Title: Screw You, Paula Abdul

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Austin Powers/Rat Race crossover

Pairing: Scott Evil/Duane Cody (both Seth Green characters :))

Status: Finished

Sequel/Series: The Evil Series

Archive: Sure. Tell me, give me credit, and post my email address for feedback.

Criticism: Yes.

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. I just pass them briefly through my warped imagination.

Summary: Scott has a close encounter with someone who is strangely familiar. Takes place between when the faked-slipping-on-a-shot glass stunt fails, and them winning the special token at the slots.

Author's Notes: The wonderfully sexy Seth Green played both Scott Evil, in the Austin Powers movies, and Duane Cody in the recent Rat Race. YES! I'M SICK, I ADMIT IT! But I couldn't resist a double shot of Seth. Hey, if the Buffy fanfic writers can do Xander/Vamp Xander, I can do this. The title is not meant as author's disrespect to Ms. Abdul. That's smart ass Scott talkin'. And I'm not making fun of people with speech impediments through Blaine: that's how he talks through the whole movie, due to a defective tongue piercing. (Ick)

Warning: graphic m/m sex (though it might count as just self abuse in some universes) in a public place.

Rating: NC-17

Screw You, Paula Abdul
By Scribe

"oo-ayn?"

"Yeah, Blaine?"

"I 'un-ree."

"Here." Duane Cody, a compact young man in his very early twenties, grabbed a handful of reddish peanuts off the hotel-casino bar they were passing and poured them into his younger brother's hand.

Blaine, tall, with dark, curly hair, stared at the peanuts with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "'on't
ant em."

Duane frowned at him and pushed a lock of strawberry blonde hair back behind his ear, settling his fedora a little more securely. "You said you were hungry. We don't have enough for even the damn almost free Vegas breakfast buffet if we're gonna get gas later. Eat the peanuts."

Blaine grimaced almost apologetically. "I ant."

"Why the hell NOT?"

"Alt."

"What?"

"Oo on't unner-an."

"Yes, I understand. I'm the only person on earth who CAN understand you since you got that damn piercing. I just don't understand what salt has to do with..." He trailed off as Blaine gave him a pained look. "Oo. Ow. Point taken. Shit, if that shot glass stunt had worked, the hotel and casino would be bustin' it's nuts to give us anything we wanted." He took the slightly grubby peanuts out of his brother's hands and poured them back into the dish. "Well, shit, man. I dunno WHAT we're gonna do. All the free crap at the bars is salty, so you'll drink more."

He looked around, thinking hard. He had to take care of Blaine: he was the eldest, and Blaine wasn't exactly the brightes bulb on the Christmas tree. Witness the self piercings. The nipples hadn't been so bad, since Blaine bathed on a regular basis, but the tongue... Duane shuddered involuntarily. "Okay, bland. Bland."

He spotted the group of Japanese tourists who were just getting ready ready to check out. One of them was holding the ample remains of a lavish fruit basket. Then he looked at a couple of preschool age kids who were playing cowboys, hiding behind lobby chairs and snapping toy pistols at each other. His eyes narrowed in thought. "What the hell, they're not allowed to take food on the plane anyway. I think. Stay here, Blaine."

He dug the handful of peanuts back out of the bowl again and approached one of the kids. "Hey, buckaroo, I got a proposition for ya."

The kid eyed him suspiciously. "My mommy said if anyone propositioned me I should kick him in the balls."

"Wise woman, your mother. Not that kinda proposition. Lemme part of your costume for two minutes, and I'll give ya some peanuts."

The kid frowned. "I can get all the peanuts I want."

Duane opened his hand to show the child the much worse for wear nuts. "Yeah, but can you get BEER nuts?"

The boy's eyes got round. "Beer?" Duane nodded solemnly, then winked. "Whatta ya want?"

Natasuko Origami was waiting patiently for the tour group's leader to finish checking them out when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find a short, tough looking young man, wearing a fedore, staring at him with gimlet eyes. He was sloppily dressed, a wild print shirt flapping open over a tee shirt, and this look meant one of two things to anyone fed on American television: gang member, or undercover cop.

Natasuko wasn't sure whether to be worried or relieved when the young man flapped his shirt open, then closed quickly, flashing a badge. "Special Customs Agent D. Cody, sir. You weren't planning on taking that fruit on the plane back to Japan, were you?"

"Um, yes. It is most gracious gift from hotel, and..."

Duane was shaking his head. "Oh, you're lucky I caught you before you got to the airport! Sir, you
could have done time for even THINKING of taking fruit out of the state."

"Please?"

"Sir! Haven't you been watching the news?" His eyes narrowed. "Or maybe all you watch is American police shows."

"No, no! I see Baywatch!"

"Fruit flies. You've heard of the Mediteranian fruit flies, haven't you?"

"Uh... I think..."

"They're an environmental hazard of staggering proportions!" Duane hissed. "Good God, man, do you want to be responsible for an international agricultural disaster?" The other man had started
sweating. *Oh, yeah. Just a little more.* "With all those cherry trees in your home country? I can hear it now: 'Oh, so sorry. No Cherry Blossom Festival this year, OR ANY OTHER YEAR! Because..." He peered pointedly at the man's name tag. "Because Origami had to bring the leftovers back from Las Vegas.'"

"No! I don't want to do that. Here!" He shoved the basket at Duane.

Duane demurred. "Oh, now, I'm not sure I can do that. I mean, you CLEARLY intended to take it out of state, and I should at least report it. It's been a long time since the boys at the precinct got to do a good body cavity search..."

"Please!" The man desperately pushed the basket into Duane's arms. "You just forget it, huh?"

*Man, he's almost pissing himself. I wonder...* "I'm not sure I can. My quota, you know. If I get one more bust, I get a bonus."

"How big is bonus?"

*Crap! Too easy. Better not get greedy.* "Twenty dollars."

The oriental man tucked a twenty dollar bill in the basket. "Here. You will not miss bonus, yes?"

"Well... all right." Sternly. "But don't do it again." The Japanese almost wilted with relief as
Duane walked away. Duane went back to the miniature cowboy, unpinned his silver plastic sheriff's badge, and handed it back. "Thanks, kid."

"You're welcome. Now, hand over the twenty if you don't want me to tell security about that scam."

"Why, you little..."

"And I'll throw in how you stole my badge and tried to get me to drink beer."

"You lyin' little..."

"Want me to go for a dirty old man charge, too?"

"Snot." Duane stuffed the bill into his hand. As the kid ran off, Duane hollered, "Shane was gay! You know that, don't you?" He sighed and went over to where Blaine had perched on a sofa. "Here, bro. Have a couple of bananas, they should be soft enough to not do any damage."

Blaine gave him a beatific smile as he peeled the fruit. "Ank oo, oo-ayne."

"Yeah, right, doofus. Look, just PROMISE me that you're not gonna try to pierce your dick, okay?" Blaine suddenly got a 'my God, I never thought of that' expression on his face. "NO! I swear, Blaine, I will personally beat the crap out of you, I promise."

"Oor no un."

"Yeah, well, that's what big brothers are for." He watched indulgently as his brother devoured two bananas an apple, and a peach. "You're gonna get plugged, with all that roughage." Blaine just smiled.

Blaine just smiled. "Oo-ayn?"

"Yeah?"

"Ow ay ung ook?" He stuck it out.

Duane squinted. *Ooo. Ick. Damn, I'm taking his ass to a clinic if that doesn't get better in a couple of days.* "Looks... good, man."

"Eely?"

"Uh, yeah. Fine. But you're due for your annual check up, so we're goin' to the emergency room when we get home an' tell them you passed out."

"An-ul ek-uh?"

"Don't sweat it. I'm the one takes care of these things, right?"

"Eth, Oo-ayn."

"Whyn't you go out to the car an' have a nap?" *Pleasepleaseplease. I'm so horny I'm about to go
crazy, an' I love you, bro, but I'm not going to be able to pick anyone up with you along.*

Blaine's eyelids were drooping, but he said, "Ih oo ot ou ere."

Duane thought desperately. "Think of it as a free sauna."

Blaine whined. Christ, he HATED it when he whined. "Oo-ayn! I et eat roke!"

"Shit, you're right." Duane looked around. It was late, and the lobby was as deserted as a lobby ever gets in Vegas, and despite what the kid had said, he hadn't seen anything that looked like security. "Look, why don't you have a nap here? This sofa looks a damn site more comfortable than the back seat, and it's air conditioned. "

Blaine was toppleing over even as he spoke, his eyes closing. "Look, I'm gonna check around. If they roust you, just wait outside, right?"

"Yeah. Ite, oo-ayn."

"Night, doofus." Duane waited. In thirty seconds Blaine was snoring. *YES!* He headed into the casino to cruise. He loved Blaine dearly, but he hadn't come out of the closet to him yet, and there had been zilch chances to get laid on this road trip.

**

"Fuck."

"I love you, too, sweetcheeks."

"Blow me."

"You're so eloquent." Alex Krycek pulled Scott Evil into a deep, wet kiss. He didn't turn the boy loose till he was panting. "I told you that I had to leave Sunday, kid. As much as I appreciate the offer to work for Virtucon, I can't give up my day job." He glanced at Mulder, who was standing at the entrance to the airport gift shop, pretending to read postcards. He lowered his voice. "I'm working for some bad boys who make your dad look like Pee Wee Herman when it comes to evil. You have my cell phone number, right?" He reached down and squeezed Scott's butt. "Call me up sometime for some phone sex."

Scott's scowl melted. "Cool. And there's a university in D.C. I just may send an application
there."

Alex smiled. "You mean I could have you in town?" Scott nodded. "I could HAVE you, in town?"

"Pretty much any time you wanted, man."

"Let me know if you need a reference. They like references from FBI agents." He raised his voice. "Fox, grab the Dramamine if you need it. We haven't got much time."

Mulder ambled over. He nodded shyly at Scott. "Scott. It was, uh, nice to meet you."

Scott grinned. "Mutual." He jerked his head toward Krycek. "Ditch the prissy redhead and hook up with Alex, Mulder. You won't regret it." Alex raised an eyebrow, and Scott amended. "Well, sexually, anyway."

"Scott, I told you: I'm not gay."

Alex and Scott managed synchronized eye-rolling. Alex said, "Sure."

Scott said, "Whatever." He whispered in Krycek's ear. "Wanna lay a bet on how long it is till he asks for another colonic massage?"

"No way. You already skinned me when you predicted that he'd wonder about throat washes."

Scott pouted on the way back into town, then sighed. *I guess if I want any more nookie I'd better go let Geekazoid grovel a little. Crap. It's gonna be like going from caviar to cheese doodles." He thought. "Wait a minute. I LIKE cheese doodles. Shit. I GOTTA keep my options open. But I'm still wound up from Alex and Mulder, and I KNOW Austin didn't get any off Mulder, so he should be pretty desperate for now. Okay, I put him through a minimum of 30 minutes begging and pleading before I let him screw my brains out. God, I'm SUCH a slut. I love it.*

He parked the Evilmobil and entered the hotel, but didn't make it up to Austin's room. He spotted
something interesting in the lobby. There was a guy sacked out on one of the lobby sofas. Yeah, that wasn't anything unusual: a city like Vegas, you saw guys sleeping in public all the time. No, make that IN A STUPOR in public all the time.

This one, though, was younger than most, and sort of nice looking, so Scott paused for a look. Hee hee. Even the little bit of drool was kinda cute. Well, since he'd discovered he was gay, he found himself vitally interested in guys with open mouths, so it was fairly natural to take a closer look.

He frowned. "What the fuck?" Something looked off. He approached cautiously, but the guy was sawing logs like Paul Bunyan. Fat Bastard could have strolled past with his damn bagpipes and the guy probably wouldn't have stirred. Well, that was unless Fat Bastard either groped him or bit a chunk out of him, either of which was likely.

The sleeper was laying on his side, face out, so Scott squatted down near his head and peered up into his mouth for a better look. His eyebrows climbed slowly, and he whispered, "Whoa, dude. You have a MAJOR lawsuit there."

He continued to peer, fascinated in the way one can be mesmerized by a car wreck, till he heard the sharp voice say, "Hey!"

**
Duane was feeling majorly bummed. The only guys in the casino had been either trolls, or had bimbos dripping off them. No luck whatsoever. He left the casino for the lobby, resigning himself to blue balls till he could get home and be assured of being able to locate a safe gay bar.

When he got back to the lobby, there was someone watching Blaine. Actually, he seemed to be STUDYING him. Duane's first thought was 'security', and several ideas for distracting him flitted through his mind, including the location of the last fire alarm he'd seen. Then he took another look, and decided his first impression was wrong.

For one thing, the guy was too young, several years younger than he was. For another, he was dressed wrong. He had those fashionable baggy pants and a heavy metal T-shirt, and his hairdo was DEFINITELY not regulation by an security business Duane had ever heard of. The kicker, though, was the ass.

Yes, generally speaking Duane wouldn't have been able to tell whether or not the kid actually HAD an ass, in those three or four sizes too large jeans. However, the jeans were SO baggy that they'd slipped halfway down the guy's butt, and he (apparently unimpressed by Marky Mark and Calvin Klein) was NOT wearing any underwear that Duane could detect. Nope. Duane was being treated to a half moon. He started to get hard almost immediately.

Still, he told his dick to shut up for a minute, because he had to make sure Blaine was okay, so he
went up behind the squatting boy and used his best hard ass voice. "Hey!"

The kid flinched slightly, but didn't get up or turn around. "Dude, did he, like, eat some blackberry
cobbler on the buffet, or something? His tongue is fucking PURPLE!"

"It's not that bad."

"You kidding me? He lookes like a Chow dog with a steelie marble stuck to his tongue."

"That's my brother you're talking about."

"Yeah? No offence on the Chow comment, man. I just meant the tongue, you know? He's not a bowser, or anything. But you better make him rinse with some peroxide." There was a snort of laughter. "Shit, all that bacteria, it'll foam so much he'll LOOK like a rabid dog, but it'll do the trick. It worked my my friend, Shawn."

"Thank you, C. Everett Koop. Will you quit looking in his mouth? What are you, a memeber of Future Dentists of America, or something?"

The boy stood up, turning toward Duane. "Actually, I think I'm gonna be a vet, because..." He trailed off, going round eyed.

Duane didn't wonder about WHY the boy had fallen suddenly speechless: he knew. They slowly started to circle around each other, staring each other up and down. There might have been a millimeter's difference in some of their facial features, but otherwise the only difference in appearance between the two was clothing and hair color. Scott's hair was dark, in a spiked, semi-punk, doo. Duane's was a dark strawberry blonde, and he let it just fall where it wanted to.

Duane watched the other guy shake his head. "Deja fucking vu."

"You're telling me? It's like that Star Trek episode where they went into the alternate universe and met their evil dopplegangers. The thing is, which one of us it the evil one?"

"Oh, that's easy. Me." The boy stuck out his hand. "Scott Evil."

"You're shitting me, right?"

"Believe me, my last name is no laughing matter."

They shook hands. "Duane Cody. That's my brother, Blaine. Hey, man, are you sure your Mom didn't get knocked up by my Dad and just not tell your old man about it?"

"Positive, dude. I'm a test tube baby: no way I can deny my dad, dammit." Scott circled him again, then smiled. "Well, shit. It's nice to know I look that good. I'd do me."

"You would?"

"Definitely."

Duane's hopes soared. "Want to?"

Scott blinked. "This may be a Twilight Zone moment, but hell yeah."

"You got a room?"

Now Scott frowned. "No, but you could come out to the compound."

"No can do." Duane pointed at the gently snoring Blaine. "How about my car?"

"Not that, either. The local cops have been sweeping parking lots periodically to try and keep the local hooker population from transacting buisess in the parked cars."

"Well, shit," Duane said woefully. "Is it possible to die from blue balls?"

Scott spotted a door to a men's room nearby. "Don't sweat it. I have an idea. C'mon." He grabbed Duane's hand and started to pull him toward the restroom. Inside, Scott quicly checked all the stalls, which were empty. "All right, here we go."

"Are you KIDDING? All I need is to have someone come in, spy two sets of legs under the door, and call security. I like sex with guys, but I'd rather not go to prison, where my choice of partners could be limited. Scott had opened one stall and stepped in. He stood there, hands on hips, looking from the toilet, to the back wall, at the sides, at the door... Duane watched in confusion as the other boy braced his hands on the wall, lifted one leg, and put his foot flat against the back wall, then flexed his knee.

Scott nodded. "A little tricky, but possible. Okay, Duane." Scott stepped out, snagged Duane's shirt, and pushed him back into the stall. "Take down your pants, have a seat, and wait just a couple of minutes." Before he shut the door again, he grinned. "You might want to get the ball rolling."

Muttering darkly about crazy kids, Duane unbuckled his pants, unzipped the fly, and skinned pants and underwear down to his ankles. Then he sat on the toilet. Well, luckily the place was immaculate, otherwise the romantic atmosphere would have been ruined.

Under the bottom of the stall, he saw Scott's feet enter the next stall. There was a clink and rustle, then his own pants dropped down around his knees, and he stepped out of them. Duane watched, fascinated, as a hand descended and picked up the jeans. More rustling, then a hand appeared over the top of his stall, holding the neatly folded jeans. "Stick these on the back of the tank out of the way, man."

"Scott, what are you..."

"Look, don't worry about what I'm doing, huh? Aren't you wanking? You need to be hard when I get over there, so we don't waste any time."

Duane pictured the other boy in the next stall, naked from the waist down except for his sneakers. He looked down to find that his cock was more than half hard, starting to rise up between his thighs. He spat in his hand, took hold of himself firmly, and began to jack off. If nothing else, he'd have a nice mental image to masturbate with. "That's not a problem."

"Good. This won't take long."

Duane watched as the sneakered feet spread apart and braced, then the legs flexed slightly. Something small and plastic hit the floor and bounced. "Shit!" Scott snarled.

"What was that?"

"The lid for the Astroglide. Oh, well, the tube is almost empty, anyway, and I'd better use a lot of it for what I have planned."

"Wait a minute. You're greasing up over there?"

"What the fuck did you think I was doing, writing English sonnets?"

Duane went from half hard to fully erect in just a few, strong pulses. "F-u--uh-ck," he whispered, his hand moving more quickly up and down the rigid length of his cock.

He heard a snicker. "I've just got one finger up inside me now. Should I go for two?"

"Yeah! Do it!"

"Okay." For a second Scott's hand appeared under the stall, fingers glistening, and wiggling suggestively. Then it was withdrawn, and Duane heard a long, voluptuous groan.

*Shitshitshitshit! How the hell did I get into this porno movie?!"

"Ooo. I hope you're ready, man. I can't reach my own prostate without a toy, so I'm counting on you to hit it plenty when we fuck."

Although he was completely beyond being able to stop now, Duane protested, "We're gonna get caught! Someone will see your feet in here, and they'll haul us in, and I'll end up getting raped by some inbred slope head named Bubbe Joe or something who only has three teeth. I don't mind the raped part so much, but good dental hygien is SO important."

"Shut up and catch." A tiny, bright object sailed over the top of the stall, and Duane managed to snag it. It was a condom. "Put that on, I'm almost ready. And pass me your belt."

Duane handed over his belt, then tore the condom open and rolled the little circlet down over his straining cock. The pre-ejaculate fluid made it slide smoothly, and he couldn't resist a few more strokes. Then he heard Scott mutter. "Okay. Coast is clear. Unlock your door. I'll have to work fast."

Duane reached out and slid the bolt. There was the rapid scuff of sneakers, and suddenly Scott was in the stall with him. Duane fell back against the tank, mouth dropping open, when Scott turned to bolt the door again, and he saw that luscious ass. He reached out and grabbed it, pulling the cheeks apart. He just had a glimpse of the gate to paradise, the pink pucker glistening and slightly open, before Scott knocked his hands down. "No time to stand around and admire, dude!" he hissed. "Knees shut."

Scott faced Duane and straddled his knees. Then he took the linked belts and tied first one end, then the other to the balance bars that were welded on each wall. "This is why I picked the handicapped stall," He explained, giving the resulting strap a quick, testing tug.

Then he sat on Duane's lap and leaned back. His back rested against the strap. It slid about an inch, then held firm. Nodding, he grabbed the rails, lifted his feet off the floor, and braced them against the back wall on either side of Duane. He smirked at the stunned older man. "There ya go, sport. Only one visible set of feet. Of course, you may have to be kind of quiet for this to work."

"Fine." Duane gathered their cocks together, pressing them tight, and began to stroke.

Scott's head fell back, and he started panting. After a moment of intense stroking he gasped. "Nice, man, but I want to get fucked."

"I don't see..."

"Let go of the dicks and grab my shoulders, and whatever happens, don't let go." Duane obeyed. Scott braced on his left arm, and lifted his butt slightly. Reaching under, he took Duane's stiff prick in his right hand and guided the latex clad head up to split his cheeks. Duane started whimpering. "Let's see, should be right about..." He felt the nudge at his anus, and shoved down. "there! Oh, SHIT!" Duane, as close to insane as he ever wanted to get, had thrust up, desperate to bury himself in the heat that had engulfed his cock head. He speared all the way in, stabbing over Scott's prostate on the way. Scott looked at him with stunned eye. "Thank you."

"Welcome," Duane grunted, and began to fuck for all he was worth.

"So much for quiet!" Scott whooped, and began to bounce up and down. "Oh, man, my back is gonna kill me when this is done, but it's worth it. IT'S WORTH IT!"

Duane didn't dare let go of Scott's shoulders, and Scott didn't dare let go of the safety bars, so
neither one could jerk Scott off, but in the end it didn't matter. The angle was precisely right, and
Duane hit his prostate going and coming, and soon coming was the operative word. They both howled like wolves when they climaxed, Scott's sperm fountaining between them to stain both of their shirts.

They sat there, panting and grinning at each other for a moment, Scott leaning back against the now dangerously creaking belt strap. Then they heard the men's room door open. "Oo-ayn?"

Duane's somehow managed to wince while still widening his eyes. He clapped a hand over Scott's mouth, who promptly bit him and mouthed, "Like I'm that fucking stupid."

"Yeah, buddy."

"Oo o-hay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Go wait for me in the lobby, huh?" No response. "Blaine, go sit your ass down RIGHT NOW!"

"Ee, oo on't ava et oh issy abou ih."

When they heard the door shut, Scott swiftly dismounted. While he was unhooking the belts, Duane stripped off the condom and flushed it, then handed him some tissue and they both cleaned up. Scott grabbed his jeans and stepped into them while Duane stood up and pulled on his own pants. Then Scott unbolted the door and stepped out.

Duane ran into him when he stopped abruptly. "Scott, what the hell are you..." He stopped with a gulp. Blaine was leaning against the inside of the door, arms folded, watching them curiously.

Scott slid a glance from him, to Duane, back to Blaine. Whistling casually, he walked over to the
sinks and started to wash his hands. "So, Mac, next time you unstop the thing by your own damn self."

Blaine looked at his brother, who was blushing furiously. "Oo-ayn?"

"Look, Blaine..."

"Ahn oo onna iner-oose me oo er fren?"

Duane blinked. "Uh, Blaine, this is Scott Evil. Scott, my brother, Blaine."

Blaine shook hands with Scott. "Ice oo eet oo."

"Likewise."

Duane looked at him in surprise. "You understood him."

Scott shrugged. "I can understand Austin, Frau, and Fat Bastard. He isn't much of a reach."

"Uh, Blaine, the reason Scott was in there with me was... um..."

Blaine shrugged. "Oh ur aye. I oh."

"You know? How long have you known?"

Blaine shrugged again, smiling. "Ow ong av OO own?"

Duane slumped. "Well, shit. Okay, my blood pressure just went down about twenty or thirty points."

Scott came over and clapped both of them on the back. "Look, guys, it's been a blast, but I gotta go see my sorta boyfriend. He has some mortally serious apologizing to do to me."

They exited the washroom together. Duane sighed. "I just wish I had one more crack at those damn slots. I just want to win a LITTLE, but I have to save our cash for gas."

"Say no more." Scott went over to a closed registration counter and picked up a plastic container
filled with assorted change and a few bills. He handed it to Duane. "Be my guest."

Blaine and Duane exchanged glances. "I'm not sure, man. I mean, couldn't I like, go to hell for stealing from crippled kids? Or worse, go to jail?"

Scott laughed. "Check the label, dude."

Duane read the plain label pasted on the container. "I've never heard of E. R.F. Epilepsy Reserarch Fund?"

"Evil Recreation Finanaces. I have these in a half dozen hotels. It keeps me in pocket change."

Blaine and Duane regarded Scott with near awe. "You are so cool," Duane muttered.

Blaine sighed, "Oor ih ero."

Scott blushed. "G'wan. Have fun. Stop out at the Evil compound and say hi if you're ever back in the area. Mom will make you som blitzes or some shit, and we can play dwarf bowling with Mini Me."

As the Cody brothers headed into the casino, Duane shaking out quarters and handing them to Blaine, the music system (which was never silent) started to play an almost offensively bouncy, upbeat tune. Waiting for the elevator, Scott cocked his head to listen to it. He cast a final glance at his disappearing doppleganger, and snorted, "Opposites attract, my ass."

END