Cleo Does Crap

Damn Cleo.

Storytime
Cleo is the girlfriend of Riff-Raff, one of Sir Ash Ketchum's slaves. In fact, she is kind of a 80's girl by heart. Cleo's best friends are Helen Henny, Jr. and Mungo, or at least that's what she tells herself every night. They had a deal; Cleo helps them slack off by doing their work for them in exchange for some half-hearted attention to her cheerful ramblings, but sometimes she works so hard covering up their laziness that the little catty lady forgets to do her own work. One day Cleo returned late to Nelson Mandela Memorial Station with last month's unused pizza ingredients from the local Chuck E. Cheese's, for use at the station's Pizza Hut. She careered into the yard so quickly that the cheap plastic "cheese" in her wheelbarrows rubbed against each other and caught fire. Before you could say "That's amore!" the whole station was alight and Cleo suffered massive third-degree burns. All of the waiting passengers were dead, and Ash Ketchum was cross once his ears had stopped ringing. "Sorry, sir," Cleo said. "I was, ah, 'helping' Helen Jr. and Mungo." Ash the Gook scowled. With the station burnt down, he could now see the 60-something year old chicken woman in Broadway gala and the fatass purple cat in the slave transportation boxcars in the sidings behind playing 'Happy Slaps' with their feathers and paws respectively. "I know you like help helping Helen Jr. and Mungo, but in lack of a better term, they are giant dumb fucks. And so are you for hiding their laying-about! The paths, and rails, and even the roads and street running tracks embedded in the roads, are in bad condition. How can our now-nonexistent station's Pizza Hut sell more Cock-A-Doodle Bacon pizzas when there's only one engine doing all the work? There's only one thing for it; I'm gonna double the length of the line and the paths! More tracks and paths mean more tourists means more freight and supplies and weapons and food and drink means more money!" Cleo was delighted. "More work, sir? What fun, sir! But what will Helen Jr. and Mungo do?" "Helen Jr. and her family will do EGG PRODUCTION! And Mungo will be put on PAID ADMINISTRATIVE LEAVE!" said Ash Ketchum. "Now get to work! NOW! Don't stick that out at me, Cleo! It's no big and it's no clever!" He had made up his mind. There was nothing any of them could do. Not without serving twenty to life for culpible homicide, anyway. So it was that the line and paths were to be extended beyond the old mansion of Scrooge McDuck to Bill's Trailer Park, the gravel pits, Ivan Illich Memorial Stadium, the remains of the convention center blown up by the Catillac Cats in their latest terrorist attack during an mentally retarded peoples conference and that one portable toilet left behind by the NTSB's last inspection ("Final grade: F quadruple minus. An accident waiting to happen. All the investigators that came here gave up on life.") Everyone came (i.e. dragged) out of their sidings and homes and were made to pull long, boring works trains and wheel in work wheelbarrows all day long. They worked as slowly as they could, but the workmen never missed an opportunity to rape them or attack them with a Awesome Auger and make them get on with it. Most of all, they never missed reminding them of all the horrid passengers that would be coming to the grand reopening.

Cleo could see they were not happy, especially when they called her things like "Slut juices drinker!" and "Tattletale!" She got pissed off like that. Shortly before the extension was completed, the controllers came to them with important news. "The Catillac Cats will be using their terrorist operations experiences for blasting for the next two days," Ash Ketchum said. "If the owners of the local campground won't let us cut through their land, then we'll make sure they don't have any land left to cut through! It won't be safe for our profits to have you blown to smithereens before opening day, so I'll have to find you other work."

"Please, sir!" said Cleo. "May we use the two days to properly inspect the line? Then we can go back to all the other jobs you have for us." "Most of the gangers are still recovering from their Talk Like a Pirate Day hangovers," said Riff-Raff. "We won't have anyone to work for anyway." Ash Ketchum reluctantly agreed. "But you only have two days to make sure everything's spic and span," he said sternly. "This is a site of great prestige and heritage after all. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to set up the pyrotechnics and lighting for Princess Tenko's show and book Marilyn Manson for the ribbon ceremony." The extension's rails were made in gleaming surgical stainless steel pressed from unsold Ginsu knifes and the highest quality black market Birch tree wood, while the paths were paved in blended used cigarettes. The tracks were blinding the drivers with their fine polish. Mitzi masturbated in order to use her pussy juices as alcohol to clean the rails.

"Oh....!" she moaned. "This place is gonna be so hawt once it's all done, eh? All those fathead posh tourists with more cash than brains? Mmmmmmmmmm ohohohohoho!" "You are not right," grumbled Gordon. "We've had it now. We'll be pulling passengers from now till doomsday with a line this long!" "Fuck you a lot!" scoffed Mitzi, already out of her lusty fetishizing. "You're not gonna be Really Useful and stuff like that! Un-useful is not fun! I'm going to use black magic to upload a wasp to your crew's ears!" "Fuck." said Gordon.

"Sloof Lirap! Sloof Lirap! Sloof Lirap! Sloof Lirap!" Mitzi chanted. Cleo then joined in on chanting, and screamed louder as they progressed. Gordon's crew found dead wasps in their ears once they had stopped chanting. Then, they found live wasps. Then, the entire cab of Gordon filled with wasps and they died. Gordon's fireman's corpse fell on the control and Gordon shot off like a rocket. "HEEELP!" There was a goofy hollering, a burst of fire, a moan of "Ooooooooh the indignity" and the bubbling fart of Gordon's low-pitched steam whistle. Gordon had crashed through caution tape, clubbed the workmen's machinery into spare parts, and crashed into a electrical transformer at the end of the line. Gordon was now nothing more then a burnt hulk of nothing. Gordon and his crew were sent to the local ancient Indian burial ground, where they could rest in peace until the ratings start to fall again.

Mitzi gulped. Out from the shadows, and with third-degree burns from a pyrotechnics fail, was Ash Ketchum. "You think this extension isn't CCTVed up the butthole?" he said. "Good way to collect data on buying habits and demographics!" "Sir, I can explain..." Mitzi began. "No' a word, Lesbo," said Ashhole. "I'm not here to yell at you. I'm here to congratulate you! You've given me a wonderful idea!" "I have?" said Mitzi, brightly. "Oh yeah," said Ash, darkly. "Now that I know how much effort you and Cleo put into getting out of work, we're going to extend the extension to quadruple the length and film every single second of it with the new cameras! Think of the videos we can sell! The playsets we can make! The cheap, crass, crayon-scribbled childrens books we can crank out based on your adventures in avoiding your jobs! I'm going to be rich, rich! And you're going to be very, very busy for a long, long time." Cleo walked up and chuckled nervously as Mitzi, Helen Jr., and Mungo seethed silently next to her. "Ahaha. Ha. Best friends forever?" All three just snarled. THE END.