Season Six: Final Round

We have reached the proverbial home stretch. Dee Dee and Thrackazog, in an imaginary steel cage deathmatch to see who is the last imaginary survivor on my imaginary island.

Everyone who played this season, except Dee and Thrack, is eligible and encouraged to vote. So send me your vote for the best of the best, the sole survivor. And lots of nasty editorial commentary. Votes are due Monday, June 12, by 9 pm, US EST.

Dee Dee Myers: Seductress:

Chloe walked into the kitchen and threw a pile of mail onto the table in front of her husband, Barth.

"Those fucking Andersons are at it again. There was another copy of Awake! in our mailbox. Fucking Mormons!"

"Jehovah's Witnesses."

"What?!!"

"Jehovah's Witnesses. They publish Awake!. The Mormons have big families and believe that a resurrected Jesus promised them a higher level of Heaven. Besides, how do you know it was the Andersons?"

"They wrote a fucking note on the front of it! 'Dear neighbors, hope you find something enlightening in here. Best wishes, the Andersons.'"

The Andersons had recently moved into the townhouse next door to Chloe and Barth, but the two couples had hardly spoken to one another.

"So," said Barth, "did you want to report them to the Homeowners' Association?"

"No." Chloe grinned mischiveously. "I've got a better plan. You think their bedroom shares a wall with ours?"

---

Gary and Constance Anderson were reading in bed at 9 o'clock when they started hearing the noises through the wall. Gary put down his Bible. "Is that the Clarks? Again?" Constance didn't respond.

The couple remained quiet, listening passively to the sounds coming through the wall. What started as a slight banging turned louder and faster. Soon, a rhythmic moaning was added, followed by shrieks and cries of "Oh, God" and "Faster . . . FASTER!." Gary stared straight ahead. Constance shook her head.

"Godless heathens," Constance muttered.

---

The next morning, there was a knock on the door. Chloe wasn't surprised when she opened it to find Constance standing in front of her.

"Hi . . . Chloe, was it? I was wondering if you had a couple eggs I could have. I'm baking, and I didn't realize we'd run out."

Chloe took the charade in stride. "Oh, certainly. Would you like to come in?"

Constance nodded. "Of course."

Chloe left Constance in the living room while she walked to the kitchen to check the refrigerator. She smilingly noticed that he eggs had expired, carefully taking three of them out and wrapping them in a paper towel. She returned to the living room.

"Here you go. Hey, did you want something to drink? I was just getting ready to make one for myself." Chloe thought a suggestion of alcoholism might inspire more religious propaganda, but she wanted to appear as decadent as possible. And maybe personable, too.

"No, thanks," Constance replied. She looked around sheepishly and continued. "I wanted to ask you about last night."

"Were we being too loud?" Chloe had prepared herself for an assault, and this seemed too easy.

"Well, yes," said Constance. "But I wanted to ask what exactly you were doing."

"Besides having sex?" Chloe hoped her tossed-off response had offended Constance.

"No," Constance replied firmly. "What specifically?"

Chloe's mind was racing. She had been looking for a way to attack Constance and here she was asking for more. At first, Chloe hesitated because she wasn't sure how sincere Constance had been in her request, but then she started rattling off a list of things she and Barth had never done, and never would do. Golden Showers, Cleveland Steamer, Jelly Doughnut, Tossed Salad, Rusty Trombone . . . Chloe couldn't resist taking it over the line with such enthusiastic detail. When she'd finally run out of the deviant sexual acts she could even remember, she stopped. Constance was wide-eyed, her face as white as a sheet.

"Oh, I see," Constance stammered. "Thank you." She promptly got up and walked out the door, forgetting the eggs.

---

After her husband left for a church retreat in Deakle Beach, Constance went upstairs to prepare for bed. All day she'd been thinking about what Chloe had said to her earlier. She was sure that the details of that discussion would keep her up pretty late into the night.

---

Chloe was just drifting off to sleep when she started hearing voices throught the wall---a loud murmuring. A minute later, she heard what sounded like a bed squeaking in a slow rhythm. Chloe shook Barth awake.

"Hey, I think the Andersons are screwing."

"Wow, that's a first," Barth replied. "Maybe they're trying out something new, something Constance learned from you."

Chloe had told Barth all about the discussion she'd had that morning, which she reflected on as the squeaking from next door started to pick up and grow more intense. And the murmuring became louder and more decipherable. She could only hear what sounded like Constance's voice above the squeaking, sometimes moaning, sometimes talking loudly.

"Did she just say 'Fuck me?'" Barth asked.

"That's impossible. There's no way . . ."

Suddenly, Chloe was cut off by a series of high-pitched screams mixed with low grunts. The squeaking stopped momentarily and then started again. "Yes!" Constance implored through the wall. "Harder! HARDER! Keep fucking me! Don't stop!" It sounded like the Andersons' headboard was banging into the wall, threatening to break through. "Oh, yes. YESSSSS! Fuck my ass! FUCK IT!" There was some low, muffled murmurs. Then, unmistakeably, Constance announced, "That's right, I'm going to suck it off and lick my shit off your balls!"

The production next door continued, and continued down that fetish-laden path, for hours.

Three days later, Chloe and Barth were moving their things out of the townhouse.

Thrackazog:

The Good Neighbor

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't pull this trigger and make wallpaper out of your brains."

Frankie Harlow stood tense, eyes fixed not on the barrel of the gun, but on the index finger of James Farrow. There was no doubt that the man would pull the trigger.

"I swear to you, I wasn't looking to sleep with your wife. She said things to me. Confided in me. I'm weak," Frankie tried.

"So you're saying my wife is a whore," James grumbled.

"I'm saying she said things to me. And I'm saying I couldn't resist," Frankie barely breathed.

"She is a whore. She is. But you should keep your fucking hands off of a man's wife," James stated in an ominous rumble.

"I know I should. I know that now. I knew it then, but she said things. Told me things," Frankie stated again, trying to repress a stream of urine.

"How long we been neighbors, Frank?" James asked, gun still level.

"Dozen or so years, I guess," Frankie quickly calculated.

"In all that time, did we ever argue? Ever fight? Did I give you any reason to start a?a feud?" James squinted, looking for comprehension.

"No. I've always thought you were a decent guy, James. I'm telling you, I didn't mean for this to happen. I really didn't. It sneaks up, is all," Frankie whispered, voice cracking.

"See, that's what I don't get, though," James began, his own voice taking a harder edge, "I don't think this kind of thing sneaks up. It's?it takes thought. You thought about it. She thought about it. That's what makes me crazy."

"James, I swear. It was just out of the blue. I'd catch her looking at me mowing the lawn or washing the car and maybe she just got thoughts in her head. But I really never thought about it. And then there was a weird moment, an awkward silence, a look ? I can't explain it," Frankie struggled.

"So, of course, none of this was your fault?" James scoffed.

"Obviously I'm guilty too. But it came out of nowhere. I tried to get her to just go back home. But she wouldn't leave. And then she said things?"

"GODDAMN IT! Stop saying that. Nobody can say something to convince you to do anything you don't really want to do. Nobody!"

The gun started to shake in James' hand. He flicked the safety off with his thumb.

"James, please?" Frankie cried.

"One chance, then. What did she say to you that made you ruin all of our lives?" James nearly screamed.

"She said she'd always wanted to be with a woman. Said she couldn't ever tell anyone before. Said she was living a lie," Francine whispered, closing her eyes.

The gun fell to James' side.

The feud was over.