Seventeenth Chapter — The Ice Cream Sea

When last we saw our schizoid freaks that pass for heroes these days, they were on their way to the Ice Cream Sea after having destroyed the Lollipop Forest in an especially wanton manner.

“Do you think there will be islands made out of raw cookie dough?” Tuck wondered with barely disguised hope in his voice.

Double Eleven consulted the brochure and read aloud, “The Ice Cream Sea is home to the Racooki’i chain of islands.”

“Do you think we can eat one of the smaller islands?” Tuck wondered, peeling the disguise off of his hope in a sordid and tasteless striptease.

Double Eleven stuffed a dollar bill into his g-string and slapped him upside the head. “We’re not here to eat land formations,” he remonstrated. “We’re passing through on our way to King Kandy’s Kastle! We shall take the Sugar Cone Ferry over the Ice Cream Sea and that will be the end of that.”

“You’re no fun,” Tuck mumbled petulantly.

“And you stuff your underpants,” Double Eleven shot back with his ACME Insult Taser™. “Now put some clothes on and stop thinking about cookie dough. Cookies are a sometimes food.”

“Like, whatever,” said Tuck, wiggling into his tight pants. He surreptitiously removed a wad of tissues from his crotch and hastened after the purposeful stride of the secret agent.

Soon enough they came to the shores of the Ice Cream Sea, and marveled at its purpleness. It stretched north to the horizon and west to the very ramparts of King Kandy’s Kastle.

“If we were especially foolish,” Double Eleven observed, “we would pass by this most excellent of opportunities and continue walking along the road until we became stuck for an indeterminate amount of time in the Molasses Swamp, where we would have to endure the oafish presence of Gloppy. Once in the swamp, Gloppy, who is in fact made of Molasses, creeps into your pants and violates your manhood.”

“It says that in the brochure?”

“Yes.”

“Someone is awfully preoccupied with our manhood.”

“Once again, yes.”

Tuck scratched his head as he peered over Double Eleven’s shoulder at the map. “Why would anyone be so foolish as to walk several miles west past King Kandy’s Kastle and then turn around again to reach it? Especially when such a course takes them through a violating swamp?”

“People are stupid,” Double Eleven summarized, folding up the brochure and tucking it in one of his many pockets with all his many ACME weapons. “Now, there is one slight problem.”

“Oh?”

“The Sugar Cone Ferry only transports licensed members.”

“Ah. How does one become a licensed member?”

“You must sacrifice your first born child to King Kandy’s bastard brother, Burger.”

Tuck was taken aback. “Why his brother?”

“Apparently, Burger King owns a line of restaurants which specializes in flame broiled children.”

“That’s appalling!”

“Unpleasant was the world I was going to use. Especially since I have no children.”

Tuck held up his hands. “Don’t look at me, I’m no family man. Had a dog once, but it’s dead now. Funny story, I’m actually named after–”

“I do not care about your so-called funny stories,” Double Eleven snapped. “We must get over that Sea or try our luck with Gloppy! I do not enjoy the latter prospect! Yet without a suitable sacrifice we will not be allowed on the Ferry! What do you propose?”

“Well, we could knock some chicks up and wait 9 months.”

Tuck saw Double Eleven’s prosthetic hand rise up ominously, and wincing, he backtracked: “Joking, joking. I was thinking we could swim.”

“Swim… yes…” Double Eleven pondered, stroking his chin in an evil fashion. “Be a bit sticky.”

“No stickier than the Lollipop Trees.”

“Indeed.” Double Eleven peeled his hand away from where it had become stuck to his face. “Very well. Strip down to only your essentials. We’re going in.”

The stripping jokes quota has already been met, so let us just say that they got down to their skivvies and dove into the fizzy purple soda waters of the Ice Cream Sea. Giant billows of ice cream roiled about in the fizz, and they soon found that it made for treacherous swimming. Every so often a clump of banana ripple or fudge brownie would batter them about their heads and threaten to knock them unconscious. This led invariably to near drowning experiences.

Presently, they caught sight of the Sugar Cone Ferry drifting towards them.

“I always knew I would die under a confection ferry in a sea of ice cream,” spluttered Tuck with courageous sarcasm.

But, as our heroes are not going to just up and die as that would be anticlimactic, the ferry did not drown them. It pulled up alongside them and idled. A figure of utmost beauty stood at the railing and looked down upon them with a benevolent smile and a twinkly wand.

“Need a lift, boys?” asked Queen Frostine in a sugary voice.

“No thanks,” said Double Eleven. “Childless, the both of us.”

“You’re in luck,” she said through her gleaming smile. “Today we’re having a special offer — if you sign up for membership in the Ferry Club all you have to sacrifice is a pair of kittens. Plus, you get a complimentary half pint of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough.”

“Can we put the kittens on credit?”

Queen Frostine laughed a delightful tinkling laugh. “You can defer payment until the first of the year if you are willing to provide three kittens. And if you renege on your payment, several thugs will come to your home and break your knees.”

“That sounds like quite the deal,” Tuck said, using his fedora as a flotation device. “Whaddya think, Ex?”

Double Eleven was already climbing up over the railing. Tuck dog paddled after him and soon both rugged heroes were dripping on deck. Queen Frostine waived her wand and, with a magical jingling noise, the deal was sealed and a mark that looked somewhat like this appeared on the foreheads of both men.

“So, Frosty,” said Double Eleven, settling against the railing in what he thought was a casual yet flirty fashion. “You married? Single? Divorced? A lesbian?”

She giggled and replied, “I’m married to King Kandy. Hence my title of Queen.”

“That would make sense,” Tuck interjected.

“Shut up,” Double Eleven snapped, and Tuck ducked just in time to avoid making a deeper connection with his plastic hand.

“I’m going to go eat my complimentary half pint of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream,” he said, wringing out his fedora. “If you need me.”

“We won’t.”

Once Tuck had departed, muttering expletives under his breath, Queen Frostine inquired, “What business brings you and your friend to King Kandy’s Kastle?”

Double Eleven briefly pondered the idea of telling her the truth, then discarded it with a chuckle. “We’re, ehm, insurance salesmen.”

“Oh really. We’re already insured.”

“Yes, but we can insure you better.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes. It is.”

An awkward silence fell over them like a thin layer of soot from a poorly prepared fire. Double Eleven fidgeted nervously for a minute with the ends of his wet hair, thinking he should be trying out some kind of “sales pitch” or whatever it was insurance salesmen did. His mind came up blank, as it often did, so he said, “Well, nice talking to you. I think I need Tuck.”

He darted off after his companion in adventuring, while Queen Frostine eyed him with cheerful and bubbly suspicion.

Next Chapter:
The Plot Thickens

Tags: 1111, Queen Frostine, Tuck