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A Bad Idea 88

Melissa Klaw lounged on the sofa, three hands on her torso, while the other three hung off the side. She tried getting into Mervyn King’s latest thrilling horror novel, Standing on the Shiny Mile of Carrie, but she couldn’t get into it quite as much as she had his others. Why was everyone in this novel a detective? And wasn’t a talking demon-car a little far-fetched?

“Mommy mommy look!” her shapeshifting son Theo yelled, running in front of the sofa. “Look at me I’m a Pawn Star!”  As he spoke the words, he shifted into a six-foot tall chess piece — a pawn, specifically. The pawn had a star on it, which would’ve been cute if “Pawn Star” hadn’t been a play on “porn star.”

“Son,” she intoned, “you change back into your human shape or so help me you’ll–” She was about to say, ‘–never be allowed to watch The History Channel again,’ but her son was smarter than that. He changed back before she could finish the sentence.

Still, the problem persisted: she had to pay attention to her son. That wasn’t what the rich did, even if they were rich aliens!

“George!” she yelled at her husband, “George-y! When’s the new help coming?”

George, one shoulder covered in ice, the other in fire, walked into the living room. Truth be told, his eyes were bleary. He’d been mixing pills and liquor, in an attempt to get some relief from the pain of having his icy and firey sides mixing all day long.

“He should’ve been here by now,” he said.

“Do you think you should maybe go and find out what the hold-up is?” Melissa asked.

George sighed. “Sure.”

He was comforted by the fact that there’d be a liquor store on the way to where he knew he could find One-Eyed Jack.

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