I walked past the athletic shoe store and the fragrance store, looking for someone my type--tall, athletic, outgoing, and beautiful. I wanted to get going on this and figured that since I'd have unlimited opportunities the rest of my life, I needn't be too choosy. I walked through the food court and decided the young lady working at the juice bar would do. Not exactly a ravishing beauty queen, but time is wasting.
I pointed the mouse at myself and clicked the button. I tested the result by walking directly into the path of the oncoming people traffic--they walked right through me. Then, I yelled as loud as I could at the security guard who acted like I wasn't even there, which, of course, was true in his reality.
I pointed and clicked the button at Kathleen, the juice girl, and slowly started to climb over the counter, which didn't phase her one bit, since she couldn't see me (I had the "victim sight switch" of the mouse set to "n"). No pressure, I thought to myself, as I slowly pulled out the chloroformed cloth and applied it to her nose and mouth. She put up a good fight considering she couldn't see me, but my adrenaline and focus were too much for her to overcome.
As she became limp, I reminded myself of the corny obligatory dialogue and whispered in her ear, "By the way, this job requires a mandatory nap after lunch."
I slung her over my right shoulder (maybe I'll try the left shoulder on the next one) and felt her swinging hands hitting me in the lower back. She must have been about 5 feet 4 inches based on where she was hitting me. Gees what a geek, I am. How can I think about math and physics at a time like this? I had no clue what to do with her next and walked aimlessly past the bookstore and western wear store. I decided to set her her down on a couch inside the photography studio waiting room. "I have a feeling you prefer something more romantic and less primitive, don't you?" I scooped her up in my arms and carried her past the sporting goods store and into the waterbed store. I felt much remorse about what I was doing, but reminded myself that she was a clone and that the "original Kathleen" was continuing to cheerfully take orders at the register, unaware of anything that had just happened. The last step was to lay the clone down on a bed and point-and-click the middle button, which would send her to the virtual recycle bin. No harm no foul.
END of PART I
I was a bit bruised and bloodied, but primatively slung clone Karen over my shoulder in victory like I did with Kathleen, but after a mere second I dipped my left shoulder and put her down. I wanted to try something different, something with a little more dignity and style, and as embarrassing as it seems, with less back pain. "Sorry for the way I put you down, but if it's okay with you, sleepy-head, I'd like to impress you with a textbook fireman's carry." I didn't have the army technical manual with me, but my execution was superb for a first-timer. No swinging arms this time. I felt the weight across both shoulders instead of one. If she woke up, there wasn't much she could do to break out of the grip I had on her wrist. If I threw her over one shoulder instead of two, I was afraid she'd figure out a way to pop me in the side of my head.
My mathematical mind went to work again. I wonder how much she weighs? I'm guessing 117. I carried her into the shower room and stepped on the scale, which had a digital read-out of 301 pounds! Let's see, that's 175 for me and 126 for you. Hey, I'm losing my grip! I felt her right arm pull away from me and knew she was starting to wake up, so I pulled down hard on her right arm and used my right arm to get her weight back on my right shoulder. I took her back to where the class was still in progress and placed her down on a pad of exercise mats. I spotted her purse in the corner of the front of the room and was curious what her driver's license weight was. "115 pounds, I see," I chuckled. "Well, I guess I can forgive a white lie--you did just fine," I said to her as I kissed her on the forehead. She was groggy, but was starting to re-gain her bearings. Uh-oh. Time for the recycle bin. Click.
END Of PART II
************************************* PART III
Date and time of carry: 7/14/94, 14:45
Carried by: husband
Type: arm carry
Reason: twisted ankle playing tennis and was carried to car
Date and time of carry: 8/23/92, 23:31
Carried by: husband
Type: arm carry
Reason: just married; carried over threshold
It's been four years since the last carry and it's obvious neither husband nor wife has a carrying fetish. I think she's due, only this time she might appreciate something a little different. I grabbed the mouse and looked up the address of the television studio.
To be continued?????
END of PART III