This sort of popped into my head after watching one of the newest Hardee's commercials. I dedicate it to all Dark perkulators out there. You all scare me, but you're fun in a twisted sort of way. As always, none of the characters are mine. And Both the fiction website and the FTP site have my permission to archive this. If you're going to get a souviner . . (1/1) By Tracy Sue The pounding on the door of the old church reverberated through the vestibule, and penetrated the basement walls. Vachon thought about ignoring it, but decided not to when the knocking became more insistant. Reluctantly, he put down his guitar. His leisurely gait became a little quicker when the knocking didn't stop. He even turned on the vampire speed when it seemed like the knocker might tear down his front door. The oaken door swung open to reveal an extremely frightened Tracy Vetter. She ducked under Vachon's arm with no preamble, and darted up the asile between the pews. Her coat bulged oddly, as if she were trying to hide something large underneath it. "Hivachonyou'vegottohideme!" Vachon blinked. Unsure what to make of Tracy's strange mood, he decided that she really needed to cut back on the coffee. He strode after her, trying to plot all the various ways he could sneak into her apartment, and switch her regular with Folger's decaf chrystals. Another insistant knocking caused him to stop in his tracks. He staired incredulously at the door. 'What is this? Grand centrall?' He tried to think who could possibly be at his door. Tracy was the only one who bothered to use the door, and she was already here. 'But then again,' he reflected. If she could fly, she wouldn't bother with the door either.' He decided that it must be some kind of salesman. Quickly, he swung the door open, intent on yelling out 'we don't need no stinkin' vacumecleaners.' But the sight that greeted him stopped him short. Three mounties in Standard issue red staired back at him. One of them looked out of place, like the children's game 'one of these things is not like the other.' Vachon had to resist the urge to hum the song as he staried at them. The out of place mountie raised his hand to his hatless head, and pointed. *** "They're gone, Trace." Vachon klunked over to his couch and flopped noisily into place. "I wammied them into forgetting they saw you come here." "Thanks Vachon." Tracy looked up from her mountie hat with obvious gratitude shining in her eyes. "I owe you big. I never realized how persistant a mountie could be." "Then tell me," He guestured to the hat. "Why?" She smiled at him misteriously. "When I set out to get a souvineer, I get a *souvineer*." *Tracy Sue* tracysue@quik.com The Inferno page: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Nebula/6681/ *Hormonal Vaquera* War 9 Vaqmommy* Chief Camel wrangler* *Keeper of the Wiffle bat O' doom * this space for rent* I am not a newspaper editor. And I try to be good so that god will not make me one. -- Mark Twain.