Riverdale Flip free porn video

WARNING: Contains adult themes, profanity and sexual situations. This story is intended to become a part of an on-line graphic novel. It is, therefore, dedicated to rusty and his skilled pen! Riverdale Flip By Jacquie Windsor [email protected] Part I Hiram Lodge paced the floor nervously at the vast estate in the wooded hills overlooking Riverdale. It was past 11:00 p.m., and his daughter Veronica was late returning from the rave. She'd been escorted there by the roguish, but dashing, Reggie Mantle. "That girl is going to be the death of me yet," he stormed. "Even that worthless Archie Andrews would have had her back here by now." As the words left his lips, Mr. Lodge, the wealthiest man in the state, heard the roar of an engine in the vast driveway. "Come on, Ronnie. Just a little kiss. Please?" Reggie begged Veronica for a taste of her sweet red lips. She was in no mood. "Reginald Mantle!" she shouted as she hopped out of the convertible. "First you take me to that awful movie, and now you got me home more than an hour late on a school night." Veronica slammed the car door and stalked up to the door of the mansion. "Ronnie! I didn't know that 'Mondo Booby Porn Stars On Venus' was a smut film. Honest!" His voice trailed off as Veronica slammed the door of the huge house and left him alone in his car. He roared off, shrugging off the virulent temper of the Lodge heiress. "Betty would've loved that movie regardless," he thought. "I don't know why I run after Veronica when Betty Cooper would probably jump my bones after seeing it." Inside the Lodge mansion, Veronica tried to tiptoe upstairs without alarming her father. "Ronnie! Get in here this instant!" The dark-haired girl frowned as the commanding voice of Mr. Lodge beckoned from the den. She retraced her steps down the staircase, checking herself in a large wall mirror along the way. "Too much cleavage," she muttered, buttoning her blouse so each of her large breasts was completely concealed. She'd found that her wealth was usually sufficient to get every boy in Riverdale hot for her, but she still liked to flirt. Daddy wouldn't understand. "Daddykins," she announced cheerfully as she entered the den. Her father sat cross-legged on a big chair, smoking his pipe and staring sternly at his daughter through his wire-framed glasses. "It's so nice to see you Daddykins. I'm going to bed right away so I can get up nice and cheery and early and ready for school." "Veronica Lodge," harrumphed the older gentleman, rising from his seat and holding his hands on his hips. "You are late, as usual, and that skirt is about three inches too short." Veronica dropped her false cheerfulness and listened to her father. "This is the fifth time this month you've gone out and come back late without so much as a phone call. What are you thinking?" "Daddy, I'm sorry. I was just on a date with Reggie." "That boy is nothing but trouble. Always tripping around and breaking my stuff." "Daddy, silly, that's not Reggie. You're thinking of Archie!" She noticed a peculiar shade of crimson rising with her father's blood pressure. "Fuck, you're right," stammered the angry CEO of Lodge Enterprises. "I meant, he's always dropping by unannounced and eating me out of house and home. Last week he ate the roast beef that our cook had prepared for your mother's book club." "Tee-hee," giggled Veronica. "That's not Reggie. That's Jughead." Mr. Lodge dropped his lit pipe on the rug, his face a furious shade of purple by this time. "Smithers! Get in here and put out this fire I started on the carpet." He stepped over the smoldering embers eating into the carpet and shook a finger at Veronica, who found herself unable to stop chuckling at her father's confusion. "Young lady. You're grounded for three months. Three entire months! Confined to this house outside of school hours." Veronica's snickering turned to an audible gasp. "But Daddykins! You can't do this to me! I'll die without a social life!" "You should have thought about that before slutting around with that big oaf Reggie. He might be a linebacker on the football team, but he's dumber than a door post." "Daddy! That's Big Moose! Reggie is the guy who's really arrogant and looks at himself in the mirror all the time." "Well, my decision stands. You have to learn some responsibility some time, Veronica." Mr. Lodge folded his arms defiantly as Smithers, the butler, threw a bucket of water on the growing glow on the carpet of the den behind him. In a provocative mockery of her father, Veronica folded her arms under her breasts and jutted out her lower lip. "I'll have you know I am very responsible, Daddy." "Young lady, that sounds like a challenge. I'll tell you what. If you can prove to me how responsible you are, I will lift the curfew." Smithers stood innocuously behind Mr. Lodge, staring at Veronica's luscious young body. As a single, balding, chubby, middle-aged man, the servant considered himself lucky to live in the same house with the gorgeous brunette girl. 'She looks so hot when she's pissed off,' he thought. Veronica glowered at her father, unaware of the secret lust she aroused in the butler. "I could run your companies, Daddy. That's how responsible I am. But then, you'd have to let me out of the house, so I guess you lose the deal. So I guess I don't need a curfew after all." "Not so fast, Ronnie dear. In these days of the Internet and mobile communications, you don't need to go anywhere to run a business." Veronica's jaw dropped. "I see you're lost for words, my daughter." Hiram Lodge retrieved a fresh pipe from a nearby table, tapped in some tobacco, and stroked a match. "I have several struggling subsidiaries in Singapore, Morocco, Canada, Costa Rica, and even right here in good old Riverdale. You can have your pick of them. If you can improve the earnings of any of them within one month, then you never have to worry about a curfew for the rest of your life." The heiress curled an eyebrow and tapped her chin with her finger. "Daddy. You've met your match. Show me the list and I'll pick a company." Mr. Lodge flicked the match towards the fireplace in the den, accidentally hitting the carpet again, and starting another small blaze for Smithers to deal with. He escorted his young daughter to another vast room within the mansion that doubled as a remote office. "I'll just log onto my executive password and set it so you can enter your name as the president of any of these subsidiaries. You think you're so smart! Well, this is a deal I can't lose, because if you turn one of my companies around, then all I do is get richer!" Mr. Lodge rubbed his hands in glee and departed from the room, leaving Veronica to sift through the computer files. "Golly, this might be tougher than I thought," she muttered once her father had left. "I better burn the midnight oil." Well into the night, Veronica perused the files, knowing that her freedom for the next three months was at stake. "Hmm. What's this? TBPI. TransBioPlastiques International. I wonder what this is all about?" When Mr. Lodge awoke, he expected to have to summon Smithers to rouse his daughter. It was a task that Smithers truly enjoyed, as it afforded him an opportunity to see her in her lingerie. When her father arrived in the dining room, Veronica was almost finished breakfast. "Good morning, Daddykins." "Veronica? I can hardly believe that's you. Seven o'clock in the morning and you're awake?" His daughter washed down a final piece of toast with a glass of orange juice and stood up. "Of course I'm awake. After all, I'm a busy executive now, and I have to go to school besides." "Executives don't usually wear hip-hugging jeans and tight black T-shirts," frowned Mr. Lodge. "Well, since I'm doing this all by remote, nobody's going to know what I am wearing," laughed Veronica. "Just the boys at school," she added, bending over at the waist to pick up her books. "So which company did you pick?" asked her father. "TBPI. They've got a factory in Central City, in fact. I phoned them after I logged on as the president and got everything set up. You can almost smell the profits already, I bet, hey Daddykins?" Ronnie kissed the older man on the forehead and bounced off to the garage, books under one arm, and swinging the keys to the BMW in her free hand. "That girl will kill me one of these days," Mr. Lodge sighed. Part II When Veronica arrived at Riverdale High, she found Archie and Betty in the hallway chatting. Her mood suddenly soured at the sight of her blonde rival. Even in a plain rugby shirt and a pleated skirt, Betty was a stunner. Her perpetual smile may have hinted that she was a brainless bimbo, but her marks were only equaled by those of Dilton Doiley, the school's science genius. Veronica pressed her books together, with both hands, against her tummy. She straightened herself and pasted a false smile on her face, then walked over to the pair of students. "Well hello Archiekins," she sang. "Oh, and hello Betty," she added flatly. "Hi Ronnie," said the two, to which Betty added, "I'm all ready for Ms. Grundy's history test today. Are you, Veronica?" The black-haired girl laughed out loud. "Even if ol' Grundy failed me, I'd just get the Bee to fix the grade. He's got a real thing for hot, busty brunettes." Betty stared in disbelief at the brazen attitude of her erstwhile friend. "If your Daddy didn't just give you everything, you'd have to actually earn a grade, instead of bouncing your breasts in front of the principal's face." "For your information, Betty, I've actually won a position as a CEO of one of Daddy's companies." "Wow!" exclaimed Archie. "You're an executive? Cool!" Betty was crestfallen. Her rival for Archie's affection was not only going to inherit her father's wealth, but probably also win Archie's hand one day, and now she was also a CEO of one of her Daddy's companies. "Actually, it doesn't make a profit right now, but I have a perfect plan to make it make money in under four weeks." Veronica's admission crept into Betty's mind like a python. Her outwardly sunny attitude concealed a dark side. She always looked for a weakness in the mighty Veronica Lodge, but her guilty conscience usually prevented her from doing anything about it. Here, again, was a possible Achilles' heel, and it gnawed at her spirit. "Now run along, Betty. Archie and me have important things to talk about. You'll be happier with your history books anyhow." Deeper in self-doubt, Betty waved a lifeless good-bye to Archie and Veronica and shuffled down the hallway. "Now Archie, you haven't forgotten our date on Friday, have you?" Archie gasped. "Of course not, Ronnie. We were going to..." As usual, his words slowed so he could let his sometime girlfriend finish his sentence for him. "...'Le Boeuf D'Or', Archiekins. It's that expensive new restaurant downtown. You have to remember that, don't you?" "Oh, of course, Ronnie! 'Le Boof Door'. Yeah, it's a $50 minimum there, isn't it?" "$100 minimum, Archiekins. You have saved up for it, or do I have to call Reggie to take me?" That always did it. At the sound of his rival's name, Archie stiffened. "Ronnie! Be prepared to be dazzled by the mighty and expensive wallet of your knight in shining armor!" Veronica whirled around playfully. "Vin Diesel? Where is he?" "Ronnie! No! Me! Archie Andrews!" "Oh, oh right, you. Okay, Archie, you be at my house at five o'clock sharp, but use the back entrance. By the guest house." Archie wondered at Veronica's suggestion, but kept his thoughts to himself. He knew that questioning Veronica Lodge was an invitation to disaster. Veronica smiled at him, condescending, and swiveled her hips as she left his side to go to her first class of the day. "My plan is on its way." Part III Veronica sidled up to Reggie Mantle during lunch. "Hello, Mr. Wonderful," she said sarcastically. "Hi Ronnie. Jesus, I thought you wouldn't be talking to me after I fucked up your life last night." "Oh, you aren't off the hook for that," Ronnie grinned. "You owe me big time for getting me grounded." Veronica summoned Reggie to follow her to a quiet table in the cafeteria. He kept his eyes focused on her tight ass and jiggling breasts the whole way. 'She might be a bitch, but she's one hell of a hot bitch.' "Sit down, Reggie. Shut up and listen. I want you to do me a favor. You're going to go to Central City tomorrow on an errand. A very particular errand. And if you screw it up, I'll not only never date you again, but I might use some of Daddy's money to have you castrated." Reggie blinked as he poked a fork into the steamy pile of food on his plate. "You are to report to the laboratory for an experimental bioplastical thing." "I don't understand," Reggie shrugged. "Didn't I tell you to shut up and listen? You, Reggie Mantle, are going to do me the biggest favor of all. You, Reggie Mantle, are going to become Veronica Lodge. I can see from the look on your face that you're completely and happily amazed by this deal." Reggie was worse than amazed. He turned white and pushed his plate of food away. "Can I say something?" "Now that I'm finished and I've told you what you're going to do... Okay, you can talk." "Um, I guess my main question is how did you get this idea?" Reggie asked lamely. "I found a subsidiary of Daddy's business that deals in body suits. Oh, Reggie, I've already ordered it, so you don't have to worry. You're going to get the 'Ronnie 1220'. I designed it myself on the Internet and sent it to the technicians in Central City. And you, Reggie Mantle, are going to go over and put it on. You are going to stay at my house this Friday and pretend you're me. And I'm going to go on a date with my favorite redhead." Reggie grimaced. "I... I... I can't do that!" "You can and you will. You are personally responsible for me being grounded. That's why you'll do it. And then, hey, all your debts are paid. I think I let you off pretty easy." Reggie continued to pout as the Lodge heiress swung around and stalked out of the cafeteria. As his gaze lingered on her shapely legs, perky butt and narrow back, crowned by the flowing sheen of her deep black hair, Reggie mused. "I'd always dreamed about getting into her panties, but into her body???" Pimphouse Magazine had once listed Riverdale as town with the fourteenth highest "babe factor" in the US. Ironically, it also included Riverdale as one of the fifty "toughest places to get laid". The town seemed to place a sexless spell on the many lovely teen daughters who could be found at the malls, in the schools and wandering aimlessly down the litter-free avenues. The publication doing the survey was not even sold at any of the convenience stores in Riverdale, neither because of a municipal by-law, nor because of any demonstration by churchgoers. It was said that surreptitious convoys would sneak out to the 24-hour stores in the suburbs of nearby Central City just to get a copy of Pimphouse. None of the hundreds of gorgeous women of Riverdale had ever posed for Pimphouse, while several of the women of Central City had undergone reconstructive surgery just for the chance to sign a $500 contract for a brief and topless appearance in the pages of the softcore journal. Part IV Reggie's drive to the TBPI lab in Central City was made more pleasant by the quaint and sunny pastures that filled the landscape between the two rival towns, and by his Turbo-Boom powered car. The sleek silver machine had no brand name, yet carried a solid warranty for trade-in that allowed the young man to swap it for another vehicle at virtually no cost. The Riverdale economy was driven solely by the enterprise of Hiram Lodge, and other wealthy magnates, whose factories churned out a surplus of generic goods for local consumption and for export. It made for an oddly burgeoning economic atmosphere, even when the rest of the country was mired in a recession. Reggie found the TBPI factory on a narrow lane in the light industrial part of Central City. Gangs of unshaved men gawked at the Riverdale native as he drove slowly towards his destination. Just as his hometown reeked of na?ve beauty, Reggie thought this place was the polar opposite. The finest buildings in town belonged to the headquarters of the trade unions and the homes of their bullying leaders. Entrepreneurs were frequently beaten, robbed and secured tightly to the grills of semi-trailers speeding out of town on the highway. Once he had parked the car, Reggie went to the front door of the factory, whose plate glass had been boarded over like many of the windows throughout the town. It nearly broke from its hinges when he opened it. "Hi. I am here for an appointment," Reggie told the receptionist. He told her who he was. "Doctor Ratbutt will see you when he can," she answered, displaying an uneven row of broken teeth. "He's downtown paying off the union right now." Reggie saw the unhappy woman frown. He was eager to get out of this dismal place at all costs. "You must be from Riverdale, huh?" she croaked. "Yer much too cute to be one of our boys." Reggie plucked a small mirror from his jacket and peeked at his rugged jawbone and smooth, cropped hair. "I am the great and cute Reggie Mantle." His gaze lingered upon the reflection of the handsome stud. It was far preferable to looking at the receptionist, whose oversized glasses made her eyes bulge reptilian. After two hours of waiting, Reggie put away the mirror. "It's been two hours!" Just as he got up to leave and face the consequences of an irate Veronica Lodge, the door to the interior of the laboratory opened. "Good afternoon. You must be Mr. Mantle." It was a white- coated, older version of the pesky Dilton Doiley, grayed and slightly hunchbacked. "I'm Doctor Ratbutt. I am here to supervise the procedure." "Yeah, well I ain't too thrilled to be here, doctor. I'm just doing this as a favor." "Ah yes, Miss Veronica can be quite persistent. Since she took over the management, I can't chew gum in the building any more. But smoking is now permitted! It's almost as bad as being in a union!" Doctor Ratbutt led the boy into the lab and sat him on the medical table in a stale, windowless room. "Does this require anything like anesthetic?" Reggie asked. "Not at all. Simply remove your clothes and slip into the suit. Here it is." The Ronnie 1220 was folded simply into a small plastic box. Reggie stripped and the doctor helped him into the skin- tight device. The body suit rolled onto both legs like pantyhose. The doctor helped Reggie fit his arms into it, and continued to seal the prototype over his buttocks, torso, and finally his head. A simple series of adjustments made certain that the anatomical features of the Ronnie 1220 fit snugly to those of Reggie's natural body. The doctor matched the nipples, eye sockets, fingernails, and other features while the human guinea pig wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Once the suit was adjusted and sealed, the doctor told Reggie to stand in place while the bioplastics contoured his body in the desired shape. "Any pain?" asked the scientist. "No, kind of like a scalp massage," said Reggie. The technological marvel, with the design picked by Veronica Lodge herself, began a surprisingly quick transformation of Reggie to the bitchy brunette from Riverdale. The hair spun out, lengthened, and crept into Ronnie's familiar style. The limbs became more delicate, and the bust, waist and hips grew curves that Reggie had never seen from that perspective. He touched the breasts as they expanded firmly within the suit. "Er, Doctor Ratbutt, aren't these a little too big?" "Not at all, young man. They're just the size Miss Veronica said in her specifications." Reggie reached down to his crotch where, to his astonishment, the body suit had not changed his penis into a vagina. "Isn't this wrong? I mean she doesn't have a cock." "Oh," shrugged the doctor, "maybe Miss Veronica is unfamiliar with the specifications for a penis. Is that likely?" "You're right, Doctor Ratbutt. She wouldn't know a dick if it bounced off her forehead!" Reggie simmered for a moment. "And my voice. This won't do. I still sound like a guy! I am supposed to be Veronica Lodge. This makes me feel like a freak." Doctor Ratbutt's gaze roamed Reggie's naked body. "No. I think you're quite passable. You might just have to speak quieter or something. Not my problem." "Okay. I can't leave here naked. Do you have anything I can wear?" "Many of our clients and test subjects bring stuff they can't fit into, so I'm sure we can dig something up," the technician suggested. Part V "It feels a little tight around the tummy," Reggie complained, once Doctor Ratbutt had fixed him up with a shimmering, electric blue one-piece that looked an awful lot like a Pimphouse bunny costume without the cottontail or ears. "Oh, that isn't the costume. It's the bodysuit. The Ronnie 1220 took about six inches off your waist." The outfit was completed with matching 3 1/2 inch stilettos and a handbag. "Doctor! What am I going to do about that?" Reggie pointed to his cock in a full-length mirror stationed conveniently in the laboratory. The bulge was obvious even to a casual observer as its head poked profanely from the high-cut leg of the outfit. "Oh that? Well, I'd recommend getting to your car and out of town as quick as you can." Reggie fumbled with the hemline, trying to push his cock into a less obtrusive position. The bodysuit's breasts kept getting in the way. It was like looking straight down some busty girl's shirt, since the costume scarcely covered half of the weighty, pale orbs. And his jet-black hair kept slipping off his shoulders and into his line of vision. "If it will help," said the technician, "you can have some of these." He handed Reggie a vial of several small gray-green tablets. "They're 'Erex-Lax'. They'll stop you from getting all excited at being confined in the Ronnie 1220." Reggie gulped down a couple of the salty pills and felt his penis shrink to a more manageable size. "Weird," he thought, "I'm fucking horny as hell but I can't feel anything in 'The Mantlizer'." The technician and the receptionist equally gawked at the unpolished gait of the Riverdale High football captain as he left the TBPI building. He noticed a group of unsavory youths lounging in the entranceway to an alley joining the lane where he'd parked his car. He climbed in and turned the ignition as quickly as he could. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. There was a rap at the driver's side window. Reggie looked up and saw the leering grin of one of Central City's many loutish teenagers. The ne'er-do-well held up a spark plug in his grimy fingers. Reggie rolled down the window and was about to shout at him when he remembered his most unconvincing voice would give away his secret. "Yer car will start a bit quicker wid dis," Reggie nodded meekly. "Well, unzip it, suck it and swallow and me and the guys'll see just what we can do 'bout it," the teen demanded. To his horror, Reggie saw that the boy's five friends stood behind their leader, each one with a spark plug in his hand. When the first teen stood up, his crotch was right where it needed to be to get a blowjob from the brunette vixen as she sat in her car. "Heh-heh," Reggie consoled himself as his fingers pried the gang leader's cock from his pants, "they'll all think it was the mighty Veronica Lodge sucking their cocks. Serves her right for being such a bitch." As he started to suck the first of six cocks, however, Reggie weighed the effect on Ronnie's reputation against the physical reality that threatened to gag him. Mercifully, each of the boys came rather quickly, and dutifully replaced each spark plug after being orally satisfied. Number five withdrew suddenly from Reggie's lips just as he came, however, and sprayed three jets of cum on his face. The others, peering through the windshield, cheered and gave each other high-fives. The last boy wouldn't even let him wipe off the viscous liquid before demanding his turn, and Reggie felt its warm texture dripping onto his breasts. "Thanks for visiting Central City!" jeered the boys as Reggie thundered off in his custom-made coupe. He drove out of the city limits before daubing a tissue and wiping the cum off as best he could. Part VI Reggie arrived at his modest bungalow within an hour and waited for Veronica's call. His parents were out of town, as they frequently were whenever he embarked on some kind of adventure with his Riverdale pals. Apart from the Andrews, the Lodges, and the Joneses, in fact, few of the adults ever seemed to be around. When the gang motored around town in Archie's old jalopy, cooked up a scheme at Pop Tate's Chock'lit Shoppe, or played in one of the many sports events against Central City, they did so without parental supervision. The adults were so scarce, in fact, that the school board had scrapped the requirements for PTA meetings, and report cards were addressed to 'Occupant' at the end of the school term. Old people were even scarcer. It seemed that anyone over the age of fifty either lived in the town's one Old Folks' Home or taught at Riverdale High. Otherwise, they merely vanished without a trace, since there had never been a funeral service in the Mantle family for as long as anyone remembered. Fortunately, Reggie's life was so complete, with his massive ego to tend to, that he had no time to consider any of these details. As long as his bank account filled up with money every two weeks, he could fend for himself quite well. "And coming across convincingly enough as Ronnie to repay the debt I owe her," he groaned. As he continued to wait for her phone call, he practiced speaking in dulcet tones and walking tenderly in the footwear chosen for him. "Shit, at least I know why Carrot-Top is so hung up on this dame," he muttered, prancing effetely in front of the hallway mirror. "I hope Ronnie's got something better to wear, though, a bra or something, because my tits keep popping out." "Yes they do," came a crisp, mocking voice behind him. Reggie whirled about, clumsily shoving his boobs back into the costume, and saw his double. Veronica had not bothered knocking on the door. "I've got to talk to that designer," she sighed. "Your breasts are at least a cup size larger than mine are. Oh well, that's the life of a world-class entrepreneur. Always surrounded by incompetence. Now hurry along, Reginald, I only sneaked out while Daddy was on the phone with his stockbroker, so we've got to be back there in fifteen minutes or I'll get in trouble." Racing along the smooth and spotless Riverdale streets, Ronnie arrived back at the Lodge Mansion with a few minutes to spare. Reggie was tucked uncomfortably under a gray raincoat the whole way, urged to keep silent by a sharp poke in the ribs once or twice. Once they arrived upstairs in her room, unseen by any of the estate's staff, Veronica thrust some underwear and clothing into Reggie's complacent arms and ordered him to change in the bathroom. "Smithers accidentally bought me some of these." An unopened brassiere package, marked 32-DDD, was given to the mortified experiment subject before he gathered the clothing and went off to change. Without her help it took him nearly an hour. Veronica had doubtless foreseen the problem with his cock bulge, providing a skirt and blouse rather than her more traditional slacks. The bra fit perfectly, its wide shoulder straps and firm underwire holding their burdens in surprising comfort. The blouse was contoured in a custom fit to accommodate Ronnie's small back and waist. Lodge Textiles, one of her father's subsidiaries, was the only corporation in America producing clothing that could fit the slender, busty, Riverdale teens off the rack. Still, the imperious Veronica Lodge selected her clothes from fashion houses flung across the globe, forcing designers everywhere to become accustomed to the impossible sizes coveted by the girls of this mid-sized American town. "You're perfect! You're me!" the Lodge heiress giggled excitedly, once the egotistical football captain emerged from her bathroom. "Where's my credit card?" Reggie mocked. "No," she admonished him. "Don't talk at all. I told Daddy I have laryngitis, so you won't have to say anything during dinner. Just shut up and smile a lot. Nod your head if you understand. Just DON'T TALK!" Reggie nodded slowly. He forced a toothy grin. "Perfect. You look just like me. Now I've got to sneak out the back for my date with Archie. Don't fuck things up, Reggie, or I'll tell your parents." She thought for a moment. "Okay, maybe not your parents. But I'll do something to you so horrible that you won't ever want to hear the name 'Veronica Lodge' again." Reggie thought to himself: 'Right now I don't want to hear the name 'Veronica Lodge' again.' Part VII Supper at the Lodge house was, as usual, a sumptuous feast. Full dishes of meat, vegetables, sauces, desserts, and casseroles cluttered the massive antique table in the dining room. While it was just the Lodge adults and Veronica having dinner, there was sufficient food to feed a small army. The only times they'd even dented the banquet laid before them was when Jughead had dropped by. Jughead could eat all that had been prepared, and more, frequently emptying the refrigerators of many a household when they'd accidentally left him by himself. He suffered from some type of advanced medical condition, perhaps, or it might have been a tapeworm. Nobody knew. It was known that Jughead Jones could not be trusted with food around. His friends were even afraid to ask why there appeared to be no stray animals, not even a single rat, in the town of Riverdale. "You are taking your punishment very well, Veronica," stated her father. Reggie merely smiled and nodded, reaching for a glass of water to help down a forkful of meat. "Maybe I ought to call the doctor over to check on your progress," added Mrs. Lodge. She was dressed impeccably, as though on her way to an awards ceremony. Her days were filled with attending charity events, a dull occupation only punctuated by her obsession with playing bridge. Reggie shook his head. He didn't want a doctor examining him in this condition. "Well, darling, I don't want you to wind up as your sisters." Reggie furled his eyebrows in confusion. "Now Mavis," said Mr. Lodge. "You know not to talk about the others around Ronnie." He looked sadly at his wife, then at a pile of salad on his plate. He had hired the best psychiatrists to deal with his wife's uncommon psychoses. Her daily 'bridge games' were not attended by anything more than phantom playmates. She held a firm belief that Veronica was one of eight daughters in the Lodge family, and that the others had perished from polio, smallpox, beriberi and other exotic, largely archaic, diseases. It was a credit to the Lodge industrialist that he coped with a vain spendthrift of a daughter and a wife with a crippling psychosis that kept her in a dream world of her own creation. He had gone so far as to obtain several expensive medical opinions to confirm that his wife's condition was not genetic. His daughter's flamboyance, temper and vanity were signals, in his mind, of a descent into madness. But the psychiatrists condoned these traits and, to Hiram Lodge's complete chagrin, confirmed that her relationship with Archie was normal and pointed to a well-adjusted mental state. Each time Mr. Lodge had Archie thrown out of his house, by his servant Smithers, he did so with a small measure of regret and a generous portion of satisfaction. With dinnertime drawing to a close, Smithers motioned the kitchen staff to remove the dishes, still burgeoning with uneaten food. Reggie passed him on the way to the long staircase leading upstairs to Veronica's room. He cast Smithers a sour glance; the portly servant looked down his nose straight at the Ronnie 1220's voluptuous breasts. "I'd tell 'Daddy' if I didn't have laryngitis!" Reggie plopped himself onto Veronica's bed and grabbed the remote control for one of the four television sets situated in her room. Far from being a simple, rectangular room, the Lodge girl's boudoir was a split-level home within a home. The clothes closet itself was practically as large as Reggie's room. He counted eight large windows within the comfortable prison to which Veronica had been grounded. There was even a fridge and a kitchenette within the sumptuous suite. Shortly, as his awe began to subside, a short rap came on the door. It was Smithers, carrying a flimsy pink nightie set on a wire hanger. "What's this all about?" Reggie thought, alarmed at the sight of the Lodge servant in the room. "Greetings, Miss Veronica. I have brought you your sleepwear, as I know you may wish to change into something less confining." He walked towards the large four-poster bed. Reggie shook his head violently. "But Miss Veronica!" cried the butler. "Perhaps you are more unwell than you appear! You always wear a nightie after supper!" Reggie's alarm increased and he waved his hands 'no' along with shaking his head. "Miss Veronica! I am appalled!" The chubby man stuck the hanger on a railing and placed his finger to his lips. He curled his eyebrow in deep suspicion. "But... maybe... maybe you're right... maybe you're well... but... maybe... maybe you're not Miss Veronica..." His finger tapped his chin. "Maybe... maybe because I saw you... I mean, Miss Veronica, driving out from the guest house in her car... maybe she has broken her vow to her father... and maybe you are Betty in a black wig?" Smithers glowered at the visibly frightened creature on the bed. "Now what would Mr. Lodge think if I found Miss Veronica out on the town. Let me think. If Miss Veronica was out, then she'd be out with Archie Andrews. And since Archie would never think of going on a date without telling his mom and dad where he was going, then all I have to do is phone them and find out where he is." "Listen, Smithers, I'm NOT Betty. I'm Reggie!" he confessed. "Please... please don't say anything!" The servant was shocked. Indeed, this was the distinct voice of Reggie Mantle, projecting from the gorgeous body of Veronica Lodge. "Well now, this certainly is a stroke of luck for me, then, isn't it?" "What do you mean? A stroke of luck?" Reggie panicked as he saw Smithers begin to remove his suit. He was down to his boxers, T-shirt and socks before the transformed sports star could manage another word. "You didn't answer me! What stroke of luck?" "Why, I'm going to fuck Veronica Lodge," grinned the butler. "Always wanted to. Never got a chance till now." "Wait a second!" exclaimed Reggie. "I am not, like, completely Veronica. I have a dick still." Smithers looked pensive for a moment, stripping off the rest of his clothes. "Oh, that's all right, Miss Veronica. I have nothing against sodomy either." He urged Reggie to get undressed. "If you want to keep all of this secret, you'll get snappy about it." Reggie complied reluctantly. He glanced sideways at the servant's growing erection as the blouse and skirt came off, then at the rock-hard cock once he'd taken off the underwear and bent over on his elbows and knees on the bed. He felt a pair of chubby hands on his ass cheeks, and the knob of Smithers' cock against his cherry asshole. "Wait! Smithers! Please don't do this!" "Oh why not?" he chuckled. "It's against the Comics Code Authority!" squealed Reggie. Part VIII Betty kept her anger at Veronica in check by going home after school and indulging in one of her few selfish pleasures, a long, hot bubble bath. It was cheap and refreshing. Afterwards, she wrapped a long towel around her hair and tiptoed naked to her room. Once there, she searched her meager chest of drawers for something decent to wear. "Gosh," she thought, "I was certain that I'd brought in all the laundry from the clothesline, but I can't find my newest bra and panties." Betty's room was a virtual shrine to her first love, Archie Andrews. Posters, portraits, cameos, framed pictures and drawings of the redheaded teenager filled the walls and every unused shelf and clear surface in the otherwise tidy bedroom. It was an obsession bordering on the neurotic, but her parents were blind to its effects on their pretty blonde daughter. As long as her grades remained high, they were unsympathetic to her unhealthy emotional attraction to the Andrews lad. "This is the third time this month I seem to have lost some of my lingerie," she fretted. "I don't think I dare ask my father for another advance on my allowance." Mr. Cooper could ill afford it. He was a hard-working accountant for a big city firm's branch office in Riverdale. He had the misfortune to be in direct competition with the monopolistic Lodge Enterprises. Only the previous week, his boss had been implicated in suspicious investment banking fraud. The net was widening quickly, under the auspices of a Lodge-controlled assistant District Attorney, and there was a very good chance that it would catch the Cooper family's breadwinner in its sweep. Her father's boss had whispered callously to him, only that week, that he would gladly accept full responsibility in return for a few weekend romps in the sack with the busty young girl. Betty knew nothing of the deal. "Dear Diary," she wrote, collapsing onto her bed undressed, and seizing her little black book and a pen. "I love Archie Andrews." The entry was the same each day. Sometimes underlined. Sometimes surrounded by little hearts. Sometimes with a little drawing of the boy. The door to her room nudged open. It was her father. "Betty, are you pining about that boy again?" "Yes Daddy. I guess so." Betty set down the diary and the pen and sat up, carefully crossing her legs and covering her big breasts with one arm. "Your marks at school are still okay, aren't they?" "Oh yes, Daddy. Of course. I mean, it's so easy I hardly have to study to keep my straight-A average." "That's a good girl. Why don't you go out and do a good deed? That always seems to cheer you up." "That's a great idea, Daddy." She bit her lip, contemplating whether to ask for an advance on her allowance, yet certain that he would feel guilty turning her down. Her father smiled and left her bedroom. He was feeling guilty, but not about the problems his daughter had presumed. Once Mr. Cooper left, Betty picked up a loose-fitting tank top and put it on, followed by a pair of lace panties and then a denim jumpsuit. The outfit left a patch of skin showing in the small of her back. From the side, the slack top and bib left little to the imagination. The pretty young teen left the house and walked towards her high school. "A good deed. Daddy's so smart," she thought. "I know just the thing to cheer me up." Although the school was officially closed after hours, the principal made it a policy to keep the doors open in case any of the students or faculty wished to use the place. The trusted custodian, Svenson, kept unofficial vigil over the institution. The diminutive Swedish immigrant practically made the place his home. Betty entered the school, peering into each classroom in succession. "If I could find some erasers to clap, that would sure cheer me up," she said softly. After searching several of the rooms, Betty found no chalkboard erasers. She realized that Svenson must have taken them somewhere for cleaning. His thoroughness and hard work kept the school spotless beyond fault. Betty rattled the doorknob to one of the many closets and entranceways to the tunnels and walkways that honeycombed the structure. "Boy, I never knew how many hiding places there were in here," she mused. "I wonder if I'll ever find old Svenson!" Her search continued. Finally, she found a set of stairs leading downwards from a doorway next to the music room. She flicked on the light and started to descend. "I can't believe it. Even the pipes and electrical stuff are clean," Betty thought. She followed the corridors randomly. The dim overhead lights showed the way, or rather many ways, through the vast basements of Riverdale High. Something brushed against the young blonde girl's cheek. She looked up and saw, suspended from an overhead beam, a sheer red garment. Then, gasping under her breath, Betty walked forward two steps and reached up to touch the dangling strap of a brassiere. Choking back her astonishment, she crept forward to a squarish opening in the clean cinder-block hallway. A pair of panties hung from a nail. Betty stooped and entered an interior room, hidden securely within the labyrinth under Riverdale High. Her hand reached forward to touch a grainy blown up photo of Midge, Big Moose's girlfriend. The picture showed her naked from the waist up, entering the girls' shower stalls in the gymnasium. It seemed to have been shot from an impossible angle, as though the photographer was concealed within the walls of the washroom itself. The curious young woman turned away from the portrait and ventured further into the secret place. Lingerie, bras, panties, sheer tops, skirts and shoes were everywhere, hanging from nails on the walls or from the ceiling paraphernalia. More pictures, too. "Omigosh!" Betty shrieked. "It's Ronnie! And..." She found a wall portrait of a young blonde girl, naked as all the others, entering the shower stall. "Me!" Betty gaped in full-blown shock at the mirror image. Many of her own stolen undergarments surrounded the picture. She backed away slowly until her foot hit something on the floor. She whirled around and slapped her hand to her mouth to stop an involuntary shriek. There, on a mattress, slept Svenson, with an empty liquor bottle lying next to him. His head was adorned with a long blonde wig, and he was naked on his back except for a bra. The cups swelled over a pair of enormous breast forms, strapping them to the mustachioed janitor's chest. His cock hung limply over a pair of Betty's own panties, which lay crumpled and soiled next to his body. Betty gulped. Then she turned and hurried out of the place. She summoned her athletic abilities to keep running until she was out of the basement. "Omigosh! Svenson is a transvestite pervert!" she grimaced, her heart racing as she ascended the stairs and clamped the door shut behind her. "Principal Weatherbee must be notified immediately! And, omigosh, he was masturbating on my panties!" Betty resolved to suspend her animosity towards Veronica. For the moment, her entire mind was filled with the disturbing images of Svenson wearing one of her bras and collecting naked pictures of Riverdale High's beautiful young women. "Principal Weatherbee is so old-fashioned. He'd never believe me. But Ronnie will!" Part IX The phone rang at the Lodge mansion. Smithers dutifully answered and was surprised to hear Betty Cooper in such a fretful mood at the other end of the line. He put her on hold and marched upstairs to Veronica's room. Reggie, still trapped in the Ronnie 1220, lounged on the bed in a cropped silk bathrobe, watching TV. "Miss Veronica," Smithers announced emphatically, "Miss Betty is on the phone." Reggie closed the robe as the servant scarcely disguised his lust. "Are you gonna just stand there listening to me?" "Miss Veronica!" There was a haughty, mocking tone to Smithers' voice. "There are no secrets here!" Reggie picked up the phone. "Hello, Betty." Betty was amazed to hear Reggie's voice on the other end of the line. "Uh... Reggie? Gosh, I must have called you by mistake." "It's a long story. I can make it a lot shorter if you can meet me at the Chock'lit Shoppe in a half hour." "S-sure," Betty stammered. She couldn't figure out why Reggie was answering Veronica's phone, but she knew she had to talk to someone about Svenson. "Just... do you happen to have a good camera, Reggie?" "Oh yes, Betty. How do you think I'd be able to capture myself on film so often?" While just hearing one half of the conversation, Smithers was perplexed that Reggie was so trite about his feminization. After the call was done, the butler approached the bed and demanded to know what was going on. "Listen Smithers. I have to get out of here. I expected Ronnie to be back by now, but it's already just about nine o'clock!" "Well then, Miss Veronica, I bet there's a way I could cover for you. And it won't cost you a cent!" Reggie peered dolefully at the servant as he stood in the way. The transformed sports hero swung his legs off the edge of the bed and found himself face-to-crotch with the chubby man's zipper. "Just don't cum in my mouth, okay?" grumbled Reggie, using both hands to unzip Smithers' pants and snag his cock. The butler began to grind his cock into the sexy mouth of his prey, pulling the bathrobe down both of Reggie's arms. His smooth hands roamed over the Ronnie 1220's large and supple breasts. "Oh, bitch, you are good," he said, thrusting in and out of Reggie's wet mouth in an increasingly intense tempo. Just as he felt himself about to cum, the servant kept true to his honor and withdrew, splashing warm sperm all over his quarry's chin and breasts. "Yeah, thanks a lot," Reggie complained. "Say, there wouldn't happen to be a high-quality camera in this dump, would there?" "I shall bring the lovely slut one of the Hasslebads immediately," Smithers chuckled, straightening his shirt and pants. He took one last look at the vision of Veronica Lodge, trying to wipe the gism from her face and breasts, before leaving her room to get the equipment. Part X Pop Tate dutifully kept the rustic Chock'lit Shoppe open past his usual closing time once he saw Betty waving cheerfully on the other side of the glass door. She thanked him three times and took her place in one of the cozy booths to wait for Reggie. The blonde was as perplexed as the proprietor was pleased when Veronica Lodge appeared, dressed down in a tight sweater and jeans. The apron-clad owner nudged his Central City assistant, a mop-haired boy named Surly McGoober, then approached the booth to take their order. "Might I suggest a couple of my famous apple-cinnamon ice cream glaze treats?" The girls answered with a flourish of their hands, and Pop Tate returned behind the counter to demonstrate the secret of the spicy dessert to young Surly. While out of earshot, Reggie whispered furtively to Betty his own secret. The blonde leaned forward, allowing the Shoppe owner and his assistant a glorious view of her breast. "Surly, you take Veronica's bowl, and I'll take Betty's. I'll show you the real blast about making those little hotties my ice cream specialty." The Central City teen, working off a probationary condition by working free at Pop Tate's, watched as the older man lifted his apron and started to jerk off on the top of the freshly scooped mound of apples, ice cream and ground cinnamon. Betty and Reggie were absorbed by their own troubles; neither of them noticed the lascivious grins worn by the two standing behind the counter. "I don't believe it!" Betty said. "Yes! I am really Reggie. You don't believe me?" Betty felt Veronica's slender hand grasp hers, under the table, and draw it forward. Pop and Surly gaped in astonishment as they viewed the scene. With his free hand, Reggie had unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock, forcing Betty to touch it to prove he was not really Veronica Lodge. "Kinky," Pop huffed, nearing orgasm and ready to glaze the girls' apple-cinnamon treats. "No doubt!" Surly agreed, already foaming onto Veronica's bowl. "Spray it nice and even," advised the older man. "Those two girls are practically addicted to these things!" Betty had withdrawn her hand, now convinced that the cock in Ronnie's pants belonged to Reggie. The Mantle boy had shown it to her several times when she'd gone on dates with him, yet she had properly refused to touch it. Pop Tate arrived at their table, pretending that nothing was amiss, and deposited the glistening sweet and salty ice creams on the table. "The only thing as good as making them is watching the girls eat them," he told Surly once he returned from the booth. "And I sound like Reggie, too, right?" whispered the busty brunette. "Can't let Pop Tate know," Betty replied in a copycat tone. "Did you bring the camera?" "Right in my bag," acknowledged Reggie. "Mmm, this stuff is so delicious," said the blonde, swallowing scoop after scoop of the dessert. "The syrup's a bit tangy." Betty listened to Reggie's tale of woe and a plan, more devious than she believed herself capable of, began to form slowly and deliberately in her mind. "I think I can solve both of our problems!" she told Reggie, finishing her ice cream with a thoroughness that entertained Pop Tate and his grinning aide. "How?" Reggie asked. The pair rose from the table, refreshed, and waved 'so long' to Pop and Surly. "I'm going to get back at Svenson and you're going to get back at Veronica," Betty stated. "All with the help of this!" She patted the bag at her side, and the young rivals walked the seven short blocks to their school. Part XI The warm Riverdale night caressed them as Betty and Reggie, forced to alter his gait as the Ronnie 1220 had affected his anatomy, approached the school. While sirens screamed in Central City whenever dusk slipped into the anarchy of darkness, Riverdale was blessed with an orderly respect for the law, even in the blackness of the longest winter night. This orderly respect was no accident. The city was unusual for having not a single tavern, dance club or liquor store. Movie houses existed, but never began a showing after six o'clock. To ratify his monopolistic grip, Hiram Lodge had entered into a devil's arrangement with federal authorities more than four decades ago. Genetic experiments, under the insidious administration of imported medical professionals, had woven virulent code into the locals' DNA. Among the dramatic results was a dominant strain of hexabilious genes that caused every native of Riverdale to become violently ill at the merest taste of alcohol. The result was a completely liquor-free community, one in which the crime rate descended dramatically as the gene worked its magic over the generations. The Riverdale police department kept bankers' hours, facilitating a tax savings that allowed Mr. Lodge to pay a lower wage to his employees, and thus increase his profit margins appropriately. Moreover, the accident rate and employee absenteeism dropped off the charts. If there was a heaven on earth, it was the secular, genetically modified Nirvana that was Riverdale. Betty and Reggie arrived at the school. The inebriated, unconscious Svenson, unaware of their approach, was uniquely immune to the effects of the DNA experiment. As one of the town's few immigrants, he kept an unhealthy appetite for booze, and doubled his crimes by maintaining an affection for the philosophy of Proudhon and the literature of Dostoevsky. "He's still sleeping," Betty whispered. "Ew," Reggie said, astonished by the perversions revealed to him along the corridors of the Riverdale High basement. He picked up a book from the floor. "Yes," Betty grimaced, "he's obviously a screwball. That's the edition of Chekov's plays that Principal Weatherbee banned! Well, we'll make sure he takes those nutty ideas back to Swede-land where he came from." Reggie peeled off his clothes, revealing the perfect teen boobs of the Ronnie 1220, along with his half-stimulated cock. "You're just gonna get close-ups of my face, I mean, Ronnie's face, and all of Svenson all dolled up," he warned Betty. She crept behind one of the sleek outfits suspended from the ceiling and nodded agreeably. The custodian rose from his tepid nap to the wholly acceptable vision of what appeared to be Veronica Lodge, naked and stooped forward on her hands and knees, with her lips and hands working his cock into a full erection. He reached down, to Reggie's surprise, and began to knead his breasts with gnarled workman's hands. "Ya!" he cried. "If it yiggles like dat it moost be yelly. Because yam doesn't yiggle like dot!" He ignored the flashes from Betty's Hasslebad and concentrated on feeding the young Lodge girl his throbbing cock. Reggie made sure the long black hair was clear out of his face, to allow Betty a clear shot of the Ronnie 1220's mouth firmly around the transvestite janitor's erection. It was as a small price to pay for the plan to blackmail both Svenson and Veronica Lodge. He would get his sweetest revenge on the wealthy, virginal heiress. Part XII Veronica cheerfully returned to her home early the next morning, after a glorious evening of innocent chatting with Archie Andrews, following the expensive dinner that would leave the lad broke for another month. She found it odd that Smithers was quickly tucking his white shirt into his pants and quickly leaving her bedroom as she sneaked in through one of the mansion's many surreptitious entranceways. Reggie was in the shower, cleaning the last of the butler's cum from his hair and face, as Ronnie crept into the bedroom. "Your Daddy never suspected a thing," Reggie said as he emerged from the bathroom. "And neither will you," he added to himself. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Reggie. I think you'll be able to do this every weekend from now on." Reggie shuddered, a wet bath towel wrapped around his feminine form. With Smithers aware of the possibility, he'd be trapped as the butler's sex toy for years if Ronnie got her way. "We can go back to Central City to get my own body back, for now," he suggested flatly. "Why, of course, Reggie darling. I wouldn't think of having you remain as me for any longer than I required." Reggie bit his lip as he dressed, and during the entire car trip back to the shadowy streets of the town down the road. Part XIII A fortnight after the grotesque episode in Svenson's subterranean retreat, Reggie was sitting at the counter in Pop Tate's enjoying a burger. He was glad to be out of the Ronnie 1220 and back in his own skin. "What happened to that surly character you used to have working here?" he asked the bald restaurant owner. "I sent him back to the Central City Penitentiary," Pop chuckled. "He was trying to extort money from me. I showed him. Showed him good." Reggie snickered along with the jovial Mr. Tate. He was just finished his meal when he heard Veronica Lodge enter the establishment. Before he could wipe his mouth with a napkin, he felt her plant a huge kiss on his cheek. "Not that I'm bitchin', Ronnie, but what the fuck was that for?" "I turned my first profit at the plant Daddy gave me. And you deserve almost all the credit!" Reggie wondered what she meant. Just then, he saw Betty Cooper bound into the small restaurant, swing over to the other side of him and plant a huge kiss on his other cheek. "Wow! You must be wearing the right deodorant, Reggie!" grinned Pop Tate. "Yeah... or something. What's that for, Betty?" "My Dad just got a big marketing contract, and it's almost all because of you, Reggie baby!" Reggie whirled from one buxom young lady to the other, thoroughly perplexed. "I don't know what you girls are talking about, but if it wins me big wet kisses, I sure won't complain!" "The plan is complete," Betty whispered to him, as Veronica was distracted for a moment. Reggie responded by forming the 'perfect' sign with his thumb and forefinger closed in a circle. Flanked by the two cute Riverdale teens, he left the Chock'lit Shoppe. "Let's go over to Dilton's, Reggie," urged Veronica. On the way over, Reggie saw the spitting image of the Ronnie 1220 in a convertible driven by a man about twice her age. "Th-that," he stammered. "Looks like the Ronnie 1220?" Veronica finished his sentence for him. "Oh yes, it is... the Ronnie 1320, really... had to iron out some of the imperfections." "Wow! I am impressed!" They were at Dilton Doiley's place shortly. Reggie was somewhat puzzled to see the young genius toiling at a computer keyboard along with the unmistakable bald school janitor. "Svenson!?" he exclaimed. He turned to Betty with a deep concern etched into his forehead. "I thought we were getting him kicked out of the country!" "Oh, this is even a better idea," the blonde retorted. "Trust me!" Reggie shrugged. Dilton aimed a projector from the back of his computer at the flat surface of the garage door. "I'm proud to be a part of this enterprise! For your entertainment, young and old, blonde and brunette, men, women and others, this quick slide show reveals our strategy to make TBPI not only a great American sales story, but in fact a global technological marvel. Through the magic of the Internet, I expect the modest profit Veronica has turned will grow into a multi-billion dollar concern." "Brilliant, Einstein," Reggie heckled. "So what's the big pitch, anyhow?" "Oh, you're as much a part of it as Mr. Cooper, or Ronnie, and even our school's trusted caretaker, Svenson." "Oh, I yoost happy to help," the janitor agreed. The projector shone the content of a web-based sales strategy, featuring 'before' and 'after' pictures of the astonished Reggie Mantle, in both his male guise, and in the body suit provided by Veronica's company. "Shit! Betty Cooper! You little bitch! You lied!" squeaked Reggie. "She didn't have much of a choice, pussy-boy," Veronica sneered. "Her sweet Daddy was going to go to prison, or sell her as a sex slave, unless she went along with my plan to market those pictures." "Besides, Reggie, you really are a natural cocksucker," Betty added positively. Dilton piped in: "Yes, Reggie. And Betty's father has a whole sex-drenched ad campaign, starring you, prepared for immediate production and distribution in the print media and the Internet." Reggie plucked a glossy mock-up of the campaign out of Svenson's grasping hand. "'Free Your Inner She-Male Porn Star... like Reggie Mantle, here, of Riverdale!" he read from the poster. He frowned: "This will really put a dent in my football career!" Betty and Veronica giggled and wrapped one arm around one another's shoulders. "Ya, unt as a foreigner from der sexy land of Sveden," the janitor said, "I am wery happy to co-star in der promotions!" Reggie cringed at the thought. But, with thought balloons filled with green dollar bills visibly floating over everyone's heads, he shrugged again and joined the cheery entrepreneurs in Dilton's garage. "Well, it could be worse!" he admitted. "It could've been Archie Andrews becoming an international porn star! I'd never hear the end of it then!" THE END [email protected] Created on: Friday, September 26, 2002.