Chapter four:
This is a chain story written by Jezzaz, Todd172, Stev2244, Harddaysknight, Girlinthemoon, Qhml1, Oshaw and blackrandl1958. One different author wrote each chapter in this story, building on the work of the preceding author. We are submitting one chapter each day until the story is finished. We would like for you, the readers, to see if you can spot who wrote the different chapters. If you care to hazard a guess, you may leave it in a comment on the story. If no one is right, we will pick the one closest to right and one, or more, of us will dedicate our next story to you. If multiple persons are right, we will dedicate the story to all who are right. We will wait one week after the posting of the last chapter, then announce which chapter was written by which author. This was a very entertaining exercise for us, and we may do it again. We hope you enjoy the story, Napalminthemorning.
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"You want to know where your fucking tiger is?" screeched the little man frantically trying to adjust his toupee as he rushed to join the group. "I'll tell you where your fucking tiger is! Your fucking tiger is currently sleeping in the cockpit of my vintage WWII Sherman tank!"
I literally thought our next door neighbor was going to pop a gasket. His veins were popping out of his neck and his countenance was transitioning from red to deep purple.
"I know, I'm going to regret this, but who are you?" sighed the overwhelmed agent.
In response, I answered, "Meet Rhino Starr, our next door neighbor," handling the introduction.
The agent furrowed his brow, "Rhino Starr? Aren't you the drummer for the British rock band, 'The Buggers'?"
Rhino preened from the recognition. He held out his hand to the agent. " Sir Rhino Starr, Esq., recipient of The Order of the British Empire, and percussionist of the Buggers."
Amber and I were accustomed to seeing our neighbor boasting of his achievements, earned half a century ago. After the breakup of The Buggers, Rhino plodded on with his solo career, dabbing in light hearted comedy films and the occasional celebrity music gig.
Adrift from the mass adulation he once basked in, he began an unhealthy competition with his brother, who resided in Michigan. The brother, some sort of automotive engineering genius, collected Ford Mustangs, lavishing on them top performance after-market alterations, along with daily ministrations of washing and waxing his beloved pony cars.
He would spend hours on his phone talking cross-country to Rhino, both of them swilling Pepsi while enjoying a meal at a Texas Roadhouse steakhouse, both brothers bragging about their wives, ironically enough, both were big-titted, big-assed women that somehow cheated constantly on their clueless husbands. Only after hours of lauding their praises, would the brothers divulge their latest toys and projects in their game of one-upmanship.
Rhino chose to collect a more eclectic form of heavy machinery: 18-wheelers diesel rigs, cranes, payloaders and... suddenly I knew from whence came the D6T Caterpillar bulldozer resting in the bottom of our pool.
Despite the protest of Amber and myself, the rest of the neighborhood, and even the city; Rhino parked his collection on the city streets, clogging traffic and being a general nuisance. Rhino contended our aggravations were offset by the publicity garnered by the eccentric collection, so he ignored our grumblings.
I turned to our circus Ringmaster, intentionally making eye contact so my eyes didn't drift south to view his aroused penis.
"Last night, did 'Tiny'..."
"Did 'Tiny' grudgefuck the shit out of that Caterpillar bulldozer, or what!" Our Ringmaster enthusiastically interrupted. "I never thought that an elephant could mount a machine that heavy and slam it a yard at a time until he climaxed right when the dozer tilted off into the pool! That inspired everybody poolside, we gave 'Tiny' a standing ovation and then we ran back into the house for our second round!"
Rhino gurgled in apoplexy, "My D6T Caterpillar is in your pool? My D6T Caterpillar that I paid six figures for is in your fucking pool?" he screamed.
"It's your own damn fault for leaving the damn thing parked in front of our house for months!" Amber angrily replied, all the while not disturbed by our Ringmaster's lack of attire and staring at him in admiration.
"Can we focus on the tiger in your tank?" the increasingly perplexed federal agent directed our attention in a shout.
"Was that a gasoline company slogan or a Buggers' song?" asked yet another federal agent, stumbling out of the house. She wore just a Jolly Roger's pirate T shirt, two sizes too small, which allowed her aroused headlights to appear where dead eye sockets should have been. The eye patch on her lovely Nordic features was a nice touch.
"The truth is out there, Skully!" the agent responded as he pointed to her and another underling to handle the tiger situation.
"Arrgh!" she replied as she obeyed the command. As she and the other agent walked off, they reached and held hands, and it was even money they would be distracted from their task once they were out of sight.
"I'm suing you assholes!" Rhino threatened. "And I'm asking for punitive damages for the physical and emotional damages suffered by my 'Cat dozer from your African bull elephant!"
Amber said, "Look, Rhino,"
"That's Sir Knight, to you," he retorted.
Amber looked placidly at him, "Look, it's been a hard day, Knight, and I've been working like a dog.
"Yeah," I joined, "It's been a hard day, Knight, and I should be sleeping like a log!"
