Previously on Green Apple Martini's:
Damian hears it and starts to well up again...

....and he said,

"Bitch, you CRAZY!!!!"

I laughed because, well...it was Dark Damian....in a tub....singing to Toni "No Jaw Movement" Braxton. I would have taken a secret squirrel pic but I didn't have enough memory left in the phone. Frogs and all.

I said, "Just what in holy hell are you doing here?"

He said, "I came to hotdrwife's house to teach her how to play bass. She thinks I'm cool and wanted to learn so I offered my services."

Me - "Uh....then why would she tell you to come if she wasn't going to be here, Mr. Clueless?"

DD - "Bitch....I could ax you the same thing!!!"

Hmmmmmmmmmm.....this is true. But I played dumb. Which isn't hard to do. Yo.

Me - "Get the fuck outta there. I'm hungry. Let's go raid the fridge."

DD - "Hand me my towel."

Me - ..........

DD - "Come ON!!!! It's right there!!! Just throw it!!!!"

I picked up the purple Egyptian cotton 8000 thread count towel, threw it and turned my head. I was in NO mood to see THIS shit.

DD - "Stupid!!! It landed in the tub!!!! Just give me my clothes instead!!!"

*sigh*

Simpleton. Can't catch and shit.

I grabbed his pink tutu.......

.......wait.......

PINK TUTU??????

........and stifled a giggle as I held it up, just out of his reach.

Me - "Uh....just what is THIS?"

DD - "Uh.....yeah...it's laundry day back at the homestead and that was all I had. Don't be jealous."

He slips into his ensemble, which consisted of:

-pink tutu
-Doc Martens
-white (dingy) wife-beater tee
-turquoise headband (don't ask)

....and we headed to the kitchen. I wanted Doritos.

It's dark.

All I can see is the light of a fucking HUGE fish tank.

HI FISHY!!!

I'm in front....DD in the rear. Well....figuratively speaking.

I trip over something.

Way to go, HDToddler. Thanks for that Lincoln Log.

We are almost to the kitchen.....I'm so damn hungry. Fairy tales take it out of ya!!!

And then..........I see her..............

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!! As we pass through the living room, there's fyrchk....crouching in the corner........holding a pirate booty.....

Then.....

I saw her, too. I couldn’t believe my eyes, partly because I still had some body wash in ‘em from when I was so rudely asked to get outta the tub. Next time, throw my towel DIRECTLY TO ME, Captain Anne Tenile! Damn. You'd think with a pirate ship up on blocks at her house, she'd be handy. Oh, you didn't know about that? Seems the oars need replacing or whatever. For now, she's driving this:

(normally there would be a nice picture here, but blogger is sucking my asshole, so click on this.)

As for the tutu…well, it’s comfortable, and it helps to hold my manbits nice and snug.

And that was TMI.

Anyway.

Fyrchk was crouched in the corner, her back to us, looking a lot like Gollum from “Lord Of The Rings”, only with better skin care and dietary habits. She had…something in her hands, and she was talking to it like it was gonna tell her this weeks lottery numbers. Powerball, bitches. “No one will take you away from me,” she said, in a weird sing-song voice. If she had said “my precious” afterward, I woulda called Peter Jackson immediately and had him cast her in “Lord of the Rings Two: Electric Boogaloo”. Faux Pirate and I started making military-style hand signals at each other in an attempt to coordinate an approach on the target, but people, let me tell you – she just won’t listen. I read Tom Clancy books. I watch The Military Channel. Hell, I watch “StarGate: SG-1”. I know the signals. But would she obey, comply, acquiesce, or even listen? Fuck no. She had her own hand language, which looked like a cross between true sign language and some maneuvers one would make while masturbating at sea. If it were impossible to have a non-verbal hand argument prior to this, we better call Ripley’s. Believe it. She actually managed to say “Suck my asshole” in hand signals. I was impressed.

After she insulted me by calling me Hand Solo, we split up, and slowly crept toward Fyrchk, who was now asking the object about her horoscope while humming something about booty booty booty booty booty everywhere. We needed to know what she had, and pronto. It didn’t appear to be a cell phone, mainly because she wasn’t cackling loudly into it while simultaneously sending picture and text messages, but it was something. “Laurie,” I said, “Use your Lucifer Bra to scan the area in front of Fyrchk. We need to know what that thing is.” She said “Broccoli.” At least I THINK that’s what she said, since I couldn’t read her language very well. At any rate, she did the patented Girl Trick and removed the Lucifer Bra without so much as wrinkling her piratical frilly blouse. She held up the steaming hot brassiere, looking through it in Fyrchk’s direction. She signed to me, “It’s small, white, and is radiating a small amount of heat. I think there are headphones, or a stethoscope, or maybe a diaphragm. It appears to be…an Izod? No, that's clothing...it's an iPod?” I was amazed that (a) I understood what she said, and (b) that an iPod could be so enthralling to our compatriot. Poor thing needed our help. I decided some compassion was in order. I signed back “OK, let’s embrace her and let her know she’s loved.”

Laurie read it as “Let’s scissor-kick her and pull her hair.”

Oh, shit.

You see, it’s well-known that Fyrchk can defend herself, and the fact is, we were in HDW’s house, which was familiar to her. She knew every nook, every cranny, every corner. She knew where the weapons were. She knew where the remote was. (Which I had needed earlier, so I wish the bish hadn’t held out on that vital info.) Hell, she invented the patented Dual Breastian Smother Technique, also known as Areola Au Revoir. I tried to warn Laurie, but...she doesn't listen. Plus I kinda wanted to see what would happen. I saw Laurie crack her neck, stretch out her legs, squat down, and prepare to leap at Frychk. At that precise moment…