Part One - Aikka's Rehearsal Dinner Tiffany Taylor's forced exit from TLC found her battered, belligerent and bitter. Less than a second from fulfilling her assigned task - and earning the 2 million dollar bonus - the Tension's had forced her to back off from her murderous designs. As she sped through the streets in her Porsche, she rehearsed what she was going to tell Aikka - and, more importantly, The Mask! She was already late for Aikka's big rehearsal dinner and Tiffany was getting a queasy feeling in her gut. The only woman on Earth she truly feared was the Woman in the Black Mask. And she - Tiffany - was running late for the big dinner that the Mask was hosting to honor the bride and groom, Aikka and Irish! If there was one quirk the Mask had that everybody understood, it was that punctuality was paramount.

"I am sooooooo fucked!" Tiffany moaned as she parked, then sped into the spacious dining hall of the Mask's palatial estate.

Her appearance caused quite an uproar. She was battered, bruised, and bloody.

"What the hell happened to you?" Aikka blurted out, shocked by the sight of the disheveled Tiffany.

"Can't you tell, dear?" Irish chirped in his best sarcastic tone. "Karen happened! Not so tough, eh, are we Bully Girl?"

"Shut up, Numb Nuts!" Tiffany fired back. " I kicked your precious little K Mac's ass from here to the Moon. She's a friggin' basket case, that whore..."

"Fine; BUT IS SHE DEAD?" the Mask demanded in a voice that would make a Bengal Tiger quake with fear.

"Well, no, not exactly.....," Taylor stammered.

"Not exactly, eh?" the Mask bellowed in rage. "Please. No further details. LEAVE US.....NOW. You failed and are forever banished."

Taylor made eye contact with Aikka as the Mask spoke the harsh verdict. There was nothing but contempt and rage in the Bride's eyes as well. Tiffany turned and limped painfully out of the mansion - and our story!

"I told you the cunt was worthless," a new voice chimed in.

It was the legendary, original Playmate heel, Debra Jo Fondren; that fabulous, long-haired, blonde goddess who was doubling as Aikka's wedding planner and bridal consultant. Debra Jo had clashed violently with The Mask over the assignment of Tiffany Taylor to the 11th labor, having argued the "T" in TLC should've been the more 'old school' and more brutal Tawnni Cable. Now, Debra Jo felt vindicated by Tiffany's failure to produce Karen's corpse.

"Now, that YOUR little 'Karen Killer' has crawled back under the rock where she lives, may I PLEASE introduce the bridesmaids?" Debra asked, her tone more demanding than inquisitive.

"Oh, by all means," The Mask responded gruffly. "After all, you ARE the friggin' Maid of Honor!!"

"Why, yes I am!" Debra Jo shot back using an exaggerated tone of obeisance that was anything but...

On command, four gorgeous blondes, all wearing stunning silver gowns, emerged from the foyer into the dining room. They were Debra Jo's hand-picked recruits from the Playmate Class of 2003, the newest members of Debra Jo's sorority of evil Playmates. First was Laurie Jo Fetter, her blue eyes absolutely sparkling with the insolent arrogance of youth. Close behind her slithered the VERY structurally sound Divini Rae who's expression matched Laurie Jo smirk for smirk. The next bridesmaid was Czech stunner Marketa Janska who literally lit up the room with radiant, malevolent beauty. Finally, the Alpha female of the quartet, the stunning - and very intimidating - Charis Boyle strode in; provocatively prancing as if prepared to blow Naomi Campbell's ass right off the catwalk.

"Pity poor Naomi if that day ever comes," Irish thought to himself.

The very sight of Charis made Irish's testicles tighten anticipating a savage groin kick. Such were the impulses and reflexes tormenting his body after a year under the thumbs of Aikka and the Woman in the Black Mask.

"My, my...aren't we a fit and proper team of assassins?" Aikka gushed, thrilled by the quality and quantity of her posse. Excellent work, Fondren, you've outdone yourself."

So now that the cast was set, The Mask could assume the mantle of 'Satanic Priestess" and manage the details of the ceremony at the altar. Debra Jo, as Maid of Honor, and her four blonde bridesmaids would proceed down the aisle followed by the blushing bride, Aikka the Pervert, who would proceed down the aisle to join her anxiously awaiting, very nervous groom, Irish, at the alter.

"Hey, Boss!" Charis called to Debra Jo. "We found a Best Man for Limp Dick over there..."

"Really?" the Mask responded, with a wicked smile. "Well, don't dally, bring him in!"

Divini and Marketa brought the man forward. He was handcuffed, walking with difficulty, and obviously distraught. His half mast eyes showing the tell-tale signs of a recently emasculation.

"I test drove this one myself," Charis bragged, yanking the poor bastard's ear lobe as she explained. "He's got some miles on him, but I gave him a tune-up and a new set of plugs."

"You're up for a little ceremony, aren't you, 'Avalanche'?" Charis teased.

"For the last time, the name's Blizzard, you castrating cunt!" he protested between clenched teeth.

"He's got a little 'edge' to him, don't he?" Aikka chuckled. "Splendid. He'll do just fine, won't he, Irish my dear?"

"Yeah," Irish droned. "Real fuckin' splendid, I'm sure."

With the details worked out, the night degenerated into debauchery and bacchanalia and by night's end, Blizzard had 'earned' the role of The Mask's personal love slave. After a night of bizarre sexual gymnastics that would leave temporary physical and permanent emotional scars, the zonked-out Blizzard thought, "Son, you've just crawled into the Mike Tyson-Robin Givens marriage... and you're ROBIN!"
********

Part Two - The PMOY Pajama Party
Karen didn't even wake up as Kimberley and the Tenison Twins undressed her and slid her into Kimberley's bed. Before dismissing the twins, Kimberley undressed and slid in next to Karen, telling them, "I'd better stay with her and keep an eye on her in case she wakes up or has some 'problem' during the night that needs my attention." The sisters exchanged a knowing wink and went to the guest room where they spent a restful night while Karen slept off the worst of her aches and pains from her drubbing at the hands of Tiffany Taylor. Karen remained in a deep sleep until 10 AM by which time Kimberley couldn't stand it any more and woke her.

"Hey, Sleepy! Move your ass. We're having breakfast downstairs and you need some nourishment, my valiant little warrior..." she cajoled, dragging the naked Karen out of bed by one arm and a leg

There wasn't an inch of Karen's body that didn't ache to its very core and few inches that weren't covered by bruises, scratches or cuts. She'd NEVER been worked over like Tiffany had worked her over but as the sunshinewarmed her bruised skin, she made a quick assessment of her situation.

1) I'm alive. Beat to a pulp, but ALIVE!

2) The 11th Labor is over which means 12 is next...that #12 means Aikka!

3) There's a marriage ceremony to crash - and a sweet-talkin' man to rescue.

With Kimberley's arm wrapped gently around her waist, Karen slipped into a silk kimono her hostess furnished and took her first slow, painful steps toward going down to the kitchen, which was alive with animated conversation. As Karen made it to the bottom of the stairs, a spontaneous celebration began! The big country kitchen was alive with the smell of coffee, hash browns, smoked sausage and Belgian waffles. Crowded into the well lit space was a Who's Who of friendly PMOY's, including the lady of the house, the former Mrs. Hugh Hefner herself who handed Karen off to Stacy Sanches and Lisa Matthews, who helped the 'guest of honor' to a comfortable chair in the adjoining den.

Everyone was in skimpy lingerie and the festive atmosphere was like a high school girls pajama party. Slowly but surely, the festive mood worked its magic on Karen's bruised body and ego. Smiles came with difficulty at first, but 60 seconds of non-stop Jenny McCarthy was very good medicine indeed and after a couple of her goofy, nonsensical jokes Karen was relaxed and on her way to recovery.

Across the room, she made special eye contact with her saviors, the tough as nails Tenisons who had surrounded and were enjoying a laugh with the radiant and bubbly Dalene Kurtis.

While Stacy and Lisa took charge of serving everyone, Kimberley laid out the serving dishes, silverware and champagne glasses since she insisted they all try her own special Mimosa and the orange juice laced Champagne flowed like water. Soon, the conversation turned to the roles played by the assembled PMOY's during Karen's 12 Labors because everyone felt it was time to fill Karen in on the who and where her mysterious 'helping hands' had been all the way from Finland to Beverly Hills.

Stacy Sanches was the first to share, "Karen, remember that cold, damp room in Russia where Voronina and Sokolova had you hooked up to that old tractor battery?"

Karen smiled gently - and damn, even THAT hurt! She acknowledged Stacy, recalling the scene vividly. "Yeah! I was freezing, in the dark and desperate, until someone called my name and untied me; but I never had a chance to see her face or thank her. But SHE did a number on that bully Natalia."

"I sure did," Stacy confirmed proudly.

"You? How'd you know where I was?" Karen asked in bewilderment.

"Let's just say Aikka's security system is of the 'Swiss Cheese' variety," Kimberley crowed proudly. "We had a pretty good idea where to go right from the start."

"But the friggin' Mekong Delta? What happened there?" Karen asked, wide-eyed.

"My area of expertise," Kimberley cooed. "You see, not only did we have Aikka bugged, but I've taken a 'personal interest' in the movements of Pia Reyes, aka the Jailbird Playmate, for some time. From the moment she fled that Canadian jail, I've been watching her every move; working with Vietnamese Security Forces for months now, looking for a chance to pounce and arrest her. We had spies watching Pia's Palace of Bloodsport going up, brick by brick."

"I was the 'woman in the veil' who you saw in the luxury box. Imagine Pia's surprise when she showed up in her evening gown and champagne and found the place deserted except for lil' ol' me," Kimberley continued. "I could tell from her condition when she limped down to the ring she'd been 'exchanging pleasantries' with someone who knew her way around a catspat," Karen chimed in.

"Oh, I think you could say that. Poor Pia's probably just finishing up another day of stamping out Vietnamese license plates..." Kimberley chuckled.

"A toast!" Lisa Matthews shouted. "To Pia and her license plates!"

All lifted their glasses in tribute, and Karen suddenly noticed - hey, that didn't hurt as bad as before! Her rapidly clearing mind recalled the next 'miraculous intervention'.

"Would the person who hammered and hog-tied Layla Roberts in Hawaii, please raise your hand?" Karen asked. Lisa Matthews, the very vision of All-American girl good health, sheepishly thrust her hand into the sky. She had a pretty good idea about what Karen would say. "And did we enjoy sucking a little chopper pilot cock, Ms. Matthews?" Karen inquired mischieviously.

"We did indeed, Ms. McDougal. It was not only a pleasure...I considered it my solemn duty," Lisa laughed.

"And a job well done, Lisa," Karen chirped. "At ease," she cooed, giving Lisa a mock salute.

"And now Las Vegas where Lindsay Vuolo and Brooke Richards had me dead to rights. I was almost a goner, doomed to be smothered by Vuolo's huge ass," Karen told the enthralled PMOY's. "...when suddenly, out of the darkness a voice called out Lindsey's name, challenged her to fight and the next thing I knew, Lindsey's busted-up ass came flying through the air like a wrecking ball and knocked Richards for a loop."

"Guilty as charged!" laughed Jenny McCarthy. "I'm always at the ready to clean up Las Vegas. Such a nice town to have such a seedy reputation. Cleaning out two slutty lap dancers was the the least I could do."

"Come here, you....," Karen commanded, and Jenny bent over and received a heartfelt sisterly hug. Karen knew very well that she was truly in real danger in Vegas and without McCarthy's heroic intervention, well... before she could remember the particulars of her next Labor, three more PMOY's walked into the crowded room.

"Sorry we're late, Gals," beamed Brande Roderick. "I've never been one for punctuality."

Brande was flanked by the legendary Godmother of the 'face' Playmates, PMOY 1976 Lillian Muller and the newest initiate to their select sorority, PMOY 2004, Carmella DeCesare. They found chairs and listened intently as Karen continued to reminisce.

"Columbus, Ohio. Buckeye country! I'm being tortured by Christa Nicole and Heather Kozar. To be honest, I was screwed. It looked like Christa alone was too much for me but finally, I did beat her. But by then I was too weak to have to take on Heather too," Karen continued. "But, hey, no problem! What do I see. 'Ol puffy eyed, droopy-tittied Heather dangling forlorn from a goalpost. OK, 'fess up gals, who cold-cocked Kozar?" Karen cried out.

"I'll take the blame!" Brande bellowed. "Most fun I've ever had with my clothes on. Now, Heather, as I recall...she wasn't wearing much by the time I was finished."

"That's very true Brande. Thank you, sister," Karen spoke, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

"And, Karen," Carmella interjected. "It's an honor to finally meet you. I'm here to tell you that not every Playmate from Ohio is an asshole. Buckeye props to you, K Mac!"

The group broke into joyous applause and welcomed their newest member with hugs and kisses, then Karen resumed her trip down Memory Lane.

"Way back on the bayou, two zonked-out zombies and a 30 foot Anaconda... was I finished or what? But suddenly, Screwy Stewie comes back in the house and instead of forcing her snake to squeeze the last life from my doomed ass she jumps ugly on nasty 'ol Devin and kicks the shit out of her! Forgot all about lil' ol' me!" Karen recalled. "One thing for sure, Shannon's change of heart...was no friggin' accident. Who was it toying with her feeble brain?" Karen demanded with a smile.

"That would be moi!" Dalene Kurtis chimed in as she reached into her purse and produced the copper medallion she'd used to hypnotize Shannon. She waved it mockingly in front of Stacy Sanches, who immediately fell into a 'trance' and wrapped her hands around Lisa Matthew's neck. The two had a brief mock catfight (a la DeVasquez and Stewart) with Stacy doing her best zombie act.

"I know I didn't get quite as 'active' as Lisa, Stacy and the others, but believe me Dollface, I had your back all the way! Buh-hey, I just got my nails done so thank God I didn't have to use my fists. All was good! I'm just glad Stewie was such a good and obedient listener," Dalene laughed.

"Honey, don't EVEN apologize. It was fuckin' BRILLIANT!" Karen opined and her sentiments were echoes by a rousing ovation from the other, very impressed, PMOY's. "And, last, but definitely not least, the ambush at TLC! By all rights, this meeting should be a funeral - my funeral - but for the heroism of two women, Renee and Rosie Tenison! Girlfriends, I owe you my life," Karen said solemnly; her eyes welling with tears as she maintained intimate eye contact with Renee.

Then Karen lost it. The memory was too raw and too vivid. She clenched her fists and blubbered, "That fuckin' cunt Tiffany! God as my witness, I WILL take her down next time - permanently! I'll never forget that sick grin on the ugly whore's face!"

It was time for the voice of authority to intervene as Lillian Muller cautioned sympathetically, "One step at a time, Karen. There'll be time enough to deal with 'dear' Tiffany later, but for right now you...WE...have a wedding to sabotage! That will be a full time job so focus, Karen! Aikka...Aikka is your enemy now."

Karen laid her hand on the aging blonde's shoulder, appreciating that Lillian was the calm voice of reason and wisdom. All thoughts turned to Aikka the Pervert and the coming revelation of her real identity. As Karen surveyed the room, she marveled at the beauty, class and wisdom of the women surrounding her. Every second of exposure to this group of supporters was helping heal her war-weary body.

"OK, geniuses," Karen called out enthusiastically, "Please tell me, WHO is the mysterious Aikka anyway? I KNOW somebody's figured that out by now..."

"Funny you should ask!" Kimberley Conrad Hefner chimed up. "Truth is, every one of us has a firm opinion - but none of them agrees with anyone else's!"

"Oh brother!" Karen sighed. "Well, let's have it. There's eight of you, for Pete's sake. Somebody's GOTTA be right."

"Ladies, before we begin our little guessing game," Lillian shouted, like a general in charge of troop deployments. "I need to tell you a few things we've learned. Brande was kind enough to take the blame for our tardiness, but actually it was my fault. My sources, among them the lovely Miss DeCesare, have given me some very interesting, and I am certain, very reliable, information. I've learned the details of the wedding plans that were being arranged by my old archenemy Debra Jo Fondren. I sooooo look forward to tangling with THAT witch again!"

"I think she's still wearing some of the claw marks you left in your last encounter, Lil," Jenny McCarthy laughed.

"No doubt that's true, Jenny," Lillian laughed, excusing her rude interruption with grace and class. "But what Carmella and I found out is that Fondren has secured the services of four very disgruntled blondes from our recent Playmate classes. All four are pissed off that Ms. DeCesare walked away with the PMOY crown each of them so openly coveted," Lillian continued. "Make no mistake, they're young, fit, angry AND highly motivated! Once Fondren has given them one of her patented 'pep talks', they'll be brutal and bloodthirsty too!"

"Jeez, FOUR bitches more!" Karen whispered. "Not taking any chances, are they?"

"There's a term for it, KMac," Lillian intoned. "It's called war."

"So, Aikka and Fondren...," Lillian began.

But Karen quickly interrupted. "Don't forget that Mask character! If you ask ME, she's REALLY the one behind this. At least, that's what Irish keeps telling me on the few times I've been able to talk..."

"Quite right, Karen," Lillian curtly replied, retaking the floor again. "I need four blonde warriors of my own to combat Fondren's scourges. Brande, Lisa, Dalene, Jenny; are you all with me on this?"

All four raised their fists in affirmation, each with goosebumps racing down the skin on their arms.

"Fuck Aikka! Fuck Fondren! And fuck The Mask!" Kimberley shouted and the others quickly lifted their voices to the Heaven in joining in her condemnation.

"Good, now that's settled," Lillian spoke quietly. "Let's return to the question at hand; who IS this mysterious Aikka?"

"You first, Lillian," Karen suggested.

"Well, you may think me an old timer on this, but I've seen 'em come and go for thirty years, but when it comes to cold, calculating and nasty, the name that always pops up in my mind is Ava Fabian! She's getting older, but she'd not done yet. And, Karen, you have NO idea how much she hates you."

"Interesting! I've never come to blows with Fabian, I'll admit," Karen recalled. "But I HAVE heard some of the nasty gossip about me she's spread in the Mansion. She's cunning - and stubborn - enough to be the one."

"Lil," Stacy Sanches called out. "You know I love ya, but I'm afraid you're all wet on this one. Karen, I've got two words for you...DONNA PERRY! She's been gunning for you for years."

"Stacy, puh-leeeease! Perry THINKS she's a big bully, but she's got the brains of a mosquito with a left hook to match," Jenny McCarthy interrupted. "You want tough? You want nasty? You want psycho? You want a heart made for murder? I've got someone whose the total package - Morena Corwin!"

"Don't think I haven't considered her, too!" Karen responded with just a hint of 'gotcha' in her tone.

"Wrong! No argument that Morena is not THE classic Bitch on Wheels, but she's not Aikka. Not by a long shot..." Kimberley Conrad argued. " No. The REAL Aikka is named Anna Marie Goddard, that snooty little Dutch cunt. Trust me on this, my sources are impeccable."

"How do you say "No Fucking Way" in Dutch, Mrs. Hefner?" Lisa Matthews asked sarcastically. "Unfortunately, Aikka's American born and bred ... her real name is Christina Leardini!"

Once again, Karen's brain said, 'A-ha!' "You know, she HAS been avoiding me for years, ever since I twisted her legs into a pretzel at the last Glamourcon we attended together. Leardini's just the kind of vengeful, seething, maniac who'd do something like this...." Karen considered. Then her face went ashen as she thought about Irish's one year 'sentence' as Christina's boy toy. The very thought of him in her clutches sent chills up and down her spine....

"I know I'm the new kid on the block and all," Carmella piped up. "But for what it's worth...don't be surprised if you find Summer Altice all dressed up in white walking down the aisle. And if I'm right, Karen, get ready for the fight of your life, 'cause that girl does not play..."

"Nice theory, Kid," Brande Roderick snapped, silencing Carmella with a sisterly hand on the shoulder. "Nice! But dead wrong!! Karen, when you bust up that wedding from Hell, you'll be seeing red. Why? Because Aikka the Pervert is actually Alexandria Karlsen, a flame-haired, ultra-bitch. You can take that to the bank..."

"Interesting....," Karen purred, stroking her chin with her hand as she thought about Alexandra, someone she hadn't considered up to now; but Brande's suggestion sounded VERY persuasive.

"Who's left?" Karen inquired, surveying the room quickly. "Of, course...Renee! You have an opinion, I assume?"

"Old school, Baby. Can't nobody be that evil and not be getting O-L-D! Brande's right about seein' red, though. Aikka's a bully with a long, nasty pedigree who goes by the name a' India Allen!" Renee reasoned.

"Well, Dalene. You're the last one. What does YOUR crystal ball tell you?" Karen asked her good friend.

"I don't need a crystal ball, hun. I deal with the bitch every day on the Alpha Models web site and whenever your name comes up, there's no shutting her up. Man, she's gunning for you 24/7!"

"Spit it out, Woman," Karen demanded. "Who's 'your' Aikka?"

"Echo Johnson!" Dalene responded emphatically. "Echo...Aikka! Even sounds similar, don't you think?"

The festive breakfast meeting had suddenly lost it's conviviality as the PMOY's paired off to argue their case with the unpersuadable 'others.' Aikka remained an enigma - to everybody - but the clock was still ticking toward high noon. In less than 72 hours, Karen assured herself, the mystery would be over - one way or another - and the name of her arch nemesis exposed once and for all! She just hoped her body would be ready for the final showdown when it came. Kimberley Conrad Hefner and her team of Hollywood's finest physicians and nutritionists would spare no expense or effort in preparing Karen for the defining hour and, at Mrs. Hefner' direction, Karen headed back upstairs to bed where she slept the rest of the afternoon and into the night.
********

Part Three - Male Bonding
With only two days to go before the big wedding, Chez Aikka was aflutter with 'female activity’ that amazed Irish in its girlish silliness. Bitch of the Century nominees, The Mask and Aikka, who usually focused 24/7 on either murderous plots, bondage 'arts', or sexual activity of extreme deviance, were huddling with busybody Debra Jo Fondren, discussing and choosing flower arrangements, selecting hors d'ourves, finalizing the color of bridesmaids gowns.

"Unbe-fukin-lievable," Irish muttered as he busied himself with his swimming pool maintainance chores.

This was a day of great joy and greater novelty, because joining him on the pool deck was a guy, Blizzard. Irish hadn't had contact with another male for a year. Not that a year as the only man in a hen house full of voluptuous women was wholly devoid of charm...but it was a good thing to indulge in some 'guy talk', dammit!

Blizzard, to put it mildly, had been through a lot in a short time. Kidnapped, then run through the paces by the insatiable Charis Boyle, then handed over in chains to the one and only master sado-masochist Woman in the Black Mask. Not exactly a formula for long life and good health. But, Irish had to admit in admiration, the old boy was fitting in just fine.

"So how's life as The Mask's main squeeze? She's been a little reluctant to show me her tender side, you know...," Irish chuckled, recalling vividly each and every punishment and indignity inflicted on him by the evil one. If and when a time for payback came, he had a LONG list of grievances to sort out with The Mask.

"So far, so good; that is, if constant fear of instant, painful death arouses you...," Blizzard grumbled.

"Look at that!" Irish grumbled, pointing through the sliding doors to the conference being held in the den. “They're arguing about bon-bon’s and garter belts, for God's sake."

"I know, man. Freaky! Over at The Mask's house, the construction crew is running around like crazy. Man, if her clueless hubby knew about this…DAMN! If he knew about ME…there’d be Hell to pay. But she's got an unlimited checking account as far as humiliating and destroying KMac is concerned. Weird!" Blizzard concluded.

"All I know, is whatever happens in two days, nothing will be the same after that. When KMac and Aikka finally stare each other down, and The Mask makes her final move, all Hell IS gonna break loose...." Irish explained.

"Ever had a 72 hour erection?" Blizzard joked.

"Not yet, but if there's ever gonna be a first time, this may be it..."

"Dude, my pecker is granite, and my weather forecast is ‘more of the same.’ Any chance we'll influence events, when the moment comes?" Blizzard asked hopefully.

"Who knows, my friend. All I know is, after a year in this place, there is no such thing in Irish's world as a 'surprise' anymore!"