Kittens and pie.

Thinking about small furry kittens preparing to pounce on a ball of string, and hot apple pie straight from the oven with its sweet aroma slowly filling the room was all the clerk could do without going mad. Kittens and pie, and perhaps a nice big sammich.

"I'm sorry, sir, I can't do that" the clerk said

The customer at the counter eyed the clerk suspiciously. He waved his receipt in the air and babbled on a bit further.

"I'm sorry, sir," repeated the clerk. "I can't refund your money."

The liquor store was not particularly busy at the moment, and the clerk was relieved that not many people were witnessing this encounter. The small and thoroughly sunburned customer continued to babble drunkenly, and supported the argument by waving his receipt in the clerk's face even more rigorously. The clerk was not entirely sure what the man was saying, but he had gathered that the intoxicated man wanted a refund for the bottle of vodka he had bought. He claimed that it was bad.

"What was wrong with it?" inquired the clerk.

"It made me sick!" spat the man.

The clerk looked at the man, then at the empty bottle he presented, then at the receipt showing that said bottle was purchased earlier that afternoon, and then back at the man again. He stared at him blankly. The man tried to stare back in a stern manner, but couldn't get his bloodshot eyes to fix themselves on one particular image of the clerk, and kept darting back and forth in several directions.

'Why do I always have to deal with these people?' the clerk thought.

Images of kittens serving pie to parties of overworked liquor-store clerks ran through his mind as he convinced the scorched little man that the water he was pouring into the bottle was really a different brand of vodka, which would not make him sick and would, in fact, actually make him feel better. The drunken man - after taking an inordinate amount of time to discover that "push" was the opposite of "pull" - opened the door of the store and made his exit. In the clerk's mind, he was suddenly attacked by a rampaging kitten brigade, but in reality, he stumbled over the curb and nearly knocked over a woman carrying a surfboard.

It was on days like this that the clerk wished he was a religious man, because he could then plea for help from above, or at least blame someone for his lousy lot in life.

The next customer to enter the store made several comments pertaining to the evils of alcohol and their relation to the devil, passed out some religious tracts, bought a mickey of tequila, and ran off, claiming to have witnessed the devil's work on Earth, and offered to teach anyone that was interested how to resist evil's temptations in exchange for a lemon and some salt.

A few trolls came and went, hardly noticed.

Night was approaching, and closing time was near, when a young, glamourous woman entered the store. She gathered some items and approached the counter.

"That's quite a lot of gin you've got there, ma'am" said the clerk.

"I'm expecting company." the woman replied as she paid for her bottles.

The clerk couldn't help but notice the way her perfume smelled oddly intoxicating, and that the sapphire necklace she wore seemed the perfect match to the bottles of Bombay she was buying. He was quite certain that gin was definitely this woman's particular poison.

She gathered her booty, gave the clerk a suggestive little smile, and walked off. Her heavy boots made loud clopping noises that echoed throughout the store, bouncing off of the bottles like voices in a cave of glass.

Kittens and pie and gin.

Those were the only things that kept the clerk from becoming fatally frightened by the folk he served everyday.

The salesman smiled a grin so wide and with so much charm that it would make a disgruntled postal worker drop his shotgun and exit from the clock tower, thinking "Oh, well that's OK, then."

However, it has no effect on a mother of three intent on getting a price cut. "Don't even try to tell me that's a fair price" she said as one of her children tugged at the cuff of her sleeve and the other two tried to give their father another heart attack by wobbling numerous lamps and jumping on Italian-silk sofas.

"Oh, I beg to differ, ma'am," replied the salesman. "This children's bed is of the finest craftsmanship. Reinforced pine structure, superb aesthetic design, independent-coil spring mattress, simple three-step assembly, and, of course, our lifetime guarantee."

The salesman gave another wide grin with just as much charm as the last, but this time with an added touch of honesty that would make the disgruntled postal worker buy the bed despite not having any children to put in it. The woman remained unfazed and demanded a 10% discount.

A large, burly law-enforcement officer walked by, and the salesman gave him a grin, with a different flavour of pleasantness than the stubborn customer had been receiving. Unbeknownst to the hard-nosed woman, this grin was a secret directive to the officer that he wished the woman dragged outside and beaten with a folding steel chair. Unfortunately, this signal was also unbeknownst to the officer, and he continued on his way. In any case, it would have been largely unfair to the folding steel chair.

After finally finishing his business with the woman, the salesman returned to his desk to continue practising his grins, winks, and chuckles. He had been studiously developing a convincing grin for the headstrong-mother-of-three demographic, but it obviously needed some more work.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me" came a woman's voice.

The salesman turned to find the source of the inquiry and discovered a vibrant young lady standing before him.

Young, attractive, single, reasonably wealthy, somewhat gaudy fashion sense, noticeably assertive. 'Typical category 47B' thought the salesman and prepared the appropriate set of grins and reassuring tones of voice.

Piece of cake.

"I'm looking for a futon" the woman said.

"A futon? Well, right this way my good lady. We have the finest selection of bedroom furniture in an assortment of fashionable styles for all of our patrons' fine tastes. Are you sure, though, that a futon suits your needs? Perhaps, for someone of such presence like yourself, a queen-sized bed complimented with a fine silk sofa would better accentuate your decor?"

The woman did not consider it for a moment. "No, I'm really only interested in a futon."

'Category 47C' the salesman corrected himself.

"Well, then, certainly ma'am. Over here we have the most exclusive selection of futons in the province. This is our top of the line model, complete with sturdy oak structure and crease-resistant mattress. It also features our patented 'quickie' release switch so that you can transform from sofa to bed mode while you're still sitting on it."

"Very nice," said the woman, "but what about this model over here, with the vibrating feature?"

"This one," the salesman embellished, "provides the finest in Swedish massage. It feels like a dozen set of hands are easing all your muscles at once."

"Well, after having the real thing, I doubt a simulated version is quite as soothing, but it does sound interesting." The woman examined the price tag. "This cost certainly will not do, though."

It was time for the salesman to shine. He picked his most satisfying grin for a class 47C customer, double-checked his timing, and broadened his smile. "I am certain, ma'am, that you will not find a more reasonable price for quality furnishings like this one at any other location."

The woman brushed back her hair, exposing her fine sapphire necklace and responded with a grin with an intoxicating flair. "Oh, come now..." she whispered.

'Hmm, a challenger,' the salesman thought. 'Time to bring out the big guns.' Unfortunately, the salesman had never encountered intoxicating powers such as those wielded by this unique lady.

She continued, "I really don't think it's necessary to pay such a high price for this item. I mean, money isn't everything, now is it? I think you can be even more satisfied simply by doing a good deed, wouldn't you agree?"

She ran a slender finger with a finely manicured nail down the salesman's arm, gave him a subtle and suggestive wink, and the man was soaked in her power, intoxicated by her trance.

"I think you may be right," he agreed.

She flashed him another smile. "And throw in the quick release feature to boot."

The salesman had an interesting time attempting to explain to his manager both his low commission for the day, and why his suit smelled like gin.

I think I can... I think I can... I think I can...

The little commuter train pushed up the sloping hillside with the determination of a world-class mountain climber, but the speed that the tiny engine could barely muster looked more like the wealthy tourist who suddenly decided he was afraid of heights after all, and was desperately trying to back out of the whole situation so he can go home and check if he left the oven on.

The passengers on the train were mostly unaware of this intense struggle, mainly because many of the people were preoccupied with their own personal issues, and those who weren't were too drunk to notice.

An attendant pushed a drinks cart down the aisle of the passenger car, offering more drinks to his bubbly passengers. He stopped next to a group of men who looked as though they had returned from the golf course, and smelled as though they spent the whole time pitching shots at the bar rather than pitching shots at the green. They appeared to be in the middle of a heated debate, and were placing emphasis on their arguments by waving their arms about and pointing fingers in random directions while they discussed the fundamentals of truth and beauty. The attendant witnessed this with great interest, noting that their pointing and waving hands were not currently holding glasses and thus, they were ready for another round of drinks.

"Excuse me, gentleman," the attendant interrupted. "Could I offer any of you another drink?"

The scene that transpired next was a chaotic display that can only be adequately described by comparison to the Big Bang. Drinks were served, cheers were shouted, glasses clinked in celebration, drinkers whooped with joy, and toasts were offered to everyone on the train for several unidentifiable reasons.

The attendant counted his profits, tidied up his cart, and continued on his way while the golfers resumed their discussions with an analysis of the intellectual qualities of Carmen Electra and Angelina Jolie, with breast size taken into consideration. The attendant approached the next passenger. "Excuse me, could I offer you a drink?"

"Yes, please," responded the small, furry, furby-like creature occupying the aisle seat. "I need something to wash down my meal. Water will do fine."

"Certainly, ma'am," replied the attendant. He noted the vacant seat next to her. "Wasn't there a lady sitting next to you earlier?"

"Um, yes, but she had to, uh, leave," muttered the creature. "Not sure where she's gone."

The attendant, noting the soggy paper bag that the creature was cradling, served the passenger her drink and continued on, not wishing to enquire further. He proceeded to the next pair of passengers. "Drinks, anyone?"

"I'll have a gin, please." responded the woman in the aisle seat.

Her male companion quietly shook his head. The attendant poured the woman her drink, giving her an extra shot since she had been his best customer throughout the trip. He moved on as she calmly drank her beverage.

"I trust you are prepared to make the necessary arrangements with my employer?" the seated man asked.

"Certainly," replied his glamourous companion. "I trust there will be little trouble in obtaining the merchandise? A live shark can't be too much of a problem, can it?"

"None at all," he replied. "Many of my employer's more elaborate customers request such items. Most of them enjoy showing them off as pets. Rest assured, everything will be handled appropriately."

The woman smiled a broad grin. "Most excellent. Let me ask you, do you also provide furs?"

"My employer deals with all sorts of exotic animals, both marine and terran."

"Excellent," she responded, handing him a note of figures. "Can you provide me with some fur skins?"

The man examined the figures wide-eyed. "For what, may I ask, do you plan on using such a high quantity of fur? There is enough product specified here to line a house with it."

"I would like to line a house with it." she replied calmly.

"I see..." said the man, slightly flustered. He cleared his throat. "May we move on to transportation arrangements, then?"

"Yes, of course," the woman replied. "Do you deliver?"

The man straightened his posture. "My employer is not a retail outlet, my good lady."

"Oh, come now," she cooed. "I think you can pull a few strings for me, especially considering the notable compensation I will provide." The woman handed him a slip of paper. "This is my offer."

The man examined the proposal with an amount of confusion. "Interesting form of economy you are suggesting here."

"I prefer this method of payment. Cold hard cash is simply too impersonal."

The man stared at her with curiosity for a moment, and she returned the look with an intoxicating glare. He reached for his mobile phone and dialled a number. The woman waited quietly while her companion conducted the conversation. She bought another glass of gin from the attendant and fidgeted with her sapphire necklace.

The man disconnected his call and put away the phone. "It is all arranged. The merchandise is en route."

"Very good," she exclaimed. "You can expect payment in just a few days. Until then, I must bid you adieu. It has been a pleasure doing business with you. Good evening, old chap!"

"Until then, my lady." he responded.

The woman stood up, gathered her belongings, and turned to leave. She walked down the aisle and out of the car, but before leaving, she flashed the man a quick smile that made him feel slightly uncomfortable. He wasn't quite sure what it was that was so peculiar about the look he received from her, but he didn't like it all.

"Excuse me," came a voice from beside him. He turned to find a small furry creature standing beside the now-vacant seat. "Is this seat taken?"

"Um, no, no it isn't," he replied. "Go right ahead."

"Oh, thank you," the creature responded. "I do prefer to have a seatmate with me on long trips, don't you?"

She sat down and placed a soggy paper bag on the tray in front of her. It started to emit a faint, unpleasant odour.

"May I inquire about what's in the bag?" the man asked curiously.

"Oh, just some lady fingers. I don't like fingers, you know, so I just dispose of them later."

The campers sat around the fire, huddling for warmth and protection from the frosty night air. They watched the fire burn, as embers popped, and flames licked the sky, reaching up high as if trying to grasp the heavens. Some of them tended to their marshmallows, delicately roasting over the flames. They sat in tranquillity under the clear night sky, with the light of millions of stars shining upon them.

"Who's stupid idea was this?" one of the campers complained. "It's so bloody cold!"

"Oh, God, my lips are numb." said another.

"I can't feel my toes!" whined a third.

"I could really use one of those Swiss St. Bernards." said the first. "You know, the ones with those big jugs of brandy? I need the warmth."

"You can have the brandy," said another, "I'll take his fur coat."

They all shivered silently.

"So what do we do now?" one of the girls asked.

"We shiver." replied one of them, sarcastically.

"Har, har, aren't you hilarious." she responded. "Why doesn't someone tell a scary story?"

"Hey, that's a good idea." another said. "Todd, why don't you tell us a story of massively unnecessary carnage?"

"He's out of it," informed one of the campers. "He passed out an hour ago from eating too many cheddar wursts."

"Hmm. How about a story of a maniacal robot, with menacing tummy shears?"

"Nah, that's not scary." complained a shivering camper. "What about a story of a mysterious strategist, with an unholy army of kittens threatening to overthrow the planet?"

"No, I'm allergic to felines," one of them stated as he poked the fire with a stick. "Just the mention of them gives me hives."

"Well, any other ideas?" another prompted.

They all sat in silence for a moment.

"I was in Texas once." chanced a member of the group.

They all gasped.

"No, that's too scary. I'll have nightmares." worried his neighbour.

"All right, people," spoke out one of the men. "I've got a story about a chilling duo of sinister and lusty ladies; a pair so intimidating that no man dare approach their domain. They are the Gin Soaks, and they live right here, in a cave up this very mountainside."

"Ooo, now that sounds spooky." responded one of the listeners.

"Plus," added another, "it's located right here. It's a Canadian production, so it hasn't been infected with typical, cash-grabbing, Hollywood plot lines."

The campers huddled more closely around the fire to hear their friend tell the story.

"Little is known about who the Gin Soaks are," he began. "But they are hard to miss. The stench of gin that floats off of them is so thick that it's strong enough to knock out even the most hardened alcoholic. According to legend, they live in a cave in the mountain in the distance, where they imprison men for their unusual sexual desires. They bathe their men in a hot tub full of Bombay Sapphire gin, force them to please their every whim on a vibrating futon, and play "dunk the hunk" with their pet shark, "Tiddles". The walls are covered with seventies-style fur, and on rainy days, the dog-like smell rolls over the countryside.

"No one is safe from the clutches of the Gin Soaks. They can take you in the middle of the night. They can snatch you away in broad daylight. They can take you from your homes or your places of work. They can draw you in with their intoxicating scents, or take you by force with their team of Lifeguards of the Elite. Worst of all, you will never see it coming.

"I warn you, my friends, these hussies are like no other. Many have doubted their existence, others have scoffed their sense of style, but no one who has ever seen their domain has returned with any remnant of sexual desire remaining.

"Beware," he whispered, "for the next unfortunate hunk could be you."

The audience sat silent for a moment, as the wind picked up and the bitter cold bit at their skin.

"You are so full of it." one of them replied.

"Yeah, man, good story!" said another.

"You laugh now," continued the storyteller, "but you won't when the Gin Soaks come after you!"

"Uh huh, sure." scoffed a sceptic. "I'm thirsty. Anybody have anything to drink?"

"I think we're fresh out." said one of the campers, examining the cooler. "Is there a liquor store around here?"

"Open at this time of night? Not likely."

"I thought I saw a store somewhere near the mountain," claimed another. "At least, it smelled kinda like gin, so I think it's a liquor store."

"Awesome, man," called their thirsty friend. "Let's go check it out."

The guys stood up, intoxicated with the prospect of drink, and headed in the direction of the mountain. Their lady friends remained seated as the men started to walk off. "Men... Will they ever learn?" said one of them.

"Not likely." replied the other.

The two ladies stood up, gathered their belongings, and began to follow their friends. For a moment, their sapphire necklaces caught the starlight, and twinkled brightly in the forest.