“Man, you were drunk last night,” giggles Pam. “You don't even recognize him?”
You shake your head no.
“I can see him sleeping on the floor,” says Pam. “Right over there. The old skinny guy with the Fu Manchu mustache.”
Now you easily spot the prestidigitator in question: a bony, gray-haired figure wearing a ratty old stained oriental robe. The magician (and his clothing) had both clearly seen better days. Probably why they were able to hire the old coot for a private party. Under normal circumstances, you'd think a wizard capable of conducting legitimate, instant sex change operations would be in high demand to play Las Vegas or Atlantic City … or more likely Trinidad, Colorado!
“Hey, wake up!” you say, not so gently kicking the slumbering, skeletal scarecrow of a human being snoring on the floor. “Are you the Spectacular Sham-a-ling Dong-Ding?”
“It's the Amazing Sen Shu Al,” corrected Pam.
“He can call himself Amazing Grace for all I care,” you grumble, kicking the slumbering magician again. “Just wake him up and have him change me back!”
“I stir, I stir, my good lady,” said Sen Shu Al grumpily as he rose to his unsteady feet. “Who wakens me from my Sherry-induced languor?”
“You drank a third of bottle of Everclear, then passed out,” frowns Pam. “There was no Sherry involved.”
“Yes, well, there is that then,” said Sen Shu Al, blinking his liquor-reddened eyes blearily and holding one hand to his temple. “Now my dear ladies, I do require a cup of warm elixir – just a tasse à café of that delicious ambrosia of the gods …”
“Change me back into a dude!” you snap, interrupting the rambling conjurer.
“All in good time, dear woman. All in good time,” said Sen Shu Al calmly. “But first, we must remedy the painful pounding in my head. Please if you will good women, just a drop of that powerful potion brewed from the java bean, to steady my nerves – that nectar of caffeine, mahogany decoction of berries from the sweet, flowering Coffea arabica plant, which doth …”
“What the hell are you going on about?” you growl rudely at the babbling buffoon.
“He wants a cup of coffee,” says Pam with a yawn. “I could use one myself.”
“And I believe it was specified in my contract,” the old magician helpfully pointed out.
“You didn't have a contract,” corrected Pam.
“We had a verbal contract,” said Sen Shu Al.
“We promised you the last third of that bottle of Everclear to perform,” said Pam. “You drank it, switched around the naughty bits of a few party guests, then passed out. There was no promise of coffee the next morning.”
“Just get him a damned cup of coffee!” you shout. “Then he can change me back to normal.”
“I performed on you last night, dear woman?” the magician asked you.
“I'm not a woman,” you growl. “Well, I wasn't one last night at least.”
“Ah, yes!” grinned the magician. “My memory isn't what it once was. Yes, yes. The most holy and sacred rite of Sexus Mutatio Veneficus. It's an ancient ritual, long passed down in secrecy amongst the ancient cabal of alterationists whom I am proud to call my congenial fraternity brothers.”
“You call this stupid sex change parlor trick a holy rite?!” you say rolling your eyes in disbelief.
“We largely operate in secrecy,” said Sen Shu Al conspiratorially. “But perhaps you've heard the whispered tales passed down through history of our great achievements. Orlando was not a piece of fiction, you know!”
“Orlando, Florida?” you ask, confused.
“Orlando the person!” cries Sen Shu Al.
“Orlando Bloom?” you ask, still confused. “What the hell are you going on about you drunken old goat!”
“Coffee: for both of you,” Pam said evenly, carrying out two huge mugs of steaming brew. “Now please keep your voices down. Drunk people on the couches and floors are still trying to sleep.”
“Thanks Pam,” you say taking a sip. “Sorry I snapped at you, Mr. Wizard. It's bad enough waking up with a hangover. You throw in PMS, and its a royal bitch – and right now, so am I. So if you'll please just work your magic again and give my back my … uh … my … you know!”
“Your what?” asks Sen Shu Al. The wizard stares blankly at you for a moment, then starts guzzling at his coffee.
“You know what,” you growl.
“Your penis?” says Sen Shu Al unexcitedly. “Your cock, willy, dick, manhood, stiffy, John Thomas, one-eyed snake, your wife's best friend, your Johnson, your …”
“What are you now: a fucking thesaurus?!” you roar. “Yes! I've got tits and a vagina right now. And I'd like to stop having them, and go back to being a normal guy … like I was before I met you!”
You reach up, grabbing your heavy, round breasts with both hands and jiggle them dramatically to emphasize the point.
“Hmm, yes,” says Sen Shu Al, draining the last few drops of coffee from his mug. “Might I impose upon you dear ladies for a refill?”
“I'm not a lady!” you shout, stomping your foot on the ground.
“I'll get you more,” Pam said, taking the cup from him. “And shhh, you two. Drunk people sleeping, remember?”
“Give me back my genitals,” you hiss at the magician.
“I would be delighted,” he answers with a slight half-bow. “But for one simple problem, I'm afraid: __________.”
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