El Dupree, Selected Works, Volume 11 Alf the Poet, Editor Jim "Bear" Huddle, John Morton, and Wailin' Bill Keyes, from Ferret Is What Rabbit Does: She wrapped her hot fingers around the hard stickshift. Eased the clutch out. The sun beat down through the sunroof onto her full, tanned cleavage. Her muscular leg flexed as she pushed the fuel throttle slowly into motion. She was one hot mama. In the passenger seat, her date danced in tight circles, as the AC hadn't quite gotten up to speed. "Ft! ft! ft!" he spit. He was one horny ferret.... --- Burrito didn't know what to do. It was the first time ever he was inside a sleek new turbo-charged Probe. And the smooth sure hand of the driver on his lean ferret leg didn't calm his misgivings. For two years - 67% of his limited and precarious ferret life - he had been the companion, accomplice, and oft-time inspiration of the insidious ne'er-do-well known as El Dupree. Now, he was free. As the tachometer surged above 5000, Burrito felt his resistance melt. The driver gently moved Burrito's limp yielding body toward her. The mile markers began to flash by like posts on a picket fence, and suddenly the car was airborne, soaring over the billboards and trees. Burrito could not contain himself. He felt a oneness with the sky and the air, and the single tiny cloud that drifted through the blue heavens. He turned toward the lady at the wheel, and squeaked a short expression of his happiness and bliss at simply existing. She chucked him under the chin and said, "Save it baby, we've got a lot of rubber to burn before we get where we're going." --- She was cut short by the "Ping!" of rock on metal. Having cleared the Earth's protective atmosphere, they had entered a tiny maelstrom of micrometeorites. Not sure what, exactly, to do with the small-but-virile rodent, Desiree deftly tucked Burrito between her firm, cantilevered breasts. "Pink!" "Tink!" Invisible projectiles, smaller than the head of a pin, hurled themselves at the Space Probe at a speed of over 10,000 kph. The driver whipped the wheel to the left. Burrito received a whiskerful of heavy pattycake. "Crink!" The Probe's radio antenna snapped. Static filled the car's speakers. Desiree reached down between her thighs and flicked a switch to the "optical" position. The regularly-scheduled program of thrash-metal picked up almost exactly where it had left off. "Hang on, honey!," Desiree ripped the wheel to the right. Burrito's nose found itself buried in the most sumptuous real estate it had experienced, since the "chicken and mayonnaise incident". As Desiree whirled and swerved to avoid the oncoming shower of stones, Burrito noticed a strange shift in his position. Glory be! Our hero was sliding down into Desiree's frock! "Oh well," pondered the champion-of-chewing, "might as well enjoy the ride!" The next thing he knew, Burrito was trying to extract his ferret snoot from the sumptuous driver's navel. Desiree could not help letting out short gasps of surprise, as tiny claws dug into her torso. "KaBLANG!" A meteoroid the size of a quarter sliced through the left fender, creating a momentary burst of self-extinguishing sparks in the vacuum of space. Burrito was jolted even further through Desiree's clothing, toward her steamy lap of luxury. He noticed a familiar aroma. Was it a cheese and cherry sandwich? Could it have been a warmed tuna casserole? Then, everything went black, as our furry hero conked his head against the driver's seatbelt. ----- Burrito woke up slowly. Desiree looked over at his furry form and chuckled. "There's warm tuna casserole and cheese and cherry sandwiches in the back. In the picnic basket. Sorry I don't have any mayonaise and chicken. I know it's your favorite." The little ferret shook his head like... well, like a ferret shaking its head after a long sleep. "What's the matter, sugar?" Desiree asked in a voice so husky it could've pulled a dogsled. "Isn't that where you thought we were going? To a picnic?" Burrito looked at her quizzically and chirrupped an affirmative. She laughed and tickled him under the chin. "No, my dear, sweet little domestic weasel. We're on our way to the semi-mythic El Paso. I believe that an old friend of yours is waiting for us there." Outside the Space Probe was nothing but blackness. Purest, eye- stinging blackness. Only twin circles of light shone in front of them, the headlights barely keeping up with the light-speed travel of the sexy space car. Burrito turned back to his date and squeeked. "Yes, little one. Your friend has something that I want. And you, my long, semi-boneless mustelid, are my key to getting it." ----- El Dupree belched and watched the skies. Yes, it would be a long, hot day, he decided. Nothing to break the endless monotony of the sweltering El Paso summer, but a quick game of Camchatta. Devil's Fingers. Was it a gift the Gods from Outer Space left for mankind when they built the pyramids? El Dupree did not know, or even care. He examined his calloused hands casually. Soon, though. Soon, the game would begin again. He scratched his awesome butt with filthy broken fingernails and scanned the skies again. Yes, it would be a long, hot day. Perfect. The Sombrero Grande wondered idly where his furry companion had gotten off to this time. Alf the Poet, from Unravelling the Mustiness: The original manuscripts reveal that El Dupree was not an only child, as had been believed since Sparnchik put forth that theory in 1947, but indeed had a sister, Tortilla. Much research is now focused on whether or not there are other siblings, but due to the tendency toward inbreeding displayed by most of El Dupree's known ancestors it is not likely that any other siblings would have survived, much less admitted that they were in the family. Embarrassment is a strong motivator.