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Stroke My Fluffy!

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Stroke My Fluffy,


Says Mr Lambert







“Yeah. Umm. Yeah. Hi.”

“It’s… yeah, it’s four am.”

“I know.”

“You’re standing on my porch at four am.”

“I am.”

“You are standing on my porch at four am, with a coat, a rug, and a pair of leg warmers.”

“I am.”

“…Are you high?”


“Are you sure? Because you do shit like this when you toke up-“

“Fuck you. And no, I’m not high.”

“You so fucking are.”



“Invite me in.”


“Why the fuck not?”

“Nuh uh. Saw that film. I invite you in, people start dying. No. You stay out there, Adam.”




“Fine. You know what, fine. We’ll just talk while the whole fucking neighbourhood can hear us.”

“Yep. That’s the plan.”

“Here. These are yours.”

“I think I would remember buying something that fucking hideous.”

“They’re a gift.”

“I love you but no.”



“I give them to you. It’s a gift.”

“I reject them. They’re really not me.”

“They match your eyes.”

“…You’re reaching, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Please take them.”

“Why do you want me to take them?”


“What do you want me to do with them?”

“I don’t know. Feed them or something?”

“They’re shoes.”

“Not really.”



“Sorry, leg warmers.”

“Nope, WAY off.”

“Adam, they’re fashion accessories.”

“Big words for four am, Tommy Joe. But you’re still wrong.”

“Adam, they’re just leg warm- HOLY SHIT, THAT FUCKER JUST MOVED!”

“See what I mean?”


“You wanna wake the neighbours?”

“You have moving – wait, you wanted to give me man-eating legwarmers?! You bastard!”

“I don’t THINK they’re man eating.”

“They’re a-fucking-live, what else could they BE?”

“The by-product of my jacket and my rug?”


“The by-product of my jacket and my-“

“Get the fuck off my porch.”



“Excuse me?”

“I hate you. I hate you so fucking much, Lambert, right now, and I want you the fuck off my porch now!”

“Why do you hate me?”

“Because before you came along, I was a normal guy. Band, guitar, work, home, family, rinse and repeat. I was a normal guy.”

“You were boring-“

“I was fucking normal”

Uh huuuuuh….”

“When you picked me up, I said okay. And I was okay. I could cope with glitter, and the stage gay, and the kissing, and the bad movies, and the tattooing because hey. It’s tour-“

Umm, Tommy?”

“Still talking.”




“I could cope with that shit because it was being in a band and being on tour and OH MY FUCK, it’s purring.”

“It is? I thought it was vibrat-“

“No, Adam. It’s slowly eating my fingers down to the fucking bone with a thousand razor sharp teeth and I thought I’d say it was purring because I didn’t want to scare it.


“It is too fucking early for your shit.”

“You think?”

“Yes. I do. And now, oh… it’s squeaking. Your leg warmer is squeaking at me.”

“It didn’t squeak for me!”

“Well, ain’t that dandy.”



“Now is not the time to be comparing notes, Lambert.”

“Right. Yes. Sorry.”

“You will be once I wake up enough, fuck wit. How the fuck did you get these…. Things?”

“I came home from the studio, and found my coat on the floor in my closet, and these two on the floor beside it-“


“And I think my coat gave birth to them.”

“You lost me.”

“No, see, these two leg warmers and my coat were on the rug at the same time, and it all makes sense now, I think about it.”

“No, it really fucking doesn’t.”



“See, they’re fluffy like my coat, and stripey like my rug!”

“Wait, what rug?”

“My trespassing one…”

“The one that the medicine man gave you in New Orleans and told you to keep safe and it would repay you in kind?”

“That was a voodoo man. Yeah. That one.”

“Which coat?”

“The big red one?”

“The Elmo one?”


“Yes, it does. You look like a hot, gay, semi-morphed Elmo.”

“Fuck you. It is couture.”

“It is the skin of a thousand Elmo’s bound up with the sinew of a hundred big birds.”




“So yeah. I think my coat gave birth to these, and well, here I am.”

“You are an idiot.”

“Wh-what? Why?”

“The coat came from New Orleans too, didn’t it?”

“Yup. When he saw I had it, the voodoo dude gave me a discount too. Nice guy.”

“Oh my God…”

“Why are you banging your head against the door?”

“Because my boss is an fucking idiot, and he’s on my porch at four am with the by-product of a voodoo rug and a possessed coat.”

“I am not an idiot.”

“Who brought the rug?”

“I- what?”

“Answer the question.”




“Which of us brought the rug when it was labelled as highly energised and potentially dangerous?”

“…I did.”

“Who did?”

I did, alright?”

“Who brought the coat that was billed as very attractive to spiritual energies and extra interesting by the fucking designer who brewed it in a cauldron before jabbing with electricity?”

“…I did.”

“Yeah, you fucking did, you dick. So yeah, I’m banging my head against this door because you are a fucking idiot, and now you’re on my porch and I don’t know what the fuck you want me to do about the legwarmers but go away.”



“But…. I need help.”

“You need medication and a straight jacket.”

“I have leg warmers that move.”

“Yes, you do. And I don’t. So get the fuck off my porch.”

“You’d kick me out?”

“You’re already outside. So, congratulations, Adam, you are the proud new uncle to your rug and coat’s new babies, Leg Warmer Left, and Leg Warmer Right, and I don’t give a fuck what you do with them but please, please leave me out of it.”

“…I think they’ve bonded with me!”

“You really really shouldn’t sound so happy about that.”

“But look! They’re purring!”

“Go you.”



“They’re kind of cute.”


“Are they now?”

“Yep. Look, here, hold this one!”

“No. Go away. Take your fucking impossible purring pets with you so I can drink this whole shitty dream out of my head and wake up when the world is sane, and sober, and not at four am again.”

“But they bonded with me…”

“You wore their Mama for a while, of course they’ve bonded. You’re practically family now.”

“Oh yeah.”

“So what the fuck are you going to do with them now?”

“What can I do? Tell the animal shelter my rug and coat made babies?”


“Yes. Yes, you tell them exactly that.”

“I’ll be thrown in the fucking nut house, Tommy.”

“No, you’ll be put in a rehab centre and I will go back to sleep and enjoy my time off while you get some happy pills and therapy for your obvious issues with reality.”

“My coat and my rug made babies, that is my reality right now.”

“My reality is my boss with furniture and clothing making babies and he thinks it’s a good idea to pitch up on my porch at four am to ask me what the fuck to do about it.”


“You make it sound so bad, Tommy.”

“It is that goddamn fucking bad, Adam.”

“You don’t believe in God, though.”

“….It’s times like this when I wish I did believe because then I could pray to be saved from…”

“From what?”

“You. And your…. Leg warmer creatures.”

“But they’re cute.”

“They’re… moving.”

“But they’re kinda cute. Come on. Look at the face. So cute and fluffy!”

“Is that its ass?”

“Ummm wait, let me… compare… Ye- No! That way around!”

“I just love how you had to check that to make sure you weren’t handing it to me ass first.”


“Shut up and love the cute.”

“I swear to God, Lambert.”

“Stop invoking the God you don’t believe in and stroke it.”

“Baaaaaad line, Adam. So fucking bad.”

“Shut up and stroke my fluffy.”


“Stop laughing.”

“Stroke your – oh my fuck – fl-whaaaaaat?!–“

“Shut up and move your hand. It’s squeaking at you.”

 “Never going to let you live that line down. What else is new?”

“My fluffy pets, apparently.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“As long as it’s not where these babies came from because not even I can answer that…”

“Why did you come to me?”





“I thought you’d be able to help.”

“Adam, I’m your guitarist. Not your spiritualist.”

“But… you’re my best friend.”


“Tommy, when I discovered these in my house at three am, my first thought wasn’t to phone Ashley, or an exterminator, or sprinting to my manager’s.”


“It was you. I don’t want you to fix it. I just want… I don’t know.”

“Awww. That was sweet.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“Just a bit.”

“But it’s true. I-I don’t even know with this, but it’s got to be better than anything I can come up with myself.”

“You wanna bet?”



“Well, I was thinking of driving over here, and asking you what the hell do I do now? So I guess my part is done with.”

“What can we do? It’s not like anyone is going to believe us when we say, Adam’s coat and his rug made these.”

“Can’t we… I don’t know, adopt them?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Well, they’re kinda cute, aren’t they?”

“I’d say I know where you’re going with this but I’m almost afraid to admit that.”

“What’s wrong with us taking care of them?”

“How do we feed them?”


“Feed them? Toilet train? Go walkies?"




“….The last time I owned a pet, I was in grade school. And my mom took care of it, really…”

“The last time I had a pet, I was in high school, and it got killed by a bird.”

“What the fuck kind of pet did you have?”

“Dog. Got dive bombed by a hawk, was scared into the lake, couldn’t swim.”


“No. She died of old age, Adam.”

“I don’t do sarcasm at four am.”

“It’s four nineteen am, and I noticed.”

“But what do we do?”

“I have no fucking clue.”

“Pet it, Tommy, it wants contact.”




“Or it wants dinner, and it thinks Gay Christmas Elves are good eatin’.”



“Stroke the fluffy and if you laugh again, I’m going to abandon you with our adopted children and go home!”

“….Our adopted children?!”

“Yes. I have made an executive decision as your boss that we have adopted these two babies and are going to raise them together.”

“…This is the point where a TV crew jumps out of the bushes and someone yells, ‘You’ve been PUNKED!’ right?”

“You don’t have any bushes.”

“I don’t have any leg warmer babies either, and yet here you are…”





“No. My rental agreement says if I have pets, I can be fucked up the ass with a barbed wire baseball bat before being drop kicked into the streets minus my thousand bucks deposit.”

“So, they can live at my place!”

“…So why do you need me?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“And you think I do?!”

“Between the two of us, we can’t fuck it up that badly, can we?”

“Don’t tempt fate. She’s a bitch.”

“Look, just hold cute little Left, and tell that adorable face that you don’t wanna take care of it.”

“Adam, what-“




“That you would rather leave it to starve on the streets-“


That you would rather see it shiver and tremble in the freezing cold snow ridden streets than give it a good home and help your poor dear boss who pays your wages and takes you to exotic and far away countries and helped you to buy a new car and does so much other shit for you that if I went through it all, we’d be here until sunset.”

“Are you seriously resorting to blackmail?”

“Whatever it takes, Tommy Joe. I was in musicals. I’ve seen the darkness.”



“I guess she’s kinda cute… A bit.”


“Unless one of these spontaneous sprouts a dick, I can’t tell if they’re gonna be using the little girls’ room, or the little boys’ room. So she it is.”

“Why a girl though?”

“Why is my car a Bessie not a Bernie? It just is.”

“Good point.”


“You gonna name the little one then?”

“Left, I thought.”

“…. You cannot call it Left, Tommy. It sounds like a little orphan, all lost and sorry for itself.”

“Well, what were you thinking, oh wise and great boss?”


“What, oh wise and-“




“If you keep calling me that, I’ll make it a term in your contract.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“After this morning, I’m not sure what I would and wouldn’t do, to be honest.”

“Oh, now that’s a comforting thought…”

“Not really.”

“Sarcasm, Adam.”


“Mm. Oh for fuck’s sake…”


“I think I found its mouth.”

“…And how would know that?”

“Either it just licked me with its tongue, or it’s got anal abilities beyond anything you could dream of.”

“…I think I just spewed in my mouth a little.”

“Vengeance is sweet. For me, at least.”

“Oh fuck you, Tommy Joe.”



“Gladly. I’ll get right on that. Here, take back your living leg warmer, and I’ll go and get right on that in my nice, safe, non-living leg warmer infested bedroom.”

“You go back into that house, and Sutan’s drag photos get splayed all across the internet.”

“So? The entire internet knows I’ve worn drag for Sutan and you both.”

“Even the ones of you in satin panties and nothing else?”

“…How did you get those?”

“Sutan shouldn’t leave his phone lying around. A few quick clicks…”


“Whatever it takes, Tommy. Whatever it takes.”

“Can I at least get dressed?”




“Yes. You can even do make up, if you want. But I’m coming in.”

“…You don’t trust me?”

“You were the one who shimmied buck naked out of a hotel window to escape some chick who tried to get freaky in bed with you.”

“She wanted me to call her Mommy. I don’t do mommy sex.”

“But you do do Daddy sex, right?”

“I’m holding your leg warmer baby, Adam. Don’t make me angry.”

“I won’t if you go and get dressed, and then come back to my place.”

“I want breakfast.”

“Okay, we’ll stop by the smoothie place-“






“No, I want breakfast, not a fucking snack.”

“…Oh. What do you want?”

“I want two burritos, as spicy as fuck. I want an ice cream, and an extra-large mocha from Starbucks, and a bag – no, two bags of cookies from there as well. And I want-“

“This is gonna get expensive, isn’t it?”

“You can either buy me breakfast or you can stump up payment for therapy to get rid of this morning, it’s your choice.”

“I’ll buy you a beer tonight as well.”

“Good choice. And you’re buying my beer for the next fucking tour, Adam.”





“Therapy or beer. Choose.”

“Go and get dressed, Tommy Joe.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Hold Left, and I’ll go and put some fucking clothes on.”

“Since when do you sleep in boxers?”

“I don’t.”


“I sleep naked since my air con is so shitty it craps out during a heat wave. Not everybody earns megabucks, Mr Billionaire Money Bags. But common decency insists that I don’t subject you to my naked junk and non-existent ass at four fucking am.”

“It’s not non-existent. It’s just… Flat.”

“I could rival Kansas with this not-an-ass-thing, Adam.”

“Not gonna even lie.”




“Damn straight. But it’s so fucking hot in this house.”

“I have air con.”


“Thought so. So, breakfast, and then back to my place.”

“Why the hell not? I’m already awake, thanks to you.”

“Everyone else is too new to subject to this kind of weirdness.”

“…I don’t know whether to be honoured or offended, to be honest.”

“Go and get dressed and you can be well fed.”

“The man speaks good words, Left. Time to go back to Daddy now.”

“Why am I Daddy?”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not.”

“…Are you mommy?”

“Die, Lambert.”

“Clothes, Tommy.”