Shopping List [FICTOID]

Of course, no store carried all three items on his list.

The Commodore demanded absolute obedience in the one billion year contracts he signed with his acolytes, so he needed to find the three items and find them fast:  A bearskin rug, a tampon, and a toilet.

The tampon proved easy enough; a quick stop at the convenience store across from the marina entrance where the Commodore’s yacht moored ticked that off the list.

The next proved more daunting.  A quick taxi jaunt to a plumbing supply store and he scored item number three.

But the first item…

The Commodore explicitly instructed him it must be a genuine bearskin rug, not faux fur, not some other animal.

“Polar bear is preferred,” the Commodore said, “but black bear or even grizzly will do.  No pandas, however.”

Where to find the rug?

Lugging the heavy toilet with him, he went to a phone booth and looked up rug merchants.

One he called said yes, he had such a rug -- but he would close soon.  He gave the acolyte his address and urged him to hurry.

No taxis in that part of town so he carried the massive toilet almost four blocks before reaching the shop.  It was a lovely old shop in a rundown part of town, clearly catering to higher end clientele.

“How do you keep this place so clean compared to all the filth and graffiti outside?”

“Connections,” said the rug merchant, hovering about four feet above the floor on a triangular rug.  “The scalawags in this neighborhood dare not offend me.  Now, what is your pleasure?”

The acolyte explained his need and the rug merchant clapped his hands and from the backroom emerged a polar bear walking along as it hadn’t been killed and skinned.

The rug flung itself flat on the floor before the acolyte.  “Yes, this will do,” said the acolyte.

“Splendid!” said the rug merchant, and with a snap of his fingers the bearskin run rolled itself up.

“Do you deliver?” the acolyte asked hopefully.

“Of course, said the merchant, hopping off the floating rug.  “Cash or card?”

Once he paid for it, the acolyte placed the rolled-up bearskin on the floating triangular rug.

“You can put the toilet on it, too,” said the rug merchant.

“Won’t it be too heavy?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” said the merchant with a smile.  “In fact, I’d suggest you climb aboard, too.  Things will go much faster that way.”

The floating rug shot off with the acolyte and his cargo.  They seemed to be speeding along at well over eighty miles an hour, yet the acolyte felt no rush of air.  The floating rug protected him with some sort of invisible bubble.

Once they reached the yacht, the acolyte hopped off and removed the toilet and bearskin rug.  The floating rug instantly zoomed off to the shop.

The acolyte knocked on the hatch door leading to the Commodore’s cabin.  “Did you get them?” the Commodore asked.  He wore a bright pink night gown.  “Good, bring them in.”

The acolyte unrolled the rug on the deck of the cabin, setting the toilet beside it. 

The Commodore slipped off his robe and held his hand out.  It took the acolyte a moment to realize he wanted the tampon.

Once he took the tampon, the Commodore opened it, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it with a gold cigar lighter.  Stretching out luxurious on the white bearskin rug, he used the toilet as an ashtray.

“That will be all,” he told the acolyte.  “You may go now.”

© Buzz Dixon