Demographic

Title: Demographic
Author: Scribe
Summary: Nelson wants Mork to help him find out what a certain demographic wants.
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Nelson/Mork
Characters: Mindy, Nelson, Mork
Betas:
Author's Notes: noun (plural dem•o•graph•ics) marketing--part of population: a part of a population identified as a group, especially as a target for sales or advertising
Disclaimer: I did not create, and do not own the rights to, the recognizable media characters that appear in this story. I have no legal or binding agreement with the creators, or owners. I do not seek, and would not accept, profit from this fiction. I have nothing but affection and respect for the creators, and the actors and actresses who portrayed these characters. This story is in no way meant to reflect on the actual lives or life styles of the actors and actresses who portrayed the characters.

Demographic
by Subterfuge

Mindy O'Connell took a container of tuna salad from the refrigerator. She'd forgotten to bring her lunch when she left for work this morning, and she only had a few minutes to retrieve it, then get back to the KTNS television station. Mr. Sternhagen was a real bear about punctuality. Still, once she had the Tupperware container, she didn't immediately trot for the front door. She had used to make her tuna salad with a heavy addition of chopped, boiled eggs, but since Mork had moved in, she hadn't been able to bring herself to use that ingredient. Now she wanted something else to bulk up her meal--make it seem not so meager--so she rummaged in the cabinets, looking for a box of crackers.

She'd just located the saltines when she heard the front door slam, and Mork's cheerful voice caroled, "Honey, I'm home!" Mindy went out into the living room to find Mork hanging up his jacket, and unwinding about ten feet of gaudily striped knitted scarf. "Wow, curb service!" He took the plastic container and opened it, peering inside. "From what classic American television I've watched, it's traditional for the female of the household to greet the male upon his return with a drink, but cooked, canned fish flesh flakes mixed with an emulsion of eggs and oil is okay, too."

Mindy took the container back, resealing it. "That's my lunch, and what are you doing home so early? I thought you were supposed to work till three today."

"They decided to let me go early."

"Really? It was that quiet?"

"No, quiet had very little to do with it. In fact, there was a good bit of screaming and," Mork put his hands over Mindy's ears and whispered, "swearing," he dropped his hands, "going on."

Mindy groaned. "Oh, Mork! What happened this time?"

"Well, things were going well. I was stocking shelves--no problem once they told me not to attempt upside-down pyramids. You know how the store promotes itself for its organic and ethnic selection of products?" Mindy nodded. "One of the organics got into the e."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"I was in the Cajun section, putting up bags of Louisiana Crawfish Boil. There's a picture of a crawfish on the front, along with a shrimp, and a crab. I looked down and... Mindy, you know how that store prides itself on having the freshest possible seafood?"

"Yes."

"Well, they carry LIVE crustaceans--and apparently some of them have a stronger will to live than others. I looked down and there at my feet was a little crawfish--staring at the box of crawfish boil bags I was emptying." Mork put his hands to his mouth in mortified horror. "His eyes bugged out!"

"Srawfish have naturally bugged-out eyes, Mork."

Mork wasn't listening, caught up in remembering the moment. "He just stood there, waving his little claws. I could almost hear his thoughts." Mork developed a thick Cajun accent. "Oh, man, dat don't look good! Ah tink ah need ta haul myself out of here, me!" His voice went back to normal--well, normal for Mork. "And he started to scuttle off. Well, I caught him..." he winced, "Ow, by the way, and carried him back to the seafood counter. The guy working there said that every now and then one of the live crawfish or crabs would get out of the case and take off. They usually could tell when it happened by the screams from the girls working in produce. I asked him why I hadn't seen any crawfish, crab, or lobster food when I stocked the pet food aisle, and he gave me the funniest look."

Mindy had a hand over her eyes. "Really."

"Yes. Then he told me..." Mork gripped her arm. "Brace yourself, Mindy. I have a story for you that will make your career at the television station, but it's one of such horror that they may not let you air the details. Mindy," he swallowed hard, "they're selling those poor shelled creatures to be cooked ALIVE!"

"Yes, Mork."

"The counter guy said they just throw them in boiling water, and sometimes with the lobsters they take a cleaver and... You know?"

"Yes, Mork."

He grabbed her harder. "AND YOU'RE DOING NOTHING ABOUT IT?"

"Mork, remember when we discussed the difference between carnivores, omnivores, and herbivores?"

"Ye-es."

"Meat eaters, and vegetarians?"

"But Mindy, boiling them ALIVE..."

"I don't have time to discuss this right now. Did you make such a scene that they fired you?"

"No."

Mindy eyed him suspiciously. "Mork, what did you do?"

He smiled, and said in a Hispanic accent, "Vive el revolution!"

"Oh, no."

"It was beautiful, Mindy. All those little segmented legs, scuttling in harmony down the aisle, headed for freedom, antennae waving, pinchers clicking, people scrambling up on displays..."

"Mork..."

"They kept my pay to cover the loss of product. Thank goodness I did overtime, or I'd have never covered the lobsters."

"I can't believe you lost another job because..." Mork was giving her a wide-eyed gaze. She sighed. "Yes, I can believe it. Look, Mork, I have to get back to work. ONE of us has to keep a paycheck coming in. Don't go out, okay? We're going to have to have another talk about Earth customs tonight." She went into the hall, opened the outside door, and started down the steps. "Good-bye. I'll see you this evening."

"Take care." Mork had followed her to the exit, and as she was getting into her car he called, "Could we discuss Earth sexual habits tonight? You keep putting that off." An elderly couple who were passing on the sidewalk stared at him in astonishment. He gave them a sunny smile. "I'm not asking for the finer points of technique--I just want to know the basics, so I'm less likely to get arrested." They hurried away, and Mindy squealed her tires as she pulled out.

Mork shut the outside door, then went back into the apartment and shut the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small crawfish. "Don't worry, Anatole--she didn't really mean it. You're safe here. I'd better find you somewhere to rest." He went into the kitchen, and peered into the sink. "Garbage disposal. Don't think so." He opened the refrigerator. "There's the water bottle, but Mindy pays two dollars to have those things delivered. Besides, I don't think you'd fit through the neck--not with those broad shoulders. How about the orange juice?" He wiggled the crawfish, making chittering sounds. "No, it's the natural kind, with pulp." He chittered some more. "I don't blame you. I can think of only one other place..."

~*~*~*~

Mork was bored, so he was looking through the Sears catalogue. He came to the women's underwear section. "Whoa, mama! You could put an eye out with those." He flipped another few pages. "What was it that Exidor called these again? Palpitating mounds of desire? No. The fount of all lust? No. Oh, I remember--boobs. Boobs, boobs, boobs, boobs, boobs... No boobs. Oh, that's a guy. And so is that. Wait a minute." Mork almost put his nose against the shiny paper of the page. "What's that he's wearing? It looks like the things Mindy buys for me. What does she call them? Boxers. Yeah. I still don't understand why I couldn't wear just them when I got that first job as a box boy at the big supermarket. Come to think of it, I had to wear pants, too, when I went to the YMCA with Remo and he showed me how to use the heavy punching bag. This is confusing. What other meaning could 'boxer' have? Um, there's a dog called a boxer." He turned another page and got a look at one of the male models. "Woof!"

"Okay, those are NOT boxers. What do they call those?" He read the descriptions. "Jockeys. What, first dogs, now horses?" He looked again. "Ride 'em, cowboy. Wow. Okay, it's just a torso from the waist down, but that is DEFINITELY a guy. He..." Mork paused, moved the catalogue aside, and tugged at his pants, pulling the material tight across his crotch. A bulge was revealed. "Yep. Definitely guy parts."

The doorbell rang, and Mork tossed aside the catalogue and went to answer the door. There was a tall, handsome blond man, dressed in an almost painfully conservative suit, out in the hall. He gave Mork a practiced, bright, slightly plastic smile. "Good afternoon, sir. Have you decided yet who your candidate will be in the next election?"

"Which election, Nelson?" asked Mork.

"Does it matter? I've had my campaign material ready to go since seventh grade." Nelson Flavor, Mindy's cousin, came in. As Mork shut the door, Nelson said, "Actually the next one up will be for councilman, so that's the one I'll be running in. Here," he pinned a lapel button on Mork's shirt. It said VOTE FOR FLAVOR. "And a complimentary pen." It was imprinted with the same slogan. "Note paper." He handed over a small notepad with his name at the top. "Balloon." He gave Mork a limp scrap of rubber. "Blow it up, if you want to read the slogan. In fact, I know you have a lot of air to spare, so when I really get the campaign off the ground, I have a job for you blowing up a few thousand of those."

Mork stretched the balloon. "Looks a little like what I found in that foil package Remo dropped. It wasn't green, though. I tried blowing it up, but there wasn't a slogan on it, and Remo got the strangest look on his face."

"I'm not at all surprised. But you know, Mork, that points up the reason that I'm here."

"You're here to help me make balloon animals?"

"No, I'm here to get your perspective on an important demographic."

"Okay." He paused. "What do I have to demonstrate graphically?"

"No, it means... Why am I surprised? After all, English IS a second language for you, isn't it?"

"Well, maybe not second. Maybe..." he started extending fingers, silently counting, then, "Eight, nine, ten... Excuse me a minute while I take my shoes off." He sat on the couch and started to unlace his sneaker.

"That isn't necessary."

"It is if you want an accurate count of where English stands in the ranks of languages I know. I'm not sure if I should include Bezfezzian or not--I only know enough slang to get me into trouble. You know, things like, 'Your ancestors sold used cars'."

Nelson sat beside Mork. "As I was saying, there's a certain portion of the voter base that I'm afraid I'm not in touch with, and I'm hoping you can help me."

"Immigrants?"

Nelson blinked. "Well, that, too, I suppose. You ARE an immigrant, aren't you?"

"Ohhh, yes."

"It's funny. You don't have any accent I recognize. Where are you from?"

"Ork."

"Is that anywhere near Estonia?"

"No."

"Any way, that's not the demographic I'm talking about."

"Is demographic anything like disco?" Mork jumped up and gyrated, singing, "Ain't gonna bump no more with no big, fat wooooman!"

"A demographic is a part of a population identified as a target--I mean, as a group. You know--like Blacks, Catholics, career women." He cleared his throat. "Homosexuals."

"Oh. So you mean, like," he sang again, bumping his hips, "Macho, macho man! I've got to be a macho man, at the YMCA, in the Naaavy!" He saluted.

"Um, something like that."

"They have a wonderful sense of style, and most of them are well groomed. Next question?"

"Mork, I want you to tell me what homosexuals want in a politician."

"Why ask me?"

Nelson stared at him. "Mork... you ARE gay?"

"I'm usually pretty cheerful, but I'm a little bummed out today since I lost my job, and Mindy is upset for some reason."

"No, Mork--gay." Mork gave him an open, uncomprehending stare. "You know--liking guys?"

Mork dropped back down beside Nelson and threw an arm around his shoulders. "Sure I like you, Nelson. I don't listen to what Mister Bickerson says. Or Mindy's father. Or her grandmother. Or Remo. Or..." Nelson had stiffened. "Say, Nelson..." he ran a hand down the other man's back. "I think I'm getting some evidence of that stick Remo thinks is up your butt."

"Mork, are you, or are you not, homosexual?"

Mork blinked at him. "Wow, what a personal question--and an interesting one. To tell you the truth, Nelson, I haven't given it much thought."

"You mean to tell me you don't know your own sexual orientation?"

"Sexual orientation? What's that--talking dirty in Mandarin? What makes you think I'm gay?"

"Oh, come on, Mork." He reached out and snapped Mork's rainbow colored suspenders. "Plus you're living with a woman, and I know you're not sleeping with her."

"How can you be sure?"

"I've known Mindy since before she knew she was a girl and I was a boy. She didn't turn mauve the last time I saw the two of you together, and you're not married. You haven't been on a date since I've known you, and you have the Sears Catalogue creased open to the men's underwear section."

"That indicates I'm gay?"

"Either that, or you have an even more interesting kink--an underwear fetish. You REALLY aren't sure whether or not you're gay?"

"That's right, but it's about time I decided. I suppose there's one way to find out." He put his hands on either side of Nelson's face and kissed him square on the lips. Nelson jerked back and leaped up, putting his hand over his mouth, while Mork smacked his lips. "Tastes like chicken."

"I went to the Colonel for lunch. Did that tell you anything?"

"Yeah. It told me that you're a quick lil bunny." Mork stood up and held out his arms. "But I'm still not sure. I mean hey, they didn't reach the moon on the first launch."

Nelson backed away. "Now Mork, that wouldn't be a good idea."

Mork was following him around the couch, arms still outstretched. "Why not?"

"Well, because I'm NOT gay."

Mork stopped and put his hands on his hips. "You're just too selfish to help someone else understand themselves? Any way, how do you KNOW you're not gay?"

"I'm just NOT."

"How do you know?"

"I... I never HAVE... been... physical with another man."

"And you think that means you're not gay? I wasn't a driver till I got behind the wheel for the first time. Wait!" He held up a finger. "Bad example. I still can't drive. It's so sad to see the DMV tester start crying whenever I pass by."

"Mork, I'm... I'm not..."

"You're tall, blond, good looking, in great shape." Mork cupped his hands over his chest. "If you had a couple of lumps here," he grabbed his crotch, "instead of here, you wouldn't think it was so strange if I wanted to kiss you."

They were making another round of the couch, Nelson still in reverse. "This is ridiculous. I like girls."

"So do I. They have nice voices, they smell good, and most of them are better cooks than I am. Of course they're a little tight ass about things like leaving the seat up on the toilet, but I suppose after your butt hits cold water in the dark at two AM a few times..." Nelson had backed up against the wall. Mork moved in close, looking up at him and wiggling his eyebrows. "Helloooo."

"This... this is sexual harassment."

"It is? Then what's this?" He grabbed Nelson by the back of the neck, pulled him down, and kissed him again.

Nelson gasped, "That's..."

"And this?" This time Mork managed to slip his tongue into Nelson's mouth. As most people who had heard him talk when he really got going would have assumed, his tongue was very agile. Mork's other hand slid down the front of Nelson's neatly pressed trousers. "What's this?"

"That's... that's pretty damn fantastic."

"No, I mean what's this? Is that a hot brick in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Nelson cleared his throat. "You know, it would be awful selfish of me as a public servant not to help one of my constituents who is so obviously in need of assistance."

"Does that mean we can get down with our bad selves?"

"Something like that."

"Great. Let's go to Mindy's bedroom. I'm not exactly sure what homosexuals do, but I have a feeling that it's pretty difficult hanging upside down." He grabbed Nelson's belt. "Handles--gotta love 'em. C'mon, Nellie." He started dragging Nelson toward the bedroom.

"Oh, hey, just a minute!" Nelson protested. "Just because I agreed to this doesn't mean I'm going to be the..." The door shut. "I mean it, Mork. I'm a politician, damn it! If there's any screwing to be done, -I- do it. I would never..." (There is the sound of a zipper lowering). "Uh... I'd have to consider carefully..." (There is the sound of clothing being shoved down.) "I'd need a good reason to agree to..." (There's the sound of a jaw hitting the floor). "I think that bottle of hand lotion over there will work..."

~*~*~*~*

Mindy came home a few hours later. The Great Crustacean Escape had made the afternoon news. She had to admit that the videotape of a customer trying to run away from a lobster on one of the check out stand conveyer belts was one of the funniest things she'd ever seen, so she wasn't quite so upset with Mork.

He wasn't in the living room when she arrived home, though. "Mork?" She hung up her coat and went into the kitchen to put her Tupperware container in the sink. She stopped, blinking at the mess. "Mork, why is there an empty can of Redi-Whip, and an empty can of chocolate syrup on the table?" She checked in the trash bin. "And no empty carton of ice cream?"

Mork appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was barefooted, his hair was mussed, his rainbow suspenders were clipped askew, and the tail of his enthusiastically colored shirt was peeking through his partially opened fly. "Shall we say... experimentation?" He whipped a long stemmed rose from behind his back and clenched it between his teeth. "Nannuuuu," he crooned.

Mindy gaped at him. "Mork, did you let your emotions get away from you again?"

Mork strutted into the room, hips swinging, "Oh, yeah, SOMEONE'S been playin' with my emotions!"

"What happened here this afternoon?"

Mork tucked the rose behind his ear. "First off, do you know what a demographic is?"

"Sure."

He squealed, bouncing and putting his hands on his knees. "Isn't it WONDERFUL? Nelson showed me all about it. Well, we showed each other."

"Nelson? I can't think of anything useful you'd learn from him, Mork. He's such a tight ass."

Mork brayed with laughter. "Not any more."

"Where IS Nelson?"

"He said he needed some time to himself in the bathroom." Mork's eyes got wide. "Oo! I forgot to tell him about something." He started toward the bathroom, calling, "Nelson! Don't use the bodily waste evacuation porcelain throne! It..." There was a high-pitched shriek from inside the bathroom, then the sound of flushing. "No!" gasped Mork. His head drooped.

Mindy patted him on the shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Mindy, where do our sewer lines eventually end up?"

"I'm not sure. I think the water runs into a holding pond, then is passed through a filtering plant."

"A pond, eh? I guess that's all right then." He went into the kitchen, leaned over the sink, and whispered down the drain, "Swim, Anatole! Be free! And I don't blame you--I don't see how you could see Nelson's ass and NOT pinch it."

The End