Yes, ladies and gentlemen...you've read about her before! Prepare to be amazed again!
THE TAMPONATOR HAS RETURNED!
After months and months of perceived disinterest in all-things-tampon, I surprised my Agent last night by dusting off my super-hero uniform and raiding the 'pons once again. While she was a tad miffed, even she could not deny the need for my assistance was there.
As I walked down the hallway, past the bathroom, I suddenly froze. "What is that noise?" I asked myself. "I think that is the desperate cries of imprisoned tampons!"
I stealthily skulked into the bathroom and discreetly slammed the bathroom vanity door 7 or 8 squillion times to get it open (I may have super-powers, but I lack opposable thumbs). What I found was unspeakable.
But you know I'm going to speak about it.
There were tampons everywhere. Regulars were absorbing the terrified tears of the itty-bitty Lites. Fights had broken out between strong and amazingly absorbent Super-Plus 'pons, pitting cotton brother against cotton brother.
It was feminine hygiene mayhem. And I knew just what to do.
I ran under the bed to shield my transformation from the probing paparazzi. Winking my left eye thrice and releasing a thunderous air biscuit, I chanted my magical mantra.
[Editor's note: For security purposes, the mantra is encrypted.]
"• •• ••• ••• ••••••-•••••• •••••!"
The bed shook and the walls quaked (primarily due to the breathtaking flatulence) as I morphed into the very impressive, yet slightly less amazing version of myself: THE TAMPONATOR!
Scampering from under the bed, my cape flowing behind me, I ran to the bathroom to save some tampon lives.
I ran directly into the vanity door. Apparently, hearing my attempts to open it minutes before, my Agent closed it whilst I was morphing. Can't a super-hero catch a frickin' break?
Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. (Yawn) Slam. Slam.
YES! THE DOOR WAS OPEN AGAIN!
I sprung into immediate action. Scaling the treacherous Toilet Paper Mountain, I cautiously peered around the hair dryer and surveyed 'Pon Valley. To say I found a bloody mess there would be both a disgusting image (think about it) and highly inaccurate (as they were still in their sanitary packaging). But I can tell you that the scene was messy.
There was a box, securely sealed, holding tampons of all shapes and sizes. I had to get in there. Lives were at stake.
Flick. Flick. Chew. Flick. Chew. Chew. Bite. Flick. Bite.
Attacking the box for what seemed like hours, and getting one flap of the box to lift, I suddenly froze at the sound of footsteps.
"KUKKA! Where are you and what are you doing?"
My Agent! I leapt from beneath the vanity and hid behind the protective shield of the shower curtain. As the bathroom light came on, I had to laugh. My super-feline body is equipped with self-adjusting ocular regulators...called PUPILS. Despite the efforts of the Evil Agent to blind me, I was unfazed by the sudden burst of light.
"What the..." she muttered. Reaching into the open vanity, she closed the tampon box and shut the door. As she turned off the light she mumbled, "What the hell is so amazing about an effing tampon?"
Shit. As the tampon screams filled my ears, I realized I was back to square one.
Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Door.
Flick. Flick. Chew. Flick. Chew. Box.
As I opened the tampon box, I was overwhelmed at what I found.
"Save me!" yelled one tampon.
"No, me!" shouted another.
"Don't save them...they'll give you Toxic Shock Syndrome! I have the pamphlet here to prove it! SAVE ME!" pleaded another.
"ONE AT A TIME! I WILL DRAG EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU TO SAFETY...JUST PIPE DOWN AND BE PATIENT!" I bellowed.
Apparently, I bellowed too loudly, for I heard the footsteps again.
I literally flew (I have a cape, remember?) into the bedroom and slid, undetected, beneath the bed. Changing out of my fancy frock, there was a part of me that was riddled with guilt over leaving so many desperate tampons behind to face a tragic fate.
There was a larger part of me, though, that recognized being a super-hero involved way too much effort and was really just time spent away from eating treats.