Tami Trah created Silhoutopia to help those less fortunate than herself. Just by applying her warm hands she could reduce fat without the need for surgery except that the TV people preached an alternative that threatened her little existence and when they visited her corner of Yahtopia she let them have it.
“Don’t eat croc!” she ranted. “That’s all you people say. Don’t eat croc! Don’t eat croc! Where’s that going to leave me?”
The TV people looked at each other. That evening Tami’s interview was dropped when Yahtopia’s second best crocodile wrestler was eaten alive. There would be no chat show for Tami, no book signings and ultimately no fame. Tami buried her disappointment in Silhoutopia performing several smoothings, non-invasive lipo and a couple of bluntings.
One night she returned home and switched on the TV. Elad Doofer was branding his toes with foreboding symbols while the leading professor of crocodile wrestling, Yeltram the Second, was demonstrating croc submission.
“Respect the croc,” chanted Yeltram. “And the croc will respect you.”
Next day in Silhoutopia Tami found herself injecting large volumes of capillary constrictor into the subcutaneous fat of Melanie Lettuck.
“I watched the program,” said Melanie, wincing. “And I won’t eat croc meat ever again.”
Her targeted tissue became tumescent, just ready for Tami’s heat lamp, an adapted sun bed that cooked the blubber out of people.
“A diet of raw vegetables!” boasted Melanie. “It’s the only way to achieve longevity!”
Tami positioned Melanie Lettuck on the flatbed. “But I like nothing more than a hot juicy Mr.-Croc-in-a-Blanket,” she said.
Melanie Lettuck sat up and removed the cucumbers from her eyes. “Mr. Croc is an industry based on cruelty and greed. Now switch that damned thing on. Please.”
Tami wound the blubber setting to ten and retreated with the usual reassurances. The heat intensified and Melanie Lettuck screamed. Tami Trah backed into the door, pushing her hands into her mouth. No one in Yahtopia heard Melanie scream.
When the screaming stopped Tami opened the lid. The blackened skeleton reminded her of a barbecued Mr. Croc. She snapped the bones and dropped each piece into a drum she’d salvaged from the back of Mr. Croc’s. She loaded the drum, drove to the Croc Bone Center and deposited the contents.
Tami’s next victim was Agi Yucca followed a week later by Drot Eever. They all marched to the press without a care and no one came looking for them. Perhaps they lived alone, thought Tami. Perhaps they had no friends or relatives. But Tami wanted Melanie Lettuck’s friends. She penned an advert.
“Silhoutopia! Vegetarians Now Catered For!”
She went to bed and stared at the ceiling but she couldn’t sleep. First there was the occasional knock and then a double knock and then a whole salvo of knocks. She looked at the ceiling and remembered Elad Doofer’s ominous brandings. Maybe Melanie Lettuck was coming back to haunt her. She smiled because she didn’t believe in that gibberish and even if it was true she would enjoy cooking her all over again.
Then a single drop of water fell on Tami. She didn’t have time to switch on the light. The ceiling gave way and scalding water from a ruptured pipe killed Tami instantly. Elad Doofer was first on the scene. Yeltram was second. The TV people gathered with their cameras rolling. They found it difficult to stand in the liquid driven off Tami. Her blubber oozed and Elad Doofer stared into her bloated translucent skin.
“Can’t you see them?” he hissed.
“Such a happy occasion,” added Yeltram, his maxillary jaw bone chattering.