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Editor's Disclaimer: This story is copyrighted. That means that it uses
copyrighted characters, and is based on a copyrighted television show that
has been copyrighted by Disney. But it is still copyrighted to Dimes N.
Nickels, because he says so. He owns it and has also trademarked it. If he
knew how to add a circle with the c in the middle, he would have placed it
after every sentence. The words "this," "that," "the," "him," and "her" are
also copyright to Dimes N. Nickels, because he was the first to use them in
a story (to the best of his knowledge).

If you try to use this story without his permission, Dimes N. Nickels will
sue you. HE IS DEADLY SERIOUS. HE WILL SUE YOU. BECAUSE THIS STORY IS MEANT
TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY. However, if the Disney corporation attempts to sue
him, then PLEASE REMEMBER THAT THIS STORY IS ONLY MEANT FOR FUN and should
NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.

Edited by P.J. (Refer to the editor's glossary found in part one for
definitions of unclear terms.)

When possible, the author's original notes have been included.

Numbers by certain sentences indicate a corresponding note found at the end
of each part. The notes were included in 2006, years after the author's
initial writing in 2002.



Even Stevens: Reading Material for Your 11-Year-Old Nephew Part 5
(Ff,Mf,exhib,messy,rough,reluc,ncon)
by Dimes N. Nickels (feedback: [email protected])

XII. When Ren Stevens Is No Longer Able to Fulfill Her Duties as
"Elderly-Home Volunteer of the Month," this Almost-As-Hot Girl Will Take
Over.

Louis Manning, age unknown (records only go back so far, after all), arrived
at the Stevens Manor with his wife, Edna Manning. Their first activities
consisted of a cold-turkey sandwich, taking a bite of the cold-turkey
sandwich, spitting up the cold-turkey sandwich, and kitchen manager Tom
Gribalski complaining that after making a cold-turkey sandwich, and serving
a cold-turkey sandwich, he had to endure Louis and Edna spitting up a
cold-turkey sandwich. When Mr. Manning remarked that the iced tea was "too
bitter," Tom dumped three spoonfuls of white powder into the glass, watched
it dissolve, and served it with his nostrils flared to the elderly man.
"Your drink, Mr. Old Pants," he said under his breath.

After "dinner," the couple retired to their room Edna, still starving, told
her husband that she would take a trek up the road to the nearby 7-11 store
(open all night), pick up a bag of groceries and return with a somewhat
proper meal before finally calling it a night.
"Mummmstttooompmmmceeeeeensommmringeeemeeemumhu," was all he could muster,
as he contemplated changing his underwear. She kissed his cheek, draped her
sweater over her other three layers of sweaters, and left her husband laying
on the bed (probably soiling himself in one way or another).

He watched the wallpaper peel off the wall for about an hour. After that,
it got a little redundant and predictable. "I've seen this one before," Mr.
Manning said. Louis stood up, stumbled over to the television set, and
shuffled through the channels until he spotted a videotape tucked under the
stand. Its label read "Secret World of Girls." There was a world of girls
beyond the one of his wife and her bunions? Hogwash.

He placed the tape in the RCA VCR, ran his finger over the tracking, and
after the snow and fuzz cleared, he saw a picture of a girl rubbing a piece
of paper into her whose-knows-its. The Magnavox tape fizzled into static
just as the raven-haired sweetie fell forward onto the table. Mr. Manning
desperately fooled around with the buttons, randomly fast-forwarding and
pausing, but when the picture did return, it was of a mentally-challenged
boy playing hide-and-seek by himself while two teenage boys threw Jimmy Dean
bacon strips at him (presumably, because it's old-fashion flavor from a name
you can trust). (1) Funny, but not as stimulating as the previous film.

Mr. Manning rewound the tape fourteen times until the VCR popped,,and refused
to play anything other than a tune of gears grinding and his heart breaking
(a rare occurrence for an RCA product, and later, when Louis Stevens wrote a
letter to the company, he received a replacement model and a gift-certificate
for any other RCA machine by a very friendly employee). With a mighty "umph"
he slapped the machine with a force that he hadn't seen since he was
forty-three, and walked out of the room to the hallway. A different Louis,
this time Stevens, patrolled the second story of the household with a tissue
in his left nostril and holding notepad of Crayola-crayon-written figures.

"You," Mr. Manning shouted, causing Louis to jump. "You come here."

Louis followed Mr. Manning into his room, and when Mr. Manning began to
ramble on about a video tape stuck in the machine, Louis asked what tape Mr.
Manning had viewed.

"It said `Secret World of Girls' and it had this girl in it. She was was
was..." Mr. Manning tried to explained.

"Dibble-dabbling?"

"Such vulgar language from children these days, the proper term is
`monologued'" he said, hitting the ungrateful youngin' on the head. "She was
monologuing with this piece of paper, but it broke, can you get it back?" Mr.
Manning fell to his knees. He did this, not to emphasize his dissatisfaction,
but because he was tired. Turkey did that to him. The best turkey. Carl
Budding Turkey.

"I can do you one better than that," Louis said, patting his guest on the
shoulder. "If you get your hands away from my pants, I may be able to arrange
the Musical Director to play an intimate gathering."

"I don't want her to sing, confounded boy, I want her to flap her fanny in my
face," Mr. Manning explained, slamming his hand across Louis' head, again.
"Why do you tease me so with this video, and then offer me a violinist?"

Louis explained the entire situation, teaching Mr. Manning about the finer
points of innuendo, and then threatening him with a dog catcher.* The old,
old man nodded, wiped his mouth with his wrist, crawled back to the bed, and
just as he started to undo his slacks, Louis hotfootted it out of the door,
blasting through each inch of the house, and glaring into each room for
Tawny.

(*Author's Note: I, in no way, advocate disrespect towards elders. I know
many elders. My grandparents are elders. And when I call a dog catcher on
them, my grandparents usually submit voluntarily. -Dimes)

He found Jimmy and Timmy's family again in Donnie's room, but by now the
father had become involved. Despite the urgency of Mr. Manning's request,
Louis scribbled "burn Donnie's things" in Granny Smith Apple-colored
Crayola crayon in his notebook.

After falling down the steps, kicking the railing, tripping on three tables
in the dining room, and falsely telling the guests that refunds might be
available, Louis found Tawny. She was washing dishes in the kitchen and
wearing only an apron. Louis glared at how the apron's belt tied just above
her round, Sealy Posturepedic TrueForm Visco Comfort Pillow-esque
romper-room, and how the suds somehow floated in the air and landed on her
skin, dripping soap down the cleft of her back, and landing in her crack. (2)

Tom and Twitty were there also. Neither of the boys provided any help and
mostly stared at Tawny's Christy-Romano, while digging in their pockets and
giving dirty commentary like "Wow, I've never seen those dishes so clean,
they sparkle with Dawn Dish Soap!"

"Tawny, come on, come on, come on, we have to go," Louis said, grabbing Tawny
by her shoulders and turning her around. The dish slipped out of her hands
and broke on the floor.

"Tom, I told you to be more careful with those dishes. We can't afford to
lose any," Louis remarked.

"I saw that coming," Tom whispered under his breath.

"Tawny why are you washing dishes in your nothing-mcnothings?" Louis asked.

"Guilt, Louis, look, I'm not going back in there, we have a problem."

"Well, Tawn, the old guy in my room wants you to get all `Truck-Stop Mr.
Pookie' on him. He's old; he has so much extra money because the government
just hands it out to him."

"Louis..."

"Tawny?" Louis said, as he stared into her eyes. "For me? It'd mean a lot."

Though it caused a sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach, and her
dishpan hands had begun to dry in (what she poetically perceived as) "the
crusting of her repulsive decisions," Tawny said yes. Louis hugged her, and
she inhaled his ketchup-and-lingering-cologne odor. She was about to rest her
head on his shoulder when Louis untied his arms, limped to the refrigerator,
and found some ice for bruised legs. "My suffering," Louis said, as Tawny
lowered her head, and walked out of the room to the ogling of Tom and Twitty.

Tawny left the kitchen, but opened the door again and told Tom to "clean up
that plate you broke." Afterwards, she marched up the to the second floor,
and when she entered Mr. Manning's room, she eclipsed the blaring light of
the hallway with her bare figure. The old man thought of her as a perfect
angelic vision. This may have been true; however, her heavenly-and-innocent
embodiment soon diminished when Mr. Manning requested Tawny's hand on his
soft, recently-exposed ding-a-ling. It was coated with a thin layer of dust,
and creaked when it moved.

"Oh, you are so pretty," he said, staring right at Tawny, and licking his
chops. "I haven't felt like this since the Roosevelt administration."

Tawny prevented her growing sickness from regurgitating all over Mr.
Manning's olive-spot skin by reminding herself that it was only a matter of
moments before he arrived all over her fist. She had asked him what type of
actions he wanted to engage in with her. He told a long, detailed tale about
his loss of energy and how he may not be up to a complete whirlwind of
back-and-stomach exercises like his time in the "war."

"Which one?" Tawny asked. "The Civl War?"

"Ohhhhhhh, just use your hand; my wife will be back any moment..."

Wife? What would Jane Austen or Sylvia Path say to Tawny Dean now? Tawny
Dean, who always fought for the oppressed, now had a hand in the oppression
of women by knowingly having an affair with married man. Tawny Dean...
oppressed females... perpetrating acts... Plath... when did naked activity
become a male weapon to cheapen females... men... men... women... women...
sexist... [portions of this paragraph omitted due to repetition of ideas]...
like a monkey sniffing crushed Smarties.

[First sentence removed for the same reason; come up with something better
later. Probably won't. -Dimes] Her round mounds captured the attention of Mr.
Manning as if he had been touching the brand-new, inflatable, official Even
Stevens "Ruby Mendel and Ren Stevens Compact-Fun-Toys" from Mattel. (The
dolls won't be the only thing blown when you pick one up! Now with a vacuum
mouth!) Perky and fitting in the palm of his hands, he squished the skin
until his stuttering turned to a chant of bewilderment. Even though his
wowzer could not attain a level of hardness required for any type of release,
Mr. Manning still enjoyed her sweaty palm greasing his humdinger. Had his
wife performed the same duty, Edna would have taken two strokes, and fell
asleep. Then what? He'd have to monologue all over her sleeping face, and
what type of individual did that? Nonetheless, the fifteen year-old brunette
rubbed him without the threat of sleep, though she constantly wondered when
he would ascend to the next phase of stiffness.*

(*Author's Note: This story does not advocate elderly gentlemen
propositioning teenage girls, but this story does advocate that Tawny is
totally awesome when non-clothed. -Dimes)

"Mr. Manning? Is this working?" Tawny asked, as she changed hands.

"Ba-ba-ba, orhgggggggg,
hhhhappyhhhhhhhbbbbiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrthhhhhhhhddddddddaaaaaaaay."

"What? I didn't catch that?"

"Ba-ba-ba, lllllaaaaaaaaauuuuuurrpen ffffffffrrrrrrrrrooooooosssssssttttttt."

"What?" she asked, placing her ear next to his mouth.

"Sizzle cake." And then he sneezed.

Tawny sprung backwards, flinging her straight hair off her shoulders.
Despite being bombarded by all of the distractions, she still showcased
true professionalism of her fake job by keeping her hand on the antique
slinky-dink in light of potential illnesses. She imagined herself smart
enough to know that you couldn't contract diabetes by touching an old
man's wowzer. But, if it would happen, it would happen by touching his
slinky-dink. (3)

Bits of dust circulated in the air with each pull of his manhood. Ms. Dean
did not consider herself an expert on the male anatomy. Still, she thought
something should happen to him with repeated caresses to his slinky-dink.

"Mr. Manning, am I doing this right?"

"Oh, Tawny, you're doing it beautifully."

"Shouldn't you be, um, growing or something?"

"Can't. War injury. Gatling Gun right to the ol' crusty humdinger."

"Gatling Gun?" Tawny questioned. "You can't get hard? How are we suppose to
end?"

"Oh, young lady, when I saw your tuckus on that video, I had flashbacks of
Mrs. Lincoln in the battlefield while Honest Abe monitored the battle. So
much happened to that guy right behind his back."

"Tuckus? Tuckus?" Tawny stuttered. "Abraham Lincoln? What did you see me do?"

"Dibble-dabble, oh I don't care how vulgar it is, I loved to watch you
dibble-dabble with your, oh shucks, I'm just going to say it,
panky-panky-sandwich-oven."

"Ewwwwww."

"Kiss me, kiss me just like my wife used to when she had teeth," Mr. Madding
said as he tackled Tawny. His hands dug into her spotless, creamy skin like
a stay-at-home mother fighting for the last-ripe avocado at a Target
Superstore. When Ms. Dean moved, and his chest pressed against hers, it felt
like sandpaper. Her only retaliation, kicks and smacks against his shoulders,
slapped his skin like Jell-o gelatin. She released her grip on his wowzer.
Nonetheless, that only encouraged him to hump her whose-knows-its with her
underdeveloped member. His slinky-dink on her ticker-tape-parade felt like a
banana rolling on a Aunt Jemima pancake in preparation of serving breakfast
for six grinning children.

"I can't breathe!" Tawny yelled, as her ribs brushed against her spine like
reunited high-school sweethearts.

"That's it, marry me, Tawny, marry me Tawny! I haven't felt this way since
Mildred Davis!"

"Mildred Davis?!?! Who in the name of a Blueberry Fruit Pie is Mildred
Davis?" Tawny screamed, as Mr. Manning lurched his fingers into her
Christy-Romano, and applied pressure on the inner hole. (4)

"Louis Manning!" a female elderly voice rang out. Mr. Manning jumped off of
Tawny, allowing the girl to catch her breath.

"Edna, I don't know what, what, what came over me," Louis pleaded, backing
off the brunette, retreating into the corner with his hands over his head.

"This is just like that time with Mary Todd, just like it! Do you know what
I had to do for this avocado?" Edna asked, dropping her grocery bag on the
floor, and pulling said fruit out. "Do you know how long I had to wait in
line for these groceries, and I come home and find you dueting with this
hussy. Dueting!"

"Mrs. Manning?" Tawny asked, while clutching her stomach.

"What, what do you want the Two-time Reigning Ms. Hussy of Sacramento?"

"Mrs. Madding, I want you to know, before you judge me, that I didn't really
want to do this. I've been oppressed," Tawny explained. "But could I still
get paid, becausewe're going on a ski trip?"

Mrs. Manning let Tawny crawl out of the room. She could have thrown the
avocado at the hussy's head, and she did attempt to, but it hit her back
instead. Tawny thanked the elderly woman for her understanding.



XIII. Fun with Fiction. Insert Your Own Chapter Title.

With his foot sandwiched between two whales of thighs, while trotting on a
sea of rocking bed springs, and waves and waves of stomach fat, Steve Stevens
finally mounted his wife Eileen by anchoring on her shoulders and sailing his
big mouth bass into her "Whose-Knows-Its Bay." He felt as if he would crash
on many occasions, especially when one of the waves of her excessive flesh
splashed across his body, and he nearly became a man overboard. He buried his
head in his wife's neck, and sucked, as her hands pushed him on her,
shrinking his slender, one-hundred-and-some-odd pound frame into her gigantic
typhoon.*

(*Author's Note: I think I'm overemphasizing Eileen Stevens' weight. Sorry! I
love you, Donna! Thanks for all those stories about the cast of "Out of this
World"! -Dimes)

"Oh captain, my captain," Eileen chanted in the hotel room, until it
ricocheted into the adjacent rooms, and scared the romance out of the Hilton
Hotel. Many guests had, by this point, given up on candlelight dinners and
turned on the television. Some just left. Just left.

The phone rang. Steve attempted to undock, but Eileen held him in place until
he shook loose her ropes, shoving a pillow in her mouth, and rolling over to
the phone on the nearby desk. He listened intently, umming and humming, as
Mrs. Stevens rubbed her whose-knows-its, and humped the air.

He hung up.

"Eileen, that wasn't the kitchen with our oysters, that was someone staying
at our home. Apparently, Louis and Ren have opened a firework display in our
house."

"The kind of firework display that lights up?"

"No, darling, the kind that involves washing bed sheets for the next several
weeks."

Eileen tucked her head to her chin, unplugged her hand from between her legs,
and nodded.

"We still have time to finish this, don't we?"

"Prepare for launch, Mrs. Stevens!" he said, rolling on top of her and
kissing her lips like a shark at a piece of meat.

"Can you imagine that we're this frisky even without the granulated Spanish
Fly?" Eileen asked.

"Yeah, we probably shouldn't have left it in the kitchen where it could be
mistaken for sugar."

"Yes, you think as a lawyer and senator with a reputation to uphold, we would
have hid the Spanish Fly where our children would not have found it."

"Yes, such a careless mistake. It doesn't even sound realistic. Seems really
contrived. Like it was done just to further the plot."

"Well, whatever, did you ever send away for that Kim Possible doll on the
back of the granulated Spanish Fly?"

"No, we need seventy-eight proofs-of-purchase, and we only have
seventy-nine."

Though they planned on one more ding-a-linging, the Hilton Hotel staff, along
with many of the guests, already had the Stevens' car parked in front of the
building. The Stevens kept at their naughty ha-na-na, even until the staff
kicked down the door, and forcefully separated the two. Security said it was
worse than the time that the tigers escaped in the lobby.



XIV. "We both luved ths product. I went from 30 minutes to 3 hours and
stopped only coz i got a cramp in my leg. i cant wit to use again. (0 people
found this comment helpful, 1 did not)"

As Ms. Lovelson instructed (fitting as she was a teacher whom students
occasionally listened to), Ruby disrobed, letting her borrowed robe slip off
her shoulders, and then dangle until it fell on the back of the lawn chair.
Ms. Mendel sat, closed her legs, dug her hand between her thighs, and
massaged the perspiration into her skin. After Ms. Lovelson began her quiz,
Ruby tried to focus her eyes on a clock, as she usually did in science, but
upon looking up, remembered that she was outside.

Ruby nailed the first question. Answering, "Are you ready?" came easily.
Nevertheless, Ruby's accuracy rating diminished to zero (and even the
correctness of the first answer could be argued, considering she said,
"Yes"), when the questions that required knowledge of facts interfered.
Ms. Lovelson flipped through her lesson plan, asking everything from the
dreaded parallax to the even-more dreaded "What would you have done had
you not been in the same class as Ren Stevens?" (5)

"Let's just focus on the periodic table of elements," Ms. Lovelson commented,
dropping the text book, and slapping her hands on her thighs.

Ms. Lovelson combed the elements with her eyes in her lesson plan, celebrated
with a "ah-ha," peered up and inquired, "What element has an abbreviation of
O?"

Ruby could roll her eyes like Old Fashion Brand Gumdrops in a dryer, which
she often did, and actually did in front of Ms. Lovelson. She followed this
by biting her lip in the cutest way imaginable (where just the outskirts of
her top-row molar appeared, awwwww, so cute), and peppering her "ums" with
enough Ws to make her "um" sound more like "ow." Then she answered. She
answered ostraydeium.

And Ms. Lovelson said, "Ruby can you name any actual element? Any at all?"*

(*Author's Note: And I said, Lauren, you're my Honeybunch, Sugarplum,
Pumpy-umpy-umpkin, You're my Sweetie-Pie -Dimes)

"Yes."

"Name one."

"Ostraydeium."

"No, Ruby, no, that's not a..."

"Parallax?"

"In the pool, Ruby."

"But, why?"

"In the pool."

Ruby shrugged, lurched forward, and sunk into the pool. The contrast between
the sizzling, summer air and the tepid pool water was immediate. A wiggle
shook through Ruby, and when her recently cleaned skin became corrupted with
the muck and filth of the pool, she added an "ew" which, unlike the "um,"
sounded exactly like it was intended. She felt a mushy, non-Jell-o Jiggler
substance at the bottom of the pool with her foot, and when she dug her hand
underneath, and pulled out the object, she discovered it was her Levi's
jeans. So that's where I threw them during my turn of the "Organ Donor Game"
with Jimmy and Timmy, she thought.*

(*Author's Note: Lauren, You're My Cuppycake, gumdrop, snoogums-boogums,
you're the apple of my eye. -Dimes)

"Good enough for the Goodwill," Ruby mumbled, before throwing them on the
lawn.

"Ready, Ruby?"

"Ms. Lovelson, I'm not falling for that one again. No, I am not ready."

"O, Ruby, what is O?"

Ruby turned her head around. Standing above her, mounted behind Ruby's
romper-room, and non-clothed (except for black high-heel shoes and
black-rimmed glasses), Ms. Lovelson donned a strap-on slinky-dink. The
edge of the fake wowzer perched inches away from Ruby's whose-knows-its
with Ms. Lovelson's hands tickling Ruby's scrumptious back like ants on
their way to a trampled, opened picnic basket full of Lunchables Lunches
(and can you blame the ants?).

"Ruby, for each answer right I'll insert this contraption into your
ticker-tape-parade. For each one you get wrong, I'll do something else."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, I haven't thought that far yet," Ms. Lovelson stated. "O,
Ruby."

"Oregano," Ruby answered. She had heard it mentioned in a class before. Maybe
that was cooking class.

Ms. Lovelson quickened the pace of her ant-like fingertips, ran them up to
Ruby's head, and shoved her face-first into the pool's slop. Under the water,
Ruby breathed in a a dead fly, had her erring loosen in the water, swallowed
a mouthful of mud along with her loosened erring, choked up her erring, and
then accidentally swallowed the erring again. When Ms. Lovelson pulled Ruby
above water, the teacher asked the question again, "O, Ruby."

"Oxygen . . . oxygen. I need oxygen!" she coughed.

Without a warning, Ms. Lovelson plunged forward again, only instead of a
head belonging to Ruby, it was her slinky-dink's round end that found itself
submerged in an alien environment. As Ruby moaned, and her whose-knows-its
juices collaborated with the other murky liquid, she coughed up her erring,
and itched at her bagel-mounds. In the water, the two mounds floated like
floatation devices. Ms. Lovelson sunk the slinky-dink two more times, held
on to her student's hips, and asked, "What number is Oxygen?"

"Ms. Lovelson, do you actually expect me to correctly answer that?"

"Ruby, if you are unable to correctly answer the question, I will just have
to, once again, deny you of oxygen."

"Fine, ah, ah, ah," Ruby said as she spit out a twig. "Ah, ah, eight!"

With her fingers wrung about the Ruby's mane, Ms. Lovelson propelled Ruby's
face, once again, in the water. Her usual makeup (the blush, the lipstick
etc.) ran down the sixteen-year old's face, and drizzled into the depths of
the pool (must not have been Maybelline makeup, and Ruby regretted soon
afterwards for buying a cheap rip-off). Ruby Mendel had been suffocated a
number of times that day, and she did not understand the fascination with
denying her of the ability to breathe. Especially when she correctly answered
a question in Ms. Lovelson's tiddlywinkual study session.

"Wait, did you say eight?" Ms. Lovelson asked. "Ruby, Ruby? Oh, oops."

Ms. Lovelson pulled Ruby's head out of the water. Upon being reintroduced to
the air, Ruby opened her mouth, allowed a yellow flapping object to emerge
out of her lips, and spit out the yellow object until it revealed itself as
a goldfish. As the fish slithered away, rubbing against her chest, and
swimming into her ticker-tape-parade, Ruby remembered the "Kitchen Specials"
on the board when she first entered the Stevens Manor: fresh fish. (6)

"I'm sorry," Ms. Lovelson reported, as she let loose Ruby's head.

Ms. Lovelson transferred her hands to Ruby's backside, where her fingernails
pierced into the girl's bountiful flesh. However, without the teacher holding
the student in place, Ruby's head returned to the water, colliding with a
splash that sent tadpoles and a frog careening onto the lawn. Ruby recalled
another special that was listed under "Fresh Fish": Frogs' Legs.*

(*Author's Note: I tried to write this scene with respect and dignity for all
the actresses involved. I think I achieved it rather well. Now, I need to
write more about how stuff is shoved up Ruby's butt. -Dimes)

Ms. Lovelson's side of the spectrum saw (and maneuvered) a constant wave
machine. Each of her pelvic thrusts slapped Ruby's thighs like a lightening
bolt (that blared even over Mrs. Manning's own thunderous onslaught against
her husband and his promiscuity). She'd pull the faux slinky-dink out, and
during this time, a exploding, miniature tsunami of water would pour into
Ruby's ticker-tape-parade. During the frequent occasion that Ms. Lovelson
pressed her weight on Ruby's sweet behind, a copious amount of water would
dive into the gossiper's gaping romper-room. Ruby would scream, though it
tingled like Canadian Dry Ginger Ale, and, actually, was just as little
refreshing as that beverage.

"Zn, Ms. Mendel, Zn?"

"Wait, I think I got a frog in my throat," Ruby cried with sixty-four of her
own wet strands gagging her.

"Just because you have to cough is no excuse to not be prepared, Ms. Mendel."

"No, I actually think I have a frog in my throat," Ruby croaked. "And a tad
pole swimming between my legs."*

(*Author's Note: Classy, Dimes, really classy. -Dimes)

Ms. Lovelson raised her hand, and swatted Ruby on the bare butt. The pushed
caused the frog to leap out of Ruby's throat, and as the blonde girl massaged
her neck and the raven-haired teacher rubbed the student's back, a silhouette
of a pudgy kid shooting fireflies with a stuffed bunny rabbit danced in the
moonlight. Even though both of the female figures in the swimming pool
stopped momentarily to watch the event, they returned to the pounding moments
afterwards when Ms. Lovelson tucked her finger into Ruby's tight butt-hole,
and tapped the puckered opening. (7)

"Zn, Ruby, Zn, answer, now!" Ms. Lovelson demanded.

"Zoxygen!"

The events occurred simultaneously: a finger forging into the enchanted
world of Ms. Susan-Said-To-Tony-That-She-Didn't-Want-To-Wear-Black-Undies-In-
Front-Of-Her-Mother-Because-Her-Mother-Always-Said-That-Her-Mother-Said-That-
Only-Bunsen-Burners-Wore-Black-Undies-But-She-Didn't-Use-The-Term-Bunsen-
Burners... and Ms. Lovelson throwing Ms. Blah-Blah-Blah's face into the
water. When the object jetted into her back-end, Ruby screamed and all those
oxygen bubbles gathered to the surface, popping like overheated gingerbread.

"Owwwwwchh blobble blobble, blobble, swop!" Ruby screamed from the sea.

With her lung capacity quickly dwindling, Ruby dealt with the choking by
panicking, screaming and flaying her arms in any way they could bend. At the
same time, Ms. Lovelson's finger protruded into the back-hole, and with an
inserted prosthetic slinky-dink slipping into her ticker-tape-parade, Mendel
sensed that she could arrive soon, regardless of her consciousness. The grip
on Ruby's hair loosened, and she flung her head up, gasping.

Even though Ms. Lovelson approached this study session seriously, and her
only intention was to make her struggling student learn enough to pass the
class, her mind wandered upon seeing Ruby bounce backwards on her contrived
slinky-dink. Though she heard about Ruby's reputation in the teacher's
lounge, saw the writing on the bathroom walls ("Ruby Mendel is a Light
Switch" it'd say), she never envisioned Ruby as anything more than the
student in the second row that always failed tests. That beautiful, petite,
vivacious and tasty student with hair that shined like formic and oxalic
acid who always failed class...

"I'm going to, I'm going to arrive!" Ruby screamed.

Even though the impending release appeared inevitable, with it being
encouraged by the pounding of her romper-room and whose-knows-it, the
recognition ended abruptly. Ms. Lovelson pulled out, stood up, and
walked onto the lawn.

"What?!?!" Ruby screamed, as she pulled a leaf off her left bagel.

"No, no, this is not working, you're just not getting the material," Ms.
Lovelson said.

"I was getting something out of it!"

Before Ruby could complain, Ms. Lovelson already had her slinky-dink down to
her feet, and rushed over to recline on the lawn chair. Ruby splashed the
water, and asked, "What the fudge-tastic world of Hostess Chocolate Donettes
is going on here?" Ms. Lovelson had her won legs spread, and her fingers
working her own ticker-tape-parade into a frenzy of applauding female juices.
A tear nearly drifted down Ruby's cheek. That could have been her
ticker-tape-parade, and for a time, it was...

"Ms. Mendel, put on the contraption, and prepare to use it on me," Ms.
Lovelson demanded.

The failing student stood, and with the mud dripping off her skin, reached
for the slinky-dink, stepped into it, pulled it up, and stroked her hand over
the protruding piece.

Upon reaching her teacher's position, Ruby lifted Ms. Lovelson's legs, pushed
forward until the teacher's knees met her shoulders, and dove the slinky-dink
into the teacher's whose-knows-it until it vanished. As she humdingered the
teacher, Ruby watched as Ms. Lovelson's glasses fogged up. There were several
elements, that when combined, made this event occur. However, Ruby didn't
know those elements, and didn't know if it was even taught during that
trimester. This study session is awful, Ruby thought.

On most occasions, Ruby would have chose the naked-dog-and-cat-chase over
learning what Zn meant on the periodic table. But it was clear to Ms. Mendel
that there wasn't a person alive in the Stevens Manor that would be
considerate enough to allow her to arrive. Men and their slinky-dinks. Even
when the man in question is actually a woman pretending to be a man, he (or
she) still wants it to be all about him (or her). Ruby pumped her groin into
Ms. Lovelson seven more times, and felt the sweat attach their skin together
until both sides stretched, and finally broke apart. Her hands moved up the
teacher's stomach from the her midsection, to her bellybutton, and up to Ms.
Lovelson's shoulder blade.

"That's right, Ruby! Make me arrive!!!" Ms. Lovelson hollered. "Quick, tell
me what element has a symbol of B? Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!"

"Settle down, settle down, I'll answer, jeez, I've got a few things going
on," Ruby remarked. "Boxygen."

"Boron, it's boron!" Ms. Lovelson screamed, wrapping her arms around Ruby,
and sucking on the girl's neck.

"Thanks a lot, Ms. Lovelson, I thought I was doing a good job. Do you want me
to just quit?"

"No, Ruby, it's boron, the element."

"Yeah, I could have told you that the element is boring."

"No, boron, b-o-r-o-n!"

"Oh, oh yeah, I knew that, just pass me already."

"Look, Ruby, I'll name five numbers, if you can correctly answer which
elements these numbers stand for before you make me arrive, I'll give you an
`A' and you'll pass the class."

Ruby slowed down her pumping and even stopped until Ms. Lovelson complained,
and then told her that not pounding her wasn't fair to the academic process.
Though, as she quickened her pace, Ruby's eye caught Ms. Lovelson's discarded
textbook on the cement floor just to the right of lawn chair. It was opened
to the periodic table.

"Twenty-three!" Ms. Lovelson hollered, grabbing Ruby's hand and placing it on
her own chest-patties. In between her fingers, Ruby felt the erect red nub.
It was hard enough to choke on. The teacher threw Ruby's mouth onto them, but
before she could feast, Ruby pulled away to answer the question.

"Vanadium."

"Twenty-eight!"

Ms. Lovelson expected Ruby to chew and speak at the same time, which Ruby
determined to be unfair, considering that it did not count as extra credit.
One hand on her thigh, another on her shoulder, and her mouth preoccupied on
her peaks. For a girl who failed the class, her teacher demanded a lot. But,
as if her mouth was filled with Juicy Fruit Gum, Ruby garbled the names,
while bits of slobber oozed on to the teacher's chest.

"N-N-N-Nickel."

"Nineteen."

Ms. Mendel hugged her teacher. The speed of her motion slowed, but Ms.
Lovelson objected, pulling at Ruby's hair, and threatening that any more
decreased action could result in a weave for the talky princess. Ruby added
to the velocity, even though her breathing was heavy and her heartbeat raced,
and her chest felt like she just swallowed a lead Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop
(the actual amount of licks needed to get to the center of Ruby, unlike a
Tootsie Pop, was well known).

"P-P-P-P-Potassium. Mamamam."

"Three."

"L-L-L-Lithium."

"Oh, ohhhhhh, I'm so close, Ruby! Ruby, you make me proud to be in the
teaching profession!"

"The number, Ms. Lovelson," Ruby said as she gritted her teeth and flung her
hair out of her face."

"Oh, I'm going to, I'm going to..."

"The number, Ms. Lovelson!"

"Two!"

Just as the words slipped out of Ms. Lovelson's mouth, Ruby's eye injury
returned, and blackness coated her vision. "Guys," Ruby screamed. "Stupid
guys! I can't see! All shooting in my eye!!"

"Oh, Ruby, I feel it, it's growing, I'm going to, I'm going to..."

"Stupid guys? What have I become? What did I just say? And I can't see the
ding-a-linging textbook!!!"

The slop from the pool caused their bodies to slip, and as Ruby attempted get
her footing and remain stable, it proved to be too much for her to handle.
With the heel of her foot sliding backwards, Ruby fell forward, shoving the
slinky-dink vigorously into the hole, which became, the final thrust, and the
last combustible element. Their chests impelled on one another, as Ruby's
lips pounced on Ms. Lovelson's to develop a tongue-filled smooch.

"ARRRRRRRRRIVVVVVEEEEEEEEE OHHHHHHHHHHHHH DO IT TO MEEEEEE!!!!!! I'M
ARRIVINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!! EEEEMMMMM KKKKKCCCCCUFFFFFF" Ms. Lovelson
screamed into Ruby's mouth.

Her hips bucked, and Ms. Lovelson's arched her back, propping her
whose-knows-its up to the wearable slinky-dink for the final probe. The
shaking subsided, and the breath commenced. Ms. Lovelson snatched her glasses
off her face, and sprawled out on the chair.

"Sorry, Ruby, you did not, um, successfully, um, complete the quiz, your
grade remains the same," Ms. Lovelson said between gasps for air. "I'm sorry,
but you fail... again."

Ruby fell backwards. She stared up at the night's sky and the twinkling
stars. To be a star, just like way she envisioned. Just spend all day
sparking and not having to plug your teacher for a passing grade in high
school Science. She thought about it, and then, of course, Beans returned.

"Hiya Beans," she said, exhausted, then waited. "I bet you'd really like to
be breast fed."

Beans nodded.

"Come down here, poster-child-for-all-deformities, it's feeding time. You're
going to get lucky. I think I've reached that point of desperation."*

(*Author's Note: In terms of impressing girls, this line probably won't make
things any better. REMOVE. Then remove almost all that you wrote, and write
a story about her planting dandelions. -Dimes)

Beans ducked down, sniffed, dropped his jaw, and winced.

"You smell like garbage poo-poo from the back of a rhinoceros' pool house."

"Yes," Ruby said. "Yes, I do."

Beans walked off, singing a song about sailors and army men. Ruby wanted to
wait, and roll around in the dirt, maybe even fall asleep in the extreme
humidity that clung to her face and around the crack of her romper-room. But,
she knew it was only a matter of time before Tom would walk outside and see
her naked.

And, of course, it happened.

(Continued in part six...)

* * *

EDITOR'S NOTES

1. At one point during the show's run, an "Even Stevens" script was rejected
on the reasoning that it needed to incorporate more products to appease the
sponsors. Some writers took this as a insult, feeling that adding a brand
name to a script can upset the flow of a dialog and story. Many writers added
the in-script commercials reluctantly.

2. A survey conducted online found Tawny Dean, played by Margo Harshman, the
least awesome to look at naked of all the female "Even Stevens" cast members.
Though the survey was performed by a independent group of thirty-year-old
men, and not be any leading research facility, the results still reportedly
bothered the actress. "Well, geeze, maybe I should get implants or
something," Harshman stated to Lauren Frost.

3. Besides just the size of the actresses' mouths, parents also complained
that the show was "devoid of intelligence." One Disney Executive (who also
wrote a few of the episodes for "Even Stevens") took most of the criticism.
He tried to find clever ways to include historical information. One of his
original ideas was to randomly flash facts about Vietnam War on the screen
while Beans made jokes about his armpits.

4. Before her breast transformation, Christy Romano's best-known body part
was her rear-end. A Disney Executive later started calling this portion of
the female body a Christy-Romano. When Christy invited the entire crew and
cast to her 17th birthday party, that Disney Executive didn't understand why
it was his invite that got lost in the mail. Or, why he was the only one to
be sent an invite, when everyone else was given theirs in person.

5. After reading the scripts for the third and never-filmed forth season,
Lauren Frost objected to the direction of her character. "Sure she talks a
lot, but that doesn't mean she has to be a ditz that's as stupid as a brick."
Her contempt grew towards the writers, and many of the story-lines where Ruby
failed classes because of her intelligence were removed. When the writers
wrote story-lines about Ruby failing classes because she couldn't keep her
panties up, Lauren Frost apparently remarked, "I don't think this is any
better."

6. "Let's make an episode where the girls have to wear swimsuits and get
wet." "Surf's Up" ended up being this episode. One of the few "new direction"
episodes that made it on air.

7. Lauren Frost once humorously said, "Why does Christy's butt get all the
attention, I mean look at mine!" Margo Harshman agreed.

    

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