Kenny told that psychiatrist that he would never ever mess with that weird drug again---which was more or less what you had to say when you were in a locked ward and your parents had come down to get you and it was two in the morning and they were furious---but he was pretty sure he needed to give this TGD stuff another try. Because while he was on it he’d been a woman; his body, and what he was wearing, and it was all so REAL!!!! So that part at least had been utterly amazing, he just wouldn’t take so damn much. Because maybe next time he’d become some totally hot babe instead of that obnoxious airhead Lucy, with her creepy bongo-banging bandleader husband Ricky and weird old Fred & Ethel Murtz from next door; the whole adventure so dumb and goofy until it turned so savage and ugly- sneaking around the jungle hiding from what seemed like the whole Communist army, and then old Fred getting stood up against the wall + shot as the plot to kill that dictator dude started to rapidly unravel...

“You look mesmerized Billy” Mom stated as she noticed him fixated on what she was doing.

“I just never noticed how at home you look in the kitchen. You are a pro mom!”

“Why don’t you come in a here and help then? I could teach you a few things.” Mom replied. She was sure that Billy would refuse. All the men in the family showed very little interest in anything that wasn’t a masculine ideal.

“Okay!” Billy quickly answered as he jumped up to help his mom.

Gerold vs. the Good Old Boys

1/ Shock Advised

By Jo Dora Webster

Cover Art by Melanie E.

What complications will arise out of Gerald's heart attack
while on an undercover story assignment?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Voices (reprise) — J Morose

warning: May contain nuts

She knocked on his bedroom door. Not hearing an answer, she pushed the door slightly, calling him a few times. When there was no reply, she pushed open the door widely and her eyes fell on the disgusting looking thing on the bed. It looked just like a butterfly's cocoon, except that this one was as large as a man and definitely didn't contain a butterfly. She got closer to the bed. Touching the fluid leaking from the empty chrysalis, she noted that the fluid had almost dried, suggesting that this chrysalis had been empty for at least a few hours.

"Sir?" she called again.

She opened the bedside drawer, removing the Glock 17 inside it, just in case. Readying herself, she got out of the bedroom, the gun pointing downward and called for him again. She may not be a field specialist, but she didn't spend two years as the Headmaster's secretary without picking up new skills.

Voices – a poem by J Morose

In the dark of night I hear her calling,
The whispering lilt of her voice divine,
Within the mind's depths and shadows falling,
I now know that her sweet voice is mine.