Chapter Forty One. You Got Chocolate in My Peanut Butter

You Got Chocolate in My Peanut Butter

In Derby's present condition, it would seem that a plop plop fizz fizz of a black marble to the back of the throat would be the perfect antidote to turmoil. And for just a moment, it was. At least the brigade of slimy fingers had ceased their probing insurgency.

First there was a gurgling which emanated  from his gastrointestinal tract. Then poor Derby was thrown into violent convulsions. After that his actions could only have been described as comical, were they not so painful to experience, if there had been anyone to watch.

Since you, dear reader, are the only ones to discover his frantic and bizarre impersonations of notable evil doers, we'll trust that you are well prepared to bare witness to the tragic consequences that followed.

As if ball bearings were bouncing around inside his head, Derby's face seemed to be pushed from under the skin by tiny forces trying to escape. You could hear his agony as these facial protrusions pushed his skin, with each, "aaa," and "ooo" as his cheeks and eye muscles were stretched and mangled like knuckles behind a rubber mask.

"My name is Pol Pot of Khmer Rouge and I am the Prime Minister of Cambodia!," said Derby, after his facial convulsions stopped and he was left with slanted smiling eyes and a big mouthed grin. He may have been convincing as the dictator who destroyed the lives of two million farmers if it wasn't for his delicious breasts, held loosely in shimmering chiffon. He was still adorned in his shiny thin pantaloons but he now sported a huge belly and what appeared to be a rather large "package" in the crotch area of his dainty panties.

Waving his hands to an audience that didn't exist, he persisted with his rant:

"I order you and you and you (not you with the axe handle, you're cute) and you and you to the Killing Fields. Men, remember. Don't waste ammunition," Derby continued, now talking to another non-existent crew of followers. "Use axes and hammers, spades and sharpened bamboo sticks. And make it snappy!"

Then his cheeks and eye lids, temples, neck and forehead started boiling again which left him with a small square mustache and very stern eyes. "Achtung," Derby announced while his right hand shot to attention and his fingers pointed skyward in a stiff salute. "Mein meatballs aber sprechen delicious!," he announced, obviously confusing some of Hitler's more memorable orations.

"Mein momma da ist noch a pooty tat!," said Adolph Derby, reflecting a boy's love for mother and kitty. "Now grab your chalk and meet me at the sidewalk!," he demanded of his imaginary followers. If you watched closely you would have noticed him adjusting his miniscule pee-pee in his britches, as he turned to lead his flock to the pavement.

Again his facial muscles snapped and pulsed, stretched and popped, this time turning poor Derby's face in to that of a deformed Mongolian.

"Chaka Khan, Chaka Kan," said the crazed Derby the Hun. "I'll trade my empire for the funk of Rufus!" (His time machine seemed to have been slightly out of whack). "Across the Rhine and into Gaul, to Grandmother's House we go!," he screamed, before once again falling into convulsions and suffering the pain of facial disfiguration. As he flip flopped, he was careful to protect the bulging empire in his pants, easily the grandest of its kind from the Danube to the Baltic Sea.

Courteous Reader. Even though you are watching the troubling, exorcist-like horror unfold in the privacy of your own computer terminal, Umpa was speculating to Bai Ling what was taking place at the pit of the vase.

"I'm sure Derby is feeling the mild transition between his Yin and Yang natures. You see Bai Ling," explained Umpa, "all of the vase is Derby. But since he climbed into Jeninqua and not the other way around, he spent the last 43 days as his Jeninqua self. When he traversed his darkest, hidden characteristics, and descended to his deepest self, he found his shiny black marble--his true Yin."

Bai Ling objected. "But Umpa, Derby is extremely Yang, I've heard you tell me repeatedly," she reasoned. "So why is it that he'll find his true Yin nature at the base of himself?"

"I know it is confusing little one," answered Umpa to his darling apprentice. "It is primary Yin inside Yang which makes his character so strong. It is also what makes him a leader and extremely creative!"

Little did Umpa know that it wasn't Derby's black marble which was slung into the back of his throat but the shiny white Yang of the Scontandia Chief himself! The dark magic of Scontandia is beyond what most of us will ever understand, but trust me, it is measure by measure as powerful as Umpa's illuminating art.

"Please to come here all you Russian peasants!," spoke Derby the Terrible to the thousands of Cossaks he was about to slaughter. "My soldiers will measure your wee-wees!," he exclaimed, obviously obsessed with the size of his own equipment. "Whichever man stands taller than I, he shall be eliminated!" Had a crowd actually been assembled and cast their eyes to spy on the diminutive nook between the Tsar's legs, they would have immediately known that they were all doomed to perish.

And so it went in the one man play at the bottom of the vase of Derby, as he transformed from one bad guy to another, each with their own peculiar evil and each with a penis. As Stalin, Derby announced he would be serving famine for dinner. Even though small at heart, as the General Secretary of the Communist Party, Derby was endowed with a enormous Russian tower.

As Leopold II, and the first rubber baron, Derby would have required very little of the rubber material for his own condom. As Idi Amin, he was grotesque, mean and ugly, but built like a rock star on Viagra. As Khomeini, he may have been an Islamic Revolutionary but judging by the wrinkle in his underpants, he appeared to be a cub scout.

Then Derby's most sinister appearance of all blazed brightly in his eyes when he strut his stuff as Maximilien Robespierre.

"I am prepared to die," proclaimed the mad frenchman, who so proudly flaunted the hump in his tights. And in fact, he was prepared to lose his noggin, because he laid his neck across an imaginary raised platform. The reflection from the guillotine flashed and seemed to be synchronized with the pronouncement that echoed through the hollow of the entire vase, "Off with his head!"

The mysterious commandment had been rendered by the Scontandia, who had finally regained control of the situation. Umpa and Bai Ling were alerted to the danger, and they both gasped as they heard the release of the heavy metal blade.

Would there be enough time for Umpa and Bai Ling to react? Would Derby's throat snap like a cheap cigar? Is there still time for mankind to learn how to live a balanced life on a planet where he is the only species that can doom all others? Will boys learn how to control themselves or will they continue to let the bulge in their britches do their thinking for them?

Stay tuned...