R-ish rated - humor of the slightly risque sort.



Blair sat at his computer and hurriedly typed in grades -- grades that were due first thing Monday morning. It was after eleven on Sunday night and he was fighting a deadline. Glancing up from his post at the dinner table he glanced at Jim.

After the horrible case we worked on this week Jim is more than a little burned out.

The Sentinel was watching TV with the sound turned completely down. His expression was very odd. Vaguely stunned with a touch of comical shock.

What could he be watching?

A low chuckle made him look up from his typing a few minutes later. Jim stifled the laugh and kept his features composed.

Oh well, I need to do a bathroom run anyway.

Blair got back from the bathroom and took a detour behind the sofa where Ellison was sprawled.

Commercial for The Oxygen Network. "O" the Womens Channel.

"O"! What the heck?

Not wanting to seem nosey he returned to his typing. Jim didn't have the remote so he was actually watching Oxygen. And he actually looked kind of appalled and amazed at the same time.

I bet he's watching Nikita and she's wearing that black rubber dress. Yeah, that's it. Or maybe Zena and Gabrielle are taking a bath together again.

Blair punched in the last few grades and logged off. Casually he strolled over and flopped on the other couch. "Whatcha watching?"

Jim hit the volume button on the TV as he shook his head. "I can't believe they put this on TV."

All Blair could see was an older woman dressed like 'The Church Lady' sitting at a desk. Around her were several rubber and plastic things that looked like... "Jim are those...?"

"Sex toys." Jim -- the former vice cop -- looked uncomfortable. "A few minutes ago she turned them all on and they were jumping around on her desk like they were alive."

Don't laugh, Sandburg.

Moments later his own jaw dropped as the lady advised a caller on the details of a sexual practice that Blair had thought died out during the dark days of the Roman Empire... and then proceeded to demonstrate the technique. "Holy cow! I can't believe they put this on TV."

"See?" Jim pointed at the television.

"She looks like such a nice little lady, too."


"I may never have sex again."

"Yeah, right." Jim snorted.

"Why are you watching this?" Blair wondered aloud.

"Can't find the remote."

"Makes sense." Blair knew that no real man changed channels manually. It was right up there with asking for directions.

It just wasn't done.

While he and Jim were talking the lady had somehow sprouted a very large, lifelike penis on her chin. And she hadn't stopped talking for a second. "Well," Blair fought the laughter threatening him. "I have to go to bed now."

"Sounds good to me, Chief." Jim switched off the TV (manually) and trotted upstairs. Blair made it to the French doors before he started to snicker. Jim was sitting on the top step, laughter making him sputter. "She said it was named... the... The Face-ilitator."

"Don't..." Blair slid down the wall and held his ribs.

"Also known as The H... Head Master."

"Please... Stop..."

"She looks just like Grammy Ellison." Jim sobered for a minute. "Boy, I hope dad doesn't see this."

"I hope Naomi never sees it..." Blair slid the rest of the way to the floor. "She'll want her own show."

That set Jim off again. In the back of his mind, Blair knew that this was some sort of catharsis. It really wasn't really that funny.

Who cares. Laughing beats the hell out of the alternative.

The End

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