Pimp Your Porch

The Sly Little Minx was bragging about the new addition to her family--porch furniture. She spent several days advertising it, but the stars aligned when Double D' Wicked orchestrated a booze-fueled drinking fiasco. Out of desperation, Double D' Wicked announced that any place would suffice: a drainage ditch, a flagpole perch, the empty shell of a cement mixer, but the Minx demanded we set the scene at her lair of ill-repute, on the back-deck balcony. She insisted that her porch furniture would not disappoint. Double D' Wicked was easily persuaded when the Minx promised a Buffy marathon; predictably this turned out to be nothing more than a bait and switch proposition.

The Minx's porch furniture received a stamp of approval from everyone. While the Minx looked on with an air of satisfaction and pride, M'Arcy and I gave the furniture a high-five--the international sign for, "YES! Success!"


Featured in the below pic, Still Life with the Champagne of Beers, Double D' Wicked contemplates her options by boldly proclaiming, "I have the world's largest collection of empty 40 ouncers on a mantle at home. Al Gore is currently compiling a slideshow. Hmmm...what will whet my whistle tonight? Will it be a 40 of King Cobra, or Plum Mad Dog 20/20? I lost my patience and ate my friends."

Double D' Wicked was in rare form. Sufficiently inebriated, she proceeded to rail against the inaccurately complied history of Vampire slaying, "I mean, what the fuck. Can you believe that shit? When Brahm Stoker gave Dracula a place in Piccadilly I almost died in the doorway. But have you read Carmilla? Hot. Totally hot. Lesbians. Vampires. What's not to love?" The earth tipped slightly on its axis, and everything that wasn't bolted down slipped...

We ended up with the munchies and ordered some Chinese takeout. Everyone knows that--in the company of M'Arcy Webber--Chinese takeout is a potentially fatal option. She is a master of chopstick dojo. Take note of her aggressive posturing, as she leans forward, tersely gnawing on the tip of her chopstick, sharpening it to a fatal point. An unsuspecting Minx is digging in for seconds while M'Arcy plots her next move. Ominous buildings silhouetted against the remaining tint of dusk, prophesize a grave outcome. Where is your god now, Minx! KA-POW! A chopstick to the jugular. Another one bites the dust.



But--WAIT. A timely interruption. Perhaps this intervention prevented foul play? The Escape Goat is always a force of good. She brought the Fickle Feather who was carrying a pint of ice cream in exchange for admission. When Minx saw the offering, the Escape Goat and Fickle Feather immediately gained access to the Minx's cache of liquor, prime seating on the back porch, and the keys to Dryfus's magic carpet. It should be noted that--with the exception of Helmut--no one else enjoyed the privilege of Dryfus's magic carpet that evening.



Double D' Wicked, head in hand, found herself unable to look as I attempted to talk Dryfus down from the ledge. His motto is anything but, "share and be fare." When he saw the Fickle Feather and Escape Goat piloting his mystical, magical ride into the night sky he became suicidal. We all know he is prone to dramatics, but this time it seemed serious. It was a tense moment, but the resolution was positive. We breathed a collective sigh of relief as the Minx cradled Dryfus and reunited him with Bah-Bah and Melon for good measure. At this point, Helmut--who despises all signs of weakness--refused to be associated with Dryfus.



A canary did the backstroke in my beer, but it tasted much better afterwards...



Fresh from piloting the magic carpet, the Feather's hair never looked so Fickle. (Or...maybe Fickle's hair never looked so Feathered?) Regardless, his luscious locks were in full glory, and the humidity only contributed to his sweet coiffure.


Once we confiscated the chopsticks from M'Arcy, in exchange for a plastic fork, she was back to her old self. That was a close call. No one wants to test a ninja skilled in the art of chopstick dojo. Dryfus, who was now playing "Doctor," went around with a stethoscope making cheap attempts to justify his leg humping addiction. You will be pleased to learn that the Minx has since enrolled him in rehab. He now admits that he does--indeed--have a problem. Fortunately, that is the first step on the road to recovery.

The Escape Goat struck a choice hipster pose, and attempted to look as bored as possible (without being proclaimed in a vegetative state and placed on life support). Take note, people. This is worthy of Gawker. Someone, check her pulse! Could she look more Hipster? Impossible.

Congratulations Minx, on the secure purchase of your amazing porch furniture! When the night air is fine, everyone knows where to go. With a wink, nod, and signature snap of her pistol-point, the Minx secured the title of Bitchinest Back Porch. Potted plants and all...