...And then what? He was at a total loss. Visions of K-Y jelly flittered before his eyes and he remembered everything: Colleen, the strange snow... and Burnett.
Rich began to seethe at the Aussie’s double cross. But like any good corporate consultant, he decided to follow the money. "I need to remain calm. Burnett didn't know about Colleen and the snow or how Xena and Gabe got on the island.... Maybe Burnett is...is...fallible?"
Rich gasped. Something...or someone...on the island had more power than Burnett!
"And if I want the money and Gabe... I've got to figure out who or what it is."
Rich headed deeper into the jungle.
Probst was headed toward the Survivor camp when two long hands grabbed him from behind, delivering a quick nerve pinch that knocked him unconscious. Mezzo and godconnie stepped from behind the bushes as the cameramen scattered into the woods.
"OK, I'm gonna zap you," said Mezzo to godconnie.
"Zap me? What for? I thought you were going to be Probst."
"Can't. No dimples," said Mezzo. "Now, stand still and let me zap you." Mezzo reached into her back pocket where she kept a small notebook.
"What? You can't, like, zap some dimples onto yourself?" asked the incredulous godconnie. "I don't want to be Probst. He's all…smarmy and hairy. I don't like him."
Probst began to regain consciousness. Mezzo rolled her eyes at godconnie and began scribbling in her notebook. Ropes and a gag suddenly appeared on the man. Mezzo turned her attention back to her fellow goddess.
"I haven't gotten far enough into my powers to conjure up dimples! They're complex and, well, I just can't do it," said Mezzo.
"You mean you don't want to do it. You don't want to be Probst," accused godconnie.
"Oh, please. I have green eyes, he has brown…like you. I don't have
dimples, he has dimples…like you. Turning you into Probst is easier on
my zapping powers," explained a surprisingly patient Mezzo who, indeed, had no wish to be Probst. "Besides," she added mischievously, switching into woo-the-Scorpio mode (as godconnie was born under the sign of Scorpio). "How could even a fabulous goddess like me re-create dimples like yours?"
"Well..." mused godconnie, turning to look at the gagged Probst. "You
do have a point."
Mezzo rolled her eyes and muttered. "Scorpios. Just flatter their egos
and…"
"What did you say?" asked godconnie, narrowing her eyes at Mezzo.
"Wormhole," said Mezzo. "I hope a wormhole doesn't open up and eat Probst. Now stand still."
Mezzo squinted, concentrated, scrunched and wiggled her fingers. She
picked up her pen and began scribbling in the notebook. The fan fic goddess increased her writing speed until sparks flew out in jagged, green and purple streams of light that leapt from the paper to surround godconnie. In an instant, gc looked just like Probst.
"Mwafdafu?!" exclaimed a bug-eyed Probst from behind his gag.
godconnie looked down at her own body only to find it transformed. "My breasts! They're gone!"
"Yes, but look on the bright side," Mezzo offered. "You've always wondered what it would be like to have abs of steel like ROC's and Probst's ain't that shabby."
godconnie lifted her shirt to verify Mezzo's claim. "Is that a treasure trail?" gc gasped upon seeing the line of hair leading from her bellybutton down into her trousers.
The green-eyed goddess suppressed a giggle. "Just wait until you see
what it leads to."
"You didn't!" Dark eyes glared at her.
Mezzo shrugged, "I had to make you convincing."
"B...b...but..." the dimpled darling stammered. "Nobody's going to see me naked!"
"Hey, Probst is a red-blooded, American boy," the writer explained. "And you're going to be surrounded by beautiful women... Certain things must happen in order to maintain the illusion."
"Certain things must happen?" gc repeated. "What are you talk..." Mezzo raised one perfect eyebrow as godconnie realized all too well what she was talking about. "Oh nononononono!" the sultry Scorpio waved her hands in protest. "That is not going to happen!"
"How are you going to stop it?" Mezzo asked, thoroughly enjoying her fellow goddess’ discomfort. "Especially when you look into those emerald eyes of the battlin' bard?" she teased.
A lone bead of sweat ran down gc's chiseled back. "Well, I whispered in her ear earlier and nothing happened."
"But Gabrielle was frozen then," Mezzo grinned. "And you weren't a man."
gc gulped. Hard.
"Go get 'em, tiger!" Mezzo slapped her apprehensive co-author on the rump.
"I will get you for this," the brown-eyed beauty said menacingly.
"Not if I finish the fanfic before you get the opportunity to retaliate," Mezzo taunted.
"Fat chance," gc grumbled as she walked away.
Mezzo's smile faded as godconnie disappeared from view. "I am in so
much trouble."
"Mmmfff!!!" The real Probst struggled to call for help.
"Quiet!" shouted Mezzo. "Or I'll turn you from a rooster to a hen in no time flat!"
