Romance Novel - A collective effort

Meanwhile on the riverfront boulevard, Constable DJ managed to intercept and stop the careening Christina and her speedy Porsche. When he sauntered up to the cherry red sports car, he noticed that Christina was all alone.

Didn't she have a passenger in the front seat? Wasn't it that dastardly dizzy Ronaldo in the passenger seat?!

Anyway, Ronaldo was gone. Ronaldo disappeared out into the deep netherworld of nothingness. The constable only had eyes for Christina. Ronaldo was just another obstacle to get in DJ's way.

He removed his sidearm from his holster. It was a one of a kind jade 45 caliber pistol. He pointed it at the weaponless Christina and ordered her to ...

There was a ticket line.

A rather rigid ticket line, with guys in outfits watching you don't step out.

"Step out of the car, ma'am, and bend over." Christina, knowing full well she was going commando, obeyed with alacrity. She put her left stiletto heeled, stocking legged out, shimmied across the seat, then put her right leg out, jiggling her generously-endowed bosom, then

slammed him to the pavement with a well-placed karate kick to the groin. DJ moaned as he lay in the middle of the road, watching Christina and Ronaldo speed off. Unfortunately, an 18-wheeler was coming up behind him at 75 mph...

and DJ motioned ...

for a song. Actual DJ may need to annoy you..

But wait, laugh is one of the newbies with wit. Demonstrable, even. Osso goes off and chases Laugh...

And DJ motioned flabbily with his sidearm, bug eyed as he was re Cristina.

In short order, he fixed himself in a puzzle, like a board game, and worked himself out of a draw. So, he went to get some beers.

it was like he entered a Twilight zone. There was some kind of comsat HQ set up where he'd previously seen his naked vision of loveliness. A squat ugly gnome-like creature was sitting in front of a console wearing a tinfoil helmet and breastplate. He was muttering into a tinfoil headpiece, something about assassinations. Michael cautiously approached the room, hesitating in the doorway.

Michael cautiously approached the room, hesitating in the doorway.

He was Lost, inner rapture.

Or perhaps it was the Foyer.

A crackle in M-Glo's earpiece. It was Christina. "I, I've got to tell you. That Bee Gees music has gotta go."

"Hmm?" M-Glo hadn't turned on the disco.

Raina burst in and wiped off her mouth. "Disco! It's all about the throbbing, thumping beat until someone loses a coupla teeth!"

Michael was hard on Raina's heels. "Wait, I can explain!"

Rafe rushed in after Michael, and clonked him on the head with a priceless Ming vase full of Nutella. Michael fell to the ground, and Rafe beheld Raina for the first time. "Oh, my." He had always had a thing for women with dental problems.

Meanwhile, as DJ was attempting to frisk Christina with his one still-good arm, Ronaldo was sneaking up behind him, and ....

...gave DJ a big bear hug and offered a threesome with Christina.

Meanwhile, Raina reminded Rafe that Michael had rescued his lost toupee from the foyer and had also ingeniously used the Mayo to restore Raina's breathing.

This sounds a lot like a soap opera! LOL

We should submit the entire story to the Library of Congress to be archived.

Miriam Gloria was beside herself. All these people in her bedroom at the same time! Rafe, Ronaldo, Michael, DJ, Christine AND Raina! She swanned to the entertainment center opposite the bed and put in an old Barry White CD.

She began to dance, enthralling her entourage. She swayed back and forth, back and forth, like a... uh, back and forth, wishing she had a stripper's pole. She gazed limpidly at Michael, then Rafe, then Ronaldo, then PC djjd, completely ignoring Christine and Raina, and beckoned each one of them with a long, well-manicured finger.

Ronaldo removed the stick shift. "Will this do?" he asked the assembled throng (not thong). It proved to be a rather short stripper's pole, but when you really, really need a stripper's pole, there's just nowhere else you can go.
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"Oh, Ronaldo! This wrinkle cream is divine! And it tastes good, too!" M-Glo moaned.

Ronaldo filled a syringe with wrinkle cream and then quietly snuck up on his nemesis, Rafe...

who, having read the script, knew what was coming, so he crouched down and covered both ears. His contract, after all, did not cover being injected with vaseline and whatever else it was. He emitted a high-pierced scream and the gnome with the tinfoil helmet went into convulsions. The others had forgotten (as had you, likely) that he was even there so they were quite perturbed to see this ugly little fellow writing, no, writhing about on the floor, getting drool all over the console on his way down.

Raina immediately took action.

"Vaseline is toxic to gnomes, you idiot!" Raina shouted, rushing to the twisted figure on the floor who had inadvertently been injected instead of Rafe. She immediately began performing CPR. The gnome was turning blue.

All eyes were on Ronaldo, who dropped the empty syringe in a wave of overwhelming guilt. How could he have known?

When Ronaldo saw Raina dial 911 he stepped outside and leaped into his souped up early 50s Buick Six. He gunned the motor, did a noisy wheelie on the concrete apron and vanished up the road looking for an adult education class in domestic science.

Little did he know that Christine had placed a tracking device under the rear bumper of his motor and just as he was all set to try Mrs Clapsaddle-Cox's cherry crumble and custard she burst through the door accompanied by two burly police officers with their pieces out.