((Meanwhile, in ALMA's kitchen...
...the still slightly phlegmy JBB has had time to reflect upon his goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation during his convalescence))
**No word from TERRY in 4 effen months. Got no idea where he went either. Didn't leave no word, or no sign. Just rolled himself up and disappeared from that laundromat like a fart in the wind...**
((JBB sniffs loudly, and only partly because of the Del Mar lurgy, as a creamy tear slides down his pale tubing))
**The WARSHRAG musta had his reasons, I guess. Though hell if I know what they coulda been. I gotta let ya go, bud... though it makes me madder than a jackrabbit with a cyote on its tail ta do it. Remember the time we spent together in the don't-look-right-tent up on Brokenarse? It coulda been like that, just like that, always... but I guess ya didn't want it TERRY.**
((JBB swallows hard and squeezes his lid tightly shut, trying to get a hold of himself, fearful that if he lets himself go to that place there won't be any way back...))
**Sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it. And I can't stand it no more... please don't be mad at me for needin' sumthin' I don't hardly never get. I gotta let yer soft folds and yer double-stitched hem go, friend, I swear...**
((JBB hums softly to himself, and gently sings in a melancholy voice that is barely a whisper...))
(( To the abject horror of BetterMostians everywhere, a limp, fuzzy-headed, and grayer-than-ever TERRY CLOTH crawls back onto the Broken Arse set. SHEEP groan in anticipation of a new round of bad puns, loopy humor, and a very warped weft. AUDIENCE leaves in protest. ))
TERRY CLOTH (sadly, faintly, but facing his fears and exhaustion with great hope):
** JBB, now don't go givin' up on me just yet. That ol' HIGH PRIESTESS, the one who fancies herself some fancy Lypstinka knock-off, had me chained deep in the bowels of ... well, now, you really don't wanna hear about her bowels, do ya? Neither did I, but I had to stand it. I got splinters in my dernier from the bottom a that Sacred Relics trunk. Nasty ol' box should'a gone down with the Titanic. The trunk, I mean. Let's just say that I'm done puttin' the blocks to her for once and for all. You are the only one for me, JB-effen-B. Whaddaya say, still thinkin' about that little exfoliant and loofa operation we could have? **