"Oh forget it," Todd sulks.
He's pissed because Buck has been making the beast with two backs with his girlfriend, Angie.
"I already did," Buck says. "She looked goddamned jam hot in that damp tee-shirt. But she's just a kid really. She needs to do some pelvic floor exercises and work on tightening her grip. If you get my drift."
"You bastard!" Angie gasps.
"Did I come at an inconvenient time?" Madame Bitters asks, a frown creasing her brow. "I wouldn't want to do that," she says.
"Just ignore these guys," Buck says offhandedly. "They're just a bunch of horny kids, one of whom has a karaoke fixation with Gloria Gaynor's 'I Will Survive'."
"Oh I love that song!" Madame Bitters says. "It's a feminist anthem, a diatribe of female empowerment."
"Exactly," Angie says gloomily. "But Mister Monster cock here says I need to tighten up, get a better grip and stuff."
"Just telling it like it is baby..." Buck says.
"Mister Monster cock?" Madame Bitters says, her eyes lighting up, her cheeks flushing, her bosom heaving, and her knees rubberising.
"That's what people call me," the grizzled warrior Buck says. "Like it's my fault I have an anaconda in my pants..."
"I think I need to sit down," Madame Bitters says. "Nothing to do with heady thoughts of outsized cocks, you understand. It's just that I work long hours at the bakery. Anaconda...shit..."
Fran is really pissed off by this time. Initially she's had to compete with Angie and the damp cleavage, and Lola with the everlasting legs and the sexy lips. Now she has to compete with a Texas baker with a nice line in chocolate fudge cake.
Maybe I should change tack, she thinks. Maybe I should sex it up a little. Maybe that straining erection that Johnny Boy is struggling so desperately unsuccessfully to disguise is intended for me.
Fuck it, she thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound. She mumbles something and then goes to the camper's sleeping area. This camper van is a Tardis style creation, dear reader. Unlike a real camper van, which is usually pretty cramped, this camper van is the size of a five star hotel inside. And we can get away with that because this is a work of fiction.
"So, what kind of cakes did you bring us?" Nick asks Madame Bitters. He's weighing up the potential here. She's probably twelve or thirteen years older than him, but she looks mighty fine, and she has that glint in her eye...
"I brought along some chocolate fudge cake," she says in her beautiful Texan drawl. "Some itty bitty angel cakes, a few slices of Battenburg, and some Black Forest Detox."
"Black Forest Detox?" Lola snaps. "What the hell is that when it's in residence?"
"It's a chocolate cream cake with raspberry jelly and it's positively laced with Jamaican rum. I mean lacedTwo slices of this shit and your average Jack is as drunk as a skunk."
Nick is eyeing up Madame Bitters throughout. Her voice is real sexy, a little oo-boopy-doo like the late Marilyn Monroe - who probably never dreamt that she would one day feature in a horror spoof on a popular satirical website such as www.TheSpoof.com (am I forgiven now for the Keira Knightley story you pulled Mark? Come on guy, I'm plugging the site here for all I'm worth!)
"I'll have some Black Forest Detox, if that's okay," Todd says. "My girl just shared a bed with that gun-slinging yankee tough guy there. I feel like getting wasted."
"Why certainly," Madame B says, passing Todd a slice of the intoxicating confection on a cake plate, with a little three pronged fork. "Do you know how to use chopsticks Todd, honey?" she asks.
"Yes I do," Todd says. "Why do you ask?" He crams his mouth full of Black Forest Detox. It's pretty heady stuff for cake.
"It's just that using chopsticks correctly is indicative of digital dexterity, and digital dexterity is something a lady sometimes truly can appreciate..."
By this time, Nick is almost drooling. All thoughts of upside down hanging flayed and staked out zombie hoodies have left him.
He sees only Madame Bitters.
He is falling in love.
Madame Bitters fascinates him. She is something akin to a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Scarlett O'Hara.
Just then, Buck, the grizzled world weary warrior freezes.
Fran emerges from the bedroom. She looks sensational! She's let her hair down, binned the eyeglasses and draped herself in a little black Christian Dior dress and a pair of Tommy Choo stilettos.
"How do I look?" she says, giving the folks a twirl.
"You look gorgeous girl," Buck splutters. "But do you know the difference between sex and conversation?"
"No, I don't," Fran says.
"Then come with me into the bedroom and we'll talk about it," Buck says.
But that doesn't happen.
What does happen is that our comedy ensemble hear a cacophony of chattering shreiks, a sound from the very bowels of hell.
And bullets start to tear through the camper's walls.
The sound of gunfire is deafening.
Speeding bullets zip past unprotected bodies.
"Down!"Buck yells. "Get the fuck down on the floor! Like NOW!"
Buck is concerned. He's been in firefights before. He's the only guy in the camper with a weapon, but he figures he's outgunned by maybe ten to one.
The odds on surviving this onslaught do not look good.
As they have hit the floor in sheer terror, some strange things have occurred. Not the least of which concerns Johnny Boy, who has landed on top of a legs akimbo Texan cake baker named Bitters.
"I'm so sorry Madame," Johnny Boy says. "It was an accident..."
"Hmmmm," Madame Bitters purrs. "I can feel it...That's the kind of accident I really don't mind getting involved in..."
In a similar scenario, Lola has ended up on top of Angie.
"You know, you really press my buttons," Angie says. "I've never been averse to little girl on girl action. Not even when people are firing guns at us..."
"These buttons...?" Lola sighs.
"Oh yes, those buttons indeed," Angie gasps.
For once in his life, Buck has cast all thoughts of sex from his mind. Bullets are ripping the camper to shreds. He knows he has to fight back. He rolls to the doorway, shoulders the shotgun and looks for a muzzle flare he can shoot at.
Buck fires off a round.
He doesn't know that he's hit the target. He fires again.
Then a blood curdling scream rends the night, as the storm returns. Rain pelts down. Thunder rumbles, lightning scars the night sky.
Another blood curdling scream. Then another.
Gradually the incoming fire dies away.
Buck is amazed.
Some unseen hand has delivered them all from evil.
"Don't shoot. I come in peace," a voice announces. "I come as a friend. I realised you were having problems with the freaks, so I thought I'd help you guys out."
"Show yourself, friend," Buck says.
A man, dressed all in black, with a black fedora hat and a mask appears in the doorway. Brandishing a sword. He resembles a sexier version of the movie actor Antonio Banderas.
"I am Abel Rodriguez, legendary writer for top satirical website www.The Spoof.com (look Mark, another plug!) and also known as Zorro, the tireless fighter for freedom and equality. Now, what say we kick some ass?"
"I'm all for that," Buck says. "But will you grant me one favour?"
"I refuse to sing 'I Will Survive' by Gloria Gaynor, if that's what you're getting at," Abel 'Zorro' Rodriguez states emphatically.
"Actually it wasn't that," Buck says.
"So what was it?" Zorro asks, suddenly noticing Lola and Angie writhing around on the floor of the camper, and wondering what the hell thatwas all about.
"Do you think you could, just one time, only the once," Buck says. "Do you think you could write a really shitty one star story on satirical website www.TheSpoof.com? Just the one?"
"Why would I want to do that?" Abel Zorro Rodriguez asks.
"Because you're making the rest of us look really bad," Buck implores.
"I'll think about it," Abel Zorro Rodriguez says. "Now, are you guys up for kicking some ass or what?"
To be continued...maybe.