"I will not have you speaking to me this way, Ol' Muddy!" Lurlene exclaimed. "A nanny should know her place!"
Ol' Muddy bowed her head. "Sorry, ma'am. I won't speak out of turn again."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Ol' Muddy," Lurlene sighed, walking from the window to embrace her beloved, aged friend. "All this waiting, it's turned my head inside-out. What if my love isn't on that ship? I'll be forced to take awful Mr. Bloodworth's marriage proposal after all, or risk losing my ancestral home. And you know papa's spirit won't stand for that. He already throws dishes off the pantry shelves every midnight."
There was a sudden knock on the door, and Lurlene remembered Bloodworth had demanded an answer from her by one o'clock today. She glanced at the baroque grandmother clock standing by the door of her room for no real reason other than to serve its purpose at this moment. The clock read one!
"It's he! It's Bloodworth! Oh, Baldrick, won't you come and save me from this terrible fate!" she wailed.
"But, miss," Ol' Muddy said. "My dream, this is all of a part!"
The door opened with a most malodorous creaking sound, as it opened.
There, on the doorstep, stood a muscular, half-naked Indian Brave.
Sparkling in the afternoon sun, as was the way with Indian vampires, he hefted Lurlene over his shoulder and onto his waiting horse. She kicked and pummeled him as he rode away from her home, but to no avail. "Oh, help me, Baldur, Baldrick, whatever your name is!" She had heard stories about the
sexy terrible things these noble savages did to their female captives and had no doubt of the fate that this Brave was intent on plundering the treasures of her secret bits.
Suddenly, she heard the pounding of horse's hooves behind them. She craned her neck and saw a strong white steed riding hard after them, but it wasn't her beloved who rode upon its back, but Mr. Bloodworth! His cruel lips parted to reveal his clenched teeth, his strong jaw set in determination. His long black hair flowed behind him like the standard of an army battalion. In his haste, the buttons of his dress shirt had come undone, revealing his well muscled and non-threateningly hairless chest.
[I cry uncle and cannot continue. Lordy.]
The sight of the naked man's chest hypnotized Lurlene. She felt herself grow faint.
"Help! Somebody save me!" she cried.
The maniacal laughter of Mr. Bloodworth echoed in her ears as she slipped into oblivion.
It was not the regular sort of oblivion, however, but something far sweeter, moister, a red velvet cake of an oblivion, with the tart aftertaste of raspberries and the void. In this confection of nothingness Lurlene of course saw nothing, as if her eyes were veiled in the sweet frosting of love instead of the horror glaze Mr. Bloodworth had so liberally applied. It was like being trapped in one of ol' Muddy's deserts, and if Lurlene could have unoblivioned herself for but a moment she would have again recanted the tone she too often took with her dear nursemaid.
Alas, now all was the diabetes-bane black of Bloodworth's oblivion, which in of itself would have given Lurlene pause if only she were not already so arrested, for should not the oblivion of her beloved be sweet, and the oblivion of a villain and cad like Mr. Bloodworth be bitter as lemons grown from soil fertilized with dead parents and watered with an orphan's tears? Could the tooth-rotting perfection of her current oblivion signify that perhaps her feelings for Mr. Bloodworth were of a different aisle of the confectioner's shoppe than she had previously believed? Thankfully, sweet though it was, Lurlene's oblivion was just that, and so she could not immediately confront this dire possibility. Then she woke up.