"AH YES, THE SEXODROME"

When it comes to cleaning, you’re going to need someone who’s used to dealing with the worst kind of mess. After all, with some luck, your party will be so messy that the EPA will have to step in. Yes, what you need is a cleaner with the supplies and experience needed to clean even the most toxic of spills. A cleaner who will clean anything, anywhere, anytime, no questions asked. You’re going to need a cleaner who can clean up loads of stuff, so why not get one who can clean up loads? What you need is a professional "jizz mopper".

Fortunately, though it is late at night, you can still head down to the all-night porno theater in the small town’s curiously large red light district. You discover that you will get there even sooner than you had anticipated because the exit from the tree factory is well inside the aforementioned district. You ask your new bartender why that is, but you fail to get a straight answer from him, as he changes the subject and avoids making eye contact for the duration of the walk. Hopefully, you won’t have a problem getting an elf and four ex-cons in extremely small elf costumes admission to the theater.

You arrive just in time for the beginning of the theater’s late night showing of Kentucky Jones and the Temple of Poon. The attendant immediately recognizes your bartender and asks him if he’s enjoying his season pass. He blushes and mumbles a reply back. You decide not to ask, as the thought frightens you. The attendant lets you and your crew in for half price for being the friends of one of the theater’s most frequent visitors. Again, images start to form in your head that terrify you, so you rush into the theater, leaving the rest of the group behind and passing up the theater’s well-stocked snack bar.

Once you are all assembled again, you tell them to enjoy the show while you find a mopper who will sign on with you. As you are walking away, you marvel at how the floor is nowhere near as sticky as the floors in the town’s regular theaters despite all the… events that take place here. Man, if you can get this mopper, you will be set. Hell, you may even keep him on to clean up the hellhole you call a home.

"It's a good mop."

You find the mopper’s “office” just outside of the theater’s entrance. You knock three times, and the mopper lets you in. Upon entering the room, you are taken aback by the strong scent coming off of the cleaning agents stacked all the way to the ceiling along one of the walls. He greets you and asks you to take a seat. You assume that by “seat,” he means “overturned bucket,” so you pull one up and sit. You tell him that you need a cleaner with his expertise to clean up after your killer party. You mention as an afterthought that you can only pay him in candy and soda. He first confirms that he is a very experienced jizz mopper (saying that he prefers the title “semen engineer”), and gestures to his shelf full of awards given to him by various cleaning and pornographic institutions. Afterwards, despite your meager payment offer, he agrees to your terms, saying that he has been working on a prototype for a new cleaner, and that he needs some rare chemicals found only in candy corn.

With your business concluded, you shake his hand and are about to leave. However, he asks you if you’d like to see his prototype. You are about to decline, but as you take in a breath to say so, you find that the bottle containing the prototype is directly under your nose. The mixture’s lemony scent is absolutely overpowering, and you start to black out. As you stagger backwards, he tells you that he’s been meaning to work on that unfortunate side effect. You try to steady yourself on the shelf of awards behind you, but the shelf collapses beneath your weight. You fall and crack your head against an award in the shape of an erect penis with a small mop leaning against it. Blood begins to pool around your head as you lie on the floor, but no sooner do you notice it than the mopper mops and polishes the floor clean once more. You admire his handiwork just before the world goes black.

START OVER, JIZZY!