Kangaroo Pocket Calculator

Cathy and Lemmy went up to her second-story room in the Cat House so she could make love to him in return for a payment of one million air molecules, but they ended up talking for hours instead. The sky-day become a sky-evening. They calmed and grew drowsy, but still were in no hurry.

Lemmy stood up and gazed out the dimly lit window - out of Brothel Cloud #79 - towards the bar cloud he'd just abandoned, wondering idly. He had all the time in the universe. It was relaxing, being dead. He could get used to this.

"I hate to disturb your peace," said Cathy, standing behind him. She sounded strange. Lemmy turned around.

"Oh. You're a kangaroo."

"Yeahhh," answered Cathy. She didn't sound too alarmed. Lemmy immediately figured this was just something that happened to her sometimes. "Look, can you call the operator on my pocket calculator? She'll know what to do."

Lemmy was a bit miffed. "Can't you call your own damn operator?"

"Can't. Hands," answered Cathy, looking down.

Lemmy conceded. "And your pocket calculator... is?"

If a kangaroo can glare superciliously, then that is what Cathy did.

"Right. In your pocket." Lemmy reached into Cathy's pocket, turned his back, and, having no better idea of what to do, pressed the calculator's most special-looking key. It played a little melody, and then the operator answered. She sounded like a human trying to sound like a computer.

"FORTY-SEVEN IS A MAGICAL NUMBER."

Lemmy coughed. "'Scuse me?" Annoyed, he began mashing the 2 key rhythmically, producing a piano's middle-octave D# each time. It was squishy, like a Moog stuck in a whoopie cushion.

"FORTY-SEVEN PLUS TWO EQUALS FORTY-NINE."

"You know, Mrs. Operator, I once knew some folks from an infowar unit what was really into the number eleven. But I don't know anything about forty-seven. Also, my ex is a kangaroo. And she's right here. And she's still hot. And I'm not a zoophile."

Lemmy thought he heard an "ahem" from behind.

"FORTY-SEVEN TIMES TWO EQUALS NINETY-FOUR."

"Right. So what do I need to do, to make her not a kangaroo?"

"FORTY-NINE AND NINETY-FOUR. NINETY-FOUR AND FORTY-NINE. IT'S... MAGIC." Somebody who must have been standing in the room behind the operator mumbled audibly: "Forty-seven."

Desperate for an answer, Lemmy listened to this bullcrap for several minutes. People continuously wandered up behind the operator during her spiel to say "Forty-seven" in English or foreign languages. Just when Lemmy had just about enough, it stopped. He turned around to chew Cathy out for having made him put up with this crap.

Now she was 49 again, but with the voice of a 94-year-old woman.
She stammered sheepishly and blushed. "Thanks! It always turns me back when the Operator does that. Isn't it a coincidence?"