30 Lot saved his sorry ass just in time. He hid in Zoar, but was so rattled by what happened to Sodom and Gomorrah that he was afraid to even stick around there. So he took his two daughters and said, "Look, it's not cool here. We need to hit the road."

"Where to, Dad?" asked the younger one, Crystal.

"Off the grid. Outa here." The two young girls looked at each other.

"Are you kidding?" exclaimed the older one, Maror. "How are we ever gonna meet men? Our teenage clocks are ticking."

"Doncha worry, girls. You're gonna be fine."

"Hrmmph," his daughters said in unison. "Whatevva!"

But off the grid they went.

No signal, no Internet, not even a garbage disposal.

For weeks they tried to be obedient daughters and not have attitude, but they were--after all--teenagers. And with no signal, they couldn't even text. So, how then could they even exist?

"Damn," said Maror one day, "all ready to get it on and no one around."

"Yea," agreed Crystal, her little sister. "This sucks. I want it; I need it; I gotta have it right now!"

31 Maror lowered her voice. "Look it, Dad's getting really old."

"I know," Crystal agreed. "Last night he woke up all confused and thought I was Mom."

"Ha!" chortled Maror. "Did he try to lick you?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"She's salt, stupid. Get it? Lick you. Get it?"

"Oh, yea, that's pretty funny," Crystal said.

"But--hey--that gives me an idea," Maror said. "You want it, you need it, you gotta have it right now?"

"I'm listening."

"He's getting like really old."

"Yea, like ancient."

"I know," Maror agreed. "But I bet he can still get it on."

"Meaning what?" asked Crystal.

"It. What you want, need, and gotta have, remember?"

"Whatevva."

"OK," Maror held up her fingers to count them off. "Fact: we might as well be living in a cave. Fact: we can't hook up with anyone 'cause we can't hook up anything. Fact: he's so old, it wouldn't take much liquor, y'know, to--"

"To what?" Although Crystal knew where this was going.

"To, like, ply him," Maror responded.

"Ply him?" asked Crystal.

32 "Yea, Crystal. Get him all shitfaced." Maror lowered her voice to a whisper. "I say...we get him drunk as shit--really wasted. And then we each crawl into his sack where he's sleeping."

"You mean a threesome?"

"Shut your mouth, Crystal! Ya wanna end up a pillar of salt yourself? A threesome? That's so wicked, bitch. No, we go in one at a time. He'll think we're the same woman."

"Seconds."

"Exactly! Now you get it."

"And we get laid."

"Oh, yea, so laid. And we get knocked up," Maror added.

"So knocked up."

"Yea, so very, very knocked up. Off the grid ain't so bad, now, izzit? No rules."

"And no Child Protection Services, neither" added Crystal.

"Y'know, he's had younger."

"But not hotter," Chystal said back.

"No, definitely not hotter. Seen those skags in Sodom?"

"Ruff," Crystal barked.

"Oh, and Gomorrah--don't even get me started on those slutty, whore skanks," Maror said.

"There was a skank from Gomorrah," Crystal began.

"Who fucked everything like ain't no tomorrow," added Maror.

"She passed on her cooties,"

"When spoiling her booty,"

"And used a rod, not spared, for a dildo," laughed Crystal.

“So, let's review," Maror said. "Dear ol' Dad is getting old, and there ain't no man around here to have intercourse with us."

"As is the custom everywhere."

"Ain't that the truth," agreed Maror. "Come on, let us ply the ol' man with wine and then screw his brains out. That's the way we guarantee his family line."

"Starting with us gettin' in line," laughed Crystal.

"Me first," Maror staked her claim.

33 So that night they got their Dad shitfaced, and the older girl, Maror, went in and got it on with him; he didn't even know she came and went, but he came, so she went.

34 The next day Maror told her younger sister: "Crystal, last night I banged Dad. Let us ply him with wine again tonight."

"I love that," Crystal laughed, "ply him. Yea, let's ply him real good."

"And then you go in and lie with him," Maror continued, "so we can ensure our own family's posterity by our father.”

"Damn straight," said Crystal. "Posterity's important, and it sure won't end on my watch. I'm not the type to be barren. Fuck that."

35 So that night, too, they plied their father again with wine, and then Crystal went in and made the two-backed beast with him; but he didn't even know when she came and went; but he came, so she went.

36 And this is the way Maror and Crystal got knocked up by their ol' man, which is illegal in most states, but probably wasn't even a blip on the antediluvian morality radar near Sodom and Gomorrah.

37 Maror cranked out a son nine months later, whom she she called Moab, meaning, “Thanks, Dad.”

38 Crystal, too, birthed a son the day after Maror had hers, and she named him Ammon, meaning, “The son of you-know-who.”

And it all happened within 23 hours, off the grid, which--technically--still qualified as a threesome.

Vaguely, I thought about the movie.

With the two dogs.

I hadn't watched it when I was a kid.

I'd watched it last year with my Moms who had loved it when they were kids.

Lady and the Tramp.

At the end, poor old pooch had gotten run down by the heavy, ungodly Animal Control coach. And if I remembered, most adults in that movie drove old-timey open cars. Not whatever that thing had been. So, what the twinkies!

Then again, here I was having tried to track down a best friend of mine, kind of the brother I'd never had, having bled and fought for our lives together as Magical (girls?) teens?

And of all things to take me out, it had been a-- AHHHHHHHHHHHH! Someone touched the bloody trench that used to be my side!

I could feel my breath escaping, each puff of air running a dagger through my lungs, a pick through my brain.

GOD! I was sweating buckets, all icy and deadly.

"Ahhh," I winced again.

To which a paramedic in yellow told me to shush and be calm.

And for the first time likely ever, I very much felt like cursing and spewing any and every sardonic, callous thought I could muster behind the mother-flipping agony. Generally be a huge nuisance.

Of course, I didn't.

Since Rori warned quite explicitly, Lola demonstrated very viscerally, our jewels posed great risk if we gave in to the worst parts of us.

Was Lucas okay then? He'd fallen hadn't he? Not to his so-called worst secret. His parents hadn't minded, and in fact had been overjoyed to be trusted with the information.

And then they'd thrown a Ball.

But come on Terrence. A cold, cunning, and obviously having you on, Gem-digging Aristras, just because he may dress more like a Prince than a Tramp.

Had not been worth a stagecoach or London original violent red trolley cars.