“Sing it, baby! Lizzy Hale and Halestorm, with ‘Love Bites.’ Ain’t it always the way? No, you didn’t oversleep. This is Tabbs and Fuzzy of the Morning Hair Ball, 105.7 SHFT in Talbot’s Peak, coming to you live from Dante’s for the pre-holiday free-for-all. How’s it going on your end, Fuzzy?”
“(unintelligible)”
“Oh yeah, that’s right, you’re a married wolf now. Gotta buy gifts for the jackal clan. You went all the way down to the exit, didn’t you? How was it?”
“Oh dog, man, the stink … It’s all apes down there, and they all smell like pizza and tobacco. I thought I’d yark. Wait. I did yark. That’s when they threw me out of the Stop’n’Shop.”
“That’s why this kitty shops on line, bro. How you furries doing tonight?”
(Cacaphony of noises from a rowdy, liquored-up crowd)
“Sounds like you’ve all got the holiday spirit. That’s what we wanna hear!”
(Voice from the crowd): “We wanna hear some good music!”
“Try knocking your balls with a tambourine. Have I mentioned we’re rated R tonight? Better get the cubs and kittens out of the room.”
“A little late for that, Tabbs.”
“Relax. We’re on a five-second delay. Leon back at the station’s handling the kill switch.”
“If he didn’t duck out and go party.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take. And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for—”
(Voice from the crowd): “You’re leaving?”
“We’ve got two tickets to the Christmas Eve Disco Dinner at Dante’s Inferno, and two tickets to the New Year’s Eve party at the Stardust Supper Club. And all you have to do is … Hump That Leg!”
“Yeesh, man, I thought we buried that bit back in ’07.”
“This is the big time, Fuzz. Wheel of Meat won’t cut it with this crowd.”
(Voice from the crowd): “What kind of meat?”
“Bobcat sausage. Looks like you’ve got a baby link. Here’s how it works: we’ve got two volunteers who are offering up their legs to whichever eager shifter can hump it nonstop for fifteen seconds. I want to stress right here and right now that our volunteers are over 21 and are consenting adults, as are our contestants. None of those underage shenanigans here at Dante’s. We have class.”
(Woman’s voice): “Wait. Volunteers? You promised me $20!”
“I forgot to mention, our volunteers also receive complimentary tickets to the holiday bash of their choice. Ah, there you are. What’s your name, sugar bottom?”
“Sanjia.”
“And you’ve got—holy scat, will you look at those waders! They go all the way to the moon! What are you, dumpling? Antelope?”
“Giraffe.”
“Of course you are. If you need a date to the dance—”
“Forget it, Tabby. You can’t reach that high. For our lady contestants, we have Mr. Gerald Starkweather, who’s got quite a set of stilts of his own. What’s your form, buddy?”
“Great blue heron.”
“He doesn’t look so great to me.”
“Stuff it, Tabbs. And stop drooling on Sanjia.”
(Voice from the crowd): “I want a shot at the bird!”
“No way, Lamar. We were told about you. Only shifters with legs get to play.”
(Voice from the crowd): “That’s discrimination! I’m suing! Snakes are people too!”
“You’re an employee of Dante’s and therefore disqualified. Go squeeze juice out of your boyfriend.”
(Wail from the crowd): “Not again!”
“Let’s get some legitimate players up here before this gets out of hand. Holy guacamole, you're one cougarific wolf. Who might you be, dumpling?”
“Oksana Wilk. My, aren’t you the saucy one.”
“That’s cream with a hint of cinnamon. Now, Sanjia or Gerald will offer up a leg, and all you have to do is hang on and hump for fifteen seconds without falling off. Select the object of your affection. And the time starts—whoa! Wait! Not me! I’m the DJ!”
“You smell like Little Friskies. Here, kitty kitty.”
“Fuzzy! A little help here!”
“Why? She’s doing great, from where I’m sitting.”
(Chant from crowd) “Tabby! Tabby! Tabby!”
“Fuzz, you son of a—” (incoherent yowls)
“I think we have a winner. While we’re setting up for the next round, here’s a little something from AC/DC. And a happy holiday season to you all!”
