ticklishbod20
Verified
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2001
- Messages
- 137
- Points
- 16
May 1, 2018
A siren went off in the distance. From her glimmering twentieth floor condo, a very sleepy thirty two year old Mary stirred from her bed, went to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked up at the cloudy May sky.
'What fucking time is it?' she thought to herself. The lights from the other skyscrapers reflected off her bedazzled one-piece pajamas. Mary brushed her dark brown hair away from her inquisitive brown eyes, balancing forward on her size five feet.
Mary craned her neck to look upwards through the window.
The signal was unmistakable, as was Mary's immediate fury.
"Oh Christ not another night of this baloney," bellowed Mary. "This is the dumbest, most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever." She trotted away with anger and haste to her walk in closet.
The noise from the siren continued. Outside, projected across a large cloud for the whole world to see, crossed against each other, was the outline of two large feathers.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
April 15, 2018
Chief Pierluigi leaned in with a professorial intensity, a bead of sweat forming on his thirty eight year old forehead. His police uniform looked like it was a part of his own skin. Across from Chief Pierliuigi, the small gaggle of detectives listened intently. All of them were in beige trenchcoats.
"I don't have to summarize what's happening to you, but I'm gonna do it anyway so you knuckleheads have no excuses. Tyranus Mox has been terrorizing this city for years. He has been leaving fake Amazon reviews willy nilly, with no sign of stopping."
The detectives nodded in unison, gravely.
"I can't tell you how distressing it is to the citizens of this fair city to know that there is a villain leaving unjustified reviews of products he or she may have ordered through the well-known shipping system."
One detective, a young whippersnapper in his early twenties, raised his hand.
The Chief sighed. "What it is Detective Sam?"
With a voice just barely out of puberty, a bemused Sam began "I ... I thought we were concerned about the mob and the murders that have been happen..."
"Silence!" said the Chief. He looked towards the other detectives, who were clearly now distancing their chairs from their idiot colleague.
"Look, I can send you right back to a deskjob if you're going to be insolent. I need team players." The detectives listened with laser like focus. Tears streamed down Detective Sam's face; it was not his fault that he was so stupid.
"My guys in the Internet Crimes Division have been tracking Tyranus through the web, and it's given me an idea for the Superhero that this city needs."
The detectives were no longer breathing. They were all absorbing everything this genius of a man was saying with every inch of their skin.
"Tyranus does not want money, or fame, or power."
Of course he didn't, the detectives independently thought to themselves.
"Tyranus wants what he does not have."
Of course he does, the detectives agreed in silent consensus.
"Tyranus wants... to tickle the living crap out of a woman." Having said those words, the Chief leaned back and did not smile.
Silence filled the room.
"Wait what?" spoke up one of the bespectacled detectives, confusion rapidly forming on his face. The other detectives all squinted at the same time, in contemporaneous confusion.
"Follow me; this is easy. Through his internet searches, we know that he has an insatiable tickling fetish. If we are to track and trap him in real life, we need to lure him with a ridiculously ticklish woman."
The detectives looked at each other.
Slowly they stood up, their mouths agape. They clapped, slowly, and in unison.
What a genius!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
April 16, 2018
"There is no way in fucking hell that I'm wearing this," Mary hissed.
She held up a spandex onesie that was several sizes too large for her. A bedazzled T adorned the chest, which Mary regarding with not a small amount of fear. Drawings of little purple feathers decorated the chest, underarms, back, legs and the soles of the feet on the costume. It looked like something Brian Boitano would wear.
"You have to be the Superhero that this city needs," Detective Ron said. The room they were in was small and lit by fluorescent lamp that hung from the ceiling. The walls were barren and grey.
Mary shifted nervously on her not-comfortable metal chair. There were at least eight other people crammed into the room.
"This isn't even my size!" Mary looked around the room in the hope that she would find someone that was not crazy or insane. But the other staff were emotionless.
"We didn't expect our superhero to be 4'11. In general superheroes are somewhere above 5'6." The detective was cold in his reply.
"I AM NOT 4'11 I AM 5'2..." her mouth opened wide, and she waved her arms around for effect. She often did this in her day job in Marketing. Her diminuitive size often lead her to use her arms and legs to make herself seem much bigger than she was.
"There is no need to shout," Detective Ron interrupted. "We value you for who you are and for your willingness to save our fair City from certain destruction," he continued.
"This *does not* make any sense," Mary replied, with defeat in her voice.
And to be fair, none of it really did. Three hours earlier, Mary had been playing darts at a dive bar with her friends Joey, Joe, Jimmy and Jom (Scandinavian). She had won, as she typically did because she generally did not drink too much at bars, and performed an absurd little dance in her little black dress that no one could comprehend existed in 2018. As she went to throw a celebratory dart, her boyfriend Jom playfully poked her side while she attempted this final dart throw. She shrieked, like a well-intoxicated bonobo (though again, she was *not* intoxicated), as she typically did when anyone came near her sides. This was followed by her face turning a deep red and the abrupt clamping down of her arms to her sides. Jom had continued to tease her by attempting to poke her sides, again, much to the amusement of the other bardwellers. As Jom poked her sides, Mary, continued to shriek more and more intensely. Then, finally, in the dark bar, she (presumably) pretended then to have seizures. Jom stopped, and Mary recovered immediately from her pseudo-epilepsy. Jom smiled like he was the cat finally catching the canary. Mary said nothing, looked down at the floor, and her face remained a deep red.
Somehow, this witnessed by a police officer, who asked Mary to accompany the police officer to the precint. This surprised Mary immensely, and not wanting to break any law whatsoever, followed the officer to the police station.
And now Mary, still wearing her short black evening dress and black heels, was listening to a room of crazy people tell her that she was the one person that could save her glimmering city.
"It makes sense," Detective Ron started, not at all convincingly.
"Tyranus has been committing crimes against humanity for two years." The room of police officers and detectives stared at Mary.
Mary stared back blankly. Her arms clamped against her sides again.
"We know his weakness. He wants to relentlessly tickle a woman, in public," Detective Ron continued. His face was the kind of face you would forget immediately after looking away. Mary imagined that Detective Ron had absolutely no pictures of anything in his dull, drab house.
"See that's what does *not* make sense," Mary interrupted. She hated Detective Ron when he first said these words to her, and she hated it more now. It made her deeply, profoundly uncomfortable to have her ticklishness discussed by anyone, let alone the public, let alone a room full of law enforcement officers.
"Tickling a ticklish woman in public is what he needs. That is his kryptonite." The Detective spoke plainly and without emotion.
"No no, if he's the villain and I'm the superhero and I'm going to get ... tortured in public... then that is *my* kryponite," Mary replied. Her face was red. This was not at all fun for her.
"So being tickled in public is your kryptonite?" Detective Ron interrogated.
"No, I mean, yes. Sort of. Look this is FUCKING BANANAS, ok?!" Mary was using her hands again to speak. Gesticulating wildly to the small room of gathered people. "I don't know what you're planning to do with this guy that likes to torture women and I don't understand how I've become a part of this. I definitely can't wear THIS." Mary thrust the costume into the air, with panache. "It's ridiculous, it's not my color and it's also way too big."
"You're mixed up in this because you were observed to be extremely ticklish in a public setting. The State compels you to save our city, to be our Superhero, and to wear this costume."
Mary put her hand on her forehead. Everyone was insane.
"Look, just tell exactly what it is that you want me to do. I can't guarantee anything. This is completely insane."
Detective Ron spoke again, plainly but terrifyingly. Mary's toes curled inside of her heels. She pressed the small of her back against the chair, protectively. The black dress did not make her feel protection.
There was no fucking way she could do this, she thought to herself.
No. Fucking. Way.
A siren went off in the distance. From her glimmering twentieth floor condo, a very sleepy thirty two year old Mary stirred from her bed, went to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked up at the cloudy May sky.
'What fucking time is it?' she thought to herself. The lights from the other skyscrapers reflected off her bedazzled one-piece pajamas. Mary brushed her dark brown hair away from her inquisitive brown eyes, balancing forward on her size five feet.
Mary craned her neck to look upwards through the window.
The signal was unmistakable, as was Mary's immediate fury.
"Oh Christ not another night of this baloney," bellowed Mary. "This is the dumbest, most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever." She trotted away with anger and haste to her walk in closet.
The noise from the siren continued. Outside, projected across a large cloud for the whole world to see, crossed against each other, was the outline of two large feathers.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
April 15, 2018
Chief Pierluigi leaned in with a professorial intensity, a bead of sweat forming on his thirty eight year old forehead. His police uniform looked like it was a part of his own skin. Across from Chief Pierliuigi, the small gaggle of detectives listened intently. All of them were in beige trenchcoats.
"I don't have to summarize what's happening to you, but I'm gonna do it anyway so you knuckleheads have no excuses. Tyranus Mox has been terrorizing this city for years. He has been leaving fake Amazon reviews willy nilly, with no sign of stopping."
The detectives nodded in unison, gravely.
"I can't tell you how distressing it is to the citizens of this fair city to know that there is a villain leaving unjustified reviews of products he or she may have ordered through the well-known shipping system."
One detective, a young whippersnapper in his early twenties, raised his hand.
The Chief sighed. "What it is Detective Sam?"
With a voice just barely out of puberty, a bemused Sam began "I ... I thought we were concerned about the mob and the murders that have been happen..."
"Silence!" said the Chief. He looked towards the other detectives, who were clearly now distancing their chairs from their idiot colleague.
"Look, I can send you right back to a deskjob if you're going to be insolent. I need team players." The detectives listened with laser like focus. Tears streamed down Detective Sam's face; it was not his fault that he was so stupid.
"My guys in the Internet Crimes Division have been tracking Tyranus through the web, and it's given me an idea for the Superhero that this city needs."
The detectives were no longer breathing. They were all absorbing everything this genius of a man was saying with every inch of their skin.
"Tyranus does not want money, or fame, or power."
Of course he didn't, the detectives independently thought to themselves.
"Tyranus wants what he does not have."
Of course he does, the detectives agreed in silent consensus.
"Tyranus wants... to tickle the living crap out of a woman." Having said those words, the Chief leaned back and did not smile.
Silence filled the room.
"Wait what?" spoke up one of the bespectacled detectives, confusion rapidly forming on his face. The other detectives all squinted at the same time, in contemporaneous confusion.
"Follow me; this is easy. Through his internet searches, we know that he has an insatiable tickling fetish. If we are to track and trap him in real life, we need to lure him with a ridiculously ticklish woman."
The detectives looked at each other.
Slowly they stood up, their mouths agape. They clapped, slowly, and in unison.
What a genius!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
April 16, 2018
"There is no way in fucking hell that I'm wearing this," Mary hissed.
She held up a spandex onesie that was several sizes too large for her. A bedazzled T adorned the chest, which Mary regarding with not a small amount of fear. Drawings of little purple feathers decorated the chest, underarms, back, legs and the soles of the feet on the costume. It looked like something Brian Boitano would wear.
"You have to be the Superhero that this city needs," Detective Ron said. The room they were in was small and lit by fluorescent lamp that hung from the ceiling. The walls were barren and grey.
Mary shifted nervously on her not-comfortable metal chair. There were at least eight other people crammed into the room.
"This isn't even my size!" Mary looked around the room in the hope that she would find someone that was not crazy or insane. But the other staff were emotionless.
"We didn't expect our superhero to be 4'11. In general superheroes are somewhere above 5'6." The detective was cold in his reply.
"I AM NOT 4'11 I AM 5'2..." her mouth opened wide, and she waved her arms around for effect. She often did this in her day job in Marketing. Her diminuitive size often lead her to use her arms and legs to make herself seem much bigger than she was.
"There is no need to shout," Detective Ron interrupted. "We value you for who you are and for your willingness to save our fair City from certain destruction," he continued.
"This *does not* make any sense," Mary replied, with defeat in her voice.
And to be fair, none of it really did. Three hours earlier, Mary had been playing darts at a dive bar with her friends Joey, Joe, Jimmy and Jom (Scandinavian). She had won, as she typically did because she generally did not drink too much at bars, and performed an absurd little dance in her little black dress that no one could comprehend existed in 2018. As she went to throw a celebratory dart, her boyfriend Jom playfully poked her side while she attempted this final dart throw. She shrieked, like a well-intoxicated bonobo (though again, she was *not* intoxicated), as she typically did when anyone came near her sides. This was followed by her face turning a deep red and the abrupt clamping down of her arms to her sides. Jom had continued to tease her by attempting to poke her sides, again, much to the amusement of the other bardwellers. As Jom poked her sides, Mary, continued to shriek more and more intensely. Then, finally, in the dark bar, she (presumably) pretended then to have seizures. Jom stopped, and Mary recovered immediately from her pseudo-epilepsy. Jom smiled like he was the cat finally catching the canary. Mary said nothing, looked down at the floor, and her face remained a deep red.
Somehow, this witnessed by a police officer, who asked Mary to accompany the police officer to the precint. This surprised Mary immensely, and not wanting to break any law whatsoever, followed the officer to the police station.
And now Mary, still wearing her short black evening dress and black heels, was listening to a room of crazy people tell her that she was the one person that could save her glimmering city.
"It makes sense," Detective Ron started, not at all convincingly.
"Tyranus has been committing crimes against humanity for two years." The room of police officers and detectives stared at Mary.
Mary stared back blankly. Her arms clamped against her sides again.
"We know his weakness. He wants to relentlessly tickle a woman, in public," Detective Ron continued. His face was the kind of face you would forget immediately after looking away. Mary imagined that Detective Ron had absolutely no pictures of anything in his dull, drab house.
"See that's what does *not* make sense," Mary interrupted. She hated Detective Ron when he first said these words to her, and she hated it more now. It made her deeply, profoundly uncomfortable to have her ticklishness discussed by anyone, let alone the public, let alone a room full of law enforcement officers.
"Tickling a ticklish woman in public is what he needs. That is his kryptonite." The Detective spoke plainly and without emotion.
"No no, if he's the villain and I'm the superhero and I'm going to get ... tortured in public... then that is *my* kryponite," Mary replied. Her face was red. This was not at all fun for her.
"So being tickled in public is your kryptonite?" Detective Ron interrogated.
"No, I mean, yes. Sort of. Look this is FUCKING BANANAS, ok?!" Mary was using her hands again to speak. Gesticulating wildly to the small room of gathered people. "I don't know what you're planning to do with this guy that likes to torture women and I don't understand how I've become a part of this. I definitely can't wear THIS." Mary thrust the costume into the air, with panache. "It's ridiculous, it's not my color and it's also way too big."
"You're mixed up in this because you were observed to be extremely ticklish in a public setting. The State compels you to save our city, to be our Superhero, and to wear this costume."
Mary put her hand on her forehead. Everyone was insane.
"Look, just tell exactly what it is that you want me to do. I can't guarantee anything. This is completely insane."
Detective Ron spoke again, plainly but terrifyingly. Mary's toes curled inside of her heels. She pressed the small of her back against the chair, protectively. The black dress did not make her feel protection.
There was no fucking way she could do this, she thought to herself.
No. Fucking. Way.
