A Short Story

The walls reverberated with the explosions. The station had been under attack for only a few minutes, yet so much damage had been done. The damage repair crews had drafted civilians, who lived on the station, to help in repairs. Harold McPhee was sleeping in his quarters when the explosions began. He had been shaken out of his bed. Pulling on his robe, he left the relative safety of his suite and ventured into a smoke filled corridor.
“Sir! Sir!” called a green suited crewmember, “What’s you name, Sir?”
“Mickey. Err, Harold McPhee. What’s going on?”
“We’re under attack, and we need help. Get back to your quarters and put some clothes on.”
“But… Why?”
“Come on!” The crewman pulled McPhee back down the corridor. “Is this your suite?” McPhee nodded. “Get dressed, I’ll wait here.”
Not even thinking, McPhee pulled a suit out from his closet. He had it almost on when the crewman walked in his sleeping room.
“Sir,” said the crewman, “that may not be the best thing… Don’t you have some labor clothes?”
Mickey blinked and nodded. He took the suit off and found some old clothes and got dressed. The crewman bodily pulled him down the hall to a supply room where he gave McPhee what appeared to be a think raincoat. After he slipped it on he realized it was a fire-retardant parka. The crewman made to pull him along when McPhee stopped him.
“Who are you?” He asked.
“I’m Harris. Come on, we have to get moving. There was an impact down the hall and there is a fire.” He spoke as he walked, “The Kreae appeared at the outside range of sensors over six hours ago. The Commander called for help but they haven’t arrived yet. The Kreae are making strafing runs, the armor on the ring is holding…mostly.”
Harris used a keycard on a pressure door and it opened to reveal a scene from the inferno. What was once a marketplace was smashed and ablaze from the enemy ship that had crashed through the station’s hull, through the floor. A force shield sparkled as debris and heat buffeted it. McPhee looked up and saw up to what he assumed to be the center of the station- pierced by the fighter.
Harris threw a hose at him. “Hold it! It’ll pump foam to stop the fire.” He shouted and ran to turn on the foam. The pressure yanked the hose from Mickey’s grip and flung it far into the air. Foam fell everywhere. Mickey tried to pull down on the hose but couldn’t get it controlled until Harris arrived to help. Together, they put out some of the fire as repair crews hastily welded plates over the hull breach.
McPhee collapsed against a wall. Harris slowly sat beside him, grunting as his muscles relaxed. “You did good, Mr., um, McFay?”
“McPhee. Call me Mickey.”
“You did good, Mickey. We’ll be needed elsewhere soon, but we can rest for now.”
“Thank God for small favors.” McPhee quietly spoke.

His world erupted in flame and pain. A white light came from up spin, a force pushed him down and he instinctively shielded himself. He felt a hand on his collar, dragging him from the impending danger. He felt unimaginable heat on his feet and wildly kicked at it. A sound like thunder shook the plasticized floor and he was no longer being pulled. A pressure door hissed shut. He opened his eyes, but could not stand. He looked around, saw Harris, smoking from his back and groaning on the floor. Bracing himself against the wall, he wrenched himself up on his feet.
“Harris?” He gingerly spoke, “Harris, I’ll find help.”
Harris replied with a groan. McPhee staggered down the corridor, leaning on the wall. His feet felt like they were on fire, understandable, since his shoes were mostly melted. He opened the first door he could and peeked inside. It was a living suite; much like his own. He went inside and leaned against the wall beside a bookcase. An explosion rocked the room and the bookcase fell over, clipping the top of McPhee’s head. He fell underneath the books and into unconsciousness.
Seven nude women stood in front of him, each licking their lips. They slowly walked toward him. A redhead worked his fly and let his pants fall. A blond began fondling his penis. The women giggled at the immense size of his member. It stretched a good two feet. A small dog walked up to his leg and began running into his leg, pushing it until he fell, taking five of the seven down with him,
He opened his eyes and felt someone kicking his leg. “Gug, clou durr nuf.” Was all he could manage to get out, but it was enough to convince the kicker that he was alive. He heard books being pushed out of the way and the weight was lifted from his back. He slowly got on his knees and then pushed himself up. He fell back to the ground.
“Whoa there, you took a nasty knock on the head there.” The Samaritan said to him, “Let’s get you sitting and then tend to that wound.”
He felt himself be picked up and helped over to a dirty chair. “How…long…?” McPhee asked.
“How long were you out?” Mcphee nodded. “Oh, I’d say, at least an hour.”
The man bandaged his head. “I think you probably got a concussion. You might have problems with coordination for a while…you know… How many fingers do you see?” The man held up his hand, with three fingers up.
“Three…” McPhee answered.
“Good! I know you are going to ask- I think the attack is over. There haven’t been explosions for almost thirty minutes. By your clothes, I bet you got drafted to work repair. So did I, but I didn’t get far before that last big one cut me off from where I had to go. I take it you were with the guy in the hall?”
“That’s Harris. How is he?”
“I see you can talk! That’s a good sign. I’m afraid your friend is dead. Pretty nasty burns from the look of it. You were damn kind to pull him from the main walkway when it blew up. It…”
McPhee interrupted him. “He pulled me.”
“Well, then I say you are damn lucky. I haven’t seen any others around here, of course, I may be wrong. Looks your head has stopped bleeding. I think that’s a good sign.”
McPhee sat for a few hours and gathered his wits. The man had left looking for help and had been gone for an hour or so when Mickey finally gathered the strength to stand up. He stumbled into the corridor and tried to find Harris, but his body wasn’t there. He could hear muffled voices from down the hall. Gripping onto the wall, he slowly made his way to a partially open door, the voices were coming from inside.
He peered inside and there were four people there, sitting on chairs and talking. One nodded in his direction and the conversation ended. A woman and three men sat there. The woman smiled and spoke, “Hello there, you must be Harold McPhee, called Mickey. We were hoping you would wake up soon. Want some tea? It’s fresh. I know we are in the middle of a crisis and it seems a trifle silly to serve tea at a time like this, but tell me one thing, what’s the harm of a little tea when you are worried?” She smiled wider. “Tea?”
“Sure. I’d like some tea.” McPhee answered.
“Bob,” said the woman, “help Mickey to a seat.”
One of the men answered, “Yes Havana.” He stood and wrapped an arm around Mickey and helped him to a seat. The seat was red fabric and was remarkably comfortable. Bob sat back down. He smiled at Mickey, “I’m Bob, Bob Thomsen. This here is Eddie and Taylor.” He motioned at each as he mentioned their names. “Havana is getting your tea. Tell me, Mickey, you don’t mind do you?” He waited until McPhee nodded, “So, tell me Mickey, what business are you in? I see by your hands that you aren’t a crewman here.”
McPhee waited to speak, as a cup of tea was placed before him. He carefully lifted it and tried to drink but somehow missed his mouth. Tea drizzled down his chin and onto the floor. Before he could apologize, Havana told him not to worry. Mickey tried again with the tea and managed to find his mouth and was relieved by the warm liquid in his mouth. He spoke, “I’m a currency investor. I take the various currencies of the colonies and convert them to Earth standard or to various Alien currencies and invest them, if possible. I have an office near the First Bank of Earth branch.” He drank more tea.
Eddie nodded, “Yes, I know where that is. Myself, I’m in many businesses. You know, a little here, a little there. Taylor is a politician by nature and has found himself a niche in a large intersystem corporation. Have you heard of JupiterCorp? No? Anyway, he makes big bucks, which I use to get in on various business ventures. And I take a hefty commission.” Eddie went on, but Mickey didn’t hear him. He was staring down at his tea.
A hand touched his and he looked up into Havana’s eyes. She said to him, “There was an announcement a little while ago, just before you came here. The station Commander said that intruders had boarded and that they were disguised as us.” She looked worried. “We’re going to move down the hall and see if we can find help. You’re still hurting, why don’t you stay here and guard the fort?”
McPhee nodded and the four left. A short while later he heard footsteps in the hall and saw the Samaritan appear at the door. “Hey, you moved. I thought I would find you back down the hall. What are you doing here?”
“I heard voices and found four people here.”
“Strange. I passed by here and heard nothing. Huh. Anyway, I found a newsbox and read that the Commander warned the security forces to be prepared for boarding. We shouldn’t have to worry- I can’t find anyway in, or out. The main walkway is ablaze and the lifts are depressurized, as is the deck above us and only empty space is below us. You say there were people here?”
“Yes, four. They gave me tea and went down the hall in search of help.”
The man scratched his head. “That’s funny, ‘cause I saw nothing. Weird. I did find something interesting, though. There is a little convenience shop down a ways. It has lots of food to keep us going. My name’s Jimmy, by the way, Jimmy Dearing.” He extended his hand and shook Mickey’s.
Mickey stood and, with Dearing, went down the hall to the shop. “Hear that?” Asked Mickey after hearing muffled voices and laughing. “Can’t you hear that?”
“No. I can’t hear anything.”
“I’m gonna go check it out.”
“Want me to come?”
“Nah. You get some food for us and find me.”
“Ok.” Jimmy walked on, leaving McPhee alone. He quietly walked down a hallway toward the noises. He knew what he would find and found it. In an otherwise deserted room was Eddie, Taylor, Bob and Havana. They were standing in a vague circle telling jokes and laughing. Taylor looked over at McPhee and greeted him, “Mickey! Where ya been? We’ve been waiting for you. Hey, answer this: How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb? No! Don’t say it! It only takes one, but the light bulb has to want to change.” The foursome erupted in laughter at the joke. Mickey half-heartedly joined in.
“Hey, I found another guy.”
Havana perked up, “Oh, where is he?”
“He’s getting some food. He’s been walking around looking for people for a few hours. Funny he never found you guys.”
“Yeah,” said Eddie, “We didn’t see him. That is weird.”
“He’ll be here in a few, so then there will be six of us.”
Havana said, “That would be great.” She smiled.

“Mickey! Where are you?” came Jimmy’s voice from down the hall. McPhee walked to the doorway and shouted, “We’re down here!”
The four were silent waiting. Footsteps could be heard. Dearing appeared in the doorway carrying a box under each arm. He looked puzzled. “You said we.” He said.
“Yeah, Jimmy,” said Mickey, “this is Bob, Taylor, Eddie and Havana.”
“You’re joking, right.” Jimmy cracked a smile. “This is a ‘blow on the head’ joke. You got me.”
Havana looked angry, “Who are you talking to? This isn’t funny. Where’s your friend?”
McPhee looked at her and pointed at Jimmy. “Right there.”
“Well,” said Havana, “I don’t see anything there. Do you guys?” The three guys shook their heads. Eddie spoke, “Very bad form, Harold.”
Now Jimmy looked mad, “Mickey, stop being an ass. You know no one is there. I’ll be down the hall when you get your act in order.” He left.
“What the hell was that?” Mickey asked the four. “Are you guys in on this against me?”
“Mickey,” said Havana, “We would never be against you, you just must be suffering from trauma.”
“Why can’t you see him and why can’t he see you?” Mickey asked.
Havana placed a hand on his shoulder. “Because he’s not real. We are, you know that, right? Here, I’ll prove it to you.” She leaned over and kissed him. “That felt real, right?”
“Yes, yes it did.”
Eddie spoke up, “Maybe this ‘Jimmy’ character is real…”
Havana looked over at him, “What are you talking about?”
“I read that the Kreae can ‘imprint’ on a person and only that person will see them and that person will see his own species. Maybe that is what has happened?”
“How would he know?” Asked Taylor.
“It’s simple,” replied Havana, preempting Eddie, “He asks about the ‘Jimmy’s’ past. Where he is from, what he does. Mickey already knows that we are real so he doesn’t have to worry about us. Just this other guy.”
“Yeah,” said Bob, “Just ask him some questions. If the answers aren’t satisfactory, he can’t be a real person.”
McPhee nodded. Then nodded again. Then nodded a third time. “Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll go ask him.”
He stomped out of the room and down the hall. “Jimmy!” he called and followed the response. He found Jimmy in the room where Mickey was knocked unconscious. “Sorry about that, Jimmy, I must be seeing things. The concussion, I guess.”
“Hey, no problem. Have some food.”
He took a piece of something and tasted it. Tofu. “So, Jimmy,” McPhee smiled, “Where are you from?”
“Earth, like everyone else. I was born in a stable.”
“Mind if I ask where?”
“No where special.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I do odd jobs. Cleaning, repair, some cleaning, I was a cook on a ship here.”
“What do you do here?”
“Nothing much.”
“Are you avoiding my questions?”
“No. Why would you ask?
“Nothing. Where are your quarters?”
“Around here and there.”
“Where?”
“No where in particular.” Jimmy stood and walked to the door. Mickey picked up a leg from the bookcase that fell on him. He got ready to swing.
“Jimmy.” He called and Jimmy turned. Mickey swung the bat and it wetly smacked the side of Dearing’s head. Jimmy fell to the ground. McPhee knelt down beside him. Jimmy stared up in horror. “I…” he began, “…I didn’t think…you’d recognize me…” Mickey gasped in remembrance.
“James Dearing? Oh shit.”
James Dearing. The kid who beat up and tortured him in school.
“I…” Jimmy spoke, “didn’t want you to remember me. But…why this?”
“Jimmy, I…I thought you were an alien.”
“Heh. That’s a laugh… You…kill me…me, your bully…because…because you thought I…was an alien…” Jimmy’s eyes glazed over and his lungs gave a deep sigh.
Harold McPhee, called Mickey McPee, stood in shame.
Down the hall, Havana whispered in Eddie’s ear, “These humans are very impressionable. Our mission should be an easy one.”

Short Story

The premise behind this is that the Roman Empire never fell and is still the world power.



-----

Darkness enveloped the passing patrol. Herodotus had dived into the
thick shadows just in time. The Praetorian had missed him. “Fucking
Praetorian.” Spat Herodotus into the inky blackness. He crossed the
street, careful to stay out of the light of the streetlamps. His guts
hurt; hurt bad. He needed his jonze real bad.
The Empire had
legalized most drugs for a short time, and then prohibited them again.
There were hundreds of thousands of people like Herodotus in Rome
alone. They had gotten hooked on Heroin, Cocaine, Zappa or some other
drug. Zappa was Hero’s choice. A synthetic drug, it was very expensive
when it was legal, ten times more now. Very expensive and very rare.
Hero had to go across town to get it.
His insides suddenly tensed
up and he fell to the ground in pain. He pulled himself up by a smashed
parking meter. Someone had wanted the few coins it would hold. Probably
to buy drugs, Hero could relate to that. Whoever had done it made a
mess of it and missed most of the change that fell out. They must have
really needed the money, because the next dozen meters were smashed in
the same manner. Hero noted each one as he clung to them for support.

Luckily, his pains hadn’t begun until he was almost to the dealer’s
shack He stumbled his was into the alley it was always set up in. Sure
enough, at the end, illuminated by a red and blue neon sign, was an
impromptu shack. It had to be easy to put up and take down so the
police and Praetorians wouldn’t notice it when the made their rounds in
daylight. At night it didn’t matter because no cop or guard would be
willing to walk down an alley at risk of death.
Bathed in pale neon
light was the shack. Some plywood boards held up by a dumpster at the
rear and double stacked barrels at the front. It provided just enough
cover to keep Little Nero dry when it rains and not enough to comfort
anyone who may walk by. Nero was sitting on a milk crate with a
cardboard box as a table in front of him. A tweaking man was sitting,
leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the alley from Nero’s.
The man wasn’t really tweaking, he was a guard and lookout for when
Nero was doing business. His name was Francisco.
Herodotus stumbled
down the alley, using the alley wall as a crutch. Nero smiled at his
coming. “Hero, my friend. You should have come earlier. I can see that
you are in pain.”
Hero grinned, but it turned into a grimace. “You know me,” he said, “always waiting ‘til the last minute.”
“You need Zappa, yes?”
Nero nodded.
“Let me check my stock, I think I have some.” He turned on the crate
and dug in another box, behind him. As he looked, he spoke, “Zappa is
getting harder and harder to find. The Imperial bastards are finding
all the labs that make it. Yes, harder and more expensive. I really
only stock it for you, what with you being a good friend and all. Ah!
Here we are, the last of my stock. It’s not much…” Nero held out a
small baggie with a inhaler in it. “Only one. But, that should last you
until I can get some more.”
“Damn it, Nero,” Herodotus hissed,
“that will only last me until tomorrow. Wait,” Hero took the baggie and
studied the inhaler, “that’s not the right color. Look, it’s doesn’t
look right.”
“It’s the light, trust me. Would I cheat an old friend like you? Look, try it and prove it to yourself.”
Hero raised his eyebrow and opened the baggie and took out the inhaler.
He shook it and took a short puffer. Relief and calm came in a wave
through his body. He felt instantly better, happy even.
Nero grinned and nodded, “You see, it’s the right stuff.”
Hero dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills and handed them
to Nero. “That’s for this and what you can get me for tomorrow”
Nero nodded, “Yeah, no problem. I’ll have a half dozen by morning.”
Hero walked off.

Herodotus
woke with his alarm and cursed himself for bothering to set it. “Well,”
He thought to himself, “If I’m going to get up, I might as well go to
work.” He shat, showered and shaved and got dressed for work.
Grateful
he noted the locations of the broken meters, he clocked in and went
right to them. Replacing them required very little work. He unscrewed
the old ones, removed them from the posts, deactivated their locators,
took a new one, activated it’s locator, mounted it and programmed it
into the system. The broken meters, 16 of them in all, took only an
hour or so to replace.
During his work, he passed the alley where
Nero was set up…and the shack was still up. Confused, Herodotus made
his way down the alley. Francisco was still slumbering against the
wall. And Nero was still sitting on his crate. His head rose as Hero
approached. His eyes registered alarm at the uniform walking toward him
and he shouted to Francisco who leapt up, ready to strike with a knife.
Hero
shouted, “No! It’s me!” And held out his hands as if to stop a charging
Francisco. But, it was too late and Francisco was too fast. The knife
slid into his guts smoothly. Falling backward, Hero was struck with the
idea that it didn’t hurt quite as bad as when he needed more Zappa.
Francisco kept a firm grip on the knife so it easily exited the wound
as Hero fell. He was winding up for a killing blow when Nero shouted
for him to stop. Nero stood over a bleeding Herodotus. “Holy shit,
dude. What are you doing here?”
Hero looked at him. “Well, I figured
I had nothing better to do than get fucking stabbed! What the fuck do
you think I’m here for? The Zappa you promised me!”
“Shit dude, I didn’t expect you to come while you were working. Fuck. You alright?”
“I’m fucking bleeding! How do you think I am?”
“Franny,
get a towel from my bag!” The towel was used to put pressure on the
wound. “Dude, I know a place where you can get fixed up without the
cops. Franny, grab his arms, I’ll take his legs. It isn’t far.”

Herodotus
passed out on the way. He awoke to see a beautiful woman tending to
him. “I’m dead, aren’t I?” He said. She giggled and stood away from his
bed. His eyes focused on her clothes. “You’re a nun? I thought you
folks were illegal?”

“Technically, young man,” her voice was sexy, “our order is limited in
number, by the law, but not abolished.”
Herodotus
tried to sit up but was greeted by shooting pain and black spots in his
vision. “Oh, shit. Sorry…” he blushed.
“I’ve
heard worse. You shouldn’t try to get up for at least a couple of days.
We took your drugs since you won’t need them. We have started you on
the anti-drug drug. Wait, that sounds silly, doesn’t it?”
“You took my drugs? What about…”

"The police have not been called, nor will they. You have sanctuary
here and are free to stay until you are fully healed.”
“Nero brought me here?”
“No.
Your friend took you as far as he dared. A Praetorian patrol found you.
They were taking you to a hospital when the Mother Superior here
pleaded with their commander to allow us to take you in. He agreed.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Nor will you ever, I suppose.”

Hero
was soon able to stand and walk around. Every morning, he was given a
pill- the “anti-drug drug”. Apparently, it’s the only way to stop an
addiction to Zappa. And only recently discovered at that. The nurse/nun
told him that he would need the pill every morning for an indefinite
period.
After a week, Hero left. He had been given a month’s supply
of pills and the address of where he could get more. He found that he
still had his job working for the government and that the Nuns had
fixed everything with his bosses.
The month passed quickly. Every
morning, Herodotus woke up refreshed and took a pill. He felt good all
day, something new to him. But, one morning, he awoke to find he had no
pills left. He searched for the slip that had the address on it. It was
a chemist on the other side of the city. He could go there during a
break from work.
He drove to work. He left his car and suddenly lost
all control over his body. He crashed to the ground in horrendous pain.
He had never felt such an intense pain before in his life. He writhed
in agony for several minutes before someone noticed. An ambulance was
called and Herodotus was delivered to a hospital.
“Son, you are
lucky. Most who lapse on their pills don’t make it.” Hero’s doctor
lectured him. “You must never allow yourself to run out of pills.”
Herodotus was confused. “What happened to me?”
“Your body was suffering withdrawal. You missed your dose, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Never miss a dose, I cannot stress that enough.”
“Yeah, but I never had anything like that happen when I was on Zappa.”
“Different drugs have different effects.”
“Yeah, but in this case, the cure is worse than the disease.”
The doctor nodded.

Story coming soon

Tomorrow or the next day I'll have a new story up. I wonder if anyone has read this blog yet, or if it needs hundreds of entries to get noticed...

Nothing to write about

I have nothing to write about. So, I'll tell you about my day.

I woke up. Had my mom try to fix my shitty touch-up job on my car- she only made it worse. Then I sat in front of my computer screen from 11am to 6.10pm when I went with my mom to do a pinewood derby race at a retirement community.

I swear those old folks do the race just to see cars crash. It's like an endurance race. Cars flying apart, flying off the back of the track, pieces jumping several feet in the air. Those people went mad when the cars got wrecked.

Then I had BK, didn't win a prize on the spiderman game.

Now, I'm sitting in front of my computer...nothing to write about.

Car Repair

It seems to me that Mopar enjoys messing with their customers. They have an insidious plan, too. They make spraycans of touchup paint a rare commodity and force consumers to get a tube with a brush. The paint drys very quickly. So quickly, in fact, that by the time you get from the tube to your car, the paint is already half dried and so it goes on in clumps. Also, they make the paint a slightly different color from your car. They claim it's the same, but it's slightly different. Just different enough so you notice it.

It's not a real conspiracy, but it's fun to think of if as one.

A Short Little Story

I am a member of various webforums and on one, I asked for story ideas. I recieved two in a very short time. The first one was: "mutant chipmunks invade France" and the second one was: "Jeno (another forum member) conquers France".

If you like this, come to www.tomatocow.com and click on "forum" and comment if you like.

Here goes:

The woman before me had been drugged and tortured and still she resisted. Why would she do such a thing? I had to find a way to get around her refusal to speak of her crime. She must have committed one; otherwise, she would not be under my special care.
I looked down at the shiny metal tray that hovered at waste level before me. Upon it was a syringe full of a special selection of nano-probes. These would seek out those parts of her brain that held the information and those which feed his will to resist and enhance the former and extinguish the latter. I won’t go in to the details, but she may not survive the procedure. I had to wrestle with my boss, figuratively anyway, to allow me to use these unorthodox means.
I picked up the syringe and found a vein in her neck. The needle inserted, I sent the plunger home, flooding her system with nano-bots. She flopped around like a fish for a while and then steadied.
I asked her, “What happened in Frace?”
She nodded and spoke, “I burnt it.”
Such a simple, childlike answer is exactly what the nanos were supposed to ensure.
“How,” I asked, “Did you burn France. Tell me the whole story.”
She began, “I got the idea from a Professor of Micro-Technology. He discovered a way to transfer the very mind of humans into machines. He was conducting tests on volunteers. He put one volunteer in a car and told him to ride on the freeway. Unfortunately, the volunteer was British and drove on the wrong side.
“Did you know that a car could die? I didn’t until then. His mind was no longer present in the pieces we could find. Of course, he could have been in a very small piece that was never recovered. Can you imagine what it’s like, being on the side of the road for all eternity? It would be awful boring. I wouldn’t want it, not at all. * ho-hum *
“He put one woman into a stove. Sold her on eBay for a year’s worth of research money. That’s not very nice. * ho-hum *
“I figured that if that guy could put people into machines, he could put other things into machines. I asked him and he said that it was possible, but other things wouldn’t understand the nature of machines and so would be of no use. He offered to put me in a spatula, but I declined. * ho-hum *
“How would I make other things understand machines? I asked another professor, this time a professor of Thinky-Doo. He told me that any creature can be made sentient and so anything can understand machines. I asked him how something could be made sentient. He showed me into his lab and presented me with a sentient earthworm.
“The earthworm had a wire coming out of it which attached to a speech synthesizer. ‘Hello young human female’, it said to me, ‘I will now play you a song.’ The worm inched over to a small strip of conductive plastic and rolled around. Out of the speaker came music. The worm sang:
‘This microphone explodes, shattering the molds
Ya either drop tha hits like La O or get tha fuck off tha commode
Wit tha sure shot, sure ta make tha bodies drop
Drop an don’t copy yo, don’t call this a co-opt.
Terror rains drenchin’, quenchin’ tha thirst of tha power dons
That five sided fist-a-gon
Tha rotten sore on tha face of mother earth gets bigger
Tha trippers cold empty ya purse

‘They rally round tha family
With pockets full of shells
They rally round tha family
With pockets full of shells

‘Weapons, not food, not homes, not shoes, not need, just feed tha war cannibal animal
I walk tha corner to tha rubble that used to be the library
Line up to the mind cemetery
What we don’t know keeps tha contracts alive an movin’
They don’t gotta burn tha books they just remove ‘em
While arms warehouses fill as quick as tha cells

‘Rally round tha family, pockets full of shells
Rally round tha family
With pockets full of shells

‘Bulls on Parade!’

“The worm finished. I was amazed at how accurate and real the worm sounded. It really sounded like Rage Against the Machine (who’s songs are now public domain, so copy write companies can kiss my ass). I was amazed.
“I picked up a large piece of metal and hit the professor with it. He fell and hit the ground so hard that his head opened and oozy brain went all over the place. * ho-hum *
“I took his machines. The worm tried to stop me, but it was no match for my superior shoe size. I had my plan.
“I purchased, on the internet, 100,000 flying chipmunks and asked that they be delivered in separate boxes. Two days later, I had 100,000 boxes in my house. I opened each one and made each chipmunk sentient. Soon, I had 100,000 sentient chipmunks.
“I then purchased 100,000 ‘Mega Attack Giganto Claw Robots’ from Priceline.com. They arrived in 5 days and I transferred each chipmunk to it’s own robot.
“Told them, ‘You are my army. Together, we will conquer France!
“I arrayed them in New Foundland, as it’s slightly closer to Europe than Carolina. And sent them on attack! They reached France after several hours of swimming.
“The slaughter was enormous. The chipmunks landed in Brest and within six hours, all of France had surrendered. I paraded my troops through Paris in victory. I then ordered them to kill all inhabitants.”
I looked at her and asked, “What did you do in Canada?”
She smiled and said, “I had a Big Mac.”
“And what,” I asked, “Did you do with the wrapper?”
“I tossed it behind my car.”

I placed her under arrest for littering. She would, of course, receive the most severe punishment out nation allows for: twenty years of Anne Murray and Celine Dion albums. No one had yet survived.
Thus concludes my business here for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.