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Frat Dad IV: Whatever It Takes

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Frat Dad IV- Whatever It Takes

Catch yourself up on previous entries to this story with Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3

Sarah’s father sneezed as his grip on his Z-Pak tightened. His itchy eyes darted between his daughter, the morning after pill she dropped, and the two men alongside her. One was seemingly his own age, the other much younger yet dressed somewhat surprisingly like the first. Rage began to erupt within him like the mucus discharging from his sinuses.

“What in the hell is going on?”

“We had a little accident,” Roger Sterling Senior replied, attempting to diffuse the situation. “You know how these kids can be.” By now, Sarah’s tears had boiled over.

“What do you mean, accident?” Sarah’s dad asked, incredulous. “Sarah, what are you doing?” Senior matter-of-factly motioned toward the Plan B box and her father’s gaze trailed toward it, lingering ominously on the floor below his daughter’s inseminated loins. As if on cue, Sarah, now overcome by horrors and hangovers alike, vomited violently upon it.

“That’s exactly what we’re trying to prevent,” Senior shrugged. There had been far too much vomit today already.

“Please,” the pharmacist begged. “You can’t be doing this here.”

“Yeah, how about we step outside?” Sarah’s father menaced.

“I still need to pay for the pill,” Senior explained, motioning toward Jack to pick up the puke covered packaging. Breaking his trance, Jack raised his arms, stepped back, and shook his head.

Senior reached down and lifted the grail off the sloppy floor, wiping the remains of Sarah’s evening off the cardboard cover. Had only his son’s seed been a part of the mess sprawled on the tile, he mused, he would not be in this situation right now. Laying a plastic bag on top of the counter, he placed the box on top of it. The vomit made a sickening squishing sound as the scent wafted across the pharmacy.

“You have to be kidding me,” the pharmacist reeled. “Get another box.”

Sterling shrugged and turned around, but Sarah’s dad was now right before him, his runny nose and cold-induced bad breath mere inches from Senior’s face. He grabbed Senior by the collar of his pastel green oxford and pushed him back toward the counter. Senior’s shorts, luckily revealing a healthy amount of thigh, were thankfully spared from vomit stains, but his legs were not so lucky.

“I’m calling the police!” the pharmacist shouted, but the men were no longer listening.

Sarah’s father swung and connected with Senior’s left cheekbone, shocking and then stirring something deep within. Senior swatted the man’s hands off his shirt with a left downward chomp and then pulled back with his right. The haymaker connected with vicious impact, sending Sarah’s dad sprawling back toward her. He stumbled backward, struggling to find his footing, before slipping on his daughter’s stomach’s remains.

“Mr. Sterling…holy fuck…” Jack muttered, thoroughly shocked, but Senior could only think of his son. Somewhere, most likely back in his bed at the fraternity house, Roger Junior was waiting on him, needing him, relying on him to deliver him from a lifetime of missed opportunities and added responsibilities.

Senior looked to Sarah, now a mess of emotion, illness, and embarrassment, and thought that she was a very pretty girl past the bile and tears both dripping from her cheeks. Then again, he mused, so was that “Teen Mom” girl he watched on YouPorn and after having a child too young she ended up taking anal on camera and going overboard on plastic surgery with the income.

No, Sterling Senior decided, his laser-like focus cutting through the awkwardness and illegality of the situation. Multiple lives now hung in the balance. He had slain the dragon, but he had not yet secured the treasure.

Determined, Senior marched toward the rack that offered regret-free sex to the world for $50 a pop, grabbed a box-cleansing pill package from the wall, and brought it back to the counter. Sarah tended to her dazed father on the floor, and Jack slowly made his way toward the exit, but Sterling noticed neither.

“The police will be here any minute,” the pharmacist threatened.

“I’m not leaving without this,” Senior demanded, holding out the prize. He reached into the beside-the-counter mini fridge and pulled out a water bottle as well. Reluctantly, the pharmacist obliged.

Upon receiving it back, Senior tore the pill from the package and walked toward Sarah and her father. He gave Sarah both the pill and the water as her father’s consciousness returned. Obediently, Sarah swallowed his son’s salvation as two policemen burst through the front door, guns drawn.

“The lesson here,” Senior explained, “is to always swallow.”

“Police!” the officers identified themselves, Tasers drawn. “Get down on your knees, hands up.”

Roger Senior smiled as a sense of peace flowed through his body. What happened to him now no longer mattered.

“Take the car,” Senior said to Jack, who had almost made it out. “Tell my son. Tell him…he’s safe now.”

Senior reached into his pocket for the keys to his Porsche. He tossed them to his son’s friend, but he never saw Jack catch them. As the keys were midair, the Tasers fired.

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I used to write for TFM and PGP when they were funny.

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