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Tales of the Supernatural with Nap Lapkin (part 3)

Ron Snyder had read about the strings of mascot homicides with growing concern but he was in no position to call in sick. He knew that if he wasn’t inside that Mad Ant costume someone else would be happy to take his place. The NBA Development league games were never televised and Fort Wayne, Indiana might not be as glamorous as New York City but at least it was a job and it helped pay the rent. His ailing grandmother lived with him and her medication ran at least five hundred dollars a month and besides, he had promised some of the boys down at the orphanage where he volunteered he would get them a few autographs from some of the up-and-coming basketball players, so even though he knew he was exactly the kind of person who usually gets eaten in situations like this, he threw his ant outfit in a duffel bag and headed out to the game.

Later that same night…

In addition to the usual crowd of forensic nerds, there were a few nerds that Nap couldn’t put his finger on. Then he realized that the discovery of a six-foot-long ant corpse is not the kind of thing that happens a lot in the entomological world. You couldn’t throw a notepad without hitting a tweed jacket. Six notepads later, Nap finally asked who he’d been pelting with notepads. “I’m an entomologist… and that’s going to leave a mark.” (It’s important to note as you build a mental image of Nap Lapkin that he typically doesn’t carry six notepads. This was a special case.)

I throw in a bit of levity because I know that there are some of you who must have fallen under the spell of hard-working-yet-lovable Ron Snyder (damn my ability to create living, breathing characters, damn it to hell) and probably need a minute to collect yourself after putting the pieces together.

Take your time.

 

Fort Wayne is as good as any place for Madonna to join Nap in the hunt for the killer. If you introduce Madonna into a story, you know it’s going to end up with Nap sleeping with her so let’s cut straight to that chase. If you’re expecting me to go all 50 Shades on you, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. I’ll be leaping straight to the post-coital scene where Madonna is lying next to Nap and waiting for him to say something romantic. He continues to stare at the ceiling with a far-away look on his face. She assumes he is replaying their intimate encounter in his head. Finally he speaks… “What kind of sick mind thinks of making a dessert out of carrots?”

Her eyes almost bulge out her head. “Really Nap? Carrot cake again?!”

Some of you still might be salty about the fact I skipped over an outstanding opportunity to introduce a little smut into what might be the least supernatural story you’ve ever read. Typically I ignore such second-guessing, but even I have to admit that I’ve pretty much abandoned the original premise so it certainly couldn’t hurt if I threw in a little of the stuff that seems to sell books these days.

So here goes…  Madonna slowly walked into the room and closed the door behind her. Moments later, it began. Birds in the area took flight and small woodland creatures hurried to find shelter. Waves lapped at the edges of a nearby pond that had never seen waves before. There was a two-minute guttural groan that escaped her trembling lips and brought dust down from every ceiling in the county. Asphalt surrounding the motel shimmered as though it were August in Death Valley. Seismologists scrambled to confirm their readings.

Happy?

 

On the topic of sex, Nap once gave a little speech he gave at the Academy on that very subject. It was completely unrelated to the topic he was supposed to be talking about but he felt it was good advice just the same and needed to be imparted. That advice? A man needs to approach sex as if it’s his goal to break the vagina with his penis. He was so sincere in his delivery that many of the men in the room actually wrote it down. The quick sketch he did to accompany the lecture turned one of the women in the audience into a lesbian.

Nap also had this advice for the cadets: “There are going to be moments that are over before they begin. It could be prom night or your first exchange of gunfire, you’ll be there but you won’t. As if the moment exists only to pass into your memory. Recognize them for what they are. In those situations, I find it’s best to just act how you’d like to have acted looking back on it and not how you want to act. Take yourself out of the decision-making because you’ll just fuck it up. For those fleeting minutes, be the person you want to be and not how you are. Do that enough and you end up being that person.”

He then paused for a few seconds before adding “Whatever becomes of the person you are is anyone’s guess,” in a hushed, almost nostalgic tone.

 

Here’s something else to consider about Madonna Axiom. When she was in her high school health class, there was a rather odd discussion amongst the other girls- when the teacher was absent from the room of course- about the way their private parts smelled when aroused. It caused a lot of giggling and blushing but also exposed some rather telling information about the way the girls thought about boys. It wasn’t long before they debated amongst themselves what they wished their vaginas smelled like. At first things like flowers and apple pie were offered up as preferred bouquets but eventually they started moving towards what they believed boys would find attractive. Soon they were wishing their vaginas smelled like beer or pizza. Finally all eyes fell on Madonna, given the fact that she seemingly had an opinion about everything, and her one word answer ended the discussion cold.

“Pussy.”

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