Izzy hugs Jacob tightly in the back corner of Jim’s Gas, the only local gas station for an hour in any direction. “I got us a surprise for later,” she whispers into his ear. She squeezes his padded butt and finds the power and control arousing.
Dr. Blob pops around the corner wearing a wide-brimmed cowboy hat. “What do you think?” he wibbles, giving himself a chin.
They both laugh. “Uhh, I don’t even think your volume is 10 gallons,” Jacob notes, and Dr. Blob lets the hat fall down over him until he is completely inside the hat.
Dr. Blob pokes an antenna through the top of the hat. “Yes, I think you are correct. This hat is much too big for me as a hat; however, it makes an interesting shirt.” Dr. Blob sticks pseudopods out the side and then gives himself a pair of legs. “See?” when he doesn’t get a laugh out of Izzy and Jacob. He slides out from under it and puts it back on the hat rack. He rolls over to the glasses rack and begins trying on every pair.
“Did you find anything you wanted, Jacob?” Izzy asks, rubbing his back. She looks around and grabs a few snacks she has been missing. The food at the ranch is of the highest quality, but that’s a problem sometimes; you just want the preprocessed, bad-for-you junk.
Jacob smiles and shows her a hand basket filled with many of the same snacks. “He doesn’t have brioches,” he says back as his eyes are drawn to Dr. Blob.
Dr. Blob rolls across the aisle in front of them with several bags of chips in tow. There is a loud pop of bags opening, then a fleeing Dr. Blob, “It wasn’t me!” he yells.
Izzy catches up with Dr. Blob. “You ok? You seem hyper.” She runs a finger across the top of his blob.
“Yeah, just so much to experience. I must find the slushies!” He says and makes a loud noise that sounds like WEEEEEE if you were made out of Jell-O.
Izzy chases after the blob, who is now entering crazy child territory. She stops him from just pulling the slushy machine handle and letting the mix flow into his body. “No, you use a cup,” she says, grabbing a cup from the dispenser next to it and putting it under the machine’s nozzle. She pulls the handle, and the cup fills up. She makes him a red-flavored one and hands him the cup.
He tastes it and turns slightly brown-colored. “Ugh, this is awful for you,” he comments and takes it with him, carrying it like it is a hat.
Izzy laughs quietly at the image of Dr. Blob carrying the vibrator in one thick pseudopod and the slushy balanced on his head with a tendril reaching up and absorbing tiny bits of it at a time. However, each time he does, he makes a “bleh” sound.
“If it’s bad, why do you keep tasting it?” she asks, concerned for his well-being.
“It is part of the experience,” he responds, aiming his wand toward the front register and rolling away from Izzy.
“Well hello there, cutie. Did you find everything you need? You look ready for battle!“ Josh to the green blob who stands less than a foot tall
Dr. Blob looks at the magic wand held like a magic wand and the drink resting on his head, now two-thirds full. “Who am I to battle?” he asks Josh and then looks at Izzy, confused.
“How about you battle a hot dog? Nothing is more American than a gas station hotdog.” Josh adds, reaching for the tongs. The blob bobbles in assent.
The doorkeeper watches from the wall next to the office. It peers between the crack, having just woken up to the word hotdog. It feels slow and sluggish after eating several dozen hot dogs in the last 24 hours.
“Hot dog,” the door whispers. The doorkeeper watches as Josh turns around like there is a ghost behind him and gives him a stern look.
“Do you have any allergies, cutie?” Josh asks with a concern wrinkle forming between his eyes.
“Only to exotic particles, but you don’t seem the type to add them to food, are you, buttercup?” the blob says, waving the wand around, the thick rubber end bouncing off the checkout counter.
“Anyone else want a hotdog while I am making them?” Josh asks Jacob and Izzy. They both shrug and say, “Yes.” He prepares 4 hot dogs and hands them out, saving the last one for himself. “How are things back at the ranch? Is the Hawaiian shirt man around?” Josh looks over at the door, then at the customers.
Dr. Blob wibbles in delight at the all-beef hot dog. “This hot dog is delightfully filled with exotic single-cell lifeforms.” The hot dog swirls around inside him, bubbling as his body consumes it. The Blob sips some of the slushy and makes the “bleh” sound.
“Dr. Blob Ice Cream?” Izzy asks, “I am pretty sure Dr. Blob has never had a gas station ice cream before.”
Dr. Blob looks at Izzy with half his eyestalks lowered. “I am well aware of the gas station selling ice cream. I once had it delivered to the ranch for our cake date,” he finishes and starts bouncing, “but I have never seen where it is stored here.”
Josh walks around the back of the counter and heads to the back of the store. “If you come this way, there is a wide variety.”
They stand in front of the ice cream section, a wall 10 feet wide and 5 feet high filled with pre-frozen ice cream treats. Izzy drools at the choices while Dr. Blob wibbles in delight.
Izzy darts forward and gets a fudge wedge with chocolate ice cream. Jacob settles on a vanilla coconut bar. Josh pulls out an Aztec bar. Dr. Blob reaches in and grabs a sponge bar. And a starfish bar. “These characters look delicious.” They move back to the register and stand and eat their ice cream. Dr. Blob manages to eat the stick as well as the ice cream of the sponge character.
“Is there anything else today, ma’am?’ Josh Gas asks the blob, “Do you need a swimsuit or a magazine?”
“I desire to purchase this vibratory object; I require nothing else.” Dr. Blob looks at Josh Gas as Josh Gas watches the starfish dissolve inside him. “What is the total for our trip?” He produces a pseudopod and extends it up to the top of the cash register, where he deposits a single pea-sized diamond.
“Will this do?” Dr. Blob asks the quiet Josh, who looks at the diamond, then the baskets of goods.
“Yeah, I think that will do nicely.” Josh hits a button on the register to display “paid in full.”
Josh bags up their purchases.
