Tourist Trap

Chapter 1

"Fortunately I don't have that problem," Vance smiled obnoxiously as he slapped Sarah on her rear end. The corners of Dr. Octavius's lips turned slightly downward as he made a mental note he'd have to devise some sort of experiment involving Vance and numerous sharp objects. 

"This place is a mess," Sarah said. "Do you need me to help you clean it up, Uncle Oscar?" 

Dr. Octavius scratched his frizzy white hair as he looked around. He had been so intent in his work he hadn't realized what a disaster area his laboratory had become. Broken flasks littered the shelves and pizza boxes buzzing with flies covered the floor. Some sort of green liquid was eating a hole in the floor near where his standard issue Acme brand "skeleton-on-a-pole" hung. Even the diploma he had received from the mad scientist correspondence course hung crookedly on the wall and for some reason seemed to have a streak of spray paint across it. 

"It is a bit untidy, isn't it? Well don't worry about it. That's what I pay Zeke for." He paused and blinked his eyes contemplatively. "Speaking of which, where is that boy? He should be here by now. Good lab assistants are so hard to find these days." 

"Yeah, well that's a shame," Vance said as he unplugged the record player. "I'll just be taking this now. I can't wait to listen to my new album. It's Volume 4 of the Classics of Gangsta Rap series: Fuck Them Bitches and other hits. Should be great."  

"Well, you kids have fun. I have more work to do around here." 

"I'll see you later, Uncle Oscar," Sarah said as she kissed him on the cheek. "If you need anything just give me a ring." 

"See you, sweetie," Dr. Octavius said.  

"Come on, baby doll, let's blow this dump," Vance said as he put his arm around her waist and escorted her out. 

"Well," Dr. Octavius sighed to himself. "That was a nice break, but we've got to find a way to get you turned on, Esther. Oh no, don't hump the test tube, Michelangelo. Put it down. That's a good monkey."

* * *

Zeke's alarm clock went off and he rolled over and hit the snooze button. A minute later one of his eyes slowly opened and he glanced at the time. Realizing it was 2PM and he was supposed to have been up over five hours ago he sat straight up and grasped his throbbing head. There was no denying it. He was suffering one doozy of a hangover. He threw the covers aside and hopped out of bed crunching an opened bag of potato chips under his feet. His room was a complete mess, strewn with empty beer bottles, dishes caked with old food, unpaid bills, dirty laundry, and various books he'd started to read, but never finished. 

He stumbled groggily into the bathroom and began his mundane daily morning rituals. There wasn't much in the way of hot water in the shower, except for when it decided to suddenly scald him with a quick blast before turning ice cold. The water pressure left a lot to be desired and it barely mustered up enough strength to wash the shampoo out of his hair. But such was life in a cheap apartment. The cracked mirror was steamed up from the shower, making it difficult to see well enough to comb his hair. He squeezed an empty tube of toothpaste until a tiny little splurt came out. "That ought to last me a few more days," he thought as he set the tube aside and brushed his teeth vigorously. He believed in milking his toothpaste to the last drop.  

He popped a couple of aspirin in the hopes of curing his hangover and went to search for a clean pair of underwear. Failing in that mission, he was forced to throw on his least-dirty pair. Looking in his closet the only items of clothing that were clean were a pair of brown shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. He threw them on, slipped into his dirty tennis shoes and headed out the door. He had to walk to work since he didn't own a car.