by Randolph O. Mann
Randy was dealing a large stack of twenty-dollar bills into three piles. “Twenty for you, twenty for me and twenty for Linda.”
William protested, “Randy can I remind you, we do not win the bet and get to split the money until all the girls are confirmed naked.”
“I know. Twenty for William, twenty for me and twenty for Linda, twenty for William, twenty for me and... Excuse me Bill, I have to take this call. Good Morning, T. Winston, INC - Merchandising and Sales Department - Randolph Mann speaking, how may I direct your call?”
“Straight up your ass!” Linda shouted.
Randy moved the phone away from his ear. “Excuse me?”
“Excuse you? There is no way in hell I intend to EXCUSE you, Randy! I know WE will find your fingerprints are all over this fashion fiasco and I intend to have your job, uncle or no uncle! Mister, you have crossed over the line this time and I am mad as hell and I am not going to tak-”
“Can you hold please! Where was I, oh ya, and twenty for Linda, twenty for you, twenty for me and twenty for-”
“Was that your boss?” William asked.
“Yep, and she sounds madder than a wet hen, too. Twenty for you, twenty for me and twenty for her, twenty for William, twenty for me and twenty for Linda."
"Your 'in-coming' extension light is still blinking."
"Yep. Twenty for you, twenty for me and twenty for her."
"Well, are you planning to pick up, Randy?"
"Yep, I’m just letting the little lady grow accustomed to the novelty of the moment. Twenty for you, twenty for me and twenty for her. Thank you for waiting, how may I direct your call?"
"Randolph Mann, stop fooling around, this is the wrong time for extension tag! We Need To Talk!"
"We? To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"
"Randy, do not play 'obtuse' with me! You are speaking with Linda Browne, your direct supervisor, and let me assure you I am NOT in any mood to beat around the bush... Oh no! Stop that! Stop that, bad goat! Shit! There went the corporate flag. Let go of that, I SAID LET GO!
"Ok Linda, if you have to go, you have to go. We can talk later, I will be here at my desk all afternoon. Have a nice day. Twenty for William, twenty for Randy, and twenty for Linda. Twenty for..."
"I thought Linda was attending a corporate function and would be out of town this whole week."
"Yep, she is the 'Float Chairperson' for the T. Winston, INC 'Shirt Off Our Backs' entry in the Hometown Days Parade & Rodeo. Twenty for you, twenty for me and twenty for her. This year the parade theme is 'Saving Mother Nature.' Twenty for you, twenty for me and twenty for her. So I suggested to the Float Committee a concept of 'environmentally friendly, suitable for consumption, garments.' Twenty for you, twenty for me and twenty for her. Linda seized on the concept and assigned our fashion designers to the task of engineering aesthetically pleasing edible costuming for the runway models to wear onboard the T. Winston float. Twenty for you, twenty for me and twenty for her. Sorry, just one second William, I have to take this call.
"Good Morning T. Winston, Inc - Mechanizing and Sales Department - Randolph Mann speaking how may I direct your call?”
“Randy please do not hang up! I desperately need your help, PLEASE do not hang up. The girls and I are the innocent victims of a very unfortunate farm animal rebellion. Fortunately I can report that none of our fashion runway models have been killed, thank God, but regrettably Jill did slip from her float-perch and fell among a particularly aggressive and perverted coffle of Oberhasli goats that feasted upon her cowl-necked seaweed cocktail dress and before we could pull her to safety all that was left of her outfit was a disturbingly revealing fig leaf G-string accented with only her very sheepish smile.
"You are KID-ing."
"Randolph, joking at our unfortunate state of affairs is not helping this situation here."
"State Fair? I thought the company was sending you and the T. Winston, INC float to the Far Western Rodeo?"
"Randy, please focus! I am sure from the safe perspective of your work station such levity is captivating, but in my present circumstance as the ‘antipasto portion’ of a multi-course banquet, unceremoniously served up to ravenous Toggenburg goats, your remarks are totally void of humor. You must be made to understand the desperate predicament the other ladies and I find ourselves addressing. All seven of the Fashion Runway Models and I are marooned at dead center in the main show ground corral aboard the company float, in varying states of undress as hordes of Black Bengal goats devour the last morsels protecting our modesty. Randy, I am pleading with you for some assistance before more of these beasts wolf down the last scrap of our clothing and start licking our platters, so to speak, for the viewing pleasure of the ten thousand rodeo fans in the grand stands. This is just awful!”
“Coffle? Donkeys? What are you talking about, Randy?”
“Donkeys travel in a coffle, not goats. Caprine are found in herds.”
“What ever! You should know that just while I have been on my cellphone talking with you I have witnessed Helena reduced to tears as her onion-skin skirt was nibbled away into only a memory, leaving her attired in merely a cabbage bra and panty set for all those assembled to analyze. Travesty's rose-leaf halter dress also became an afterthought during this conversation thanks to the appetite of four browsing Sable Saanew goats, exposing her dressed in a scant fashion-undergrowth of a fast wilting lettuce romper. Olivia's fruit-roll tube dress was pilfered by these slit-upper-lipped Pygmy devils in seconds, displaying her in a red licorice rope garter belt and marshmallow brassiere with matching knickers. My own lemon grass evening gown has been gradually reduced to a very skimpy clubbing outfit by a band of perverted Angora goats.
“What ever! Their narrow muzzles have allowed those vegan monsters to explored our feminine locations where few humans have been privileged to visit and I am afraid if a rescue is not accomplished post haste this fashion photo opportunity will become X-rated. Oh no! Stop that! Stop that, bad rams! Let go of that, I SAID LET GO! Randy, help!
“What? OH MY GOD! Is William there with you, listening?”
“Billy goat, the male goat is called a billy, not a ram, Linda.”
“Stop! Oh no! Stop that! Please, for heavens sake, Randy, I have no idea if these are male goats or female goats, but I do know they are famished. Stop that! This one does have a beard, so it must be a billy.
“Both genders can have beards, Linda. Prominent facial hair does not fix the sex among all the breeds of goats. I will need more details, Linda. You must inspect their nether regions and describe their genitalia for me before I could provide you with definitive gender identification.”
“Randolph, you are a very sick man! Oh God, stop, stop that right now, I am warning you, very bad goat! Damn...they just gobbled the remaining pieces of my lemon-grass evening dress into a very revealing ‘citrus-turf’ camisole, and Victoria’s pasta jumper has just been gulped down leaving her clad in a thought-provoking coconut shell corset fastened together with surprisingly durable black shoelace licorice. Shiloh’s fetching alfalfa-weave Capri pants just became a skimpy pair of Daisy-Dukes before my eyes. This barnyard smorgasbord must be stopped. We are almost naked Randy, we need to do something fast!
“Have you signaled the goatherd yet?”
“Goatherd? Signal? Randy what are you...stop, no... oh no you don’t! Give that back...oh my...”
“Linda are you still there? Linda?”
“Randy, my sugar-pearl panties are gone. The marshmallows have left the arena! And I just watched the last vestige of Olivia’s red licorice sucked down and all she has left to wear are her patterned gelatin-birdseed thigh-high stockings that I seriously question can survive the nanny tongue lashing her long legs are receiving. Helen’s coleslaw lingerie, Jill’s fig leaf, the alfalfa short-shorts all are gone! And Travesty’s ‘rabbit-food’ romper too fell victim to these mixed feeders. The last remits of my lemon grass have been combined with the Victoria’s coconuts to make what can only be assumed was a delicious tropical flavored salad. Courtesy of a Golden Guernsey tongue bath, Olivia is now wearing only gelatin-birdseed foot-lets. Randy, we are all totally naked! Signal? What signal are you talking about?
“Use the T. Winston, INC potato skin corporate flag you had specifically made for this occasion. Just wave the flag and as instructed the goatherd will release his Border Collies to demonstrate their canine shepherding skills by collecting the various goats into herds according their specific breeds.”
“Randy, I told you, the goats ate the potatoes skins first thing, as an appetizer! Randy, We Need To Talk!”