Where in the world is Muckster Mike?
 

So you-all wanna know where he went, you do? How come ainít nobody even answered his e-mail for the longest time, and consideriní how regular he was and all?

Why are yíall now stuck talkiní to me?

Iíll tell ya where he went. You just be patient here, and Iíll spill ya the story.  No, I ainít gonna tell you my name.  And Muckster Mike, unless youíre a total doof, you already guessed wasnít ever his.

Iíd say it goes back about six months ago -- July -- when he gone off and left me here again. I sípose it happens in every marriage after some years pass. We didnít never have no kids, and I donít know if was my parts that wasnít workiní or his, but anyways, maybe five years back, he started it...this goiní off on trips without me. Figured, I did, that the bloom was off the rose of romance, and he just wanted some time out with the boys.

I didnít make no fuss over it.

Love a man a woman might, but you make no mistake about it, men suck time. And Mike was home more than most. I ainít gonna tell you what he did for a living, but he was what youíd call an independent contractor. Did pretty good, he did, ínuff so I didnít have to work myself...on this computer all day was where he sat and did his thing, and I tell you, it sure is a mean machine.


 
 
 
My BABY!

 
I like it.

Anyways, it just so happened that maybe a couple times a summer, my Mike would take a hike. For a few days, here and there, or maybe a week. And I hate sports. Goiní outta town just to see some dumb old ballgame donít trip my trigger. In fact, I got a name for sports in general. I call íem basketbore and basebore, and the crowniní glory of all bores is (could you ever guess?) The Super Bore.

When heís home he always wants stuff. Itís get me this or get me that, make my coffee, bring me a sandwich! He does like to keep his den door closed when heís workiní, but seems like every half hour heís out, and heís talkiní at me...and heís got me runniní.

Since now I got him out of the house, it was time to clean house! I started down in the basement, and I got rid of all them dead bugs that land in the corners.


 
 

 
I scrubbed the kitchen floor, and then I put me a little Sani-Flush in the johns.

 
 

 
 
I moved my way upstairs, and finally, since he was outta his den, I figured it was time to go vacuum the floor.

I wouldnít say he was terribly messy in the house in general, but Mikeís den was another story. My God, the paperclips and gum wrappers on the floor! Had to pick íem all up, or theyíd have wrecked the vacuum! He sure did like to chow down while he was workiní, and I donít think he turned his head if he sneezed neither...well, I got me the Windex and washed his monitor all nice and shiny-like.

Anyways, I figured to clean out the drawers in his desk when I was at it. Mind you, I wouldnít of snooped. Iíd of just looked in there, quick-like, and maybe got rid of stuff that I knew he really didnít need. Like, say, junk mail he hadnít opened, or scraps of paper that wasnít attached to nothiní...that kind of thing.

I only got a little curious when the big drawer on the bottom wouldnít open.

I hadnít thought we had secrets from each other.

But that danged drawer was locked!

I pulled on it and tugged on it, ícause I couldnít quite believe heíd actually gone and locked me outta his desk, but it really wouldnít open. I figured, at first, that Iíd just let it go, that a man was entitled to a little privacy. Like maybe he was writing himself a journal or something...and I didnít figure, no way, that Mikeís life was that exciting anyway.

I went on and wiped the windows...but you know, folks, after awhile, it kinda got to me.

How come he gone and locked that drawer against his own wife?

I got me a hammer and a screwdriver. I donít know what I was thinkiní, because I just busted that bugger open, and I wasnít real delicate about it, so heíd be sure to see the damage when he got back. It just bugged me. Figured, I guess, Iíd just yell at him when he got home about how much it bugged me.

I guess he didnít never see the damage after all.

It didnít look like much at first! Seemed like he had a lotta folders in there, which was pretty much what his whole den looked like anyway...shelves and shelves of íem, stuffed with papers, but the other stuff in there, he didnít have much of anywhere else at all...it was a lot of videotapes. Next thing I thought was, hot dang, I got a man whoís into porn. And it rankled me, yes it did, ícause I ainít never turned him down.

Not that heíd asked me for much for a few years.

But these tapes didnít have no titles on íem.

Guess I shoved that drawer back shut, and I took the curtains off his windows to wash, but while they was goiní in the dryer, I got me just a little curious, and beiní tired and sore anyway from all that cleaniní, figured maybe Iíd just take me a rest break, grab one and shove it in just to see what it was.


 
 
***

 
You know, that sucker was kind of interesting. The whole thing started out in a forest of some type, and there was this chick in a skimpy white dress what looked like it was sprayed on. You couldnít see who was chasiní her, but it kinda looked like sheíd been out on a date that went bad.

Talk about one busty blonde.  Hair flyiní around all billowy, like a cloud. And that woman had tits falliní outta her eyeballs. Or maybe stuffed up to her nose. I donít know. Beiní a girl myself, I kinda suspect a push-up bra, but she sure looked to have a good figure. Like a moron, though, she was tryiní to run in a pair of high heels. I guess she sorta stumbled along lookiní none too coordinated and yelliní stuff like, "Please go away! Just leave me alone!" until she got outta the woods and then I saw a river and a beach and suddenly she was runniní along the sand which, in two seconds flat, turned out not to be too solid!

I didnít think too much of it, I guess. They got quicksand on TV now and then. Like all them doofy Tarzan movies.

I was just kinda happy that it looked like Mike was collecting off-the-wall and unknown drama, and not porn! Anyways, this chick was, like, knee-deep in sandy slushy goop right away. And she started wiggliní her legs around and yelling, "Oh, my God, itís QUICKSAND!" and then this unknown assailant comes, and you canít really see him, but he says stuff like, "You sure are sinking, arenít you?" and "How does it feel, Maria?"

And Mariaís suddenly up to her thighs. Sheís holding out her arms and begging him to get her out. He donít do it, though, you just see, I guess, a pair of manís legs, and I shoulda looked more closely at them legs (although he got somebody else to do the voice) but I didnít notice, because I was too wrapped up in poor Maria. The sand just crept up her thighs until it hit the bottom of that white dress, which, I guess, ended about two inches below her crotch. Stained it all dark in splotches. Then, the quicksand started pushiní that dress up. They donít show that kind of thing in the movies. It was all kinda weird and sensual at once and poor Maria sank to her belly and started thrashing her hips around and all the quicksand wiggled and jiggled.

And then he says something like, "You sure are giving me a show. You look better sinking here than you did in the back seat of my car!" and Maria sinks a little farther and begs and pleads to be taken out, but he donít do it, no sirree, and then the quicksand is up to her tits. It pushes them up a little, and I thought they was shoved up enough anyway, but from what the guy says, you can tell he likes the way it looks. Before you know it, Mariaís arms are going in and out and making little splashes and getting all muddy, and then the quicksand closes over her shoulders and she kinda tilts her head back and the quicksand creeps up her neck until sheís just this head, almost like sheís had it chopped off, except stuff is still moving underneath.

And her hair is all lying flat on the surface. The guy says, "Well, Maria, you are going to join the others now!" and Maria moans a little and says all soft-like, "Please, let me out, Iím going to sink under and die!" then the quicksand creeps up her cheeks and her nose goes under and before you can say, "HELP ME, IíM SINKING!" all you see is a bunch of hair trailing after her head as the quicksand goes SLURP!

And that was the end of Maria.


 
 
 
SOON TO BE RELEASED:
"Nice Lady, Bad Date, No Bottom, The End."
I shoulda looked more closely at them legs.



 
 
 
 

***

 
OH MY GOD, THATíS TONIA!

I recognized Tonia. Guess you would too! Sheís attractive enough, I guess, sheís got reddish yellow hair about to the shoulders and I guess, a good figure, but she ainít all titty like the other one. I donít know her so good, though. Sheís just this girl whoís one of Mikeís clients. She used to come by now and then, but I didnít hardly remember her until she came up on the video.

She was weariní this funky slinky long dark blue satin princess dress that looked kinda dumb on her, ícause she isnít quite skinny enough to pull it off. Anyways, she was walking along the same beach. First thing I think is, they sure donít change locales at this film company much, do they? She was carrying a magic wand that looked like it might be made of tinfoil and glitter, and saying, "I wonder where my prince is?" And before you know it, Toniaís little gold slippers have disappeared. The long dress bunches up a bit as it floats on the top of the quicksand.

I thought the whole thing was an interesting visual effect, to go sink a dress like that. It was so much material! Tonia kept goiní down steady, but that dress stubbornly stayed on top. In fact, sheís about up to the waist and all you can see is this mass of blue shiny satin just meanderiní about on the surface. When her waist goes under, that billowy skirt just stays there...and shimmers around...as she yells and screams, "Romeo! Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo!" and she waves the wand around...and then her ribs go under but pieces of the dress donít, and wouldnít you know it, the tit thing happened again. I guess if you got breasts...they like stay on top as long as they can until they just get sucked down!

She gets in pretty deep, just like the other one, but by the time sheís up to her neck, you canít see much quicksand. Itís more like her headís just floating in satin. íCept where her arms pushed it down.

I figured she was a goner, but I guess nobody had the guts to kill a princess, because this other chick (I got no clue who, so please write to me care of Muckster Mike if you know her name) shows up wearing fairy wings, and she says, "I am your fairy godmother!" and she grabs the other end of Princess Toniaís wand and Princess Tonia struggles and squirms and pushes and she manages to crawl out, and I figure they must of put steel in that wand, not cardboard, for it to work so good, but I tell you, that dress was a mess.


 
 
 
SOON TO BE RELEASED:
"The Princess, The Pea, And The Pit."
I didnít hardly remember her until she came up on the video.



 
 
 
 

***

 
They didnít have much luck with the third girl.

(I promise, Iíll do what I can with it, but this sucks.)

And maybe some day, Iíll find you-all a new location. íCause now it was the third go-around at the same lake.

She was a little bitty teeny creature with no breasts and straight brown hair, and it looked liked what was next on the tape was pretty raw. In fact, she didnít sink hardly at all. She looked like she was faking it. She was sticking her arms in and moving them some as if she was sinking, but if you ask me, she landed in the quicksand and sank down about chest-deep, but the tit thing hardly happened. Maybe she didnít have enough for it to happen, or maybe she chose a bra that was made of iron. I bet itís the last. She looked like the kind of girl whoíd try to foil íem.

By the time she was up to her armpits, she was done already. Her teeth chattered and she complained a lot and forgot her lines or muffed íem, so I think I have to cut a lot of stuff out. Iíll, ah, get back to it. Sometime soon.

I was pretty tired by then and confess that my eyeballs were closing. I was wondering what was up with all this quicksand when...I guess...he must have gotten a friend to help out, because suddenly --

OH, MY GOD, THATíS MIKE!!!

Forgive me if I donít include his pictures on the final version. Iíll just tell ya, flat-out, that I guess somebody else was shooting film of Mike as he was shooting film of that girl, and yes, indeedy, that was my Mike, and he had to go kneeling into the quicksand to get shots, and he was sitting on that girlís legs to push her down, because she just kept popping out! And he put his hands on her shoulders to push her in some more. And then she got to wipe the mud off her eyelid on his T-shirt!

My eyeballs flew right open.

First thing I knew was, I didnít like him touching that girl so much!

Second thing I knew was, I bet he never went to one single basebore game.


 
 
 
She wasn't even TRYING.

 
You can guess where things went from here. I seen that, and I knowed something was up.

I got back into the drawer I busted open, and there was all kinds of papers and official stuff for "Muckster Mike". Seems he was runniní quite a business here. That I didnít know about.

I donít think Iíll tell you what-all I found in there, ícause it ainít really interesting to nobody ícept me, and thatís only ícause I never knew it was there before. Itís boring stuff like bank statements (though it ainít boring to me that he hid this money from me!) and certificates and invoices and cancelled checks and mailing lists...stuff like that.

Youíll get to see the pictures, though! Iím gonna put up right here whatever he never got around to.

My God, the pictures and pictures and more pictures that was in there! I think he musta shanghaied himself every girl in the country who looked half-decent and stuffed her into some bog or another. Girls was sinkiní in their full clothes, sinkiní in bikinis and halter tops and crazy outfits like maybe youíd wear to a costume party. Girls was all muddy from head to toe, even their hair hanginí in slimy strings, or all clean and made-up...what parts of íem that werenít under quicksand, anyway.

They was all real photos, too, not stuff youíd get from a magazine. He musta taken íem. All of íem.

I ask you -- what was I to think?

I think these are too many girls for me and I wanna know what heís been up to with íem all. I think I suddenly wonder if my Mike has been faithful to me. I think, no, I know, that he ainít hit me up for much loviní for a real long time now, and I figure I got an idea why.

I think heís too busy doiní this, thinking about this, working on this, to think a whole lot about me; and I also wonder if heís really workiní on that regular job of his so much, or if his den door is closed so much because heís workiní on this instead.

I think maybe I donít really have a marriage. I think maybe Iím just the cleaniní lady and the cookiní lady but when he wants to get his rocks off for real, heíd rather be around these other ladies. And it sure helps a lot if they like it deep -- way deep, if ya get my drift.

I think maybe I got an idea of what I ought to do with Muckster Mike.

He wasnít due to come home for another whole day. I donít know where that river he was playiní at is yet, but thereís rivers enough around here.


 
 
*** 

 
He did walk in the door pretty late. Maybe midnight, I guess, said heíd been driving all day. He came straightaways to bed, just crawled in with me, all tired-like, and so he didnít never look in his den to find out what I done. I did ask him if he had a good time with his buddy, and he said, yeah, the basebore game was a real ripper. But the minute he was snoriní away, I crept out and got the newspaper and checked out the sports section. I donít think youíre gonna be too surprised when I tell you I couldnít find nobody playiní basebore that day in the town he said he went to.

In the morning I shook him awake and said I had a really nice idea. I says I thought me and Mike hadnít spent no quality time together for quite a stretch, and I thought itíd be real cozy to go have a picnic out by the river. Just the two of us. He was a might surprised to hear that, but allowed that it sounded good to take a day and go enjoy the nice weather. So I fixed us a nice lunch of liver sausage with strawberry jam sandwiches with fudge bars íní that yellow banana frosting for dessert and filled up the big pitcher with pink lemonade. I put it all in the cutest yellow wicker picnic basket.

I said I have just the prettiest place for a warm marital snuggly-fest so if he didnít mind, Iíd do the driviní. We got into Volkswagen and I turned outta the driveway and down the road and out onto the freeway where the speed limit is about seventy. It was kinda quiet on the way, which made me realize that I not only hadnít been all alone with him for ever-so-long at a single stretch in quite a long time now, but we didnít seem to have a lot to talk about anyways. I guess we kinda drifted apart over the years. The silence got a little long, so I tried to make some small talk, like, howís that big job goiní and had he heard anything from Tonia lately?

He stammered around a little bit and said Tonia was fine, just fine. Then he said it sure was nice to be with me, which made me feel just a little sorry for what I planned to do, but before you know it, we was already at the river. I got out and grabbed the picnic basket and he followed me outta the car and down the path. He got a little puzzled when I got off the path and started goiní right into the woods, and he says, do you know where youíre goiní, honey? He follows me, though, but says the ground seems like itís getting a little squishy.

I says sure I do, not to worry none, and just wait ítil you see that pretty little place I found! My gosh, itís so lovely, you ainít never seen the like of it! I tells him itís got a tiny little waterfall and a pool with a lotta water lilies with these really delicate pink flowers growiní all around the shore.


 
 
 

 
 
I tells him thereís a big bloominí tiger lily and a peony bush with the most humongous flowers you ever saw.

 
 

 
Thereís the cutest little family of rabbits liviní in a hole down there. I tells him just wait ítil he sees how nice and friendly they are when you break off a little piece of bread to feed íem with!

 
 

 
And thereís a sweet little bluebird liviní in a tree, too.

 
 

 
 
And a coupla squirrels liviní with the rabbits, and one of íemís an albino too -- itís just as white as snow!

 
 

 
 
And just yesterday, I saw me a big olí buck deer out there with the most awesome set of antlers he could imagine!

 
 

 
 
He says this sure does sound like some kinda great place, and he canít wait to see it, but his shoes are getting muddy.

I says not to worry about them shoes, dear! I says theyíll probably wipe down just fine. Then I made like I tripped and yelped, "Ouch!" and fell down in the bushes and he come to grab me and I says, donít worry, Iím fine, just fine, I just think Iíll rest up here for a bit, but why donít you just go on ahead and wait for me?

He says, is it okay to just leave you here?

And I says, oh, yeah, it ainít far now at all. And I was startiní to get worried, ícause I could see the river behind the trees, and it sure wasnít gonna be long before he knew there wasnít no waterfall. So I figured, go for broke! I pointed my finger toward the river and yelled real urgent-like:

"Hey, itís the white squirrel! Heís sittiní on the shore of the river! If you run over there real quick, you can see him!"


 
 

 
 
I guess he didnít exactly break into a run like I said to but he did walk pretty fast following my finger. He got outta the woods and was nearly trottiní toward the river when all of a sudden he got about a foot shorter.

"Whoahhh!" he yells. "Stay back where you are, honey! Itís mighty gooshy over here!"

Well, yeah, I knowed how gooshy it was! íCourse I wasnít really hurt, so I just got up and kinda watched my own footiní as I went over to see. Now I know what you-all are expectiní here. What youíd really like me to do here is describe my Mike in exact detail, like, what color is his hair and what his body was like and stuff like that soís you can all imagine the sinking better.

Well, I ainít gonna tell you what he looked like, exactly. Wouldnít be a good idea, would it, seeiní what I did to him! Iíd say he was good-lookiní enough, though, not that I was too moved by that any more, but Iíll tell ya he was weariní a light blue long-sleeve shirt that buttoned in front and jeans. And when I got over there I saw that the quicksand was up around the knees of his jeans. He was sinkiní pretty steady, but there was a nice wet line on the denim gettiní chased upward by the mud.

"Donít come too close!" he yells. "Get me a branch, honey. I think itís a little deep around here!"

"Yeah, darliní, it sure is, ainít it? I think you found yourself a little patch of quicksand!"

"Quicksand!" he gasps. And I knowed from the way he said it that this wasnít no little thing.

He wiggles his legs around a little and theyíre stuck pretty good. Pretty thick-lookiní stuff it was, all shiny and slick on top. "Well, I sure hope this isnít too deep! Hurry up with that branch, will you?"

"Oh, sweetums, Iíd say itís fifteen feet if itís an inch. Leastways the branch I stuck way down in it yesterday was about that long."

And he quits wiggliní around in there to stare at me and his jaw just drops wide open like, well, a big rock ploppiní right into quicksand!

"You knew about this!" he shrieks. And he starts pumpiní his legs around and of course he just sank down to the middle of his thighs! "You -- you! What kind of lousy joke is this? This isnít funny, honey."

I edged my way a little closer to him and sat me down on a big fat olí log. I set down the picnic basket. "I think itís a scream, darliní. I canít think of no way more fittiní to get me rid of one Muckster Mike."

"You know about that!" He kinda moved in a half-circle and the mud just squished and slathered around him. He waved his arms around lookiní for somethiní to grab, but there wasnít nothiní close enough. He sank down a little farther. Of course in a place like this, you gotta mention it when the quicksand hits the privates! Iíd say the little wet line hit him in the crotch first, and then the mud just sorta slid in a big slab right over the, ah, well, believe it or not (and you probably do!) that man actually had a bit of a bulge there. Not for long, though, ícause the quicksand ate it!

"I kinda sorta got into your lower desk drawer, darliní."

"You did this over that!" he shouted, and the quicksand inched real smooth-like over his buns. He reached his arms out at me, tryiní to make me sorry for him. And he sank another inch. "The Muckster thingís just a big joke, honey. You didnít take that seriously, did you?"

"Well, I donít know as I took the mucky parts so serious, but I kinda got a problem with you hidiní bank accounts and lyiní to me about where you are, and I guess I found all them other women a bit of a sore spot -- dearie."

He sank a little more. I was kickiní back, puttiní my feet up, and enjoyiní the show. I figure the quicksand was about up to his belly button by now. The little wet line was traveliní up his shirt, gettiní chased higher by quicksand. He was lookiní around kinda wild-like, seeiní as he figured by now that I wasnít gonna get him no branch. "Iím going to get out of here, you know. I got bad news for you, sweetie-buns -- people donít really die in quicksand. I am going to sink only so far, and then I am going to find a way to crawl out of here, when I do, you are going to be one sorry little wifey. Unless you get me that branch and help me out of here now."

OOPS. I didnít know that! Dagnabbit, it seemed like such a surefire way to get rid of a guy, and no pesky body lyiní around neither! Come to think of it, though, I guess none of them girls he was messiní with ended up dead meat either. Leastways, Toniaís still kickiní around!

But right now, he was still sinkiní. He was lookiní around kinda desperate-like with quicksand goiní up his ribs and his hands were startiní to splat in and out of the mud. Just like Maria! He was lookiní down at his own body parts goiní under, and wriggliní around makiní big long folds in his shirt, then he was lookiní at me, tryiní to look mad enough to scare me, but I do think he was the one who was gettiní real scared. íCause it didnít look like he was cominí to a stop.  His ribs sank down and then the quicksand was up to his chest and his arms were gettiní all muddy as they went in and out, in and out. The top of the mud all moved around in fat olí bulges as he struggled and struggled and sank down a little more.

I guess he finally came to a stop when the quicksand was startiní to go over his shoulders. I could see that he was right after all, that he was really done goiní down, and wasnít gonna sink no farther, but was just gonna be hanginí around the surface forever like some kinda pesky mold that you just canít get off your basement wall, but he couldnít seem to figure a way to get out either. He kinda hung there in the mud, with thick stuff moviní and slidiní all around him, and he looked up at me and said:

"Time for the branch, honey-bunny."

"Okay, sweetie-pie. You gonna stay away from them other girls from now on?" I got off my log and found me a real long thick branch. It was pretty heavy, but I could manage.

"Me being Muckster Mike isnít so bad for you, loveydoll. Didnít you even think about all the extra income that brings in?"

"I think maybe you was never gonna share it with me," I says to him. Iím holdiní out the branch now, and heís reachiní for it. But once he got his muddy hands on it, I didnít start pulliní.

I started pushiní.

He screamed, "No! No! Donít do it! Help me out of here! Iíll share the money! Iíll be so honest, you can just call me Abe Lincoln! Iíll tell you where Iím going and what Iím doing every minute of the day! NO! Donít push me under, pleeeease donít -- oh, Iím sinking! Iím going under!"

But I was pokiní him down there just as hard as I could! The quicksand turned into this big olí heavy roll all around his face and then his screams just got cut off, and then GLUG, he was under!


 

I guess I donít got a photo of it. Iíd be a fool to, wouldnít I? That Nessie critter, though, beiní a girl her own self, was downright sympathetic to me, and she said sheíd be glad to come up with, as they call it on TV, a re-creation of the event. I told her to make me look just as stacked and curvy and cute as any of Mikeís models!

 
 
 
***

 
Iíd be a liar if I said I wasnít shook up none at all, but I was a little hungry, and long as I brung food, I figured to keep my strength up with a little sandwich. So I ate a bit, and then I went home.

They ainít never found him. Let this be a lesson to any of ya who think youíre gonna run around pulliní the same sneaky stuff -- Muckster Mike covered himself, so to say, so very well that he covered his own tracks! The story around here goes, well, after awhile I called the cops to say he was missiní. And I told íem just what Mike told me. I said he went off to an outta-state basebore game with his buddy Lloyd, and just didnít seem to ever come home. We do live a bit ways outta town, so, lucky for me I guess, ainít nobody really did see Mike come home in his taxi, and ainít nobody saw that we drove off the next day.

So, the cops go calliní on Lloyd, and Lloyd, bless his soul, he donít know a thing about it! Mike never went nowhere with Lloyd, and yup, the one cop did find out what I did -- that there wasnít no basebore played that day in that town anyway! So ainít nobody, not the cops and not me, really knows where he went at all.

I got pictures of the place, though. Wherever it is.

And one of the last folks to see Mike alive would be this busty brunette. Yep, sheís stark naked. My, wasnít he gettiní brazen!


 
 
SOON TO BE RELEASED:
"The Virgin Quicksand Intitiation Of  The
Chaste Horny Skinny-Dippin' Babe"



 
But I donít think sheíd know nothiní even if they found her, ícause it looks like he didnít travel under his own name.

Yup, he did dump his little suitcase by the back door when he got home, and right after I stuffed him down in the quicksand, I gone through it. He sure does own a little camcorder thingie. I never saw it before. And thereís a new tape in there.

That brunette is just walkiní along the beach sayiní stuff like she just feels like goiní out for a little skinny dippiní, and before you know it, the ground underneath her feet just opens up like a great big olí Venus flytrap and she starts slidiní down into the quicksand pit, yelliní and screaminí and kickiní up the most humongous fuss until the ground just swallows her whole. She blows out a bunch of air under there and POP! It all breaks the surface which then wiggles a little bit and then a little less and then itís still, so you KNOW sheís a goner.

After awhile they quit lookiní for him.

I donít know as Iíve missed him so much, but after a stretch passed, I figured out that Mikeís passiní did leave me with a problem. Basically, since I never did have to work a job when I had Mike, seems that his beiní gone left me with, shall I say, finite financial resources. I still gotta make the house payment and all.

It ainít desperate yet. But I gotta get my butt crackiní on a career.

Itís been a learniní curve, but I took me some computer courses and I hacked into this baby Iím workiní on right now.


 
 

 
I was able to bust into most of his stuff, seeiní as he did write down his passwords and such, and of course I didnít stop the online service, and wouldnít you know it, just one day I was surfiní around and I found it! Wow!

MUCKSTER MIKEíS NOTORIOUS

ALL-QUICKSAND WEB-SITE!!!

So thatís how he done it! You know, I just couldnít figure out, for the dangedest-long time, what was up with all this quicksand. I mean, obviously he had himself a thing about it, I guess youíd call it a fetish, but tryiní to imagine what kinda business he was runniní here...

Well, HELLO to you-all! What a quirky, hidden bunch of mucksters you-all are, ainít you? Itís a whole wacky little subculture! Whoíd of thunk, for a stone cold minute here, that there were so many of you, and all so very into your quicksand -- and whatta lucrative market you were for him!

I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for your loyal support of Mike.

I hope you will continue to purchase videotapes from MUCKSTER MIKEíS NOTORIOUS ALL-QUICKSAND WEB-SITE!!! I promise to regularly update this site with the unreleased quicksand photos, of which I have inherited five hundred and eighty-eight. I am tryiní real hard to learn the video-editing software and do think that the list of titles will expand in the near future.

And, ya know, doiní this ainít half-bad! In the way of research, I wound my way back out to the quicksand at the river and took a dip. I donít know as Iím so very into this as Mike was, but it really did feel soooo nice! I was just relaxiní, right there under the sun, all my parts gettiní gently hugged by the heavy and thick sludgy mud, lettiní my tits float on top, and I tell you, it was like sittiní in a big olí easy chair or lyiní on a water bed all covered with blankets.

Mike was right about one thing. QUICKSAND ROCKS!

You know, maybe he died a happy man.

To carry on Mikeís work and legacy properly, though, I am gonna have to eventually enter your muddy subterranean world under a new name. Learniní that camcorder wasnít too tough, not compared to learniní this computer, and I been out trolliní model web-sites checkiní out their prices, and lookiní through what papers Mike left behind, seeiní what stuff costs.

So keep your eyeballs peeled, folks. Iím gonna come out and join you in the mud...real soon.


 
 
 
This sure is pretty, ainít it?


Many thanks to Dr. Yen for his kind assistance in editing this page. I forgive you, Doc, for sayiní that you donít believe me and think itís just another quicksand story. I  tell you, Mike is just like Elvis. Everybody thinks theyíve seen him online somewhere, and they all think heís cominí back.