LIKE A STEEEEEL ROOOOOOOOOSE!!!

Lights...

Music...

Rock music.

Yes, this was it. This was the music. This was rock. The crowds, cheering. The
light glaring. The perm, fully fluffed. The amps pumping out that awesome sound.
This was IT.

Richard Broadham looked out over the crowd, swaying and swooning before him. He
took it all in, the music, the rock, the crowds cheering, the lights glaring,
the hair, the sound. It was all there and it all rocked so hard.

FFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK YEEEEAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As the lead singer of Steel Rose he had been to a lot of gigs before because he
was the lead singer of a famous rock and roll band. But this was it. He stood
before the crowd in the centre of the stage. Like some sort of stone statue or
something. To his left was the lead guitar, still fading out from his awesome
guitar solo. To his right was the bass player, kinda looking like he wish he had
something to do. To his front was the drummer, Anthony Dawkins, because he was
totally facing away from the crowd. Anthony was ok, he thought, but he doesn't
really get rock, you know? No wait, I've got to concentrate, thought Broadham,
as he brought his attention back to the show. Some people thought that Steel
Rose was dead, he thought. Some people said that Steel Rose's time was over.
Some people said that Steel Rose just couldn't rock it like they used to, back
when they first started. Yeah, he thought. They did.

He pulled his mic back up to his face. A rock face, like it was carved from some
sort of stone statue or something. He has smooth lines, soft baby skin and a
milky complexion. Totally like stone.

"You know," he said... and paused.

The crowd cheered.

"You know, some people said that Steel Rose was dead," he said... and paused.

The crowd cheered louder.

"You know, some people said that Steel Rose's time was over," he said... and
paused.

The crowd cheered louderer. "Nooo! NOOOO!!" they cheered.

"You know, some people said that Steel Rose just couldn't rock it like they used
to, back when they first started. Yeah" he said... and paused.

The crowd went silent. Broadham just remembered, he didn't think up what to say
next. He had to stop doing that. Alec, the manager of the band Steel Rose, kept
saying that he had to think through what he was going to say on stage before he
said it. Alec used to make him rehearse it before every show, but lately with
all the drugs and chicks and shit he just hasn't had the time for all that
stuff. He's famous now, he doesn't need all the lessons. He won.

Oh shit the crowd is still silent.

"Yeah well," he said, "well WE SURE SHOWED THEM!!!"

The crowd exploded in a cacacophophony of noise. Yeah yeah yaeh they shouted.
Steel Rose forever! Richard spread his arms out wide, giving in to the noise.
Yeah, he thought, I'm gonna totally score tonight.

That's what is so great about these Detroit fans, he thought. They always rock
so hard, and Steel Rose always sells out here. It has been such a kick-ass
concert. Richard lifted up his mike again.

"Thank you, Chicago!" he said. Oh shit.

The crowd cheered.

Yeah, kickass crowd he thought.

----------------------

Backstage was like a madhouse. Everyone was just working so hard every night.
They had another sell-out concert in Detriot tomorrow, so everyone was working
extra hard to get all the stuff packed up and moved over.

Hans was there, as always. Hans Blix was their hairdresser, arguably the single
most important person in the world other than the members of the band themselves
(except Anthony). He was Belgian, but that's ok because that's where
hairdressers come from. They don't really have rock over there in Belgianland,
they use wood for their shoes. But yeah he knew everything about hair. He was
soo good with their hair that sometimes the band didn't know what they would do
without him. The rest of the time they are usually rocking so hard so they don't
think about things like that.

The band had just come off the stage. The usual people were there. The hot groupies,
the fans, the cardiac surgeon to make sure that their hearts haven't exploded
and of course Hans.

"Ya, mine name iss Hanss" he said with that oh so sexy lissp.

"Yo, Hans-man" said Richard, giving him him a rockin' high five.

Richard walked over to the wombat cage. Yeah, they were going to use the wombats
on-stage but tonight just didn't seem right. Plus they hadn't figured out how to
bite the head off yet. Wombat heads are pretty big, and they are kind of
attached to their bodies. When Richard approached the wombats grew restless and
started bumping against the sides of the cage, making it shake and wobble all
over.

"Hey shouldn't these wombats be totally in a stronger cage or something?" he
asked? Richard doesn't usually bother to address himself to anybody in
particular. He's a rock star, he's important. I mean, he can't spend all his
time looking for someone to talk to. He's too famous for that.

Yeah but this time there was someone with Richard at the time. Ellen the wombat
trainer and cagerer was there.

"Dude, don't worry," she said. "If they escape then we have a backup group of
furries to take care of them. Lol furries."

Richard didn't know what a furrie was, or why they like to lol, so he just left
that one alone and moved on.

Finally he came to the most totally awesome part of the evening. Richard had a
girlfriend, Pearl Haba. She was this totally awesome Japanese chick from Japan.
Her eyes were pearly white with pearly black bit in the middle, like a baby seal
covered in crude oil in the middle of an iceberg. She was the lead singer in her
kick-ass Japanese punk band from Japan, the Violent Mother Jerk-Offs. They were
playing downtown L.A. later tonight.

"Hey lova!" she said, "U wan fry rice?" She was always stuffing herself with
that fry rice. But that's what asian chicks do. Richard didn't care, so long as
she stayed thin. Asian chicks are always thin so he should be ok there.

"Whoah, no thanks babe," he said. "I mean, that's totally cool and stuff but I
gotta take lots of drugs and shit tonight. I'm a famous rock star." That's true.

"You know," he continued, "you just can't get as high off a full stomach".
That's also true.

"Yeah well, you me wanna sucky sucky?" she asked. God damn asian chicks are so
hot. "Oh fuck," she said, looking at her Mickey Mouse watch, "look at time!
Me go now. Me love you long time."

She leaned over and gave him a sultry kiss. Her toung was soft and slippery,
like a handful of snails without their shells. She took his toung into her
mouth, rolling it around, sucking and biting it gently. She had such an awesome
mouth. Richard couldn't stop thinking about asian snails.

The kiss ended with a loud pop. Pearl had a short giggle and bounced daintly out
of the room. She had a helicopter waiting on the roof to take her to a gig she
had tonight in LA with her band the VIOLENT MOTHER JERK_OFFS. Richard eyes glued
themselves to her ass as she left. He had strong feelings for her. Maybe it was
love he thought. He knew that she loved him, loved him for long time. Maybe it
was time to start the loving back he thought. Yeah. Now where are the groupies?

The groupies were there, as always, in the back lounge. Soft and nubile young
things they were. Like a big mound of flesh pillows. They wanted it, he knew,
they always wanted it. Sure they had more back at the beginning. Some of them
were a bit iffy, you know, like 13 year olds and stuff. They didn't get so many
nowadays, maybe 10 or 15 a night, and they are starting to, you know, sag. But
still, they wanted it.

Richard walked up to a lovely pair of tits in a tight white tshirt and a leather
jacket. The tits were connected to a chest, which had a waist at the bottom that
connected to a pair of very sexy legs. Yeah he liked those legs he thought.

He walked up to the tits, looking them squarly in the eye. "So, aaah," he
stumbled. Damn it's so much harder when I'm not completely wasted he thought.

"So, aaah, hey there," he said straight to the tits, "ever wanted to be at a
errr, private Steel Rose gig?" he asked. "Just you, me, a few lines of coke.
Maybe a few of your friends?"

"Maybe later." The tits had a voice. Well, the tits had a chest and there was a
head on the top. A sexy head will long blonde hair growing out the top. Her skin
was soft and smooth, like an octopuseses. It couldn't change colour though, but
that's probably normal for chicks.

The tit's chest's arm lifted up a card. It was a press pass, the photo looked a
lot like the face on the tit's chest's head. The name underneath was Kelly
Carson.

"I'm Kelly Carson, reporter for Acid Magazine, the best rock music magazine in
the world?" she said.

"So ahh," he said, "how about it?"

"How about what?" she responded sounding somewhat indignantly.

Alec Kesh, the manager for Steel Rose, stepped in.

"He means how about an interview? How about a world-exclusive interview with
one of the world's greatest rock reporters? That's what you meant Richard didn't
you?" Fuck head.

"Yeah," he said and nodded. Alec had trained him well.

"Ok here then," Alec said, gesturing towards the couch, "let us all sit on this
couch and interview things."

"Yes let us all sit and interview," said Kelly. She was tired of this
conversation and wanted to start the interview.

"So did you have a good show tonight? How does the Boston crowd treat you."

Richard snorted a line off the hip of a groupie. He usually had a few groupies,
you know, "lined up" in the lounge after a show.

"Yeah, fuck it's like totally awesome!" he said.

"So did you hear about the Burn gig last night? Apparently they sold out the
entire stadium. They had to airlift in some extra speaker stacks."

"Dude FUCK THE BURN!" he shouted. Burn burn burn! Won't anyone shut up about
that fucking burn band? he shouted (inside his head). Jeez it just fucking stays
in there, like it's fucking, I don't know, IMPRINTED in my head!

"The Burn don't know how to rock!" he exclaimed. "The Burn are like fucking
jazz, man. Everyone says they love jazz. No-one loves jazz they just want to
look fucking cool and shit."

Kelly wasn't knodding her head when he talked. That knocked him off-balance. He
wasn't used to that.

"So you aren't worried about going head to head with Burn at the Woodrock
Festival next week? You guys are going to be playing on different stages at the
same time. Two of the biggest bands in the world are going to be playing
side-by-side at the world's biggest rock festival. I mean, why would they
schedule the two biggest bands to play at the same time." Aren't you scared?
"she asked."

"Nooes! We will fucking bury the Burn!" he replied.

Kelly had heard enough. She has already exceeded her daily word count, she might
as well move onto the next chapter now. "Richard Broadham, thank you for the
interview."

Feel the Burn

Lights.

Music.

Rock music.

Yeah this was it. This was rock. Tyler Dunn stood before the crowd, swaying and
swooning beneath him. As the lead singer in the world famous "Burn" rock and
roll band he had seen some awesome crowds before. But these guys were the best.
Boston always rocked the stadium so hard. It had all come together tonight. The
lights, the music, the crowd, the hair. The hair was really good. It puffed up so
well, like a tarred and feathered puffer fish. And it stayed too, it stayed up all
night even through the massive shredding guitar solos. He really had to thank
the lead guitarist after the show. Man he had to thank everybody this was just
awesome.

"Thank you Boston!," he yelled into the mike. The crowd surged towards the stage.
They didn't want it to be over yet. They still hadn't heard the debut single,
Feel the Burn, to which Burn owed all of their rock-star success.

Tyler knew the crowd, he knew they wanted it. He bathed in their wants every
night, feeling their desire splashing all over his rock hard abs like fine wine.

"Oh, you guys are still here?" he said to the crowd. The crowd cheered louder.
"Oh well, maybe we should play another song" he asked? Yes yes yes they
screamed back.

"Ok well here's one of our lesser known songs. This is called Feel the Burn."

Dakota Freewood lead them in on the drums. He's such an awesome drummer. Tyler
really had to thank him after the show. The kicked drummed thumped rythmically,
like Bugs Bunny whenever he saw a sexy female bunny. Max Danar took up bass
guitar, laying down a smooth groove, like Top Cat. Tyler placed his fingers on
the fret board. He held his right hand high above his head, pick in hand. The
crowd was waiting. Waiting for that massive opening riff. The riff that started
it all, the fame, the fortune, the general awesomeness of all these cool people
hanging out. Love, happiness and rock. He was waiting too. Waiting like Wild E
Coyote, about to snare that elusive Road Runner. He his right arm drop...

The sound blasted out the speaker stack like it was pumping out of a much louder
stack of speakers. Like they had an extra $20,000 dollars for some more
speakers, amps, and assorted cabling. No, Burn didn't need that. Burn had a
successful investment solution provided by their financial adviser. Mostly
assorted mortgage trusts. Interest rates were fairly high at the time, and
Dakota wasn't one for taking risks in this volatile financial market. So they
stayed with stable investments. It also helped in case the band had a terrible
second album. Burn weren't so sure about how others viewed their music. They
loved doing what they do, and if people enjoy their music then that's cool too.
But they might want to go their separate ways in a few years. If they invested
in stocks then that is a long-term investment. Stocks tend to get higher returns
(assuming a diverse portfolio of blue-chip and resource stocks), but they are a
long-term investment. You may have to wait up to ten years to see that 22
percent return. Burn might not be around in ten years. So mortgage trusts seem
like a solid investment.

No, Burn didn't need such a ludicrously expensive set of speakers. Burn rocked
it so hard. Rocked it so hard that the speakers wanted to go louder. The amps
took it too. They could feel that music coursing through them. They wanted it
louder, LOUDER!

Tyler rocked it hard. Head banging down toward the ground, beautifully permed
hair staying supple and yet firm. He really had to thank Hans for that. Hans was
such an awesome hair stylist. Tyler could really respect that in a guy. He might
be gay, but that's cool. The intro was almost completed, he walked up to the
microphone and lifted his eyes up to the sky (Tyler, not Hans).

    Show me what you want babe,
    and I'll give you what you neeeed.
    Coz we're going down to Nandos,
    gonna have ourselves a feeeeeeed!

    Nandos Nandos yeeaAAAHHHH!!!!!
    Yes I'm talking 'bout
    Nandos Nandos yeeeaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Tyler had a talent for making up the lyrics to his songs on the fly. He didn't
really know what he was singing about. What the hell is Nandos? He has no idea.
But it feels good, and it sounds good. The crowd was rocking, the band was
rocking. Nothing else really mattered.

    Take me to the outback
    yeah I'll see a wallaby!
    But watch out for the wombat,
    he's our natural eneeemyyyyyyyyy!

That was completely random, but totally gnarly. Tyler loved wombats though, such
cute little critters. The idea of wombats as bloody thirsty killers was a
popular misconception. They were just misunderstood. They were going to get
wombats on stage earlier this evening. Like most bands of the day they were
heavily investing in wombat-rock-band research and development. There were high
hopes one day of tight Rock Band-wombat integration. It was a pipe-dream at the
moment. They had wombats in the lab, but they were nowhere near stable enough
for safe outdoors use around a bunch of raving fans. There would be a huge
amount of insane safety issues if there were wombats even in the general
vicinity of a Burn rock concert. Scientists say that even a few days after a
Burn concert, the residual effects of the rock could excite a wombat into a
maniacal frenzy. And that would be totally not cool. 

It was all very interesting, especially to wombatologists. Back to the song:

    But all love to the wombat
    yeah he's just misunderstood.
    Just don't poke him with a stick, yeah.
    That wouldn't be friend-ly.

Tyler kicked in to his wild guitar solo. He had massive shredding skills and the
crowd was going wild. Two or three minutes later he was still shredding it.
Totally shred-worthy dude that Tyler is. Finally, no not finally, that sounds
like we are glad it's over. No, when the time was right, when the crowd was
satiated with the shred, and yet not overly-shredded, Tyler ceased shredding.
I'm suggesting that he picked the exactly right time to cease the shred. An
awesome solo, it was.

The band kicked it up a notch, getting back into the groove of the song with a
little extra in the kick drum.

    C'mon take me out
    baby now,
    take me to a show
    we'll see those awesome local bands
    yeah gotta support the local scene
    yeeaaahhh!

That didn't really go to well with the song but at that point everyone was kind
of tired from the solo. The song wound out with a massive head-bang and some
totally crashing hats.

Man, Tyler thought, I've over-done it again. I keep doing that. I tried to put
an awesome message in the song, you know. You gotta support the local scene, get
all those kids at the all ages gigs and everything. You may even find the next
Burn, not to suggest that we think we're the greatest band in the world or
anything though. 

Aww man, now he lost the buzz.

Walking backstage he had the look. That awesome brooding musician look that all
the great musos had. He was really bummed out about that last verse. He was
starting to consider thinking up the lyrics to his song before he said them. It
just didn't seem right though, like he was giving up on his creative vision. He
needed to become a better person, you know.

Minnie Sota was there backstage. She was Tylers totally cute Japanese girlfriend
from Japan. She was like a little button wrapped in a snowflake to him. Oh my
god that made like no sense but it sounded kind of cute. She wore a black
leather jacket with a stylised kitten on it. The kitten had a little leather
jacket on and was holding a couple of drumsticks. So cute. Minnie was a drummer
in this cool Japanese punk band the Violent Mother Jerk-Offs. Tyler thought they
had a cool sound. So old school but not afraid to be new and do their own thing,
you know?

He thought it was really cool that there were all girl punk bands now. It's like
totally cool for women to feel empowered enough to play drums and electric
guitar and scream. Such an inspiration to the next generation of female
musicians.

"Hey lover," she said. Tyler blushed. She always knew how to make him blush.
Oooh lover! they others said. Maybe you two should get a room? they pondered
labouriously. "Pearl and I have this gig in LA in about 30 minutes so we gotta
go. They show today was absolutely awesome. I really liked that last verse in
Feel the Burn. Totally awesome."

She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek then walked out the door. Her
helicopter was waiting on the roof pad. Man, he thought, she's such a
beautifully awesome girlfriend. He was lucky to have a girl like her. Lucky
indeed. Most people don't know about Japan, or they get it confused with China,
though the two couldn't be further apart. Sure they shared the same writing
system, well technically one of the three Japanese writing systems is a copy of
the Chinese system. Even then they didn't copy the pronouciation of the words,
leading to the unique situation where a Japanese and Chinese person could write
to each other and get the basic concept of each others conversation, but they
couldn't talk to each other. Aside from that they were almost completely
different.

But deep inside he knew. He knew his and her terrible dark secrets, like the
towels. There was something that she hadn't told him. Something that could
terrify and normal person, maybe embarrass a few more. Some people might like
it though. Sick fucks.

Let's see where this takes us

Richard Broadham lounged lazily in his luxurious inner city mansion. Casually
running his hands over his rock hard abs and stunning buff chest, he couldn't
stop admiring the place he had made for himself in this world.

The walls were lined with paint. White paint, a symbol of purity and
cleanliness. Like his musical soul. The paint was evenly coated along the length
of the wall, where it eventually met at right angles with another wall. This
continued until the walls were closed in, like with a room with four walls. A
roof was above the walls, also painted white except on the top outside which was
tiles. The walls held Steel Rose posters from throughout the years, from their
dirty punk beginnings, all spiky gelled hair and loose leather, to their latest
work: soft permed hair and tight leather. Steel Rose had grown follically
throughout their career.

The room was littered with miscellaneous tidbits. A few pinball machines over by
the luxurious hot tub, a surround sound stereo system and a 1 metre high
definition plasma TV. A few breeding stallions over by the private luxury yacht
at his private inner city dock. What with him being a famous rock star and all
he could afford all these things and more. He could have everything he wanted,
everything... everything except... no! no! no!

He had it all, fame, money, power, babes, a luxurious inner city mansion in
which he could lounge, lazily. God, look at these abs. Rock hard, he thought.
Like myself. Richard was dressed in the typical rock star garb. A studded
leather jacket (no shirt), tight leather pants (no underwear), leather boots
(with socks. Black socks). His hair was perfectly permed, Hans had just dropped
by for a morning fluffing. Having a fluffer was important for an importantant
Rock Star such as Richard Broadham. People were always amazed at Richard
whenever he told them he had a fluffer.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he got lonely in here. He had fifty-four rooms of
pure luxury. But sometimes it was almost too lonely. "Perhaps fame can't buy you
everything?" prompted a voice in his head. No! No! He thought at once, blocking
the other thoughts from his mind. But sometimes, just sometimes he just needed
to see someone, anyone, just another human being to confirm his own lonely
existence. It was hopeless, he thought, and signalled the butler for another
whisky on the rox.

Suddenly!... there was a knock at the door.

It was Alec, the band manager. He was a real pro, decked out in the finest
Italian suits, a pure silk pink shirt with a baby blue tie. Underneath those
fine Mediterraneon threads rippled the taut bronzed muscles of an Australian
man. Impeccable pecs, disasterous thighs. They are men's men, those Australian
men, Richard thought. Very manly.

He brought Shirley, his lawyer wife. She was fully kitted in a dark blue power
suit. Shoulder pads a mile wide. God damn those shoulder pads made her look hot,
Richard thought. I could have that, if I wanted, he thought. All it would take
would be a wink, a nod. I'm a famous rock star, I can have whatever I want just
by clicking my fingers. Yes, he thought, those shoulder pads will be mine, I can
finally be pret- NO! NO! Stop thinking that!

"Richard, maaaate!" he said in his thick Australian accent, "How's things. I
guess pretty good what with me being the manager of your famous rock band.
Blimey."

"Yeah well we thought we'd just drop by in the Torana. Me and the missus are off
to a charity gig, by jingoes by crikey," he said. "You wanna come?"

Richard, fighting a battle with himself, fighting fighting fighitng almost
didn't hear his friend Alec. He stole his eyes off those shoulders. So proud, so
defiant. And faced his friend.

"Yes I would like to accompany you are your wife to this charity event. What
with me being a famous rock star and all."

"Bonza! Carn' down then. The whole band's in the car!" exclaimed Alec. He took
another swig at his Fosters, finding it empty.

"Crikey, I'm as dry as a dead dingo's donger!"

---------------

Tyler found it important, as a rule, to support charity. Think global, act local
someone once said to him. He has big thoughts, global thoughts, sometimes,
especially late night after a few buds. Time to put in the local action he
thought. Really make a difference in the world. Sure he may be the lead singer
and guitarist in the world famous rock and roll band Burn.

He was singing for a charity gig at a bar in Boston. All acoustic, you know,
something new to get the creative juices flowing. They even printed out the
lyrics for him to sing. It made for a refreshing change for everyone involved.

You're just hiding from yourself, he thought. No! nooes! he thought again
quickly.

Something caught his eye. Over there behind the old lady with the pram full of
cans. A quick flash of black. Tyler had a bad feeling about this. He took in a
quick scan of the room. He saw the signs everywhere, most people had a shadow,
but at the moment they were slightly darker than usual. Also, one of them was at
the bar ordering sake. Ninjas, he thought. They were good, oh they were good,
and they were ready for him. Ready to attack the moment he let his guard down.

He couldn't let his aura slip. He had to concentrate one hundred percent, else
the ninjas might flip out and totally kill everyone in the room. Including
himself.

---------------

Richard lounged lazily in the back of his stretched limo. The rest of the band
were here with him as they tottered on down to a local gig, a charity gig, on
the highway. Right here in Boston at a local bar. Some people have said that
Tyler Dann was still in town after Burns massive sell-out concert. Ninjas too.
Good thing they had a police escort.

The whole band was here, debating about the future direction of the band. It's
important for a band to have these sorts of discussions. Being musicians of the
highest caliber they have always been passionate about it. The drummer, Tony,
was pushing for a complete makeover.

"You know maybe hair isn't supposed to look this way," he said, brushing away a
forelock of his bleached perm. "Let's just go natural, let it out, I say. No
perms, no bleach. Just plain old uncut hair the way nature intended."

"Dude, that's totally cool and stuff," said the bass player. "But what about the
rest of us? I'm thirty six, I've been in this band for over ten years and I've
had to wear a wig for the last four years. I can't grow hair naturally. I need a
wig, a big one that couldn't possibly look like a wig. You fuckin' idiot. I'm
not a fag."

"What about our wombat-rock technology?" he replied. "Surely that will solve all
our problems, as most problems can be solved with technology alone?"

The bass player had a solution. He had a real solution for all this. He gave a
nodd to Albert, the lead guitarist, who opened the door for him.

"Hey Tony," said the bass player pointing out the door, "what's that over
there."

"I don't know, let me get a closer look" said Tony, shuffling over towards the
door. He leaned his head out the window and took a look at the bitumen streaming
past at eight miles an hour. "Looks like some sort of interstate highw-"

The bass player kicked Tony in the ass with his boot, sending Tony flying out
the side door to be crushed senselessly by their police escort. Richard was
enraged. Such a senseless waste of human life.

"Bass player you fuckface!" he exclaimed. "We could have used him as a shield
against the ninjas!"

---------------

Tyler was rockin' out as only Tyler knows how. Sure it was a little more
difficult being an acoustic gig and what with all the ninjas around. He just had
to keep his Chi up, his own personal AT field that was impenetrable with
conventional weapons. No, he thought, you have to cancel that stuff out with an
equivalent AT field, then battle hand to hand/tentacle-thing, as nature
intended.

They had just started the last song, a love song of lust and mourning. Tyler was
just about to sing, he had printed lyrics which made it a lot easier, just about
to sing when it happened. It was bound to happen, eventually, if you thought
about it. I mean, you don't build up to this sort of thing and just let it
fizzle.

HE walked in the door. That man, Richard Broadham. Tyler's eyes locked on to
Richard's. A stunning pair of blue eyes with black bits in the middle,
surrounded by a sea of white. He let his eyes drift, drift over that fine chest,
those rock hard abs and those tight leather pants. He was well-fluffed, he
thought. A firm package indeed. Nice boots as well by the way he thought.

The song took on extra meaning for him, and for Richard. Never had they felt
this way before. Finally someone, someone who understands these deep feelings
inside. Sure the song was about a girl. But everyone in the room knew who the
girl was in this situation. It was Richard, the buff rock star. Pansy.

The song built in an epic crescendo topped with a plea. A plea for love, the
love of the woman (Richard) who understands him (Tyler), understands his needs
(for love and understanding). At that moment, locked in gaze across the room.
There was no crowd, no stage, no lights, no speakers. There were no ninjas,
readying themselves to attack the moment he let his guard down.

He forget about all that. Everything he needed in this world was right in front
of him. He let his guard down and let love in.

Shabu Shabu Activate!

Deep beneath the sea crept a dark mass of fur and emotion. Under normal light
that fur would be brown. Under normal conditions that emotion would be "mild
bemusement" with perhaps a shade of "quiet retirement". But down here in the
darkness, five miles deep on the ocean floor it didn't feel any of those things.

Hate. That is what it felt. Hate. Hate for all things, for everything, but
especially for him. For what he had done there could be no forgiveness. What he
felt he could not put into words. Its kind did not need words, they had gone
beyond them millenia ago, well before the fell hand of Man had swept across the
land. They had made peace with the Aborigines, oh so many years ago. It could
remember those men, noble and proud, with those little sticks through their
noses. Very strange. They had made peace in those times. 

Suddenly, forty thousand years later Europeans arrived. Lacking insight, its
kind had no problems dealing with them. The Europeans could not understand the
true nature of things. They walked ON the land. For over two hundred short years
they had lived side by side, one completely unaware of the others presence.
Until one man, that man, ruined it for everyone!

"Yes, Men," it thought, without using words, "such strange creatures. I think it
is time that we showed them their place in this world. Top of the food chain, I
think not!"

It continued, plodding along the ocean floor, slowly, purposefully. It had been
a long journey from that island continent all the way to the west coast of the
Americas. He stopped in Tahiti for a break, caught some sun and some surf, that
was pretty cool.

"Hate." it thought again, not using words. "That is what I am feeling now. I
hate. I hate Alec Kesh!"

------------------------

Minnie Sota and Pearl Haba stepped off of their luxury helicopter into the
middle of one of the most exclusive shopping districts in Los Angeles,
California, on the west coast of the Americas. As the respective lead singer and
drummer in the Violent Mother Jerk-Offs, one of the most successful all-girl
Japanese punk bands in the US, they knew a thing or two about making an
entrance.

Minnie was wearing traditional Japanese clothing: a black skirt, red top
combination with fish-net stockings, glossy red platform shoes, leg warmers and
a Hello Kitty jacket. On her head was a funky cream beret and a large pair of
delicately framed glasses. He hair was a neck length cut with a fringe, giving
her a girl-next-door look.

Pearl was also wearing traditional Japanese clothing: a soft blue silk kimono
with an embroidered white flower pattern, beautifully accenting her china white
obi and traditional lacquered chopsticks in her hair. She was wearing
traditional wooden Japanese shoes.

They were in town to play a show and had just flown in from Boston where their
boyfriends were doing whatever it is that they do. The show was on in ten
minutes, but that still left them at least nine minutes and thirty seconds to
get some serious shopping done.

"It's so cool that we could get some shopping done before they show!" exclaimed
Minnie.

"Watashi-mo seiryu dono makida soku desune!" replied Pearl.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" they both laughed. Pearl was a real comedian
sometimes.

With only nine minutes and ten seconds of shopping time left they were running
out of time, the show was set to start in about ten minutes. Turning to face
each other, Pearl and Minnie locked their right arms together. To bemused
pedestrians, it appeared as though the two were about to skip off into the
sunset. Idiots, you have no idea what is in store for you! Watch this!

As one they shouted together in unison: "SHABU SHABU AKUTIVATU!"

In a dazzling flash of light Minnie and Pearl were transformed from demure punk
rock stars into a pair of superheros. Gone were the outfits, instead replaced
with one-piece single color latex outfits. Futuristic looking plastic moulded
armour was attached at the most anatomically appropriate places: the calves
and shoulders. Minnie was a bright baby pink, Pearl a dark forest green. Both
outfits were covered with glitter, giving them an awesome glittery appearance in
the sunlight.

Onlookers stood back in shock. This sort of stuff was a regular occurrence in
Japan - a simple byproduct of a naturally superior race. These pathetic American
onlookers, with their googly eyes and big noses, just couldn't comprehend the
situation. Ha! Maybe they should go and eat a "big American hamburger". Fatties.

But enough of that. There was serious shopping to be done.

Pearl led the charge, taking out several shoppers blocking the door to a
stationery store. Pearl found the cutest little Moshimaro mechanical pencil with
matching eraser. Minnie got a Snoopy writing pad and envelope set for all the
letters she writes. Being a super famous punk singer meant that she had lots of
pen pals.

"There's a mobile phone store just a few blocks from here," said Minnie. "Let's
go!". She formed a fist with her hand and held it out above her head. Pearl did
they same and they immediately flew straight through the storefront window.
Stopping for a moment a few hundred meters in the air, Minnie caught a glimpse
of a dark shadow, a hundred meters wide and two hundred metres in length just
off the coast.

"It couldn't be," she thought, and continued down to the mobile store. Her
thoughts were troubling her as she began browsing mobile phone covers with
impossibly fast super speed. Pearl was having fun with some Shinda Panda hand
straps. She didn't tell Pearl about it. Asian people don't talk about their
feelings. Feelings aren't polite.

------------------------

Alec Kesh drew his sword and ran it through the nearest ninja he could find. He
knew this was going to be trouble at this local charity gig. So many ninja.
There's going to be a hell of a dry cleaning bill after this one, he thought,
fair dinkum.

Their police escort were on their feet at once, bursting into the music
establishment, drawing their guns and firing at the mass of black cotton before
them. Their aim was true, but the bullets had no effect.

"Idiots," thought Alec, "conventional weapons won't work against an AT field."

Several ninja jumped in behind the group of officers, felling several dozen with
fell swoops of their deadly ninja blades.

Alec focused back onto himself. He wanted to jump up and take care of business,
if you know what I mean. But he had a job to do and by crikey he was going to do
it. He had to protect Richard. Richard was in some sort of deadly ninja trance.
His eyes locked with Tyler Dann. What the hell was Tyler Dann doing at a local
charity gig? What the hell was the entirety of Steel Rose doing at a local
charity gig?

The bass player picked up his bass guitar and swung wildly at the pack of ninja,
beheading two and crushing three against the wall. "He's pretty good, for a bass
player," though Alec. "But he's only a level 2 Barbarian bass player. With a
base Constitution of 16 he'll get an extra four hit points and he'll be able to
go into Barbarian Rage for 7 rounds. That should be enough to last for this
encounter, but with the -2 to Armor Class he is sure is going to be feeling it
in the morning. Good thing he brought along that +1 bass guitar of ninja
slaying."

Two ninjas flew straight towards Richard, deadly poisoned ninja blades held out
before them. The dreaded kittens claw attack. Only a master of the deadly arts
could counter such an attack. A lame-o noob like Richard didn't stand a chance.
Alec jumped to the left, neatly beheading one of the ninja in mid-air. Jumping
off of the flying dead body of the ninja, he leaped over Richard and tackled the
opposing ninja.

The sheer force of the tackle took them both through a window and into a
neighbouring swimming pool. The water frothed with furious intensity as Alec and
the ninja fought each other to the death with all their might. Suddenly the
frothing stopped, leaving the water clear as crystal. We can't see who won
though because our viewpoint is so close to the ground. We can only see the
surface of the pool and nobody has broken the surface yet. Maybe both of them
died in the attack. It happens surprisingly often, they don't show that in the
movies and it would be kind of cool if this one did.

Suddenly a hand breaks the calm surface. There's no black cloth around it, just
pure taut bronzed skin and muscle. This looks promising! The hand grabs the edge
of the pool, pulling the rest of the body up and onto the edge. It's Alec! Alec
killed the ninja!

Alec pulled himself out of the pool, dripping wet after losing all of his
clothes except for his emergency speedos. No time for describing that in detail,
those smooth pecs and rock hard abs, there were ninjas on the loose.

Suddenly time seemed to stop still for Alec. The sky darkened and the wind
stopped blowing against that firm firm butt. He could feel it, feel it calling
him. That song of hate and sorrow. It was here, somehow it had made it here.
"No," he thought, "not now. It couldn't be. That abomination. I took care of
that thing a long time ago."

He looked back into the pub. The bass player was putting up a valiant effort,
but he was running short on Cure Light Wounds potions. If Alec didn't get in
there sometime soon they might have to start rolling up some new characters.

"It's far away," he thought, "surely there is someone who can take that thing
out before it gets here. As for me," he thought, "it's time to take out the
trash." Alec somersaulted through the window back into the fray.


Assorted random carnage and fan service

It emerged from the sea and sat on the beach, crushing hundreds of innocent
bystanders. Taking it's first breaths in fifteen years it savoured the sweet
salty aroma of human blood. It's ears, fully perked, soaked up the screams of
human misery below him. Another fun day at the beach, he thought?

--------------------------------

Ms E was watching the carnage from afar, watching a live satellite feed. Her
organisation was far-reaching and powerful. This particular satellite is
reserved entirely for her own private use. It was a retrofitted KH-11 Keyhole
reconnaissance satellite. Its 233 centimetre primary mirror could resolve
objects as small as ten centimeters, making it theoretically able to track a
single person from space. So long as there is minimal atmospheric disturbance,
and the person never wears a hat and only travels in their convertible car with
the roof down of course.

She was watching the show with her 17-inch Apple Macbook Pro. With the power of
the Intel Core Duo microprocessor along with three gigabytes of RAM standard,
the Macbook Pro had more than enough power to perform all her work duties with
ease and style while still having the grunt to play all the latest video games.

Of course, multimedia has always been a strong point of the Apple systems and
today only served to showcase that. It's 17 inch TFT display had enough punch to
take your breath away. I mean, the colours! Look at those reds, she thought.
Parts of the beach were soaked red with blood, while other parts were still a
pristine bright white. No bleeding colors or faded yellows. This contrast ratio
was fantastic.

She brought up her iChat window. Yes, the Boss was in. He would be pleased with
her progress. It pleases her when He is pleased, and pleased as well when the
pleasing of He is performed by herself. If it was her that did the pleasing, and
he was pleased, there was a chance that the pleasing could be precipitate yet
more pleasing. So on and so forth until finally, contentment.

She initiated video chat with the Boss. The Macbook Pro had an iSight camera in
the screen bezel, and iChat integration made iChatting to iPeople an iBreeze.

"iAm the boss!" he said through the power of teh intarwebs. "The big boss of
this whole organisation. And you are my underling, young underlinger. Tell me,
what news do you have to tell me?"

"It has reached the shore and is busy crumpling the innocent, my liege," she
said. "It is all going according to the plan."

"It has reached the shore. Excellent. It IS all going accordian to the plan. My
plan. For I am in charge of the things around here. I am pleased. You should be
pleased." said the Boss.

"I am pleased. Master." she said.

"Excellent. Then let us all be pleased." said the Master. "Now, whoever may be
watching us has probably derived any of the possible subtexts or in-jokes and
determined the real-life counterparts. This conversation shall end." The boss
closed the conversation window.

Ms E was pleased that He was pleased. She opened her diary and took a look at the
plan:

 1. Reach America
 2. Crush beach goers / assorted random carnage
 3. ...
 4. Major pleasing

Hmmm... two out of four, she thought. Not bad for one day. If only she knew what
number three involved. It was all was going according to the plan, she thought. 

Taking herself back to the satellite feed, she let out a belly-full of maniacal
laughter. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

"This is so going onto Youtube," she said.

--------------------------------

"These earrings are just sooo cute," said Minnie, admiring herself in the
mirror. The earrings were little kittens with bowties matching her full body
latex powersuit.

"Moshi moshi, teppanyaki sushi samurai ninja bingo-des!" said Pearl.

"HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!" they laughed.

"Pearl, you are so fucking funny!!!" said Minnie. Yeah.

Suddenly a Japanese exchange student from Japan burst into the door. She was
wearing a bikini covered in blood and sand. The rest of her body was covered in
sand and blood too. And her hair.

She stumbled through the door and quickly browsed through some metallic ink
Pucca pens before collapsing in the arms of Minnie.

"Help-u" she weeped, her breath becoming ragged. "Help-u, bee-chu. Kangaroo!"

Minnie locked eyes with Pearl. She dropped the girl on the floor.

"Let's do this." said Minnie. The immediately flew straight out the window. She
didn't pay for the earrings. 

Unfortunately for Minnie California has a three-strikes law concerning
non-violent crimes. Due to a clerical error, Minnie's records were mixed up with
that of another Minnie Sota (there are fourteen Minnie Sotas on the west coast
alone). The other Minnie Sota had already received two strikes. One for
spray-painting her name on a donkey, the other for unintentional destruction of
most of downtown San Francisco. California does not consider the severity of the
law when passing sentence on the third offence. 

For example, in the case of Ewing vs California in 2003, a man was found guilty
of having stolen three golf clubs by putting them down his pants. California law
mandated that he be sentenced to life in prison with a no chance of parole for
at least twenty five years.

In Lockyer v. Andrade (2003). Andrade, Army veteran and father of three, had
stolen five videotapes in 1995, Batman Forever, Casper, The Fox and The Hound,
The Pebble and the Penguin and Snow White. Two weeks later, at a different
store, he stole Cinderella, Free Willy 2, Little Women and Santa Clause. Because
of his previous convictions for burglary of (unoccupied) houses twelve years
earlier in 1983 Andrade was sentenced to life imprisonment with a minimum of
fifty years before a chance of parole.

Strangely, if in his previous crimes in 1983 Andrade had raped or murdered the
homeowners he would have received a lighter sentence.

Minnie was unaware of all of these things as she and Pearl rocketed up into the
sky. There is was plain for all to see. It was rolling up and down the beach
like a twenty-something with too much sugar rolling down a hill. Blood and guts
and sand and bones all mixed into the fur.

The thing was a true blue killing machine, no doubt about that. With it's squat
low body and stubby little legs it could crush and ram every building in LA in a
matter of minutes. With that mouth and cute button nose it could chew the top
off a mountain for breakfast, before moving onto something a bit heavier like
maybe a bridge or a light aircraft carrier. For mains it likes skyscrapers and
other large buildings. For desserts, well, right now it could really go for a
nice Space Shuttle or a maybe a national monument. Perhaps the Jefferson
memorial. Not the Washington Monument though. Imagine someone taking a picture
of you opening your mouth up to take that thing on. You would look totally gay.
How embarrassing. 

It was roaring really loudly. I was roaring, look at me! Look at me, humans! I'm
bathing in the blood of the innocent AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!
It was taunting them, suggesting somehow that although it was a giant monster it
was still better than other people. Just like a man, Pearl thought. No not a
man! thought the monster. I'm a wombat!

"I thought that chick said it was a kangaroo?" said Minnie.

--------------------------------

Alec was fighting valiantly, but it looked like a lost cause. Even with buff
spells he couldn't take on this many ninja in a single fight. The bass player
was unconscious and bleeding. Without adequate help from a band member he was
losing one hit point every round with a ten percent chance to stop the bleeding.

And he was already at -6.

Then, just as Alec was thinking of ditching making a run for himself (maybe pick
up some loot later if the ninjas left anything behind, they like to travel light
so he could still get the bass guitar and try to sell it back in town to pay off
a cleric for a summon spell) Richard burst into song. With at least 12 ranks in
the Perform skill he could Inspire Greatness in team mates. 

The bass player bleeded to -7.

This gave Alec the extra temporary hit points and competence bonus to attacks
that he needed to dispatch the remaining ninjas.

The bass player bled to -8. OMG that's an 81% chance of death!

Richard patched up the bass player. He was back up to zero hit points,
unconscious but stable. Phew! They could all breathe a sigh of relief.

"We can't stay here and sigh of relief for long," Alec said. "There will be more
ninja soon. They never stop. They are like a flood, a flood of water mixed in
with fire ants and swords and shit. Really nasty."

Alec wiped the blood off his sword, sheathed it and slung the +1 bass guitar
behind his back. With Richards help they got the bass player up off the ground.

"But where will we go?" asked Richard. What happened to Tyler?

"Oh, I know a place," replied Alec. "Let me show you something special."

"Ok, but can we get out of here first?" said Richard.

Fuckin' idiot.

--------------------------------

Minnie and Pearl flew down to the beach. Picking a relatively clean area to set
down. They prepared themselves for the battle ahead by standing around in heroic
looking postures.

The wombat perked his ears up. Such power, he thought, over there, those
Japanese girls. Damn, I didn't know there were Japanese girls in America. OMG
they look tough. If they were Japanese shouldn't they be in fucking Japan!!!11!1

The wombat, rattled at the sight of these buxom superheroes, rolled down the
beach toward them. He was an avalanche of blood matted fur and solid muscle.
Increasing his speed, the girls looked like mere ants before him. Surely they
would be crushed, thought bystanders.

But no, the wombat ceased rolling a mere twenty meters from the girls. He had to
do this properly, he thought. There was a protocol for these sorts of things. He
didn't want to be appear to be some sort of blood-thirsty monster. 

Turning to face them, he put on the nastiest most sneeringest face that he could
managed.

"Well well," he said. "Look what the cute little kitty cat dragged in."

"The time for your blood-curdling terror has passed, wombat" said Pearl.
"Prepare yourself for the judgement of your ancestors."

Oh it's ON. It is sooo on.

Shabu Shabu Prime

Previously, on Licence to Rock:

	Wombat: Rah! Rah! RAH! Crush the humans! RAH!

	(transition to dark underground lair)
	
	Ms E: Everything is going according to plan.

	The Boss: iAm glad it is all going accordian to the plan.

	The Boss: Let us all be pleased.

	(transition to mobile phone shop)

	Minnie: Pearl, you are so fucking funny!!!!11

	Beach Chick: Help-u, bee-chu. Kangaroo!

	Minnie (looking at Pearl): Let's do this.

	(transition to prison, man being buttfucked)

	Andrade: OMG why did I have to steal all those videotapes!

	(transition to public bar)

    Alec: We can't stay here and sigh of relief for long. There will be more
		  ninja soon.
	
	Richard: But where will we go?

	(transition to beach)

	Wombat: Look what the cute little kitty cat dragged in.

	Pearl: Prepare yourself for the judgement of your ancestors.

(opening theme)

(fade in)

Minnie and Pearl stood opposite the wombat, staring intently at the furry foe.
They had practiced that stare so many times before. But in all of the wacky
adventures, all those times they had saved the world from evil icky monsters.
Fuck, they really had to think these things through.

"Yes, I think that you should as well." said the wombat.

The wombat is telepathic. Fuck!

"Your defeat is assured," said the wombat. "Let me demonstrate my awesome
powers, so that you may tremble before your ultimate doom."

The wombat peered off towards the city. Suddenly, thin red beams shot out from
it's beady little wombat eyes, quickly demolishing a bridge. Cars exploded upon
contact, which looked pretty cool but it must have sucked balls for the people
inside them. In 2007 consider contributing to the ride4sophie event next year.
All funds raised go to supporting the Day of Difference foundation, and
organisation dedicated to the support of burns victims such as those recently
immolated in their car by the wombat. Visit the website for details.

"Yes puny humans. Look upon your destroyed monuments of civil engineer. Weep
before my might, and know that in the final hours you were here to witness my
glorious return."

"Your time is over, wombat." said Pearl.

"Ha ha. I think not. What possible harm could you cause to me. I weigh at least
2 megatons after a big lunch. Even with a high-calorie diet and sedentary
exercise routine, a pathetic human such as yourself could not muster much more
than 200 kilograms. My time is over? Pfah!" said the wombat. A piece of spittle
accidently left the wombats mouth, followed a ballistic trajectory, and drowned
five innocent bystanders.

"HA HA THAT'S SO COOL!" thought the wombat. He totally had to try that again
later! No wait, he had to kill these chicks first.

"Wombat-uuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUU" screamed Pearl, jumping up fifty meters in to
the air. She spread her arms wide.

"Gigatron Diamond Beam!" Bringing her hands together in front her, a bright
white beam of light burst forth. Gigatrons of diamond energy, the highest of the
crystalline energy forms, opal, emerald, ruby, diamond. Technically opal is not
a crystal, it is a mineraloid gel of amorphous hydrated silicon dioxide. One of
the leading manufacturers of synthesised opal is the Kyocera corporation of
Japan. Pearl once had a boyfriend who worked at Kyocera, but whenever she went
down on him he wouldn't return the favour.

The beam shot down toward the wombat. The wombat looked on with that slightly
bemused "oh you think you are worth something, fucker?" sneer on his face. The
beam hit right between his evil red glowing eyes and bounced off, turning
several hundred square meters of sand into molten silicon slag.

The melting of several hundred tons of sand destroyed the structural integrity
of the southern side of the beach. A small landslide threw several dozen
onlookers to their sticky burning doom. The slush started slowly rolling
downhill, like molten mag-ma. Several victims from the earlier violence, legs
and ribcages crushed by the wombat, desperately tried to the escape. Oh my god
are they gonna make it I don't know? No wait, they didn't. Oh god it's horrible.
They're all screaming and shit, trying to escape. But they can't man. They is
got no legs! Oh fuck no! Not the kid! Don't roll over the girl. You can't run
over the little girl. Oh fuck please no! Oh no you did it you stupid fucking
piece of sand. Why God, WHYYY!!!

Pearl returned by the side of Minnie, trying to ignore the desperate screams
behind her.

"MUAHAHAHA!" laughed the wombat. "Beams have no effect on me, you know?"

The wombat reared up, rearing on his stubby little hind legs. He dropped down on
the ground sending massive shockwaves rippling out, destroying every structure
in it's path. Pearl and Minnie, completely forgetting their flying abilities, we
knocked off their feet. They flew through the air, not controlled in the flying
though they were more like "woaaaahh shit we're flying". The were falling,
falling into the molten mass of glass below.

"Pearl!" said Minnie.

"Minnie-chan" said Pearl!

With only several meters between them and that sticky glass slag of doom they
remembered that they could fly and hovered above the mass. Hundreds of injured
beachgoers as well as several previously uninjured (aside from the emotional
stress of witnessing such carnage before) onlookers were hurled into slag to
their horrible horrible deaths. 

It would be tens of thousands of years before scientists managed to reconstitute
them. But if you recreated another person, atom for atom, from another person,
would they still be the same person? Did the person die or did they not? Who
knows. At least these people will be spared from the extreme poverty and nuclear
winter caused by the Y10K bug. Nobody should have to eat their own mother to
survive. But then again, who wants to live in a world where everyone ate their
mothers? Sick fuckers. DIE! DIE! DIE!

----------------

Alec lifted the manhole cover and tossed it casually into a suburban family
home, killing the pet cat Snuggles. Oh fuck those kids are gonna be so
distraught when they get home from school, thought the dog. What if I buy
another cat that looked exactly the same as the old one. Then nobody would be
the wiser. But that's another story for another day.

"Get in here!" he (Alec, not the dog) said to Richard.

Richard lay the bass player down on the road. He was still unconscious but
stable. Jumping down into the manhole, he landed in a slow moving creek of
filth.

"Hey fuck it's filthy down here!" he yelled to Alec.

"Yeah mate thanks for checking that out for me mate," came the reply. Heh heh
sucked in.

Alec pulled the unconscious bass player down into the sewer with him. After
handing their band members limp but not lifeless form to Richard. He climbed
back up the ladder to the hole. Putting his hand out to reach for the manhole
cover, he realised that just moments before he had recklessly thrown it away,
accidently killing a cat and triggering a cliched plot line. Haha he said
"manhole."

He came back down to the floor of the sewer, neatly avoiding the muck that
Richard had stepped in.

"C'mon mate. No use sitting 'round 'ere like a stuffed pig." he said. They
started walking south.

"Where are we going?" asked Richard, straining to see in the dim light.

"Somewhere where we can be safe, for now" he said. Alec had no trouble finding
his was in the darkness. Could he be an unusually good looking half-orc?

Finally, after a few hundred meters, Alec reached what appeared to be a small
crack in the wall.

"In here, he said"

"No way dude, you are totally going first this time!" said Richard. Richard was
pissed. He had this big lump of a bass guitarist on his back and his leather
boots were all stinky and full of shit. To top it all off his hair was too damp
and was starting to frizz. He needed a blow-dry STAT!

"Fair dinkum, no need to get aggro," he said, going through the passage way.

Richard bent down and took a look through. There was barely enough space to
crawl. He wondered what could possibly be at the other end. Getting down on his
hands and knees, he started crawling through when he realised that he was
leaving the bass player behind. Fucking Alec, he thought, he tricked me again.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKK!!!!!!

----------------

Minnie and Pearl hovered above the human/glass mix of slag. This was going to be
tough, Minnie thought. This was one tough wombat. Time to take it to the next
level. She locked arms with Pearl.

"SHABU SHABU PRIME-U" they shouted in unison. Suddenly these two demure latex
superheroes were magically transformed into slightly more powerful latex
superheroes. Plastic molded armour was added to the breasts and thighs in a
practical yet stylish fashion.

Minnie jumped up another fiftly metres in the air, calling upon the gods and the
power of her ancestors. Lost most superheros Minnie had a specialty power and/or
type of power. Minnie had the power of Japanese Feminine Modesty.

"SHABU SHABU KIMONO CABARU!!!" SHOUTED MINNIE.

Suddenly, the wombat was wearing a kimono. It was a gorgeous purple cotton
kimono depicting a lake with white cranes flying on the back. In the lower left
corner, toward the rear of the wombat, was a crane nest with with one crane
sitting and another landing. The kimono was topped off with a gorgeous red silk
obi around the waist. It was simply beautiful. Captain Kirk would have a crack
at it that's for sure.

"SHABU SHABU OBI TAITO!!11' she yelled.

The obi belt around the wombat began to tighten. Oh noes! thought the wombat.
But he was just pretending. A wombat is frequently put into high-pressure
situations, such as when the roof of his burrow begins to collapse, or when he
puts on a Japanese kimono and the obi is too tight.

The wombat took sucked in his chest, took a deep breath and then flexed it's
ginormous abdominal muscles. The obi snapped under the pressure, flying off into
into a skyscraper. The sheer force of the collision was enough to topple the
building, sending seventeed floors and millions of tons of steel and concrete
careering onto the street below. Luckily nobody was injured.

Pearl leapt up into the air.

"SHABU SHABU MAIKUROUE." Pearl's area of expertise was Discount Whitegoods.

Microwaves started pummelling the wombat at ballistic speeds. They had no effect
on the wombat, harmlessly bouncing off and decapitating or otherwise
incapacitating hundreds of people. Several burned up in the atmosphere from the
friction. Many just melted into hot globs of liquid metal death, burning off
arms, legs and faces of many innocent civilians. For one lucky onlooker a
ballistic microwave clipped off their entire left arm only moments before a
previously unknown cancer metastisised and spread throughout her body.

Shit, time to up the ante, thought Pearl, right up this wombats arse.

"SHABU SHABU FURIJUDU." The shower of microwaves ceased, only to be replaced
with a shower of hypersonic refridgerators. Pearl you fucking idiot. The
microwaves didn't work, why the fuck did you think that fridges would? Oh no, oh
fuck no look at those fridges careening through the crowd, tipping end over end
in some deadly dance of death. Blood was streaming everywhere. Wives were crying
for their lost husbands, children for their lost mothers, dogs for their owners
and canine friends.

Oh fuck. 

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

I have a rhyming dictionary

There is no man from Nantucket,
in this story of rock, hair and fuckin'.
    There are no tales of old,
    or hereos so bold,
So if you want all of that you can fuck off.

We begin with a man named Richard,
a rock god and lady bewitcher.
    He can't play guitar,
    but it's ok he's a star.
And he looks so damn hot in the pictures.

He is playing a concert in Boston,
and certainly has all his rock on.
    He's so fucking high,
    this time he might die,
but Ghost ain't the movie I've based on.

Not to say I dun like Patrick Swayze,
and his movie always manage to sway me.
    But this ain't the right time,
    though Demi Moore is sublime,
time to get back to the story now shall we?

Oh my god I am so fucking high,
though this rock god, this fun-loving guy.
    He had snorted some coke,
    he was risking a stroke,
But I just can't let my protagonist die.

The crowd before him arose,
for this legend of bands Steel Rose.
    Richard spewed out some stuff,
    it was just fucked up fluff,
but the crowd doesn't care that he blows.

We followed our main man backstage,
where he examined some wombats encaged.
    They surged and set forth,
    mouths frothing of course.
With furries on standby in case. Lol.

Their stylist was a man named Blix,
a man with two X chromos in his helix.
    Yeah he was gay,
    but that's totally ok.
He made them look cool for the chicks.

Not that there's anything wrong,
with a man who's a fan of the dong.
    It's just that the author,
    is repressing in order,
to confirm that he is totally not a fag.

So let's get back to the rock,
and get our hands off all that cock.
    Though it's hard sometimes,
    it just rhymes and rhymes,
I wonder if I'll ever get off!

Enough of that tacky innuendo,
that beats it's heart like a dodo.
    By that I do mean,
    that although it's obscene,
it's just not that funny anymore-do.

And now we come to meet Pearl,
a most interesting kind of girl.
    She had a Mickey Mouse watch,
    and a tight asian crotch.
My god she could love him, long time.

Pearl gave her boy Richard a kiss,
that both parties found quite delish.
    With his tongue deep inside,
    she gave him good times,
but she couldn't stop thinking of fish.

But that's what the Japs like to do,
eat more fish than things that go moo.
    Though when it comes to the kissing,
    Jap girls don't think fishing,
they think of tentacle rape and goo.

Pearl had a helicopter waiting,
no time for this oral masturbating.
   She gave him a bone,
   now she leaves it alone,
She had a gig and this was no time for mating. (what a tease!)

Poor Richard had a need in his jeans,
for something quite rude an obscene.
    He found a blonde girl,
    and gave it a whirl,
but it turned out she wasn't too keen.

Kelly Carson, a famous reporter,
who's subjects she gave no quarter.
    She grilled him a bit,
    flipped and grilled him some more,
leaving poor Richard quite a bit shorter.

This left the author quite keen,
to end this excruciating scene.
    For my word count was done,
    and I was having no fun,
so I ended it right then and there.

We segue to a man named Tyler,
a softy and in no way a miser.
    For he loved is rock band,
    and with a careful hand,
he blasted it right out the speakers.

He lead a little band named Burn,
over which the pretty girls did yearn.
    There was one thing that he wanted,
    over all other things,
but his heart could do nothing but churn.

Tyler decided to lead them in song,
for he was happy to have them along.
    He thought up some words,
    and stuffed up the verse,
but his fans just don't care if he's wrong.

The pumped it out loud through the speakers,
rockin' hard even though they were squeakers.
	Their investment plan,
	from the Bank of Kazakstan,
invested their money in sneakers.

He told them he knew what they need,
what they really do need is a feed.
	So he took them to Nandos,
	and had some potatoes,
now let's all go smoke up some weed.

Tyler had a guitar he could shred,
and now everyone has been fed,
	he rocked it so hard,
	his rockin' guitar,
that the crowd was stopp-ed quite dead.

Richard found it so hard to admit,
that in the end he had overdone it.
	He pimped the local scene,
	and if you know what I mean,
this song was not looking legit.

The band had found redemption backstage,
in dope and drugs most members engaged.
	But young Tyler had one,
	more potent than any,
his heart, all aflutter, rampaged.

She was a slight little girl named Minnie,
a Japanese punk rocker from Japan.
	Where Pearl lets it in,
	makes little Minnie's head spin,
so she left that to her twin, Suki-chan.

But little Minnie had to go,
with a kiss on the cheek left him aglow.
	For he loved her so much,
	and he so deared her touch,
such partings could only bring woe.

As little Tyler waved her goodbye,
he couldn't help but wipe a tear from his eye,
	For he knew her dark secret,
	so terrible laid bare,
that if any found out they must die.

Richard lounged lazily in his mansion,
a rock god supreme with leather pants on.
    With all his wealth and fame,
    he doth did proclaim,
"It is good to be king and have pants on"

His house was a palace of course,
though all it fills now is remorse.
    "What with all of my fame,"
    he doth did proclaim,
"this loneliness fucks me like a horse."

Suddenly... on the door came a knocking,
a sound that poor Richard found shocking.
    "Whoever could that be,
    and by that I do mean,
it's about time all those groupies came flocking."

Alas for for young Richard it was Alec,
bringing with him a woman half-god and half-dalek.
    Upon her young shoulders,
    lay pads hewn from boulders,
and no-one found a word that rhymed.

Crikey!, by jingo! and corr!
said Alec the Ocker once more.
    "We're off to the pub,
    come 'ave a stub!
Writing this mopy shit must be a chore!"

With that they all piled into the limo,
and the story so far had been so-so.
    Then the drummer protested,
    but the bass player contested,
so the poor little drummer was "let go."

And by that I do mean that he died,
as the police escort drove aside.
    His suggestions unnatural,
    and bad for morale.
The band could not let it just slide.

Then Richard was left quite enraged,
his emotions could not be assuaged.
    Bass player you dick,
    don't be such a prick,
for the ninjas he should've been saved.

Tyler rocked as only Tyler know how,
as a rock star he was well endowed.
    He sung a sweet song of love,
    but when he looked on above.
Ninjas! right there in the shadow.

There once was an angry marsupial,
who thought that revenge was quite suitable.
    So he hitched up his tent,
    for he was quite hell-bent,
on destroying the bold and the beautiful.

He was crossing the sea on the floor,
and carnage he was seeking galore.
    A brief stop in Tahiti,
    and a kiss from a sweetie,
But now he craved blood and gore.

In L.A. were sweet Minnie and Pearl,
two quite unusual sorts for a girl.
    Their foreign ancestry,
    assuring splendid destiny,
as we let this epic rock-drama unfurl.

These girls who thought so much of fish,
did cross arms and yell out a dish.
    What did look suspect,
    produced miles of latex,
and armour that did look quite kitsch.

Alec, upon drawing his sword,
found a ninja he did so adore.
    Running it through,
    he had quite a blue.
The cleaning bill he couldn't ignore.

But Alec had no reason to worry,
he could take his sweet time and not hurry.
    His accountant he said,
    could claim it instead,
so he went back to work all a-flurry.

A darkness consumed all the land,
stopping Alec with biceps all tanned.
    Oh noes not again,
    that thing he had slain,
had come back, now that was not planned.

Our marsupial had now reached the shore,
and partook in the most mindless gore.
    Thought "Now I'm having fun,
    and I'll not be outdone.
It's time to settle the score."

Now we come to the girl with the Macbook,
and the three gigs of ram that it took.
    She found it quite easing,
    that her master was pleasing.
But this queen doesn't know she's a rook.

This day was quite warm and quite sunny,
and Pearl was being so fucking funny.
    That when a girl walked in,
    and played her violin,
Minnie forgot to pay with her money.

Andrade, a father of three,
did not find himself quite so lucky.
    The courts showed their hand,
    poor Andrade was canned.
And now gets buttfucked on Sund'ys.

In the battle, Alec was stumped,
his party before him was trumped.
    Then Richard did burst,
    a most inspirational verse.
Those ninjas are so fucking humped.

He wiped off the blood from his sword,
their victory for now was assured.
    On foot they were fleet,
    and out in the street,
the escaped from the next ninja horde.

The wombat laughed and put on a sneer,
for these girls who tight clothes were so sheer.
    He thought not abuse,
    could they possibly produce,
he'll take their feet as a small souvenir.

Pearl did let loose a strong beam,
of energy so bright and so clean.
    But it doth did reflect,
    and in circumspect,
the result was perhaps a bit obscene.

Alec the Ocker then killed a cat,
with a strike that did leave quite a splat.
    If the dog had replaced it,
    would the fan hit the shit?
I don't care I won't write about that.

Now this wombat did look quite a sight,
when a kimono appeared on it's might.
    But it didn't say die,
    and the obi did fly,
wombats don't like their clothes tight.

Little Pearl flung forth microwaves,
so this wombat may cook in it's grave.
    But with a little boff,
    they bounced right off.
Time to retreat to the bat-cave.

This tale ain't over for sure,
no matter how loud readers snore.
    The show's just begun,
    we're having such fun!
What literary heights shall we soar?

The dreaded caves of Morgandir

Alec sat down beside the bass player, tending to his wounds. They had finally
escaped the deadly ninja and their deadly ninja blades. Alec had spent so much
time around death that he felt it as a constant companion.

"Dude, I'm not your fucking companion," said Death.

But Alec still felt a certain bond, a kinship if you will, with death.

"Fuck you I'm no fucking fag!" yelled Death.

The ninja must have felt it as well, he thought. They had trained their whole
lives for battle. To fight and to die for their master. They must have made
peace with death, touched death, lightly, over those rock hard abs and pecs.
Maybe they could feel it's biceps. Feel them throbbing so hard in their hands.
"Oh lift me with your mighty biceps!" they would say. Death would laugh with
them and lift them up. "Oh you're so strong!" they would say, slapping death so
lightly with their dainty hands.

They would take death's arm and wrap themselves around it. Rubbing their cheeks
up against death's shoulder, "Oh death, you're so strong!" they would say. They
would laze lazily with death on the couch. A hand would come, so soft and
daintly, and lay lightly on death's broad strong chest. Slowly the hand would
start to move, making little circles across his pecs. It would start to move
down, rubbing so softly against those marble abs. So strong, they would think.
They would look down, seeing death's excitement so obvious before them. They
could see it, so big, how could it even fit in. "Oh death!" they would say,
barely holding back their excitement. "Oh death!". So strong, so sexy. Alec
could no longer contain his excitement...

Death was a total stud.

After a few hundred meters of crawling they had finally made it to a large
cavern. Richard had to drag the bass player the whole way. No was throwing a
tantrum, as usual. He was sitting over there in the corner, sulking to himself.
What a cry-baby.

The cavern was lit with a mysterious blue fungus. Without it they wouldn't be
able to see and that wouldn't make sense. Alec didn't know what the fungus lived
off of, or where it got all that energy to emit all that light. It was best not
to think about such things. Think of other things, he thought, think thoughs of
death. Those biceps, so strong!

-----------------------------

The wombat laughed it's evil wombat laugh. A HA! HA! HA1 HA1 it laughed, A hA!
HA! HA !HA!".

"You cannot stop me, little Japanese girls. You haven't the cognitive capacity
to comprehend the sheer volume of shit you have landed in." he said. Man I could
really do with one right now, he thought. A big one? Those humans were so filling.

Minnie and Pearl turned to face each other. Their attacks were futile. It's like
superhero academy all over again. Everyone wants to be a superhero but there is
just so much competition. How can a kimono compete against super-strength?
Whitegoods? Whitegoods?! When you have the fuckin' Dark Lich of Eldar Days
bearing down on you you think he is gonna be fazed by a flying washing machine?

Minnie and Pearl were nice girls. Well, Minnie was a nice girl, Pearl was a
total slut. Minnie had this thing for this guy back in college. All the girls
knew that she wanted them. Then this one time she was at a party and she saw
this guy with Pearl and they were like totally making out. He was all over her
like a tentacle monster on a schoolgirl. Like he was fucking eating her face or
something. It was totally gross, you know?

Minnie never forgave Pearl for that. Well not explicitly, I guess she just
forgot about it the next day. Seeing them like that was totally gross. That's
why she gets her twin to do all that stuff with the boys.

The wombat suddenly charged toward the girls. He accelerated faster than a
Suzuki GSX1300R, also known as a Hayabusa, which is Japanese for peregrine
falcon. With one hundred and seventy nine ponies on board, the Hayabusa can
accelerate from a standing stop to one hundred kilometers an hour in two point
six nine seconds and reach a top speed of three hundred and seventy nine
kilometers an hour. That's pretty fucking fast. This wombat was faster, though,
much faster. In a straight line of course. A wombat isn't so hot on the corners.

Oh fuck it was heading straight for them! He beared down on them like a wombat
out of hell. Minnie lifted her hands, summoning a special purpose obi, lined
with kevlar, asbestos, foam padding and the cutest little cherry blossoms. Pearl
tried her fridge attack again. The fridges bounced off harmlessly, killing
twelve. What a fucking idiot. Moments before impact she summoned a clothes dryer
and jumped inside.

The wombat striked, knocking the two girls into a ballistic trajectory. "Oh
noeeeeesssS!!!!" they screamed as the left. There was this cool little twinkle
at the end when they were just out of sight. I don't know why but it looked
pretty cool. "HA HA HA HA HOME RUN!" said the wombat. No wait he said "HA HA HA
HA STU-RIKE-U!" yeah coz he bowled them over and shit and they were Japanese.
That was much funnier.

-----------------------------

Tyler stepped back and viewed the carnage. So many ninjas, he thought. I better
split before the fuzz gets here. The Man was always like that, beating the
people down. You can't smoke this, you can't marry that man, you can't park
here.

That building extension needs a permit. Have you applied at your local
government authority? Move along, there's nothing to see here. Vote 1 Tim Haley
for congress. Can you breathe into this please sir? What's that smell. When did
you last see her? What was she wearing? Do you know any of her friends? Her
family? Cut your hair! Put some clothes on! What would your mother think?

Yeah, fuck The Man.

-----------------------------

After dealing with the meddlesome kids (and their stupid dog) the wombat took a
little time off. That fighting really took a lot of work. All he did was shoot a
laser beam, stand around and run down those chicks, but it felt like it took
absolutely ages. Holding that sneer for so long was very tiring. He took a brief
wash in the ocean, turning the water a dark red and attracting sharks from as
far as one hundred kilometers away, before proceeding to the local drive-in
movie theater for a quite show. Peeling roofs off the cars like a tin of
sardines he ate all of the passengers inside, kinda like sardines. The
convertibles didn't have roofs, they were more like half-shelled oysters. There
were a few vans. He didn't know what they were like. Calzones?

These humans are really high in fat, at least they are low in carbs, thought the
wombat. Good thing I'm on the Atkins diet. But lurking deep inside the wombat
deadly fats were forming plaque on major blood vessels!

Ok enough of that. Time to get back to the destruction. A wombat, two hundred
meters in length, wishes to lay destruction to the city of Los Angeles. Assuming
that he can roll at four hundred kilometers an hour and destroy everything in
his path, how long would it take him to flatten the city?

Man, I wish I paid more attention in school, thought the wombat. You should too.
School prepares children for the important things in life: Homework, Oppresion,
Taunts, Sums, Essays and eXtracurricular activities. Without these these five
things, which we like to call HOTSEX, your child will not develop into a mature
adult. You wouldn't want that, would you? Of course not, you're not a bad
person, are you? We're not sure. So drop into your local school and discuss with
a teacher about the benefits of having them give your child HOTSEX.

"I wish I had more HOTSEX with my teacher," said the wombat. Yes, you should
have thought of that back then. Maybe then you would be able to do your sums
properly. Just make sure he puts on a condom first.

-----------------------------

Richard finally stopped with his god-damn hissy fit. Such a baby. He sat down
with Alec by the side of the bass player.

"Where are we?" asked Richard.

Alec put on his wizard robe and hat. It had been a long time since he last worn
it. Well not really. He didn't mind a bit of role-play during sex. The wizard's
staff has a knob on the end, or so the saying goes. Yes the girls don't mind a
bit of the old hanky-panky with this thing on.

But it had been a very long time indeed since he had worn it seriously. Out of
his wizard robe he pulled out a pipe and held it in his hand. The hat held a six
foot staff which he held in the other hand. Lighting the pipe with his other
other hand he took a deep breath and let out a sigh.

"We are in the dreaded caves of Morgandir, mate." said Alec.

"Like, wtf is that?"

Alec chuckled to himself for a moment, small puffs of smoke extruding through
his nostrils.

"Young one, has it been so long? Does this race of mortal men forget so
quickly?" asked Alec to nobody in particular. "Bloody oath!"

"These caves hold a darkness more terrible than you can possibly imagine!!!"
said Alec. I don't know if it could be any worse than that line. That was pretty
fucking bad.

"But we escaped the ninjas right? That would surely mean sure death for sure?"
asked said Richard.

"Yes, but this darkness is a fate worse than death mate!!!" said Alec.

Then why did he bring them down there? Oh it was probably to get away from the
wombat! That's right. I forgot.

Getting all emo

Richard, Alec and the bass player, newly revived, continued their march through
the dark caves of Morgandir. They had been marching for what seemed like ages,
guided by the Alec's bright knob. His staff had a torch in it too which seemed
to help as well. He preferred the knob though because he's Australian.

"Crikeys mate! We've been walkabouts for aaages," he said. "Good thing I know
the way." They continued along to a split in the tunnel. "This way, by jingoes"
he said, pointing down the left tunnel.

Alec had a way with navigating down tunnels. Whenever he came to a bend he went
left. It always seemed to work out. Alec could soon get to know any tunnel
inside-out after a few hours walking and three or four lefts.

They had been walking for two days, living off of glowing moss and trickles of
water. The moss emitted a faint blue light. Tasted like blue as well. Richard
and the bass player were completely lost. After the first five lefts all the
tunnels started looking the same. They were strange, for tunnels. Hewn from
solid granite. Very round, with gigantic gouges down the side. 

"These tunnels, as I am sure you are aware, are very strange," said Alec. "As
you can see they are hewn from solid true granite. True granite contains
plagioclase and orthoclase feldspars. This particular set of tunnels contain
rock that dates back to pre-Cambrian eras. Of course, that's nothing new. HA!
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!" big shout out to all the geologists out there.

They took respite for the moment at a small cove. Richard and the bass player
sat down on the ground and pulled out a small package wrapped in leaves.

"That's the last of the lembas bread, Mr Frodo," said the bass player to
Richard.

"Oh bass player! Will we ever get out of here alive?" whined Richard, the little
bitch, looking longfully into the eyes of the bass player. Richard wanted
something, anything, to distract him from this lonesome fate. Well, not too
lonesome...

Alec cleared his throat. There was more time for this later, he thought. In his
robe and wizard hat he towered over two. Sitting on the floor they looked very
short, as though they were half-people. Halflings if you will.

"Little ones," said Alec. "Let me tell you the story of this dark land. We start
with the beginning of all things. The start of everything and the explanation
for all this around you.

"Long ago, in ancient times, long long ago, there were this mob. And they was
stuffed. They was havin' a blue and there was nuffin' they could do about it.
The sheila, let's call her Birdie, was all like 'You'se never listen to muiii'.
Her bloke, let's call him Blokie, was all like 'aww shut it and git me a
Fosters!'.

'You'se always have ya drongo mates around you bloody drongo.' she said.

'Oi. Don't talk to me like I'm a bloody wog! Where's me bloody Fosters!' he
yelled back at her.

'I've had it with you Frankie! Here's ya fuckin' Fosters!' she said. She grabbed
a tinny from the esky and shook it with all her might. She threw the Fosters at
him as hard as she could.

'Ta luv' he said.

When 'e cracked open the tinny it exploded. That's what we call the big bang.
It's wot made the oceans and stuff. The foamy bits became the land.

"Anyway that's what the Abos told me. That's the gist of it anyway. I was a bit
pissed at the time.

"They call it The Dreamin'. Ever since the wombats had been in the ground and
the birds have been in the air."

Alec looked pretty smug, lording his fancy book learning over the others.
Richard and the bass player took at look at the man.

"Can we get that two minutes of our lives back?" asked the bass player?

---------------------

Wombat was getting tired. He had been plowing over Los Angeles for the past 48
hours and it was such hard work. 

Let's see. He'd started with the skyscrapers. They were fairly easy. Just give
them a quick bump and they fall over. With a little bit of bunting and buffing
he could get a neat domino effect. Once he managed to get five in a row.

He found a little girl down the road and asked he if she would like to play a
game of squish.

"What's squish?" she asked.

SQUISH!

A HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! you're so funny wombat! he thought. Then he did it again!
and again! and again and again and again! HA HA HA still funny. He had a little
competition to see how many people he could squish before it stopped being
funny. Turns out it's around thirty five. Then it started getting a bit boring.

He tried demolishing roads in interesting and unique ways. He would structurally
weaken small bridges and then chase trucks over them. That didn't work very well
all the time so it got boring pretty quick.

He practiced his spitting for a while, that was pretty fun. People didn't last
very long when they were drowning in his saliva though.

He sat out of sight beside tight corners and spat on bikers when they went past.
HA HA HA stupid bikers. Can't you stay on the road you stupid bikers? No BECAUSE
YOU ARE STUPID HAHAHAHAHA!

The big freeways had some more interesting amusements. He would hide by the side
of the road near a turnoff. Then when cars went by he would pounce an crush them
violently into bloody steel pancakes. HA HA HA. It's funny because they got
squished.

---------------------

Tyler had made it back to his apartment safely. It had been rather uneventful
these past few days. Aside from the ninjas, which were pretty strange, he had
done anything at all unusual.

Except, maybe, that comment he made about The Man. 

Yes, so salivating. "The Man," he said. "The Man can go... can go..." No! No! He
couldn't say it. It wasn't nice to say it. He was all about peace and love, love
and peace, peace and love. He didn't think we should make war, he thought we
should have peace and then have love. Love and peace, he thought. That's what
all the guys should be thinking. That's the right thing to do. People should be
love and peaceful. It just wasn't proper to be anything else.

Love and peace, that's all they needed in this world. Support women's rights,
yeah. Yay for gays. Don't eat meat. We should all eat tofu and peace. Love your
neighbour, man. We don't need rules. We have love. Fur is murder. Meat is
murder, man. Eggs are murder, man. You wouldn't want to be a murderer would you
Tyler. Would you? WOULD YOU?

He still had these feelings, deep down inside. He walked into his bathroom and
washed his face. He had a soft face, a girly-man face. That's what all the women
wanted right? They wanted little Tyler, so soft and caring. A new age man, all
caring and feeling for her needs. They all say that men are oppressing them and
they never listen to anything they say. But Tyler listened. Oh how he listened!!

But they never came, the women. Even with all these feelings nothing changed.
The Man was still there, as always, holding that invisible baton and pepper
spray. Society still had their rules. People were still eating meat, wearing
leather and not eating carob. Nobody ate carob. Carob was so... silly. Ooh so
naughty! He can't think like that. He wasn't allowed to think like that.

What was the point? He was the lead singer in a famous rock band but he couldn't
be close to any women? He was always so totally open and sharing. He would spend
long nights talking about his feelings and sharing his thoughts. He would
listen, oh he would listen. He would listen for days and days and days. He would
listen until then end of time for these women. But still he was always just a
friend. Just a friend. Like a brother to them, they would say. Little good it
did him. He was a man, he had needs like other men. He tried to be special, he
tried to be unlike the other men. He tried being who people wanted him to be.

Hah, what good did it do him? Here he was, standing alone in front of a bathroom
mirror in his luxury apartment. "When was the last time I had fun?" he thought.
"I stood on a stage in front of thousands of people and all I could think about
was how I had screwed everything up. When am I going to get some Tyler time?
When's Tyler going to have some fun?"

Never, he thought. Not if I stay like this. All love and peace. Who needs it?
It'll never change. There will still be troops out there, in 'Nam, a million
years from now. They may not be our troops, but they'll be someones troops.
Fighting their stupid pointless little wars. You know what, peace is a silly
idea. No! Peace is a stupid idea!

No! That's not it. Tyler wasn't gonna be a nice guy anymore. Tyler was gonna say
whatever the FUCK Tyler WANTS! 

Peace can go fuck itself! Yeah FUCK YOU peace! FUCK YOU Mr Tyler Nice Guy! I'm
not gonna be nice anymore. Fuck it! FUCK YOU stupid hippys. Go fuck a piece of
tofu or something. Carob tastes like fake shit anyway! I'll be out there,
chowing down on some fucking ribs. Baby pig ribs. So succulent and juicy
motherfuckers! Then I'm gonna fuck all your chicks! What are you gonna do about
it? Discuss your fucking feelings or something. FUCK THAT! Fuck you all I'm
gonna go out and I'm gonna out and have some fucking fun!

The Man can go FUCK HIMSELF! YEEAAAAAHHHHH!!!

The first time

Dakota Freewood, drummer for the hot rock band Burn, brushed his fine curled
locks back behind his shoulder. He wondered for a moment why he hadn't seen
Tyler for the past few days. Meh, it didn't matter now. Not with this flaming
hunk of man meat in front of him. He leaned back in his chair with his full
leather regalia. Leather pants, leather jacket, leather boots, leather hairband,
leather cockring.

Rick Jackson stood naked before him. He was sooo nervous. Dakota looked at him
with that look. That "I'm gonna cut you fatty" look. It was his first time, you
know, with a man. First time with anything really. Rick wasn't that, you know,
liked by people. He didn't go out much. Didn't socialise with the groupies in
his band. Yeah, it was cool and all being the lead guitarist in Steel Rose, but
he always felt so nervous around girls.

He didn't feel so nervous around Dakota, except for right now but that is just
because he is naked and Dakota is right in front of him. This room was cold. It
was a big room with a brutal concrete floor and brick walls. He never felt
right, about himself. He was so fat when he was a kid. All the other kids made
fun on him. They called him "fatty", "fatty-bomba" and "fatty-bombalada". Kids
could be so mean sometimes. So he retreated from the world. Retreated into
himself. He couldn't tell anyone how he felt. They would all just laugh at him.
He had to be cold, like stone. No emotion, no response. The kids stopped
laughing at him. What's the point? they said, it's like laughing at a rock.

After school he would run. He would run as fast as he could and as far as he
could. Soon he could run very fast. Kind of like the wind, a fat wind. He soon
stopped eating his meals. The dog got very fat. He started getting slimmer. At
first people didn't notice. He was still very fat. But he could feel the change.
He liked the change so he pushed himself harder and harder. By the end of his
last year in school he was ready. Underneath that baggy school shirt were the
rock hard abs of an Adonis. He took every opportunity to view himself in the
mirror. Dear God he was such a spunk! Look at those pecs. You could bounce a
bowling ball off of those! No-one would laugh at Rick Jackson anymore.

Even with his rock-hard abs and bulging biceps, Rick was still a failure at
socialising with others. He couldn't get into it. People had hurt him all his
life: his family, other kids, people in the street, even people on the internet.
There were dozens of websites mocking him for being so fat. There was even a
Rick Jackson Is Fat website. They would compose poems and cover popular pop
songs enumerating all of the ways in which Rick was fat.

Not anymore. He left his family and school behind when he joined Steel Rose. The
websites faded away, replaced by other fatties. "Ha! Fatties!" he thought, "go
lose some weight or something you big fatties." He could say that because he
used to be fat. But he still couldn't get along with others. Then he met Dakota.

Dakota didn't care for things like names or introductions. They met when he
walked up to Rick one night after a gig and told him to get into the car. Rick
didn't know who he was, why he asked or where he was going. Something inside him
said that he could trust him. There was a look about him. With all those tattoos
and all that studded leather. What could possibly go wrong?

And so here he is now. Naked in front of Dakota, who stilled showed no sign of
undressing himself. Rick's strongly muscled arms bunched up in front of him as
he covered his shame with his hands. Of course, that was difficult. Rick was
built like a horse. A horse with a big dick and balls.

"I haven't done anything like this before," he squeaked.

Dakota, sitting in a chair in front of him, gazed over those chiseled abs and
pecs. He took some time gazing at Rick before he finally responded.

"Oh really?" he said. "What sort of thing?"

"You know," said Rick. "These things. Sex... sexual things. I'm a...," he
stumbled. He had never talked about this with another person before. "I'm a... a
virgin."

Dakota raised his eyebrows and let his eyes fall on Rick's sexy muscled body
one more time. He got up out of his chair and walked around Rick. Rick didn't
know what to do, so he just kept standing there feeling so small.

"Well don't worry then," said Dakota. "We won't be doing anything unusual."

Dakota circled Rick one more time before stopping in front of him. He had
something in his hand. They were like police handcuffs except with soft leather
cuffs instead of those hard steel ones. He slapped them around Rick's wrists
with expert precision and and yanked his hands up with immense force. The cuffs
were attached to some hook high above Rick. 

He was standing on the tips of his toes, completely exposed for all to see. He
had never felt so powerless, so naked before. Dakota could see him. I mean
really see him. See into the depths of Rick's soul. All his fears all his
passion laid bare.

"Well well," said Dakota, looking appreciatively at Rick's considerable
package. "Someone has been keeping a very big secret."

Rick didn't know what to feel. Inside he was feeling lost and confused. Was
this really what all the other people did? He didn't know. He felt so exposed
here. Dakota could do anything to him. Anything he wanted. Rick never wanted
someone to have so much control over him before. Yet he found it strangely
exhilirating. He felt manliness growing under Dakota's hard stare. Wait! he
thought. Why is my body doing this? Why am I getting so aroused when I am so
powerless?

Dakota took in the sight before him. This guy was a real fucking stud, and he
meant it to. His dad must have been a firetruck because damned if that isn't a
firehose sticking out of him down there. That muscled body was one of the best
he'd ever seen, and he said he was a complete virgin. A virgin eh? Yeah he'll
show him a few things. Well, "show" probably isn't the right word. He'll feel a
few things. Oh yes, he'll feel a few things.

Dakota walked over to his little chest of drawers. He left Rick to his own
devices, still struggling to hold himself up by his toes. Taking out a
blind-fold and a few things out of the top drawer, he walked back to Rick.

"What are those things?" Rick asked.

Dakota ignored his question. They were just a few basic things they needed to
get the party started. He took the blindfold and wrapped it around Rick's eyes.
Their extra padding made it impossible for any light to make it in. Rick was
now blind, naked and strung up before him.

But he could still talk. That might be a problem. The room was soundproofed, of
course. There was no way for him to make any sound that could reach outside this
room. But he might still protest to Dakota's ministrations. Sure that was a good
thing sometimes. But Dakota wasn't into that sort of a mood tonight. He wanted
some ass, no fuss. So he took the ball gag and roughly stuffed it into Rick's
mouth. He tied the leather straps tightly around his head. There was no way that
gag was coming out no matter how loud Rick screamed.

He stepped back for a moment to take in the sight before him. Rick's manliness
was growing. In a flaccid state it was already larger than most. Even now,
half-erect, it was still a sight to behold. It was long, but then again so were
many others. This thing was THICK. It was more like a forearm with a clenched
fist than anything else. He watched it sway gently back and forth. Such bulk, so
much meat. Dakota was salivating at the sight of it. 

There would be time for more "satisfying" activities later. But for now he had
work to do. His day was filled with so many tensions. So many things that he had
to relieve. He slowly walked over to his drawers. Opening them one by one, he
cleared out the contents and laid them carefully on the large bench beside it.

As he took each item in hand he looked over to Rick still struggling on the
tips of his toes to hold himself up. He considered all the possible factors in
the use of the item. Important things such as where, when and how forcefully.

Some items were functionally identical and only varied in size. It had been such
a tiring day, he thought, and he did want this to be memorable for Rick. So he
chose the largest items that he had. Yes, he thought, I don't think that Rick
is going to forget this night for a very long time.

He started with something light, a small leather whip with many soft flat
thongs. He knew that you can't just start flogging your partner as hard and as
fast as you can. You had to build up to these things. Start slow and soft. Make
him want more.

Walking over to Rick he took a look at that smooth muscled ass and considered
the situation. He had before him a complete virgin who also happened to be a
stud in every sense of the word. This man has had no sexual experience and
doesn't even know what sex should be like.

It's up to me to train him, he thought. I will train him well.

Just wrong

"FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKK YYYYEEEAAAAAHHHHH"

It's a good time to be alive thought Tyler as he took yet another line of coke
off a hooker's tits. So great to be around all the beautiful women. No wait,
that's not it, he thought. I don't care anymore I'm not gonna think like that.
Fuck these bitches, he thought. These are some skanky-ass hos that he be runnin'
wit. Time to smoke up summa dat gangsta shit before we get down an' dirty.

God fuck his head was buzzing. It felt good. He has been completely out of
control for the past eight hours, ever since he decided to stick to the man and
stop being such a little pussy. God damn his was such a little shit-eating
hippy. He had to make up for lost time. His first stop was at the record
company. He needed some cash fast. They asked him what it was for and Tyler
called it is "Fuck the World" tour. He figured he needed about two hundred
thousand dollars in cash so they gave him an advance. They asked him to sign
some shit so he did. What the fuck did he care? He didn't live by your fuckin'
rules anymore.

Man...oh shit what's happening?... oh fuck yeah. Yeah that's it.

For the past four hours he had swallowed, injected, smoked, drunk or licked just
about any prohibited substance that he could get his hands on. Now the world was
like a Jackson Pollock painting and he had a tin of paint in his hands. He
didn't know who the fuck Jackson Pollock was, but it didn't seem to matter at
the time. It was those little tab things with the four-leaf clovers, he figured.
Yeah they really fucked him up good.

He vaguely remembers the women, NO! The fuckin' bitches. He started off with
something light, some girly vodka rasperries. Then he was cruising around in the
back of a limo with some girl named Shirly who had a big-ass Adam's Apple and a
deep voice. Fuck she needed a shave too. Anyway they were fuckin' cruising in
the back of this big-ass Bentley. And he had a chimpanzee too. Where the fuck do
you get a chimpanzee in the middle of Chicago he doesn't know but that's beside
the fucking point. He dropped a few dozen grand of cash on a suitcase full of
drugs. A real little "slice of italy" the dealer said. Whatever the fuck that
means. A designer case with every fucking drug you could imagine along with
every piece of equipment that he would ever need.

Wait now where the fuck was I? Oh yeah the bitches.

So yeah he was cruising around town in the big-ass Bentley when out on the side
of the fuckin' road there was these hos. So he says to this bitch sitting next
to him "you wanna fuck around?" and this bitch was all like "we can fuck around
by ourselves honey."

Tyler was like "fuck that!" He's been a fucking pansy for the past eight years.
He had to get it down with maximum efficiency. You know how much he would have
to fuck to make up for eight years? Fuck that. He had to get it with at least
three bitches at a time. Ideally he would be fucking four or five at a time but
fuck that for the moment. Get four or five chicks in the room and they'll
fucking talk about kittens or something. You'll be like, banging this chick,
really reaming her out and they'll be too girls off in the corner showing off
pictures of their fucking kids. What a god damn buzz kill. Naw, Tyler had to
find him some sweet bitches. Ones that'll find their own dirty little fun right
in front of him while he's getting busy.

So they roll up to these bitches and Tyler tells the driver to stop. These hos
see that he's got game so they are all lining up and shit. Yeah, you know it,
thinks Tyler to himself. Now Tyler has to decide something. There's only room
for six in the Bentley. That means there is only four more he can take. Let's
see. Now that's a fuckin' hard decision. First he chooses the asian chick. Yeah,
she looks kinda like Minnie. He's always wanted to fuck Minnie in the ass. Hard.
Good thing he wasn't a little pansy fucker anymore. He could fuck as many little
bitches as he wanted, wherever he wanted.

Now what's left. Yeah I'll take that blonde chick. The one with the big-ol' fake
titties. Never had a girl with big fat tits before. Maybe she'll slap him in the
face with those titties while he fucks that asian chick in the ass. Fuck yeah
that would be good.

Ok two more to go. There's that older chick... urgh. Fuck that. He didn't want
to have sex with his fuckin' mom. That little chick. The short one with the
curls. Yeah that's it. He could really throw a chick like that around, and I
mean THROW that bitch. Take that little girl around the waist and just fuck her
brains out. He'd just toss that bitch away when he's done and move on to the
next one. Probably just flip her over, fuck her in the ass extra hard then flip
her back and fuck her face.

One more to go. Oh shit this was hard. He wanted a freak, that's for sure. Some
completely outrageous skanky bitch that he could slap and punch and humilate
while he fucked her. He had his eye on these two chicks. One was peach blonde, a
real girl-next-door kinda slut. Yeah he knew a girl once that looked like her. I
wonder what it would be like to piss on her. Fuck let's get all the chicks to
piss on her.

The other chick was fat, and I mean FAT. She had big fuckin' fat rolls all over
her. You could hide a fuckin' roast chicken in those fat rolls. As a matter of
fact she probably had a few in there right now. Fuck yeah what a fatty.  I bet
she's like never actually been fucked by a guy before. She'll probably beg me to
fuck her. Look at her! Ha! No way. He'll tie her up and get all the girls to go
to town on her with some fisting action. Then after he's done fucking all the
girls and cumming all over the girl-next-door he'll piss all over the fat chick
while she's getting fisted. She'll be all "Yes! Fuck me yes! No stop pissing on
me! YES! YES! NO! YES!" Yeah that would be fucking awesome.

But awww shit he only had room for one. Ah fuck he'll take the fat chick. She's
completely fucking nasty.

He throw a fat ass wad of cash their way and the piled up into the car. Tyler
was about to leave when he came up with his most brilliant fucking idea of the
day.

No wait, he thought, these chicks out here are way more fuckin' hot than that
skank in the car. His security guy, sitting up the front with the driver, pulled
that skank out by her hair, all screaming and shit, and kicked her ass to the
curb. She could keep the fuckin' chimpanzee.

He got out of the car and waved the girl-next-door over. By the time they all
crammed in the windows were already steaming. The driver said he knew the
perfect place to go. He slammed his foot on the pedal a bit hard and Tyler got a
pair of titties in his face. Ha!

Already the bitches were into Tyler's little box of goodies. A couple had
already snorted a few lines. The girl-next-door was well off her tits on heroin.
Yeah he fuckin' knew it. All those types were well into the kinky shit.
Pretending to be all prim and proper and just like all the other girls. He'd
fuck her face for sure. The fat chick took a double serving of acid. Soon she
would be totally freaking out. Dude who cares she's gonna be bound and gagged in
twenty minutes anyway.

One of the bitches opened her bitch-ass little mouth. She said she knew this guy
who had all this kinky shit for hire. Like horses and dogs and toys and stuff.
He totally knows how to have a good time, she said. He told her to ring him up
and tell him to bring over everything he could as fast as he can. They'll be
thirty grand waiting for him when he gets here. She said "cool" and called him
up on her mobile.

The asian girl was the only one not doing anything. She was just sitting there
all polite and shit. Not taking any drugs, not talking dirty shit with all the
other skanks. She had that blank look on that all those asian chicks have. Ha!,
he thought, let's see how blank her face looks when I ram my dick up her ass.
She'll be all "oh yeah fuck my cunt, fuck it," with all the girls holding her
down so she can't escape the fucking. Ha ha yeah get that fat chick to sit on
her. He knew he'd find a use for her. Fat chicks rule. Then he'll pull out and
jam it right up her ass. Yeah we'll see how fucking blank you look then Minnie.

Oh man that chick with the fake tits looks way older than I thought she did.
Fuck he's going to have to fuck her from behind or something because now that
he's got a good look at her she looks like one of his teachers from high school.
No wait she IS one of his teachers from high school. Oh fuck this was totally
cool. He's definitely going to have to punch her in the face while he makes her
cum.

Fuck yeah it was a good time to be alive.

For the psychoanalysts

Minnie and Pearl, wiping dust from their eyes, climbed out of the smoking crater
after finally crashing to Earth. After being airborne for about four days they
hit with a hell of a thud. They had been defeated by the giant wombat in Los
Angeles. What horrible acts that wombat would now be performing on those poor
souls they didn't know.

Looking around they noticed that they weren't in Kansas anymore. Not that they
had ever been in Kansas, except for that one gig but it was a bit of a failure.
Everyone in Kansas is a wheat chewing redneck hillbilly that cannot comprehend
the sheer awesomeness of the music of the Violent Mother Jerk-Offs.

Neon lights blazed in the sky in a myriad of exotic languages. High above them
gigantic blimps, neatly framed by towering skyscrapers, blasted out toothpaste
and diet cola advertisements. Once their eyes had adjusted to the glare they
noticed the dark and dirty street before them. Dirty steam and other smelly
gases were seeping out of open sewers and manhole covers. The road was packed
with ragged street vendors and their rickety stalls. OMG what is that smell?

The street was swarming with people being slowly pushed apart by dark hover
cars. WTF hover cars?

"Flesh! Get ya flesh here! Livers! Kidneys! Colons!" yelled some of the street
vendors. Others were cooking up strange and exotic dishes. Bowls of rice and
noodles with strange spiky things and slimy looking slugs. Patrons were taking
dumplings and dropping them into small dipping bowls of tiny wriggling worms.

Flocks of dirty chickens roamed the land, pecking at lumps strewn here and
there. Oh fuck they aren't lumps they're dead people! Several chickens started
fighting over a body. It's they eyes. They love pecking out the eyes. That's
just fucking gross.

Pearl, looking as exhausted as a two dollar whore the night after an aircraft
carrier docks in town, sat down on the edge of the crater. That reminded her,
the USS Nimitz will be docking in New York in two weeks.

"ZOMG fux where are we!" she said to Minnie.

"I don't know. We have to get back to L.A. as fast as we can." said Minnie.

"But we lost? Can't we go find some sailors? Sexy time?" said Pearl.

"God damn stop being such a fucking slut Pearl. We have to get back to L.A. to
stop the kangaroo."

"Stop the wombat, you mean."

"Yeah whatever. Just think of what that wombat is doing to all those people over
there. We need something that'll stop him."

"So if we stop the wombats we can go see sailors?" said Pearl.

"Yes we can go see some fucking sailors." said Minnie. God damn what a slut.

Minnie and Pearl started walking down the street. They had no idea where they
were or where they were going. Their clothes were rags and they had lost their
cute little handbags, so at least they blended in with the crowd. "Livers! Shiny
green livers! Get your livers here!" yelled the flesh vendors. Who the fuck
wants to buy rotten flesh?

Behind the rickety street vendors were stores of every variety. Except cute
plastic asian stuff, it seems. Nothing about this dystopian scenario screamed
cuteness. You could buy clothes, whitegoods (haha they already had those two
covered), discount furniture, liposuction, body parts. Nothing much different
from L.A. though.

One shopfront stood out from all the rest: Sammy's Tac Nukes.

It had a big mushroom cloud on the sign. That was a good SIGN indeed. Pun
intended. And it was a fucking funny one too. Minnie and Pearl took a look at
the shopfront. There was a little video playing next to what they hoped was a
mock-up of an atomic bomb.

"Bad neighbours? Annoying yapping dogs? Want that promotion? In-laws coming
over? Well take a trip to Sammy's Tac Nukes for all your nuclear needs. We've
got A-bombs, H-bombs, neutron bombs and cyclotrons. Everything you need to get
the result you need. Take a look at our wide range of accessories and ask about
our No Bang No Bucks refund policy." 

It looked to Minnie and Pearl that this place had everything that they needed.
They headed on inside.

It was a lot bigger on the outside than they had thought. In fact it was really
fucking huge. Dangling from the roof were hundreds of gigantic atomic weapons.

A sales assistant walked up to them. Some pimply little teenager with a name tag
on his shirt that said "Ben". He walked up to them nervously. Have I mentioned
that Minnie and Pearl are totally smoking hot? No? Well you better believe it.

"Can I help you with something there?" he said, voice breaking uncomfortably as
Pearl turned toward him. Minnie took charge of the situation. She was an astute
shopper.

"Yes, we have a, er, pest problem. Yes, a pest problem that we would like to get
rid of," she said.

"Ok, what kind of pest are you trying to get rid of?" asked Ben.

"A wombat," Minnie said, nodding her head. "It's a big one."

"Yeah they can get pretty big if they are allowed to eat whatever they want. I
mean, once they get the taste for human flesh there is almost no stopping them."

He led them over to a small display.

"This is about the smallest bomb that we have in our range," he said, pointing
to a diagram of a small suitcase. "We call it 'The Party Pooper'. It's a
suitcase tactical nuclear device, tac nuke for short. It has a very dirty yield
of about one to two kilotons, depending on how hard you shake it beforehand.

"It can take out a large building or a skyscraper, and it's small enough that
you don't need a local council permit beforehand.

"Now, how big is this wombat?"

"Oh about 200 megatons I think," said Minnie. "Yeah that's about how big he said
he was. Maybe 201 when he has finished."

"Ooookaaay," said the sales assistant. "Let's take a few steps up in the range.
Technically the suitcase tac nuke would be fine. If you could get him to somehow
swallow the suitcase by putting it in his food or something then it would kill
him.

"But then you would have 200 kilotons of wombat to dispose of. Sure the dogs and
vultures will be happy for a while, but eventually local government will step in
and then you'll have a real mess on your hands."

He took them over to a larger display with some more traditional looking atomic
weaponry.

"This here is what we call our 'Strategic' range," he said, growing in
confidence as he showed the ladies his big bombs. "When you really need to blow
the fuck out of everything in sight then you need one of these." Oh no! He said
'fuck' in front of these fine ladies. Now they'll think he is completely crude.
He has no idea what Pearl does for a night out. Quick! Impress them with some
big nukes!

"Here's the biggest of our range. This is a four hundred megaton strategic
nuclear device. We call it the Big Ben." Heh heh. Helloooo ladies.

"You would just need to get this one in the general vicinity of the wombat. Then
he would be toast for sure. It's probably a bit too big you ladies those. Big
Ben can be a bit too much to handle." Heh heh heh. Ben implied he had a big
dick. Pearl was intrigued?

"Here, I think that this is what you need," he said, pointing at a much smaller
bomb. "This is smaller but it still packs a hell of a punch. It's about twenty
megatons in yield. The fallout is a little dirtier than most but it is still
pretty good. You could recover ground zero in say between three hundred and four
hundred years which is about average for this sort of nuke.

"These nukes are designed with the feminine touch in mind. They are small enough
to be carried by average women such as yourselves." Oh fucks he called them
average! "Not to suggest that you delicious ladies are average or anything."
Phew!

"I see," said Minnie. "And would we need to get the wombat to eat the device or
would we just have to place it somewhere nearby."

"Oh you could do both, honestly. But with an injested nuclear device you tend to
get wombat splattered all over the place. You don't want that. With something
the size of this one you can put it underneath. Then it would blow up and land
somewhere far away. That's cool though coz then it's not your problem." Oh
fucks! What if they are environmental chicks? All those hot chicks are into the
environment right?!

"Yeah, coz they will land in the sea you see? Then all the fishies get to eat
them up. It's the circle of life." Dude. Totally saved.

Minnie put on her glasses and wizard hat. She examined the fine print.

"So this weapon is eligible for the First Bomb Buyers grant?" she asked.

"Yes indeed it is. In fact, if you two are buying it together this night then
you can walk out of this store with that bomb practically for nothing.
Conditions apply."

"Conditions?" Minnie asked. "What conditions?"

"Well, the grant is designed to encourage young women to participate in nuclear
activities," he said. "So there is no problem there. The grant also specifies
that the bomb must be detonated in an unpopulated area. In this case the wombat
doesn't happen to count.

"So, will you be using this bomb in an unpopulated area?"

Minnie and Pearl looked at each other. The last time they met the wombat it was
in Los Angeles. For all they knew it was still there.

"Uhhhhhh.... yeeess." said Minnie. Technically they should all be dead by the
time they get back.

"Ok well that's good enough for me," said Ben. "Would you like a trolley?"

"Yes please."

Ben retrieved a trolley and plonked a twenty em-tonner into it. He rang it up
at the till and true to his word it didn't cost them a thing. As they walked out
of the store he farewelled them: "Good luck getting a part!"

Minnie and Pearl, having absolutely no idea what the guy meant, nodded and
calmly walked out of the door. They didn't want to seem clueless.

Out in the street Pearl was pushing the trolley. Minnie notices that passers by
were giving them strange glances and an unusual amount of space compared to the
others.

"Minnie, what do you think he meant by 'finding a part'?" said Pearl.

Minnie started browsing through the user manual. It was written in broken
English. She thinks that it was originally made in Korea. Fucking stupid
Koreans, she thought. Learn English you dumb fucks.

"I think it says here that the bomb needs at least four hundred grams of class A
'specimen' or six hundred grams of class B. Whatever that means."

They took a look around. Nothing much seemed out of the ordinary, except....
Yes, that fatty over there. He just walked out with a suitcase bomb and he
headed straight over to that meat dealer.

"Forty grams of F grade thanks." he said to the dealer. As though he did this
sort of thing all the time.

"That'll be twenty." said the dealer. As if people walked up to him all the time
and asked him for bits of rancid meat.

"Here you go." said the fatty, handing him a wad of paper. As IF PEOPLE WOULD
WANT TO BUY RANCID MEAT. Minnie couldn't make out the currency.

"Ta, mate. Here's the goods," said the dealer, handing him a small plastic bag
with some icky brown and green goop inside. "Have a nice day." AS IF PEOPLE
WOULD SELL RANCID MEAT TO OTHER PEOPLE AND THINK NOTHING OF IT.

The fatty took a few steps and then opened up the briefcase. There was a small
flap with a biohazard symbol on it. He flipped the lid, opened the bag of rancid
meat and dumped it inside. As if nuclear weapons, and complicated machinery in
general REQUIRED RANCID MEAT in order to operate. how the FUCK could that
possibly work? Even if you did need meat why the fuck would you need RANCID
MEAT?!?!?!

Minnie looked on the side of their nuke. It also had a little biohazard flap.
Peering inside she saw that the area inside was about two fistfuls. Well fuck me
with a rubber hose, she said. That was an expression she often heard Alec use.
They did need four hundred grams of rancid meat.

They walked up to the dealer.

"Excuse me, we need four hundred grams of class A." she said.

"Oh fuck me with a rubber hose. As if I would have that much on me. You see that
guy over there?" he said, pointing to a man on the corner with two mean looking
fat fucks flanking him. "Go speak to him," he said.

The walked up to the man. He seemed to be a popular one. There were lots of
people hanging around him, but they didn't seem to want to get past his guards
or talk to him. As they approached one of his goons stood purposefully between
the bomb and the man. From the look on his face he could have sneered the blast
away.

"We need four hundred grams of class A," said Minnie.

The man perked up and greeted them with a smile. A few in the crowd started
taking notice as well and pushed their way to the front.

"Well then let's cut to the chase," said the man. An assistant behind him came
out with a plastic bag of a sickly green and brown meat. Three people in the
crowd were crying now and mumbling to themselves in some foreign language.

"This is the liver of a Mister Tung Fao," he said. The crowd members, obviously
family or other close relation, burst into sobs. "Class A, of course. It has a
three week vintage. Charles, take care of those fine fellows will you."

One of his bodyguards walked over to the three. He swept them away with one arm,
bowling over a few on the other side of the road. They scrambled back almost
doubled over with tears in their eyes but for now the sobbing had ceased.

"I'm afraid Tung Fao was a very poor businessman," continued the man. "Couldn't
keep up with his commitments, you might say."

"How much?" asked Minnie.

One of the three, probably the mother, piped up. "Whatever they say we pay too"
she said to the man. The man continued to ignore her.

"Three fifty," said the man.

HA! Minnie was always looking to argue a bargain.

"Ha! We could get more than ten lots of 40 gram class F from over there," she
said, pointing to the previous dealer who now looked like a rabbit caught in the
headlights.

The man had a frown on his face. "My dear, you can't mix and match with this
sort of thing. You have to use a single piece from a single person. Obviously it
wouldn't work any other way." OBVIOUSLY!!! "I'm saying three hundred and fifty
thousand. In cash."

The old lady cried out, "we'll pay three sixty!"

Suddenly they had a bidding war on their hands.

"Three sixty five!" said Minnie.

"Three seventy!" said the mother.

The man had a smile on his face. It was going to be a very good sale either way.

"Three eighty!" said Minnie.

"Four hundred!" from the mother.

Pearl took Minnie aside. "Minnie!" she said. "We don't have that kind of money."

"I know," said Minnie. "What else are we going to do?"

"I have a plan," said Pearl. Oh fuck this can't be good.

They walked back to the auction. The mother had a smile on her face. She was
finally going to get her son back.

"Four hundred ten" said Pearl.

"Four hundred twenty" said the woman.

"A handjob in the back alley," said Pearl. God damn that girl was nasty.

The man lifted his eyebrows. "A most interesting offer, young lady," he said. He
took a long look at Pearl, then a look at the old lady. "I don't think you can
match this bid," he said to the mother.

Minnie watched over the bomb while she waited for Pearl. After about twenty
minutes she returned with the plastic bag and a smile on her face.

"My plans rock!" she said, dropping the rancid liver into the biohazard
compartment.

Alliteration abounds!

Wombat reared up on his hind legs and brought his massive bulk down onto a
shopping centre, quickly demolishing it into a pile of rubble and twisted steel.
Patrons ran screaming out of the building only to be crushed mercilessly by the
soft padded paws of the wombat. Soon the pavements were awash with the blood and
guts of the innocent.

"Sigh," sighed the wombat, squishing a woman with a baby pram and smearing their
remains into the sidewalk.  Destroying this city just isn't that fun anymore. He
caught the flash of a camera and saw that a couple were taking photos of the
scene from their tenth floor apartment down the road. Wombat slowly plodded down
the road and crushed the apartment in his massive jaws. The sweet metallic taste
of human blood swept over his tongue.

"I mean, it's just the same thing over and over again." he thought to himself.
He turned his head to look at the landscape before him. "It's just a concrete
jungle. This spot here is pretty much the same as any spot. There's no
interesting architecture or botanical gardens or anything like that. Squish
stopped being fun days ago."

Dogs yapped wildly at his feet. A few quick stomps and they were paste.

"And these Americans, they are so fat!" Wombats stomach went queasy at the
thought of chowing down on another few hundred of them. "Haven't they ever
considered the benefits of a calorie controlled diet and exercise? These people
are just too fat. I'm in danger of becoming a big lump of lard myself."

Wombat looked up and saw an eagle in the distance. "He is so light and small,"
thought the wombat. "He probably doesn't have a care in the world. If he didn't
like this place he could just fly away." On an impulse wombat spat at the eagle,
hitting it dead on and sending it plummeting toward the ground. Ha ha that was
pretty cool. Wombats aim had improved immensely over the past few days.

"I with there was something to do, you know?" thought the wombat. "Maybe those
girls will come back? That was pretty cool. Maybe could go for drinks later and
do, you know, just whatever." Like all lonely males, wombat was quickly turning
into a complete loser.

"I wonder where Alec is?" thought the wombat. Hmmm... he couldn't sense him with
the hate-dar. He must be underground, or wearing a tin-foil hat. "Probably
wearing the hat," he thought. Alec was always a bit strange like that "Oh well,"
he sighed. "I guess I'll just head off in the general direction of when I last
sensed him."

With that the wombat started walking east. Where he was going he did not know.
He was a very sad wombat.

-------------------------------

Richard, Alec and the bass player clawed desperately at the gruesomly grim
gargantuan gravelly grey granite tunnel floor. They had been wantonly walking
throughout the caves for a week now. They had no food, they brought no water.
Alec's robe and wizard hat were in tatters. After a few desperate attempts to
eat that hat proved worthless they discarded it. But they had only made it a few
meters before collapsing with fatigue.

ZOMG!!! thought Richard. We are all going to die here bro!

Nevarrrr!!! thought Alec. 

Richard propped himself up against a wall. Dude, he thought, wouldn't it be like
totally cool if the wall caved in like in the movies? Yeah totally. I can't
think of anything better right now.

Richard gives out a yell and disappears from sight. "Oh fux where did he go?"
said Alec. I don't know he went out of sight!

Richard stumbles back into view.

"Dudes it's a staircase. Totally gnarly!" he said to the pair. Alec, Richard and
the bass player, energised with a new burst of energy, quickly bolted up the
stairs and into the sunlight. Thank fuck they got out of there. There was a real
possibility that everyone could have died from boredom.

The emerged in the middle of a rolling wheat field. Wheat stretched out from
where they stood into the horizon in all directions. They were just as lost out
here as down there. There was a small path leading to a large windmill. The
windmill looked old, though come to think of it none of them had any idea what a
new windmill looked like. Between them they didn't have a single copy of the
Windmill Weekly, the world's most popular weekly magazine on windmills. As well
as the latest news and events in the wonderful and exciting world of windmills,
Windmill Weekly had in-depth commentary on a wide range of windmill-related
issues. At least, that's what the husbands say to their wives whenever they find
a copy of Windmill Weekly lying around the house. Really, Windmill Weekly
contains hundred of pictures of buxom young female farm-hands in various states
of undress.

"How strange," the bass player said. "Finding a windmill in such an isolated
place as this." Had the bass player paid attention to what the other children
were reading at school he would have known that it wasn't unusual in the
slightest. Looking over the shoulder of his fellow schoolmates he would have
noticed that if the windmill was used to OH TITTIES!!!!

They stumbled along a dusty dirty darren path towards the totally towering
titfucking tower. Along the way Alec spotted a small furry creature. He only
caught brief glimpses of it as it ducked in and out of the wheat. Alec could
feel a tingling sensation at the back of his skull. He hadn't felt that
since.... oh fuck! The wombat! Why couldn't other people take care of these
things. Other people are stupid and they suck stupid donkey balls.

As they reached the foot of the tower the creature jumped out from the cover of
the wheat field and bolted for the door. It then reared up on it's hind legs,
blocking the trio of tired tortured travellers.

"Bonan tagon vi sinjoroj. Bonvolu permesi ke mi demandu kiel ci tiu speco tago
estas traktanta vi?" said the little bundle of fur. It was a Chincilla, known to
the Chinese as the dragon-cat. Alec knew the Chincilla to be a wise and yet
fluffy sort of creature. Their cute possum-like appearance neatly covered their
passion for art and philosophy. They are south american though, which means that
they can get very passionate and emotional with their feelings and stuff. Beware
their wrath. Very good in the sack too. Fiery!

"Ci tiu tago ne traktanta ni bone, amiko," replied Alec. "Ni estas mangemega kaj
laca de for longa vojago. Mi petegi de vi, ni ..u okupas ripoz en ci tiu humila
ventmuelilo?"

"Mia hejmo estas ciame bonvenon al la Esperantistoj. Placi (al) eniri senatende.
Partake en manget kaj trinkajoj sur la kuirejo tablo."

"Dankon. Ni akceptas vian specon inviton."

With that they entered inside. Alec lead them to the aforementioned table and
they took feast in yummy salada biscuits and lemonade. Richard had forgotten the
crisp clean taste of lemonade. He usually preferred slurping up hard liquour off
of groupies tits. He considered the little rabbit thing. No, too furry.

-------------------------------

Wombat was excited. He had caught the scent, the scent of hatred for Alec Kesh.
He had a good bearing on him now. There over the mountains and then some way
beyond. He was travelling on the highway, squishing cars and trucks when he had
the chance. It was a lot of fun. So crunchy!

-------------------------------

Alec and the band, fully satiated on delicious crackers and lemonade, finally
took a look at their surroundings. The windmill was of rather traditional
post-mill design, thought the bass player, who took time to thumb through his
schoolmates copies of Windmill Weekly. Usually you would put the busty farm hand
over there, where she could give the farmer "a hand" in good light.

But there was no time for any of that right now. The walls were covered in a
paper of curious design. It was a floral-like pattern, swirls of colour here and
there, but the colours were most drab indeed. Dark pastel greens and browns
mixed in with cream. It was very, errr, seventies I guess.

At the centre of the room was a large column. It was unusual compared to other
parts of the windmill. This was a very large central column, seemingly made out
of metal with wallpaper glued on. There was a metal staircase to the side that
let all the way up to the top. The bass player found this architecturally very
interesting. The buxom farm-hard could perhaps walk half-way up the staircase?
Then would could see her delicious firm butt.

Alec could feel the wombat getting closer and closer. Any minute now the wombat
would be upon him. Where could he go? Back down into the caves was certain
death. For some reason his "turn-left-everytime" approach did not work down
there. He found that strange and unusual. The wheat fields were no help.
Obviously the wombat could track him without seeing, hearing or smelling him.

Perhaps this windmill has weapons? He thought. He looked around the room. There
was definitely nothing useful here, unless you counted large rolls of seventies
styled wallpaper. The only choice was up. He climbed the staircase, eagerly
looking around for something, anything, that could save him from this gruesome
fate.

At the top of the windmill the central column had an unusual door. It was small
and metal with a latch and not a handle. He opened the door. Inside was a
nervous man with a dirty brown handlebar moustache and a big stack of Windmill
Weekly magazines.

"Kiuj(n) vi estas? Kion vi faras ci tie? Ne vi scias Ke mi estas partaking en
inteligenta ponderance sur Ventmuelilo ciusemajna?"

Alec couldn't care less about his intelligent ponderances. Windmill Weekly was
tame stuff indeed. He looked around, seeing radio equipment and various switches
and knobs studded all over the room. There was a couch built for three to sit
side by side. A Soyuz space capsule, sitting right here on the top of an unused
launch vehicle. This was perfect.

Damn beatniks

Wombat could feel Alec, his hate grew within him. Pure emotion pumped through
his veins, raw and and a little salty. Man he could do with a quick drink right
now. There's a little stream over there. Ahhh much better.

Now what was it? Oh yeahs the hate. Oh god damn he hated Alec. Yeah. Yeah.
Really hater that little fucker. Why? Oh yeah, that thing.

Wombat was too busy trying to go faster and faster. He was squishing cars on the
freeway as he went along. HAHA LOLZ! It was fun. I guess. Wombat had had too
much fun lately. People weren't that interesting anymore. Squishing things
wasn't that fun anymore. Man, if only there was something he could do that was
real FUN.

Oh yeah back to the hating. Man, that Alec, what a pain!

------------------------------------------------

Mark Grondman sat down at his command chair on the bridge of the Starship Dave
Grohl. It was tough times at the moment. They were on route to sector 17,
emergency speed. Some sort of disaster on the planet, probably involving rhythm
in some respect. It always does. Of course, that was nothing unusual for Mark
Grondman, greatest drummer in the Universe.

The Dave Grohl was the flagship of the fleet. At over four kilometers in length
it was the biggest as well. It had over two thousand gigabeats of rhythmic
potential. More than twenty thousand crewmen could fit on board, if they were
pretty thin and they didn't mind sleeping in each others bunks. They would need
adequate contraception as well. There was one time when they forgot and then
eight months later BIG SURPRISE! HA! HA!

With over 15 terafunks on hand Mark Grondman was one of the powerful and
therefore sexiest people in the galaxy. With his broad heavily muscled frame and
handlebar moustache he was more than a match for any sexy alien chicks that come
along. And come they do. Mark Grondman had mastered that particular beat, the
beat of love, the beat of PASSION, long ago.

But not at the moment. Sector 17 was in trouble. There was something iffy going
on that was for sure. Only Mark's incredible ability to hit something repeatedly
was going to get them out of this one.

Dum chicka dum chicka dum chicka dum chicka-

Guru, the ship's communications officer, broke Mark's concentration.

"Sir, we are detecting several ships ahead." said Guru.

"Drop to sub-light speed. Open hailing frequencies." ordered Mark. Dum chicka
dum chicka dum chicka dum chick dum da dum dum.

The crew performed their orders with the speed and diligence due for officers
under the command of the great Mark Grondman. Oh yeah, Mark Grondman was good.
He could feel the rhythm of this ship and of it's crew. It was all in time, all
in sync. It might be speeding up a little. Meh. Nothing wrong with that.

The gigantic view screen at the front of the bridge switched to video mode. Oh
fux not them again. Damn beatniks!

The beatniks were a degenerate race from sector 12. Oh fuck they were annoying.
With their prissy little berets and stripy black and white shirts. So fucking
annoying. They had those little red scarfs and tiny black moustaches. Mark
couldn't stand wimpy little black moustaches. They need a man's moustache. A
handlebar moustache. It was the only way to go. Anything else was just not manly
enough. In fact, he would put into question the manliness of the entire race of
beatniks. He supposes that not a single one of them has the balls to grow a
handlebar.

They think they can make it out here, so far away from their precious sector 12?
Ha. A beatniks ship, with their puny little limp wristed hand drums, could
barely manage a single gigabeat of potential. And they had almost no funk at
all! Don't they know how this universe works? Mark swivelled in his little chair
and looked out over his massive set into the eyes of the beatnik.

"Beatnik! You are confined to sector 12. What are you doing so far away?"

The beatnik smiled. "How now brown bureaucrat?"

"Don't play coy with me. Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me if I was
angry."

"Anger? Such a brutish thought. Like you. You are a brute!" j'accused the
beatnik.

"Rrrrr!" Mark was ready to unleash a killer solo on their asses. He readied his
sticks beside him. One. Two. One two. Yep. He had both of them. Had to make sure
sometimes.

"Hey Mark, man. How do you know if a drummer is knocking at your door?" asked
the beatnik.

Mark already knew the answer to that one, but he wouldn't let the beatniks know
that. So far many had tried, tried in vain to find the secret joke formula that
would completely psyche him out. It was a futile effort. No known drummer joke
worked against Mark Grondman, the greatest drummer in the universe!

The beatnik continued, even though he asked a question he was clearly
uninterested in having Mark answer said question. They he would have accepted a
setup. A simple "I don't know. How DO you know if a drummer is knocking at your
door?" would have sufficed. It is only polite in such situations. But this
situation was not one to be polite in. This was a very serious political
stand-off. The fate of worlds hung in the balance today.

"The knocking speeds up! HAHAHAHAHA!" said the beatnik, laughing ridiculously in
the face of Mark. You have to admit that's pretty fucking funny though.

Mark stared at the beatnik. He had his sticks at the ready. One. Two. One two.
Yeah, at the ready. If he got any angrier he would need a roadie to set up a few
things for him.

"I'm warning you, beatniks." He gave a little tap on the high hat. OMG he was
such a kick-ass drummer!!!!!11!11 Even the high hat tap was pretty good and it
was just a tap on a piece of brass. Imagine what that kick drum could do! Oh
droolz!

"Hey Marky Mark," said the beatnik. Oh like he has never heard that one before.
"What do you call a person who hangs out with musicians?"

Mark Grondman held his sticks high. One. Two. One two. Yeah. Held them up high.
High for the beatnik spanking. Mmmm... yes. Spanking. So rhythmic. So sexy. No!
Not now! He had to concentrate!

"A drummer! AHAHAHA!"

That was it. Mark had had enough. He started belting out an awesomely inspiring
drum solo. Massive beats echoed off the bridge wall and started being focused
into a tight beam of beat-energy. The energy coalesced in a tight ball of
kick-ass when Mark unleashed the awesome power of the kick drum, reflecting the
beat-energy towards the beatniks. 

Sure, against such awesome power the beatniks were completely defenceless. But
hey, they were beatniks. No love lost there. Hmmm... they did have hot chicks
though. Nah, never mind. They all had armpit hair anyway.

The energy ball accelerated towards the beatniks ship before suddenly being
deflected away. Oh fuck what was that?

The beatnik put on an evil sneer. "Is that all you have, man?" he said. The
beatnik pulled out a small bongo. He tapped lightly with his limp wristed little
girly hands. A beat formed, I guess. If you could call it that. There was a
fuzzy little ball forming at the bow. Ha. A pathetic amount of beat-energy.

The beatnik let out a small sigh, sending the puny beat-energy out toward the
flagship Dave Grohl. Ha, thought Mark. I'm surprised that they even managed to
get it in the general vicinity of the ship. It's a complete fluke that they
even managed to get it on target.

"Shields at minimum," he said. Yes, that should be more than enough.

At this rate the ball would take four minutes to hit them. Geez louise! They
could be light years away in that time. But no, Mark Grondman never ignored the
opportunity to demonstrate his superiority over others. The minutes ticked down.
Oh fuck will this thing ever get here?

Finally! The little ball fuzzed against the shield and dispersed into
nothingness.

"Ha ha! Little beatniks!" he boasted. "You cannot even comprehend the true power
of this battleship!"

Just then the ship began to shake in a most unrythmic manner. It was almost
chaotic, the junts and jars coming from any direction and at any time. It was
enough to almost blow the mind of Grondman.

"Sir!" Guru reported, "the ship is coming apart at the seams! Damage to life
support, engineering, navigation! All systems are critical."

Oh fuck this isn't good. Mark had a decision to make. It was a hard one. Harder
than a keeping down a 5/13 beat. But of course Mark could do that easily. He was
the greatest drummer in the universe (not including bongos). There was only one
course of action to take.

"We must make haaaaste!" he said, lifting his arms up wildly into the air and
throwing his sticks. "Emergency jump into beatspace, man!" Ahh shit. Now he was
talking like them. So mysterious, those beatniks. What secrets do those pants
hold? No no no! Has to concentrate.

"What is our destination sir?" asked Guru. God damn can't you make any decisions
on your own?!?!?!

"Ahhh, that one!" said Mark, pointing at the closest star he could find. Yes
that one should be good enough.

The switch to beatspace was disturbing. Usually the ship was smooth and on time,
going into perfect rhythm with the universe. This was jarring, as though the
ship had just lost it. You know, "it". That undefinable something that kept
everything on time.

It was a long trip to that uncharted system. What troubles lay ahead he could
not possibly determine. What troubles lay behind he was a bit more sure about
but for the most part he could not possibly determine. He was only a drummer.

A very special occasion

Alec immediately took control of the situation. Oh yeah, he is in this windmill
that's actually built around a Soviet-era intercontinental ballistic missile
sorta thing except with a space capsule on the top. All the other members of the
band are there, Richard Broadham and the bass player. Rick wasn't around though
they didn't know where he was. Probably off being gay or something. Everyone
thought he was a total gay-bo.

Anyway Alec is trying to get away from the wombat, who is homing down on him as
we speak. Will the wombat get him and munch him up? Oh noes! Nobody knows.
Spooky. So he chucks this guy out of the space capsule, and he chucks out all
those Windmill Weekly magazines as well. Except the one with the blonde. She has
a nice pair of titties.

The man storms down the stairs, screaming incoherently in his own funny little
language. His pet chinchilla (or was it the other way around?) took up
conversation with him. The flung their arms and paws in all sorts of directions.
Richard and the bass player, noticing the ruckus, climbed up the staircase to
speak with Alec. Alec was already buckled in, flicking seemingly random switches
and mumblin in some wierdo un-American the best goddamn country in the world
language. He looked toward the pair:

"Don't just stand around like a pair of stunned mullets!" he said. "Get in 'ere
and close the door behind ya. Were you born in a barn or something?"

Richard and the bass player entered the capsule and buckled themselves in. There
wasn't much space in the capsule. It wasn't too much trouble though because
Richard was watching his weight. He was on the Atkins diet. No carbohydrates,
just cocaine.

Alec began the countdown. It was going to take a while though. Hmmm maybe they
should warn the chinchilla and his pet man that they might want to think about
leaving? Nah they'll figure it out for themselves. It would take about five
minutes for all the various systems to come online and go through their internal
tests. Good thing he did a course on Soviet capsule piloting at TAFE.

----------------------------------------

The spaceship Dave Grohl exited beatspace. Mark Grondman, greatest drummer in
the universe and captain of the Dave Grohl, shook his head in shame. The ship
had never been in worse shape. The beatbox engines were barely working, roadies
were working round the clock to duct tape the hull back together. It was all
discombobulated. Bits were speeding up, slowing down, beats were being missed.
It was amateur hour on the bridge.

They had just escaped from the beatniks in sector 12. Damn beatniks. Their
mysterious wimpy beat-energy weapon was stuffing up everything! They think
they're so cool with their volkswagons and berets. Snarky little fuckers.

"Guru," he said, addressing one of the ship console operators. "Where are we?"

"We don't know sir. This sector isn't marked on any known star chart. There are
nine, no wait, let me check Google News... there are only eight planets in the
system. I think. Some people say there are nine and some people say there are
eight. One of the two. Anyway, the third planet is full of idiots, sir. It might
be habitable after we get rid of them."

"Hmmm... indeed." Mark was not so hasty on such matters. With his intense
percussion skills he could mesmerise large groups of lesser beings. He could
become powerful, very powerful, if these pathetic hu-mans proved docile enough.
Maybe they had really hot chicks too.

"Shall I order the death-beats to commence, my liege?" asked Guru.

How could I order the destruction of an entire planet of potentially hot-chicks?
he thought. I mean, in this universe, it seems strange that when we visit these
planets there are usually hot chicks. Unless they have scary monsters. Oooh. Hot
chicks or scary monsters? Hot chicks. Scary monsters. Hot chicks. Scary
monsters. Bom chick, da dum ba boosh tah. Bom chick, da dum ba boosh ta. Bom
chick, da dum ba boosh tah. Bom chick, da dum ba-

"Sir?" queried Guru. God fuck! Can't he see I'm thinking important captain
things here?!?!?! Mother fucker! Oh shit! No! Gotta act all composed and
stately.

"No. I don't think we shall do that just yet." Gotta save the hot chicks, gotta
save the hot chicks. Wait, I can't tell them that. Ahhhh....

"Those dastardly beatniks may be on our tail. We may need to conserve our energy
for the moment in case they return." Heh heh that was a pretty good one.

Dum chicka dum chicka dum chicka.

----------------------------------------

Minnie and Pearl stepped onto American soil once again. God damn it was the best
god damn soil in the god damn world. So pure. The had landed in Los Angeles only
a few hours beforehand. Taking the band chopper they had viewed the devastation
that had happened to the city. Surprisingly the city was still there. The wombat
had destroyed most of the inner city. Lots of skyscrapers were crushed or
toppled over. A few were arranged in a neat little star pattern. That was pretty
cute. Oh but he destroyed lots of stuff. Yeah that's not cool. But still, cute!

There were obviously people still around. That's screwed up their plan. They
thought that everyone would be dead by now. That way they could set off the nuke
without needing a permit. But noooo. They had to survive. Men and women were
clearing up the debris. Children were playing in the streets. Fuckers.

Having nothing left to do the chopper landed. Pearl still had the nuke and was
pushing it in it's trolley down the street. Yeah people were a bit concerned
about it while they were coming back, but most people didn't mind. Of course it
wouldn't be detonated here. They didn't have a permit.

"Minnieeeee," said Pearl. She was pretty annoying sometimes. "Where's the
wombat?"

How the fuck would Minnie know? She was with Pearl the entire time. Pearl has
seen absolutely everything that Minnie has seen.

"Don't know." Minnie replied. She wasn't in the mood.

"Minnieeeee," said Pearl. "How are we gonna find the wombaaaaat?"

"Oh my god Pearl SHUT THE FUCK UP!" she screeched.

Pearl was hurt. She was just trying to make conversation. Now she had to think
of something good to say. Awww thinking sux! I'm just gonna start saying
something and let my brain figure out the rest.

"Why don't we..." aaaahh fuck what the fuck am i going to say!!!!!!!!

Minnie was straining trying to hold herself from completely bitch slapping Pearl
ten ways to Tuesday. Why doesn't that bitch just shut up!! SHUT IT BITCH!

"Why don't we..." GOD DAMN SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID BITCH!!!1!11 "... release
the wombats in the cages in Boston and then let the furries out and when the
wombat comes to get the furries we make the bomb blow up?"

Hey that's pretty good idea.

----------------------------------------

Fields of golden dandelions rolled out into the horizon under a bright summer
sky. Alec skipped daintily in the sunshine. He had a smile on his face and the
warm wind blew over his taut trim muscular frame and through his shining locks
of jet black hair. God damn he looked hot. He felt good too. Happier than ever
with his one true love. Tra la la la la.

Wombat bounded toward him. He wasn't so big back then. A cute little thing with
his shiny soft mahogany fur and cute stubby little legs. His eyes weren't filled
with hatred and icky icky laser beams. He eyes were full of love. Love for Alec,
his one true love.

Alec opened his arms wide and wombat jumped right in. The fell to the ground and
rolled through the field together. Laughing wildly. Life was so good, they
thought. It was good to be in love and be loved.

They stopped and looked into each others eyes.

"I love you, wombat," Alec said, stroking the side of his partner's furry little
face.

"I love you too, Alec," said the wombat, giving Alec a cute little bite on the
nipple.

Oh! That was naughty! Alec gave the wombat a little smack on the bottom. The
wombat giggled and wiggled his firm little butt. There was nobody around. Nobody
for a million miles. They could do whatever they want out here and no-one would
see them...

----------------------------------------

Alec flipped the ignition switch. Massive rocket engines wound up and began to
fire. Fuel pump four was a little low on pressure but they should be ok. Ten
more seconds and the craft would be catapulted into space.

Five.

Four.

Three.

----------------------------------------

Wombat bounded over the last of the hills. Alec was there, in that flaming
windmill. He could feel it. Feel the hatred for Alec. That bastard!

Two.

One.

Liftoff!

The windmill exploded. Flaming chunks of wood and wallpaper blasted out in all
directions. Wombat could see a rocket ascending into the sky. Alec was on the
rocket. He could feel it.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11111111111"

Oh scorned love! What a bitter web we weave! Take me off this mortal coil! My
heart goes yonder into wild abyss below! That fucking bastard!

----------------------------------------

Minnie and Pearl made the quick trip from Los Angeles to Boston in record time.
Their helicopter was pretty fast. You need those sorts of things. It's very
useful sometimes. This one time Minnie was in Nicaragua and she realised that
she forgot her mobile. So she just jumped into the copter and popped back to
Japan. Silly girl. She left it in the charger!

They found the wombats back at the Steel Rose gig. They were caged, as always.
They didn't seem too bad to Minnie and Pearl. Richard always said that they were
such vicious little things, all bity and mean. But right now they were very cute
and cuddly. What harm could these little tykes possibly do? Look at their little
button noses! And those cute little stubby legs! SO CUUUUUUUUTTTE!!!!!!!!!

Minnie opened the cage door and the wombats played around their feet. They were
so happy to be free. Pearl gave them a few little munchies to eat and they took
them right out of her hand! Oh they were so cute. They followed Minnie and Pearl
as they walked outside, playfully frolicking.

They made their way to the field. It wasn't very far, Steel Rose only play
stadium gigs you see. The wombats were delighted at the sight of grass. The
bounded up the steps and started playfully burrowing into the ground. The
wombats were playing with each other. Games of tag, games of squishy squish, who
can burrow fastest, who has the cutest little button nose. That sort of thing.
All the cute little wombats do stuff like that. They are sooo cute and cuddly.

Minnie and Pearl played with the wombats for a while. They were so cuddly. The
wombats would line up patiently for hugs. When Minnie and Pearl had hugged every
wombat twice they left them to play amongst themselves on the field. They made
their way down to the storage area. Some of the wombats tried to follow them,
rubbing their soft shiny wombat fur against their legs. But Minnie and Pearl
scooped them up and took them back to play with their wombat friends.

Eventually they made it back. They took a look at the other cage. In this case
was something completely different. Furries. Yes, furries. Those despicable,
disgusting hunks of warm flesh. Technically they were people, but nobody would
believe it for a second if you told them that. They were dressed in lewd
animal-like costumes. Bunny costumes (without the crotch), donkey costumes
(without the crotch), wombat costumes (without the crotch). If fact you could
find almost every type of animal costume in this cage (without the crotch). The
furry cage was divided into lots of smaller individual cages. Furries were a
danger even to other furries.

They were the back up, you see. In case the wombats escaped and started
rampaging across the city. Just like they are now, I guess. Depends on your
perspective. Outside this room there are a number of wombats. At least one of
those wombats is doing some rampaging. Therefore the wombats were rampaging.
Thus the furries had to be let loose. Yes, that made sense.

They dragged the cage out onto the field. It was tough work, but you couldn't
just let these furries out of their cage anywhere. Furries had to be locked up
for their own good. Locked up forever if possible. They would let them out here,
on this field. The unlocking could be triggered via a wireless remote, so Minnie
and Pearl could trigger it from a safe distance. They counted the number of
furries. Yes, they were as many furries as there were wombats. That was a good
sign.

Minnie and Pearl went over to the wombats for one last time. They were happy
little wombats, playing their happy little wombat games. They had satisfied
smiles on their faces and panting breaths. Tired from all the fun I suppose.
They gathered around Minnie and Pearl's legs, rubbing their soft fur against
their legs. With their mobile phones they took pictures of the cutest little
wombats. Memories to treasure forever. Minnie and Pearl made sure to give them
lots and lots of hugs before finally leaving.

They watched the wombats and the caged furries from up in the commentary box,
which seemed to be a safe enough distance. Minnie had the remote control for the
furry cage.

"You know," she said. "Those wombats are really really cute!"

"Yeah," said Pearl.

Minnie unlocked the furry cage. The furries, mouths frothing with excitement,
immediately pounced on the unsuspecting wombats. Playtime was over for these
little cuties.

"How long do you think until the big wombat gets here?" asked Pearl, taking a
vague interest in the carnage below.

"I don't know," said Minnie. She was watching one of the furries with a wombat.
"Is that supposed to go there?" she asked.

"Only on very special occasions." said Pearl.

"So that's why none of their costumes have crotches!"

It's a matter of perspective

Tyler wakes up in a haze. Extricating himself from the mound of warm females
that he somehow fell asleep in, he wonders what the hell he did last night, and
why is one of them in a bunny suit without the crotch? Ohhh fuck my head hurts,
he thinks. Mmmmm.... yeah better stop thinking. Thinking is sooooo not good
right now. Ohhh fuck. No, wait, what the fuck did I do last night? Fleeting
images stream into his mind. Strippers, booze, drugs, hookers, farm animals.
Holy shit that was completely rotten. His whole body ached, overworked after
whatever carnal excertions he had exasperately and unexpectedly expended his
excellent body on last night. His ass was feeling strange, achy and... ahhh...
abused.

He found himself in a luxury penthouse hotel room. God damn it was huge. The
gigantic living room had a hot tub, shag carpeting and what looks like a
permanent installation of Twister, complete with tiny lubrication sprinklers.
What the fuck?

He made his way into the bathroom. God damn he needed to pee. There was a goat
in the bathtub. He herded it out into the living room where it proceeded to eat
one of the couches.

"OH FUCK!" screamed Tyler. His penis burned like all hell when he peed. Oh fuck
oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. What is this rash on my balls? he asked. He took a look
at himself in the mirror. His hair, once beautifully permed and fluffed, was now
a caked mess of cum and lubricant. He had a black eye and a massive set of
scratches and welts on his chest, back and ass. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Oh fuck he couldn't be seen in public like this.

He found his clothes in a pile by the entrance. The goat had chewed on his
sleeve a bit, and his shirt and underwear were completely torn apart. He
put on what clothes he could and gathered the rest of his belongings. Looking
into his wallet it was completely empty. He must have spent all of the money he
took out yesterday. Oh fuck that was a lot of money. The sound of footsteps
BURSTED FORTH from the bedroom.

"Hey there lover," said the voice. Richard looked over. It was one of the
hookers from last night. Oh fuck she looked about forty in this light. Her
blonde hair was frizzled, mascara run down her face. Damn those tits were
sagging and oh fuck oh fuck OH FUCK THAT CHICK HAS A DICK!

Richard ran screaming out of the room.

-------------------------------------------

Wombat, desolate and isolated in this lonely lonely world wandered aimlessly
around the countryside. Alec had just blasted away into space. What is he going
to do now? I don't know. Maybe you should mope around a little more you stupid
fat mopy wombat.

Woe is me, thought the wombat. Woe is me. You stupid fat fucking crybaby. Why
don't you go cry some more, fatty? Oh you're sad because stupid fucking Alec has
gone away. Oh noes!!!!11! I was being sarcastic there if you didn't notice. You
probably didn't because you are such a fucking idiot you dumb ass fuckwit. God
damn emos make me so fucking sick.

Suddenly emotions started streaming into wombat's mind. They were intense,
feeling kinda like being a defenseless wombat repeatedly ravaged by a crazed
furry. Not that there was another other type of furry. Furries in general are
worthless scum. Oh you don't agree with me? What are you gonna do about it you
sick fucking perverts? Dress up as a rabbit and hump a pillow?

Wombat could hear the cries of his fellow wombatians in his mind. Such pain,
such sick sick fuckers. He had to help them. Oh yes he had to help his poor
little defenseless wombat dudes and dudettes. Their attackers would soon feel
the soft pads of justice squishing them ever so slowly into the ground. They
would feel their bones crushing and their organs splurting out their mouths as
they died. Oh man that is totally disgusting when you think about it. But you
can't be too tough on these furries. They have to learn their lesson, and that
lesson is that they have to die in the slowest most gruesome method available.
Being slowly crushed by a wombat is probably one of the cruelest of all. But
it's kinda ironic considering that they were all abusing wombats and stuff and
being all "what are you gonna do you powerless wombat? oh yeah you're gonna take
my dog/horse/rabbit/goat meat into you and you're gonna like it! yeah! oh yeah!
take it! take it! oohhh fuck yeah oh that's good" and then like a big wombat
comes along and crushes them.

"I'm coming for you, little wombat friends!!!" yelled wombat, bounding
porpoisefully into the horizon.

-------------------------------------------

Mark Grondman is trying desperately to keep this ship together. Man, it was
tough. He had the roadies working around the clock. Technically this was a
drumming ship, but the drummers had to save themselves for the real work,
hitting the drums and stuff. The roadies were the ones that did all the heavy
lifting.

But man, this was all harder than holding down a 5/13 beat. That was pretty
hard, but Mark Grondman was the greatest drummer in the world. He could master
such time signatures, he was king of all beats and beat making sort of things.
Dum chicka dum chicka dum chicka. Maybe he'll speed it up a little. Yeah that
sounds better. Du-chika du-chika du-chika. Yeah oh a bit faster yeah! Du-chik
du-chik du-chik du-chik. Yeah now we're rockin'!

-------------------------------------------

Tyler walked the streets dazed and confused. It was kinda hard to walk properly
too, what with his ass being all sore and stretched and stuff. Oh man what a
night, he thought. With the booze and the hookers and the drugs. Gee. Yeah. Such
a manly thing to do. Yeah so manly. Why all the manliest of men would do
something like that. Booze and drugs and rock and sex, with women of course.
Always with the women. That was what made Tyler such a manly man, you see. Such
a stud with the ladies. They would swoon and sween before him and he would take
them to bed and show them good times. He was full of testosterone, such a stud.
A heterosexual stud. Yeah, titties.

Yeah, such a bit hit with the chicks, he thought. They just can't help
themselves with him. Even the ones with dicks. Yeah. They were still chicks,
right? Yeah they must be. They still had the hair and the makeup and all the big
bouncy titties and stuff. He'll show them a good time, yeah. Maybe they could
fuck him in the ass a little too... NO! No that would be gay! Tyler Dann is not
a gay homosexual! Tyler Dann is a big fucking stud and a hit with the ladies!

Yeah, he loved all the ladies out there. That's because he was such a big
fucking stud. Yeah he loved big tits and beer and football. That's because he is
such a fucking awesome man. A manly man. So caring and shit, he'll even please
the ladies that are so unfortunate to have a thick cock.

It was a public service, really. He was so caring for these woman. Outcasts from
society. They have those deep voices and Adam's apples and hard facial features.
Most men wouldn't take them. Wouldn't show them what it means to be a woman.
Wouldn't let them blow their loads all over his chest and rock hard abs. I mean,
you can't reject a lady just because she happens to have a dick. What are these
fine ladies supposed to do? Go lesbo?

But Tyler Dann would take them. Tyler Dann was such a manly man. So strong and
heterosexual, yeah. He wasn't afraid to take on all ladies he was such a stud.
Yeah he would take their thick girl-cocks and show them how it's done. Oh yeah
dripping wet, so thick and juicy. Oh yeah so delicious. Tyler could just lap it
up all night. Oh fuck yeah he could feel it in his mouth. Oh so sweet and salty.
Oh yeah fuck my mouth fuck it fuck it oh yeah! Oh yeah Tyler could feel it deep
down his throat, throbbing and pumping that thick white girl-juice right down
his throat. Oh fuck yeah it was good. He could feel his ass itching. Itching for
that girl-cock to pump his ass. He wanted to feel that long thick girl-cock
spurting it's tasty sweet girl-cum in his ass. Yeah.

Tyler Dann was not a gay homosexual. He was a total fucking stud and a hit with
the ladies.

-------------------------------------------

Minnie and Pearl watched the wombat/furry gangrape from the comfort of their
luxury helicopter. They had already planted the bomb on-site under that scene of
furry wombat love. Now that they were a safe distance away they could pop open
a bottle of bubbly and view that action with their high power telescope. 

Minnie of course couldn't view it for very long. She got disgusted and was
quickly bored with the whole thing. God damn she was such a prude.

Pearl hadn't made her mind up yet. I mean, if she was a wombat and had spent a
lot of time in a cage then she wouldn't mind getting a bit of action once she
got out. And by a bit I mean a lot. Pearl was a fan of that sort of thing. She
couldn't decide if the furry thing was completely freak-out or just kinda kinky.
Maybe if she watched it a bit longer, ordered some DVDs and went to a few
parties in a couple of skimpy animal costumes then she could make an informed
decision. Yeah that would be best, she thought.

Off in the distance they could see wombat. He was fast, faster than something
really fast like a sports car or a racing car or something. Yeah they were
fast but wombat was like totally faster than those guys. So he was coming in
like extra fast. Minnie had the remote control for the bomb in her hand. She was
trying to set the clock but she couldn't. She didn't realise that she was a girl
and girls can't do those sorts of things. Girls can cook and clean but aside
from that they should just stay in the bedroom.

"OMG fux here comes that wombat!" said Pearl. Yeah I just mentioned that.

The wombat crushed everything in it's path. It's ferocious little red eyes
beamed with furious intencity, slicing down building and melting gigantic
plastic molded GI Joe statues. So far he hadn't seen the helicopter. That was
pretty cool 'cause he really could have fucked up their plans if he had.

Wombat bounded into the stadium. He spotted the nearest furry, lying content on
the ground with a satisfied grin on his sick little face. The furry was squished
instantly. Other furries took notice and instantly started trying to get
themselves off and then get out of there. They didn't want to get squished but
then again how often do they get to fuck wombats? Hmmm... not a hard choice for
most people but these aren't most people. They are furries. Sick sick people.

Minnie exited the clock change screen, then waited for the exit menu animation
to finish on the display. Then she ended up on the system settings screen. She
had to scroll down to the Back option at the bottom but the scroll speed was so
slow. Why do you have to have a little animation to move between items in a list
you stupid fucking piece of shit?!?!?!?! After selecting the back option she had
to sit through another "exiting the fucking menu OMG the user wants to view a
cool animation" animation. Oh yeah this interface is so fucking awesome! thought
Minnie so incredibly sarcastically.

By the time she finally made it to the detonate screen the wombat had already
squished all the furries. One of them tried to run but, heh, like you are gonna
get far from a two hundred meter wombat. The two braced themselves while Minnie
pressed the detonate button.

"Are you sure?" asked the remote. YES YOU STUPID FUCKING REMOTE THAT'S WHY I
PRESSED IT!!!!11!!11

The atomic bomb exploded, instantly blasting away the stadium, the furries and
the wombats. Ok that looked really cool. That's going onto YouTube.

Cheese it!

The chapel was filled to capacity. Every man and his dog was there for the
groom, every wombat and their chinchilla for the bride. It was an unusual
wedding, to be sure to be sure, but they were in love and when your in love you
throw all convention out the window. Unless you are a poofter. That's not on.

But Alec wasn't a poofter, so it was ok. It was a traditional bush wedding. They
had a barbeque to chuck the shrimps on, a mob of kangaroos were hanging out in
the backyard under the coolabah tree. A jolly swagman was camping by a billabong
earlier. But weddings always made him sad so he topped himself. Poor bugger.
There were cork hats a-plenty and more than enough khaki to go around.

Christ, it was hot enough to boil a monkey's bum off in here, thought Alec.
Where is that flamin' bride? But so far she was nowhere to be found. That's ok
though, that's tradition and stuff, thought Alec. The bride isn't supposed to
see the groom before the wedding. Alec could be a stickler for tradition
sometimes, especially if it involved the girl putting out.

Flamin' heck! thought some of the audience. They knew all about the big day
blues but this was just taking it too far. Some of the brides guests had started
to burrow into the ground. It was one of their reflex actions you see. That's
probably what happened to the bride. Got the jitters and just started digging
down down down.

Alec was starting to get nervous. He did what any aussie bloke would do at a
time like this. He went down to have a word with the priest. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
No really. The priest happened to be the one to officiate these proceedings and
he was at the pub. So if a bloke wants to get married and the priest is a the
pub then he is at the pub. Then if he is at the pub he is gonna have a few mates
at the pub. Then if he is at the pub with his mates at the pub then he has to
have a few drinks. If he is having a few drinks with his mates at the pub then
he should probably try to pick up. It's only natural.

The priest was at the pub. He was as pissed as a newt, so the saying goes.

"Yerr know... I once married a frog and a la, a lla, a llaaaaaama. Yeah that's
it. A frog and a llama. That was strange."

God damn that priest could put a few away. At the cricket he regularly puts away
at least two slabs of VB a day.

"But yerr knoww....??? That's nothing!!1!!" he said, as though he was having a
pissing contest against himself. "I once had to take confession from a
budgerigar. He was all tweeting and squawking. That was stuffed."

Alec stopped for a moment. What the fuck was he doing? Marrying a damn
wombat?!?!?! Who has ever married a wombat before? I mean, you can marry a
kangaroo. That happens fairly often. The girlyroos even come with a little pouch
for your beer and stuff. That's pretty bonza. Yeah he could go for a couple of
the roos in this room right now. Soft soft fur...

No, wait! He had to stay in focus. What was he thinking about again? Oh yeah all
the freaky shit that blokes marry. You can marry an emu, if you are into that
sort of thing. They tend to peck at you lots though. Some guys are into that.
But blimey you get a big fat omelette every other day. Only a fuckin' drongo
would marry a cassowary. Damn thing would disembowel you just for a laugh. A
wallaby is fun to be. But you don't want people to think you are a kiddy
kangaroo fucker, so they are off limits. Koalas are just too clingy. A bloke's
gotta get down to business, you know? Fair dinkum!

Yeah but what the hell was he doing with a wombat? No idea.

"Maaaaaaaaaaate!" said the priest as Alec entered the pub. "'ere's the little
wombat fucker right 'ere!"

Alec walked over to the priest. Jesus Christ that fucker could pack them away.

"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaate!" said the priest, stumbling into Alec and spilling beer in
his neatly pressed formal khakis. Fuck!

"G'day" said Alec, but he couldn't keep up the enthusiasm with this piss head
preacher.

"Awwww, don't be like that ya fuckin' dickhead!" said the priest. He gave his
mate a firm slap in the back and let out a racous laugh. HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!
HA! This was one fucking funny priest.

"Ya know, I'm a priest," said the priest. "Wait, I'm a priest?" asked the
priest. "Yeah, I'm a priest" said the priest. "And if there is one thing I know
about it's marriage. You, maaaate, youse is gonna become very intimate with your
hand. And I don't mean that youse will be taking it out to the flicks and shit.
I mean beating the one eyed snake if you know what I mean. You know what I mean
don't you? Yeah 'course you do. Maaaaaaaaate!!"

The priest took another chug at his Fosters. He bent back way to far and fell
over backwards. Everyone burst out in laughter, especially the priest. Except
Alec. Alec wasn't feeling that well. Probably because he was about to marry a
wombat. But you couldn't tell because he was a bloke and blokes didn't discuss
things like feelings. One in six blokes will suffer from depression at some
point in their lives. If you are about to marry a wombat and are feeling a bit
depressed about it then you should call the aussie fauna marriage hotline, a
free call from anywhere in Australia.

Alec wasn't in the mood for the pub right now. He had a wedding to get to. He
chugged down a Fosters and took a tinny for the trip back. Yeah that'll help
with the nerves, he thought. Yeah.

Back at the wedding the ceremony was ramping up. The bride was out back, getting
her fur all neatly brushed and stuff. The best man told him that she was lookin'
fucking gorgeous. He always had a thing for the wombats, already having a crack
at half the bridemaids.

The organ started up and everyone stood (or reared) up. Oh fuck it's the wedding
march! Oh my god oh my god OH MY GOD OH MY GOD! What am I gonna do, what am I
gonna do?!?!

Cheese it!

----------------------------

Wombat was feeling beautiful. Everything was turning out so well. The dress was
just perfect. Fur was shiny and well combed. Wombat had even trimmed down a bit
over the past few months. God damn I'm looking so hot!!!!!

Oh Alec, wombat thought. Oh Alec oh Alec oh Alec. What are we going to get up to
other the next week, next year, the rest of our lives? All sorts of sexy things
I imagine. No wait, maybe I don't want the sexy things any more. Maybe it's time
to settle down. Get an emu farm or something. Fresh eggs yeah. Oh I gotta get
some curtains and carpets all sorted out! Oh lovely floral patterns. I'm sure
Alec would appreciate that. Yes, he would like me to focus myself on things like
that. He doesn't need things like sex anymore. He's all sexed out. Yeah. Sex
should be for making babies. It wasn't something to be enjoyed. He would have to
talk to Alec about that. Maybe in a while. Give him a few months to settle down
into the marriage. Then no more sex.

The bridesmaids were all settled down. Yeah, they were looking ok, sorta. Bit
frumpy really. Ha. They make me look slimmer and more beautiful. Ha ha ha.

The organ started up. Oh my god oh my god OH MY GOD OH MY GOD! This is so
exciting!!!!!

Wombat started walking. Wombat had been practicing that walk for months. So
perfect. Oh my god everything was just so perfect! Turning down the aisle
everyone was looking at wombat. So fucking beautiful in that wedding dress. The
parents were here, the groom's family. Oh my god everything was so perfect. The
priest was as pissed as a newt, but that's expected. Oh my god so fucking
perfect. Wombat looked over into Alec's eyes... ? Alec's eyes? Where the fuck is
Alec!

ALEC YOU STUPID WOMBAT FUCKER WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOOOOOUUUUU!!!!!!!!

----------------------------

Wombat was temporarily dazed by the force of the nuclear blast only meters from
his belly. Oh fuck that was pretty strange. Where do you pick up one of those?
he wondered. Oh my god I'm not on the ground anymore. Oh fuck the ground is
wayyyy too far away. I can see my fucking house from here. That's pretty fucking
strange. It's eighteen thousand kilometers away.

Hmmmm Alec is up here, maybe he could find Alec and eat the little fucker. Yeah.
Leave me at the altar you goddamn man whore. When I catch you we are so getting
married and then I'm gonna eat your legs so you can't get away. Then when you
can't get away I'm gonna leave you in the house and do all the things that I
wanna do. Yeah, and you can't do anything about it because you don't have any
legs. I've got it all worked out. All worked out in my head.

Hey what the fuck is that dot over there. It's getting bigger and bigger. Yeah
looks like a big spaceship doohicky. Am I getting closer to it or is it getting
closer to me? I dunno. Kinda hard to tell out here. Someone should work all this
stuff out. Make some equations or something. I've got the equations. The
equations for eating Alec's fucking legs off.


The doctor is in

Tyler sat down at the table and started drinking his choco mocha latte. Yeah
that hit the spot. It had been a rough morning and it was so nice to sit back
and relax for a bit. Yeah he was a bit sore here and there. Especially there. Oh
man that bit was all black and blue. Oh but this latte is so delicious. Yeah
forget about all that stuff last night. That's old news. This is the new news.
Delicious.

Oh fuck I'm gonna faint! Oh fuck fuck fu-!

--------------------------------

Doctor Carmen stormed down the corridor. ZOMG this time he had gone too far! She
stomped into Doctor Mouse's office. He was sitting there as always watching his
god damn soap operas while at work. If only he wasn't such a hot shot doctor who
always seemed to be able to cure everyone unless it was really poignant if they
died like if it was a little girl who really loved life and stuff and she got
stung by a bee and died. Yeah he thinks he's so good but this time he's gone too
far zomg!

"You know you may think you're a hotshot doctor who can cure anyone but this
time you have gone too far!" yelled Dr Carmen.

"Well maybe I'm just covering up for my psychological issues with this brilliant
genius who doesn't give a shit facade? No wait, that wasn't what I wanted to
say. I meant 'oh what is it this time can't you see I'm watching my stories'?"

"You know what you did" she said.

"What? Oh that guy. That's nothing. They wired his jaw back together in the end
and everyone is happy."

"You threw him out of a sixth story window?"

"Hey my methods may be unconventional but I do what I have to do in order to
save the lives of my patients."

"Lives of your patients? You were visiting your accountant and you pushed an
aide out the window!"

"Yeah but what colour shoes was he wearing?"

"What? Since when did that have anything to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with anything. No wait, I mean it's really important
that he had that particular colour of shoes. I just need to think up a snarkier
way to say it. I should really think things through for snarkiness. Maybe I
should buy a Mac, that would help. What was I talking about? Oh yeah. You see
when I walked in I noticed that he was wearing yellow shoes. No what day of the
week is it?"

"What? That's completely unrelated."

"It may seem unrelated to you. But that is because you are a woman and woman
don't have the cognitive capacity to link abstract subjects in an intelligent
fashion. He was wearing yellow shoes and it was a Wednesday."

"Of course!" she said. "No wait, you're a fucking idiot!"

"It may seem that way to you, you're a moron. Yellow shoes on a Wednesday, and
obvious symptom of Penguin Fever. He was moments away from suffering a massive
coronary followed by a stroke and then paralysis and death. I didn't have a pen
on me at the time, so I improvised."

"Oh really? Witnesses at the time said that you were abusive to him. They say
that you called him a dirty little bitch and suggested that he stop 'messin wit
yo woman'."

"RLY? Well they would say that because they are a bunch of morons. I was only
being polite when I pushed him out the window. Knowing that it was Wednesday,
and Wednesday is icecream day in that neighbourhood, I pushed him out the
window. His heart stopped as I pushed him out the window, then it started again
from the adrenaline released by the fall. 

"When he landed in the icecream truck he immediately froze, giving us time to
get him to the hospital to relieve the pressure on his brain that was about to
cause the stroke."

"Now that you have saved his life he is suing this hospital for malpractice,"
said Dr Carmen. "You should have done the professional thing and left him to die
while you filed your taxes. God dammit Doctor Mouse."

Suddenly the pagers for both doctors started beeping. Why does the hospital
administrator have a pager? Why is she in a white lab coat? Why is anyone in a
white lab coat? Oh fuck emergency code one! There's a patient with inexplicable
symptoms in the main entrance!

Doctor Mouse made his way to the main entrance. He had a limp and was walking
with a cane. You see he twisted his ankle on the weekend Yeah he told everyone
that it was because he was saving the President of the United States of America
the Greatest Titty Fucking Country in the World. But actually he was just laying
into some hos and he slipped.

Doctor Stacy was at the entrance with the patient. Oh fuck she was so fucking
hot! But she was sometimes a prude and sometimes being a little girl next door,
you know all coy and shit and all like 'oh no turn out the light'. Oh yeah you
want a little Mouse in your life. They all do. Yeah and Doctor Bruce was there
too. That disturbingly young Australian immunologist. In fact they were all
pretty young. What the fuck is going on there?

They were wheeling him through the hospital while the ambos reeled off a list of
stats. Heart rate, EEG, blood pressure, star sign. Yeah who needs all of that?
I'm a hotshot doctor I can see into his innermost thoughts and biological
processes. Finally the ambo finished.

"What do you think is wrong with him, Doctor Mouse?" asked the ambo.

"Oh well he is obviously totally gay."

--------------------------------

They were all hanging around in Doctor Mouse's office now. There was Doctor
Stacy, smoking hot as always. Doctor Bruce with his obligatory cork hat and can
of Fosters. Doctor Carmen was out doing whatever the hell hospital
administrators do. Probably euthanising kittens or something. Such a bitch.
Maybe she loves me? Yeah they all love me. Slut.

Oh yeah and Doctor Tyrone was there. He was their token black doctor.

"I pity da fool!" said Tyrone.

"Yes you would say that you stupid nigger," said Doctor Mouse. "God fuck what
kind of assistants are these? I have the drunk aussie, a black guy and a god
damn woman. What the fuck am I supposed to do with these idiots? Maybe we should
all sit around the campfire and sing campfire songs like a bunch of sissy
faggots."

"Well if you think you are so smart then what do you think he has?" asked Doctor
Stacy.

"Yeah it's so like a woman to say something like that," said Doctor Mouse.
"Let's look at who he is."

"Well, he's a famous rock singer," said Doctor Stacy.

"Doctor Tyrone thinks that mebbe this foo' been takin' too much o' dat wacky
tobaccy." said Doctor Tyrone.

"Don't be a fucking idiot. Nobody has ever suffered any adverse effects from
illicit drug taking in the history of mankind. Besides, he's a rock star. Even
if anyone has ever been hurt by drugs he would be among the last to take them.
And don't even start talking about abusing legal drugs. If drugs could be abused
then why would they be legal? Huh. Riddle me that, blackman!"

"Maaate!" said Doctor Bruce. "You said he was totally gay."

"Yes, he is totally gay. Being a hotshot doctor with a demonstrated history of
being able to confirm my wild hypotheses at the last minute I can say stuff like
that. He also had a lot of cum in his hair. Hispanic cum, I could tell, and he
is not hispanic."

Everyone stood around feeling awkward. Nobody really wanted to know why Doctor
Mouse could tell the difference between hispanic cum and any other sort of cum.

"So, anyway. Get him a full body MRI and start him on anti-gheyamines. We have
to get him totally not gay. It's the only way to cure him."

"Maybe being gay isn't a disease," said Doctor Stacy.

"That is such a chick thing to say. Why do you bother saying things like that?
It's not manly. Not like me. I am a manly doctor. A very manly doctor. You,
you're hardly a man at all!"

--------------------------------

Tyler faded in and out of consciousness. What is happening to me? Oh what is
this thing sticking into my penis? Oh look at that nurse over there.

Doctor Stacy came, then she went over to Tyler's bed. She leaned over, giving
him full view of her gigantic cleavage. It was necessary, you see. The
anti-gheyamines need a womanly touch to get them to their peak effectiveness.

"Tyler, how are you feeling?" she said, shining a light into his eyes.

"Mmmmm... titties...." he said.

"Excellent, you seem to be responding well to treatment," said Doctor Stacy. She
moved her hands over his body, gently pushing and probing him. Tyler's member
was aroused and started growing. She wrapped her hand around it and gave it a
tight squeeze.

"Oh yeah..." said Tyler. "Oooooh yeah..." Oh shit I'm gonna faint again. Oh
nooooo-

--------------------------------

"The anti-gheyamines aren't working" said Doctor Stacy. They were back here
again, in Doctor Mouse's office.

"Did you take off your blouse?" said Doctor Mouse. Hey that rhymes!

"Yes. And I gave him the regulation handjob. No change. He still keeps fainting."

"Did he get a little sucky-suck?"

"Aahhh, no. I didn't think of that at the time."

"Of course the anti-gheyamines aren't working," said Doctor Mouse. "The people
around here just aren't professional enough to do what it takes to cure their
patients. When a hot chick comes in with incurable frigidity syndrome I'm on the
bed fucking her ass in an instant. Ahh forget it. We never manage to cure
someone the first time around anyway."

"So what are we gonna do, mate? Just let the drongo drop and feed him to the
dingos?" said Doctor Bruce.

"Nah. We need to get to the scene of the crime. Something there could have
triggered this. Judging from his current state I think that whatever he has been
doing over the past few days has been absolutely filthy. He has been doing
things that would make most people incredibly uncomfortable. Doctor Stacy,
you're coming with me. I think there may be something there that you can learn.
You're too frigid you should loosen up a bit." God fuck yeah the ladies love me!

--------------------------------

Doctor Mouse and Doctor Stacy jumped on Mouse's hot looking motorbike. Looked
kinda like an Aprilia or a Honda CBRR. Yeah but how does he use the foot brake
with that busted ankle? Ha probably doesn't matter.

"Here, put on this helmet," said Doctor Mouse.

"Shouldn't we have more protective gear or something? Like, I don't know. I'm
just a girl." said Doctor Stacy. That's right. She is just a girl.

"Hey babe, I didn't get to be known as a hotshot doctor who does whatever it
takes to save his patients without knowing a little something about riding a
motorcycle. No you don't need any protective gear other than your helmet. Even
at extreme speeds human skin is impervious to almost anything. I could drag you
behind this thing at two hundred miles an hour for a couple of days and it
wouldn't affect you any more than a raking my fingernails over your ass." Ooh
yeah you're so naughty. You like that don't you?

"Besides," he said. "We'll be going to fast to crash."

--------------------------------

"Oh yeah, this is the stuff." said Mouse, walking into Tyler's well used hotel
room. Most of the hookers had left, but there were still a few milling around,
licking up any drugs that had been spilt into the carpet.

"Hey, you," he said. "The girl chick."

"Oh fuck you're not a cop are you? I didn't do nothin'!" said the hooker.

Mouse opened his wallet, showing his official Doctor badge and ID.

"Doctor Mouse, MD. You were here with Tyler Dann last night?" said Mouse.

"Oh fuck yeah. I think. Kinda hard to remember with all the drugs and booze and
shit. Wait, let me just reuse this dirty needle... ahhh yeah that hit the spot.
Man this needle is getting filthy. I think everyone used this needle last night.
Even the dog and that donkey over there."

The donkey was floating upside down in the hot tub. Poor thing. Just wanted to
have fun, you know. Get away from his oppressive parents. Yeah it was fun at
first, hanging out with all the other teenage goats. Smoking some cigarettes,
then some weed. The people started getting a bit stranger. Soon the goat was
getting into smack. It was addicted in days, giving random people blowjobs in
back alleys for just a few bucks. Sometimes it took hours to work up the money
for a single hit. Then it found Jack. He was the goat's pimp. He protected the
goat, looked after it. Jack made sure the goat had all the good shit. Soon the
goat was getting into the most exclusive parties. Man they would get up to some
freaky shit. But not anymore. The goat had partied his last party.

"Is there anything that you can think of that could have caused Tyler to go into
a coma this morning?" asked Mouse.

"Oh, nah. Don't think so. Oh fuck I'm bleeding again." The hooker unzipped her
hot pants and pulled out her dick. "Oh fuck I keep bleeding out my dick all the
time. Like last night when I was fucking Tyler in the ass and it just kept
filling up with blood. Maybe I should get that looked into?" the hooker promptly
fainted and collapsed heavily on the floor.

"It's probably nothing," said Mouse, who continued to look around the room. "Hey
Doctor Stacy, don't forget to take some notes. This is how you have a real
party."

"I don't think so," said Doctor Stacy. "This is just filthy. What sort of human
being could do such a thing."

"Awww come on. Boys won't like you if you don't put out. You want all the boys
to like you don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, I'm a girl and thus incapable of financial
independence." Not to mention emotionally crippled without a big studly man in
her life.

"Well there isn't anything interesting to see here. This place seems completely
unrelated to what's happening to Tyler." said Mouse, stepping over the
unconscious hooker. "Come on, let's get back to the hospital. Hey, why do you
even have a job anyway? I thought you were a girl."

--------------------------------

Doctor Mouse was doing one his weekly clinic visits. Man these people were the
fucking dregs of society. A real piece of work. He walked past them, giving out
diagnoses as he went.

"Ok, you are missing a liver. Look into that."

"Chicken pox. Boring. Come back with a real disease grandma."

"Oh stop being such a crybaby. If the other kids start teasing you about having
one arm then just cut them with a dirty razor."

"Man those titties are swollen. You need 10ccs of hotmanluv. Get into my
office."

"You? You're dead, that's your problem. You don't need a doctor you need a
priest."

"Wait, you're not a woman. Woman don't have bleeding dicks. You're a man!"

Doctor Mouse had a revelation. He suddenly knew the answer to Tyler's problem.
But first he had to take care of that poor poor woman with the swollen titties.
He had a cream that worked well on that. Yes. Very well indeed.

--------------------------------

Tyler had a smile on his face a mile wide as he was pushed down the corridor by
Doctor Stacy.

"Wow, that Doctor Mouse sure is something!" he beamed.

"Yes, he sure is, what with him being the hotshot doctor that does whatever it
takes to cure his patients" agreed Doctor Stacy. Oh why can't I find a man like
Doctor Mouse in my life? Am I destined to become a frumpy old cat lady? Oh I so
need a man in my life! Someone to look after me. I'm so useless without a man.

Doctor Mouse was waiting by the exit, which was ironically also the entrance. No
wait that was probably more practical than ironic. Everyone else was there too.
Doctor Tyrone, Doctor Bruce and Doctor Carmen.

"Crikey Doctor Mouse! The patient is completely cured!" exclamation remarked
Doctor Bruce.

"Yes I know that. I'm the hotshot young doctor with a disturbing past that does
whatever it takes to cure his patients." reiterated Doctor Mouse. Ahh fuck my
foot hurts. I am so going to smack that bitch up when I get home.

"Ok, I give up," said Doctor Stacy. Yeah you better get used to that. What with
being a girl and all. "How did you do it Doctor House?"

"What did you call me? Don't make me spank you right here in front of
everybody." said the kind doctor.

"Oh sorry," Doctor Stacy giggled her girlish little giggle. Yeah she was
learning her place in the world. "I mean how did you do it Doctor Mouse?"

"That's better, but I will still be 'discussing' this with you later, in
private.

"Well it suddenly hit me while I was treating this teenager with biggius
boobius. My original suspicions were correct, as always. Tyler Dann is a gay
homosexual. A completely gay homosexual of the flaming variety.

"So we did what any person would do in our normal, caring society. We decided to
cure him. It's the only real course of action to take with these sorts of
things. So I pumped him full of anti-gheyamines and Doctor Stacy pumped him as
well. But to no avail.

"As you can see on the replays while I do the voiceover, we went to his hotel
room. But there was nothing there that we could find that could have contributed
to his condition. We managed to find a few outfits and a harness for Stacy
though.

"But what we didn't know was that he was repressing his homosexuality inside of
himself. That's right, Tyler Dann wasn't a gay trying to go straight, he was a
straight trying go gay. But he was fighting it. Fighting it inside his head. You
can see there with the zooming into his head and the little pink cells fighting
the little blue cells. That's the twist in this patient. We had to take what we
were originally thinking and flip it around, one hundred and eighty degrees."

"But maaate," said Doctor Bruce, taking a chug at his Fosters. How did you
manage to cure him."

"Well he is a gay, you see. We had to get him to give up the fight, otherwise it
would have killed him. I'm a hot young doctor who does whatever it takes to cure
his patients. What ever it takes..."

"You don't mean..." said Doctor Stacy.

"Yeah, I do mean," said Doctor Mouse. "I got Doctor Tyrone here to give the
patient a good hard lesson in man love."

Tyler still had his stupid fat grin on his face. "Thank you Doctor Mouse! Thank
you Doctor Tyrone!" he said.

HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! said everybody. Doctor Mouse is so cool.

Hot chicks or scary monsters?

Mark Grondman lounged back in his stool. I mean his drumming chair. He was
leaning back in his drumming chair. He wasn't leaning back into his own poo.
That would be gross. What are you doing thinking about something like that?
Anyway, he was leaning back. Actually I guess you can't lean back on a stool. Ok
scratch the whole idea.

Mark Grondman sat upright on his drumming chair. He was a stickler for proper
posture and took every opportunity to straighten up. Everyone was looking up to
him, he should set a good example.

Not that it seemed to help much around here. These roadies are practically
worthless with the amount of effort that they put into fixing up this ship.
Thousands upon thousands of drummers are still waiting on their efforts. The
ship was a complete shambles. Disconcerting random vibrations still fluctuated
throughout the vessel. It was really throwing the beat off. 

Maybe it was time for Mark Grondman, the greatest drummer in the whole universe,
to set the beat. Yeah a peppy little sixties number. Dop dop dap dap dop dop dap
dap dop dop dap dap dop dop dap dap. That ought to get things cooking a bit.
Yeah. Dop dop dap dap dop dop dap dap, a toe tapping little number. Maybe I
should speed it up a bit. Yeah what's the harm in that? Nothing, that's what.
Everyone liked it a little bit faster. Man these roadies were so slack, he
thought, lounging back in his stool. Oh fuck that's gross.

----------------------------

Richard, Alec and the bass player lounged back in their acceleration couches.
They weren't gross like some people. Alec was happy. He had escaped wombat.
Damn, wombat should just let the past be the past. Crazy marsupial. He wondered
how long he would have to stay in space. He figured it would take a few more
days for the world to get around to finally taking care of that thing. Noone
wants a wombat rampaging around the world unchecked. It was bad for business.
Yeah. The world was controlled by all the big multinational corporations. They
wouldn't stand for something like wombat. So independent and free, travelling
the world as it pleases. Such a peaceful little thing. That's why The Man hates
it so much. Hates it's freeedom. Fuck the Man.

The passed the time telling music jokes. It was all they really knew about,
besides all the stuff about rocking out and partying.

"What's the difference between a violin and a viola?" asked the bass player.

"I don't know, bass player," said Richard. "Pray do tell, what is the difference
between a violin and a viola?"

"You can tune a violin!"

HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! Yeah that was a good one. The joke was that
violas were crap. They were paying out on the violas. This joke suggested that
the violin was tuneable and that this one fact distinguished itself from the
viola. Assuming that this is true, one can see that this implies that the viola
is not tuneable. In effect we are putting forth the hypothesis that the viola is
an instrument that cannot be tuned. A viola could never possibly sound proper in
the common western musical world.

"How do you stop your violin from being stolen?" asked Richard to nobody in
particular. None of the people in the spacecraft with him actually owned a
violin.

"I don't know, Richard," said both Alec and the bass player. "Please educate us
in an appropriate method for preventing instrument theft." They weren't
particularly interested in the answer, as they did know own violins.

"Put it in a viola case!" said Richard.

None of them owned viola cases. That was a pretty stupid joke. Jeez, thought
Alec. Perhaps I should have stayed down there.

----------------------------

Mark Grondman was still on the bridge, wallowing in his own feces, when Guru,
ships system specialist supreme, sounded the alert.

"Sir, there is a large object on an intercept course with us. It's big, sir,
very big." said Guru.

"Yes," responded Mark. Like my penis. Ha ha ha, 'penis'. "Is it those dastardly
beatniks again?"

"Unknown sir. The mass appears to have been launched from the surface of the
planet below. It is massing over four gigatons by our standard."

"Those hill-billy hicks? How did they manage to lauch that much mass at us?"

"I don't know, sir, but it's coming right for us," said Guru. "Sir, we aren't in
much of a state to fight. This ship could fall apart at the slightest touch.
Perhaps we should abandon ship as soon as possible?"

Hmmm... yes, that did sound like a suitable plan to Mark Grondman. Of course,
someone would have to be the trailblazer, have to take the risk of going down to
that hell hole of a planet and get things ready for the rest of the evacuees.
Yes there may be monsters down there. Terrible monsters. Only a resonance
cascade of beats from a professional drummer such as Mark Grondman could
possibly protect people from such dangers.

Of course there could be incredibly hot chicks down there as well. Yes, that
could be a danger of itself as well. Mark remembers that time their ship landed
on Amazonia 3. It took seven days for him to work through all the ladies,
satiating them completely, before they could get out of there. Sure they could
have just left whenever they wanted to, but Mark was a gentleman.

Yes, there could be hot chicks or scary monsters down there. Scary monsters or
hot chicks. Hot monsters, scary chicks...

"Prepare the Hawkins escape craft, Guru," ordered Mark. "I will personally
oversee the setup of the emergency evacuation camp. Don't fear, I will have
everything under control in time for the rest of you to come down."

"Sir," said Guru. "This mass is approaching us very quickly. It will impact in a
matter of moments!"

"Well then you had best be quick about it!" said Mark. Yes, that will show them
who is really in charge here. Me. Mark Grondman, the greatest drummer in the
universe. I am the one who is in charge.

"Yes, sir," Guru said, scuttling away to do Mark's bidding.

Yes, it was good to be in charge. Guru had the craft ready in no time. Mark made
his way down the corridor and through the hatch into the Hawkins escape craft.
It was a large ship, capable of carrying at least two thousand people. Four
thousand in a situation such as this one.

"Sir," said Guru. "Don't you think that maybe other people should join you."

Oh I see your filthy little plan now Guru! thought Mark. You wanted to come down
to the planet and steal all the hot chicks and kill the monsters! Shame on you!
I am the captain of this ship, by rights those tasks should fall to me. Why with
your truly inferior beatitude skills you would be no match for those monsters,
and have no chance of treating those women they way they deserve to be treated.

No wait! He couldn't say something like that. These might be his last words. He
may peril down there on that perilous planet. Perhaps crushed by a gigantic
marsupial or fucked to death by a crazed furry. No, that would be way to far
fetched. Mark needed to say something important. Something that people would
remember him by forever. They would say, 'that is what Mark Grondman, the
greatest drummer in the universe evarrr, said just before his untimely death
after killing all those scary monsters and protecting all those hot chicks'.
Yes, Mark Grondman needed a memorable farewell...

"Don't worry," he said. "I won't be long." Yes, that should do it.

----------------------------

Wombat collided heavily with the ship, smashing the interstellar vessel and
obliterating it into a billion tiny little bits. Oh shiny! thought wombat,
looking at all the pieces glittering in the sunlight.

----------------------------

Hmmmm... bugger, though Mark as he watched the destruction of his ship. Jeez
maybe I should have taken more people on board? Nah. More hot chicks for me. Or
scary monsters. Oooh.

Where should I go? I know, I'll try that little capsule over there. They
probably have a few specimens in there. Once I have ascertained the nature of
these creatures I can get a roadie to estimate the probability for hot chicks on
the planet below. Oh wait, I don't have any roadies!

NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

----------------------------

Alec, Richard and the bass player were continuing with their musician jokes.

"What was the last thing the drummer said to the rest of the band?" asked
Richard.

"Ummmm... 'Looks like some sort of interstate highw- aaaarrrgghh!!!!'" said the
bass player.

"Oh yeah that's right. But that's not how the joke goes. You see the jokes goes
'hey let us try playing one of my songs' then everyone is supposed to laugh
because it is funny."

"Yeah but I got confused" said the bass player. "Because I thought you literally
meant 'what was the last thing the drummer said to the rest of the band' back
when we chucked him out of the limo."

"Maybe it is time we got a new drummer?" said Richard.

"Yeah" they all agreed. I think they have run out of jokes now. 

There was a knock at the door.

"I wonder who that could be?," said Alec. No really, he did wonder who that
could be. They were in space and they had only been there for a few hours. Was
it even possible for someone to make it all the way out here and perform a
docking procedure without them noticing in only a few hours? Alec only knew of a
few.

The knocking sped up. He must be a drummer, Alec thought.

"It's some blonde guy with a handlebar mo. He's got some drumsticks in his
hand," said Alec.

"Neat, the drummer's arrived," said the bass player. Ahhh... yeeeah...

Alec opened the hatch and let the man in.

Mark was on the back foot. These people look strangely familiar. Wait! They look
just like me, except without the sexy moustache! Things are looking good. There
are probably millions of hot chicks on the planet below, waiting for me to rock
their world. Mark drummed a little solo against the hull. Yeah!

"Are you a drummer? What is your name?" asked Alec.

Oh shit! I can't say I'm Mark Grondman. They will instantly recognise me as Mark
Grondman, the greatest drummer in the universe. I will need a disguise.
Somethings so patently cunning that nobody could possibly expect that I was Mark
Grondman, the greatest drummer in the universe.

"Yah," he said. Oh man that accent is perfect! "Mein namen issen Grond Markman.
I liken to play the tappy taps, ya!"

The benefits of partyon radiation

Tyler skipped down the street. Man it was good to be alive!!! That's what he
learnt from Doctor Mouse. Yeah, so great to just be around. He's a really happy
guy!!!

Tyler had put on a pirate hat. He wanted to be a pirate. He thought that pirates
were really cool. Much cooler than ninjas. I wonder what happened to all of the
other ninjas from before? I guess they weren't really trying to kill Tyler after
all. Must have been there for someone else.

So Tyler had his pirate hat on. It was a pretty nice one. All black with a white
jolly roger on it. Ha ha ha jolly roger. Yeah funny thing about the jolly roger.
Nobody knew who roger was, or why he was so jolly. He was probably just a real
fun-loving guy, thought Tyler. He's still laughing, being one of those happy
skeletons. So much better than the other sort of skeletons. The ones with the
scimitars and stuff. Man, they really sucked when you had like a rapier, because
they are skeletons and stuff so piercing damage doesn't really do that much.
Even slashing damage is reduced by half. Blunt damage is best all round, Tyler
thought. That's why all the clerics use maces.

But he didn't know the full history of the jolly roger, or holly rwogier as the
french called it. It was a history full of seaman. Tyler, as a recently outed
ghey, appreciated such things. The practiced is thought to have originated back
in the eleventh century when King Roger the second of Sicily was at war with the
pope at the time.

Over the years there had been many reinterpretations of the symbol, as well as
many myths created around it. But really it was more a practical weapon in
psychological warfare. The goal of a pirate was to capture a ship with it's
cargo intact. It would be best if this could be accomplished with as little fuss
as possible. Thus a ship would put up the jolly roger to signal there intentions
to capture another. Of course these plans could always backfire. If flown too
early the quarry may have opporunity to escape. Also, many military vessels had
orders to engage and neutralise any ship flying the jolly roger. That could
really ruin your day. But it didn't ruin Bartholomew Roberts day in 1720 when he
swaggered leeringly into Trepassey, Newfoundland, flying the jolly roger. Every
ship in the harbour was immediately deserted. Ha ha good times.

So the jolly roger continued to be used by pirates and other naughty sorts of
people until the twentieth century. In 1901 Admiral Arthur Wilson, controller of
the English Royal Navy, said that submarines were unfair and that submariners
should be treated as pirates and hanged. Yes, he was a big fat crybaby. Oh,
submariners sunk my battleship! Oh noes!!!111 So yeah why don't you go cry,
Admiral Emo?

Max Horton then flew the jolly roger when his submarine destroyed the German
cruiser SMS Hela and destroyer S-116 in 1914. Yeah that was pretty cool. He was
all like, yeah we are bad-ass mutha fuckers. Yeah. Since then the Royal Navy and
the Royal Australian Navy have flown the jolly roger after a successfully bitch
slapping the enemy.

Yeah, thought Tyler. All that.

Tyler also had a new friend. It was Pippin that Party Budgie. Pippin was the
result of a question that had been plaguing scientists since the beginning of
human civilisation. What is the maximum possibly party to weight ratio? Really
you should have know that from school if you had paid attention. But no you were
probably down the back passing around notes. Oh what's that? Chewing gum? Did
you bring enough for everybody? Put it in the bin. After class you will write 'I
will not bring chewing gum to class' fifty times on the blackboard.

Pippin had the highest party to weight ratio in the animal kingdom. Not
including Keith Richards. Keith Richards is a freak and what he does is just
wrong. Not little Pippin though. Pippin is a certified genetically engineered
party animal. Why just sitting on Tyler's shoulder, as he does when someone is
wearing a pirate hat, he is exerting almost 30 partyons of party radiation in
the general area. That enough partyon radiation to trigger five simultaneous
keggers and a wet t-shirt contest. And that is just when he is resting. In
initial testing Pippin would exert so many partyons so quickly that people's
heads would explode from all of the awesome. Since then he's learned to control
the awesome, which ironically made him even more awesome.

"Tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet. Chirp chirp chirp!" said Pippin.

"A HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! You're so funny Pippin!" said Tyler. Man it's so cool
having a party animal on your shoulder. They should go out tonight. Yeah!

Tyler made his way back to his hotel room. The band was still there. Dakota had
a big smile on his face. Man he was so happy all the time. He should get a jolly
roger hat too. Maybe he should get a party animal as well? Perhaps an exuberant
otter or a content tiger? Awesome! Everyone else was there as well, except
Minnie. I wonder where Minnie is? thought Tyler. No you shouldn't think that.

Everyone was getting ready for Woodrock. You guys remember woodrock, right? Man
it seems like it was so long ago. They have been having all of these awesome
adventures lately. Sometimes it feels like things were just happening all the
time, you know? It's good to get back to the basics. Time to get back to the
rocking, and the Woodrock festival will be the time to do that. They'll be
playing on the same stage as Steel Rose, at the same time too. Woah, that seems
pretty weird. No matter. They were all going to rock, Rock, ROCK!

"Chirp chirp chirp chirp! Brrrgt! Brrrgt! Whirrrrrp!" said Pippin.

"Woah!" said the band. That was such an awesome idea. Yeah. Let's all do that!
Hmmm... that's might seem a bit strange to all the fans, and Woodrock is
supposed to be about rock. But hey, that's such an awesome idea that all our
fans would think that it is totally awesome and that everything is cool! Yeah
and rock isn't really about the rock is it? I mean, rock isn't like guitars and
hair and tight pants. Rock is a state of mind. A rockin' state of mind. Like,
totally wow.

"Ok," said Tyler. "We have to get rid of all this gear. It's getting in the way
of the music. We don't need these amps and microphones and guitars and all that
jazz. It's time to get down to the music. Time to reinvent ourselves. Oh man
it's gonna be so totally awesome!"

"Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!" said Pippin.

Yeah! Totally awesome!

---------------------

Uberbrad sat patiently. His kind were always very patient and they tended to sit
around a lot too. Uberbrad was an Uberbread. No wait, don't laugh.

Bread has been the mainstay of human civilisation. Since the dawn of homo
sapiens this yeasty goodness has kept hunger at bay. Also, wolves. You see not
all bread is like that loaf that you buy sliced up in the supermarket, or make
yourself at home if you have one of those bread making machines. Perhaps you
like to make it by hand. It can be pretty tough though. So you should probably
prepare the day before.

Anyway, bread has another purpose, one that is not usually seen by humans. Oh
there are a few who have realised their full potential. Aristotle, Napolean,
Gandalf. But most people just think bread is bread. Well... have you seen a
piece of bread do a backflip and behead two ninjas at the same time? No, you
haven't. I think it's time for a change. I think it is time for you to open your
mind. Open your mind to bread. The possibilities of bread are endless. Bread
with butter, toasted bread, toasted bread with butter, bread with jam. The list
goes on. Uberbrad was one of these possibilies.

He was a king among bread. A ninja king, and also a pirate king. A ninja pirate
king among breads. Uberbrad was an Uberbread. Oh yeah some bread could kill two
ninjas at once, maybe even ten. But Uberbrad was something else entirely.
Uberbrad could instantly behead millions of vampire ninjas in seconds. In fact,
uberbreadiness is measured in mega-vampire-ninja-kills-per-second. That's
millions of vampire ninja kills per second. Uberbrad rates 5.2, 5.6 on a good
day and if they all line up properly. Plus, he's full of complex carbohydrates.

Uberbrad the Uberbread was startled from his bready slumber. He could feel a
presence. A presence in this world that he had not felt since... oh so long ago.
Perhaps it is nothing, he thought. Yes, it must be nothing. It couldn't be them
again. We took care of them last time. So long ago. Yeah. Everything is fine.
Got to get back to sleep. Back to sleep... back to sleep....

Ahhh fuck now I can't get back to sleep. Uberbrad the Uberbread got up and
wandered around his bakery. Loaves of white, wholegrain and multigrain were
sleeping quietly. Oh and look at the young little donuts. They are so cute with
their icing on cuddling up to each other. Yes, everything will be different when
they wake up in the morning. A whole new world. A terrifying world of death and
suffering. Tough times lay ahead. He made his way back to the ovens, preheating
them, getting ready to bake his legions of bread warriors. Hmmm... what to make?
Not croissants. Croissants were far to wussy, but french sticks were pretty
good. Especially french sticks with crowbars in them. Dinner rolls were
particularly useful when stuffed with grenades. Hmmmm... should I make danishes?
They are very yum, but not particularly deadly. I'll definitely need some
brioches.


ZOMG!

Richard, Alec, the bass player and Grond Markman finally stepped back onto firm
soil of Earth. Except for Markman, who was stepping onto Earth for the first
time. But the others didn't know that so don't mention that to them.

They had made it back to the stadium, eager to pack up their gear and head off to
Woodrock. OMG fux! The stadium wasn't there anymore! There used to be a stadium
there with all of there stuff in it. But now it was just a smoking crater. Aww
man that really fucked up their day. 

I mean, getting all that stuff back is going to be pretty hard. Furries are
easy. Just post some stuff on the internet and leave some bunnies in a cage. The
hard part is what to do with all the excess. Usually they just sell the organs
on the black market. Harsh, but fair.

Everyone was feeling strange. Their hair was coming out in clumps. Their balls
felt like they were on fire or something. But it went away in a few moments so
that was ok. Probably just the weather or something.

"Man, we need to come up with something for Woodrock, man," said Richard.

"Yeah well it's gonna be strange. We don't have any equipment. All of our stuff
was in the stadium.

Markman was busy thinking. Those beatniks, with their bulging biceps and rock
hard abs. Those beatniks didn't need much for equipment. Just a run down piece
of shit spaceship and a few bongo drums. Yeah! That's it. We don't need high
powered amps and gigantic drum kits. We can get TRUE POWER from plain acoustics.
ULTIMATE POWER!

"Guys, I have a plan!" said Grond Markman. They all gathered round.

"Psst psst psst psst psst psst, psst psst psst psst, psst psst psst psst. Psst
psst psst. Psst psst psst. Psst psst psst psst psst psst, psst psst psst. Psst
psst psst psst (psst psst psst psst psst, psst psst psst psst, psst psst psst
psst psst). Psst psst psst psst psst psst psst." whispered Markman.

"Woah, totally awesome!" said everyone!!!!!1111 That was the greatest idea
evarrr!!!!

------------------

Deep underground there stirred a darkness. Awakened by the unholy fire above. Oh
yes, their time had come again. Time for destruction, time for pain. Not their
pain. Pain to others. Ok maybe pain as in 'oh man we've been paining people for
so long that my pain making device is getting sore'. But that is a kind of good
pain, like getting whipped by a hot chick with her tits out.

Ok back to the pain and destruction. Man, they were gonna tear it down like it
was 1999. BC that is. Back when they were doing a lot of destruction. Yes, it
was their time again. They made their way up to the surface. Scratching away at
the dirt with their scratchy bony paws. Beady little red eyes looked up into the
night sky. What is this place? The landscape, it is structured, ordered,
planned. Blasphemy! Soon they will taste the undefinable taste of chaos!
Somewhat bitter, a little bit salty and yet with the occasional touch of
sweetness. Once you got a taste of chaos you always wanted more 10 minutes
later. Sometimes they had to go days without chaos. Fuck they were the hardest
days to get through.

Oh yes, it was their time again. The time of the zombie vampire wombats! Yes,
they had a hunger. A hunger for brainssss. They were pretty thirsty too. They
could really wash down those brains with a nice warm mug of blood. Yeah that
would be nice. Oh noes it was getting lighter. It will be dawn soon. Time to
burrow away and hide from the light. What with them being vampires and all, and
the light would turn them into dust. The vampires fatal flaw!

Fuck I hope they got rid of all of their bakeries, thought one of the zombie
ninja vampire wombats. That could really fuck up all of our plans.

------------------

"So I figured that this would be, totally, like, the best thing to do," said
Tyler, swinging his hips a little. Yeah, this gay thing was taking some getting
used to. He was all up for the cock. He loved the man-cock. Couldn't get enough
of it really. But getting all the gay-ness in was taking some getting used to.
He almost had the limp wristed thing going, but it was pretty hard to do. The
gayness comes from the hips, you see. You can't have a gay body without the gay
hips. The limp wrists were still a bit stiff, he wasn't working his body enough
to get the wrists to bounce. It just looked like he was swatting flies or
something. So he had to work the hips first, then the wrist will follow.

He hadn't even started on the lisp. Even though Tyler was a really famous rock
vocalist he couldn't get the lisp. Being such a fantastic singer you would think
that it would be easy, but the reality is spun three hundred and sixty degrees!!
With such stunningly powerful vocal chords he just couldn't detune himself for
the lisp. He has overcome his gag reflex though.

It was going to be really hard to get the gay going, but Tyler was prepared to
do it. Even if it would have to suck cock ten hours a day he would do it.
Especially if it involved sucking cock for ten hours a day. But where would he
find all the cocks? Oh don't worry. Tyler will find them somehow.

"Dude this rocks!" said everyone else in the band.

"Tweet tweet tweet tweet squawk! squawk!" said Pippin.

HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!

"Yeah you said it Pippin!" said Tyler.

They had worked all night to get their outfits together. Everyone knows that the
costuming is the most important part of a rock band. They already had lots of
costumes, lots of tight leather pants, codpieces and stuff like that. A little
bit of latex here and there. Dakota brought in his sewing machine and
overlocker. He had lots of spare leather and steel fasteners but they wouldn't
be suitable for the new look. They needed to break it down, start to get a bit
rustic and take it back to the basics. Gone were the bright fluoro chest pieces.
In with the heavy flax cotton, brown of course.

Man they were gonna look so good. Everyone was gonna love it.

"Tweet tweet tweet brrp brpp!" Yeah!

------------------

Darryl, organiser of the Woodrock festival, was overlooking the construction of
the main stage. Dude this is gonna fuckin' rock! he thought. Look at that stage,
man! Totally fuckin' rockin'.

Suddenly the sky seemed to darken around him. Someone turned the sound down,
fucking roadies! The wind picked up, he could hear the leaves rustling in the
breeze. Woah how did they get that effect? Wicked.

Oh noes! He could feel it, sense it somehow. This strong feeling of... of...
foreboding. Yes, that's it. He could feel it inside, like a dark pit of tar
consuming all. They were coming, he thought. They were coming and they weren't
coming for the rock. They were coming for something else entirely. Maybe they
were coming for the merchandise. Maybe they just wanted to stand in line for the
loo. What if they just wanted to see chicks get their tits out. Yeah that was a
perfectly valid reason to come to a rock festival.

Daryll didn't know. He wasn't the kind of guy to know things, you know? He was
just the kind of just that knew it. But right now he didn't know. What strange
creatures were these? What possible porpoise could they have. Would they buy
lots of merchandise? Would they recommend the festival to all their friends next
year? He didn't know.

Maybe they would cause a ruckus? Start a fight? Pluck a pidgeon? What if they
were zombie vampires? What then? Darryll didn't have a plan for dealing with
zombie vampires. How can you deal with them. They just stand around, wanting
brains and blood and stuff. At least they were more efficient than the regular
zombie or vampire. A regular vampire would just take your blood, and a regular
zomie would just eat your brain. At least a zombie vampire would take your blood
and your brain. That was much less wasteful. Darril didn't know. He had all the
questions. All the right questions. But he didn't have any of the answers.

Well at least they will pay for tickets, he thought. It's important for people
to buy tickets, because I have been witholding pay from our contracters and
secretly embezzling the funds raised by the ticket sales. It's quite simple
really, and nobody will be the wiser until the concert is over and I have fled
to Mexico. Mua ha ha ha ha! Oh man I shouldn't think these things so loudly!
Gotta quiet my thoughts. 

They might be on to me, he thought. Those zombie vampires. Maybe they are zombie
vampire accountants or something. Maybe EVIL zombie vampire accountants. If they
showed up and killed everyone they might find his secret ledger. Then they would
extort lots of money out of them. He couldn't go to the cops about it either.
Then the cops would know that he embezzled all that money from the concert.

Fuck! What a fucking wicked web we weave! Zombies, vampires, fraud. It's so
fucking complicated. Maybe I should have just settled down and not entered this
life of rockin' white collar crime? You know, just meet a nice wombat. Get
married. Have kids. They kind of things that normal people do.  Me? I'm not
normal at all. Look at that sky, it's all dark and mysterious. That's not
normal. That sky is like me.

Fuck! The concert is about to start! I should have planned this better!

Bump it

OMG this crowd was awesome! Everyone was so incredibly rocking. All the guys had
all their hair out, permed and fluffed. Totally awesome. Yeah it was great with
those rock hard abs. Those bulging biceps. Take a look at those rockin' guys.
Tight leather pants. Ooh what a large package. Why if I was dancing with those
guys? Yeah and I just happened to accidently bump into those firm asses. Oh
yeah. Oh yeah. *bump*. That's it... *bump* *bump*. *buuuuump* Ohhhh yeah *bump*
yes *bump* yes! *bump* Yes *bump* Yes! *bump* YES! *bump* 

OOOHH FUCK YYEEEEEEEEESSSSSS!!!

"Hey what do you think you're doing?"

"Me? Oh... nothing. Do you have a tissue?"

"No I don't have a tissue. What are you a fucking fag or something?"

"What?!?!?! Are you calling me a fag you fucking fag?"

"Woah dude. No, sorry dude. It's just that you were all bumping up against me
and stuff."

"Yeah it's pretty packed in here."

"Yeah, weird though. Nobody else seems to be rubbing up against each other.
Except for those fags over there."

"Yeah look at those fags. Ha. Fucking fags. Yeah. Look at them... bumping...
grinding. Those moustaches, so dense and finely trimmed. That leather, so
studded. Heavy duty. Rough."

"Do you want to go out back. Maybe get some fresh air?"

"Yeah it's getting stuffy in here."

There were chicks around too. They were doing whatever it is that chicks do. I
don't know. Combing their hair or something. Maybe reapplying their makeup or
powdering their noses. Is that a euphemism for doing cocaine or something?
Because if it is then there sure are a lot of chicks doing a lot of coke. So
yeah. Chicks.

The bands were rocking it. Rocking it soooo haaard. Yeah look at that lead
singer, swinging his hips and thrusting his groin so wildy. Yeah. No wait, time
to get back on track. Stop thinking about teh ghey.

The bands were rocking it. Gigantic speaker stacks pulsing out pure liquid noise
into the crowd. The audience was feeling every single beat running through them,
every note moving their hearts. The riff took them higher, higher into a dynamic
bliss of rock.

They were holding back for now. These were just the warm up bands. The real show
was still to come. Later that night there would be Steel Rose and Burn playing
together on the main stage at the same time. Yeah at the same time. Someone had
some pretty crappy planning skills.

"Dude that's pretty harsh." said Daryl.

----------------------------------

Tyler was waiting backstage. They were going to go on in just a few minutes. Oh
my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god. What are we gonna do?
What are we gonna do? Tyler was chewing at his pirate hat. 

There are so many people nowadays. Would they like the change? Yeah maybe. I
mean we don't sound anything like what we did last week.

"Tweet tweet! Brrp. Popple popple popple." said Pippin.

Yeah! You're right Pippin. It's gonna rock!

----------------------------------

Richard was lounging lazily backstage. It's one of the things that he liked to
do. Just lounge around and, you know, whatever. He took a look out into the
crowd just a few minutes ago. Man there were some big tittied bitches out there.
He sure was gonna get a lot of loving that night.

Yeah losing all of the wombats was a bummer. But there wasn't anything they he
could do about it. The band had had to change direction, change their sound,
after losing all of the equipment and furries. Turned out it was time for a
change anyway. Everyone in the band was changing so quickly. All their hair was
falling out, and the bass player had a severe cough. It was probably middle age
or something. Yeah. They were about that old. Mid twenties or so.

Man they were gonna rock it so hard. Sooooo hard. Markman had the bongos set up
right and everything. Burn isn't gonna know what hit them.

----------------------------------

Markman was preparing backstage. As the greatest drummer in the universe he
always found it easy to psyche himself up for a gig. I mean, I'm the greatest
god damn drummer in the universe, why do I have to prepare for a gig?

But this time it was different. This time he had the bongos. Yes, the bongos. He
even had a beret on. That was different. That was very different. Grond Markman
was changing. He was finding himself strangely attracted to the beatniks with
every passing day. What was the source of their ULTIMATE POWER!!! What possible
methods could they use to destroy a ship the size of the Dave Grohl.

He didn't know, but he was determined to find out. These bongos and this beret
were the first step. He would look like them and play like them. Then,
eventually, think like them. He would have power. ULTIMATE POWER!!! Soon his
time would be at hand. The universe will bow before him, master of all beats.
Not just the heavy drums of beat-energy, but the delicate wavering almost
untameable beatnik-energy. Yes, it shall be his. Once he can tame it.

He took time to tune his bongos. It was difficult. This planet had a meager
supply of roadies. At most they had perhaps two or three million. That just
wasn't enough for Markman, it was not what he was used to. Markman needed at
least five million just to make him breakfast. He preferred it made from
scratch. And when he says from scratch he really means from scatch. They take a
pristine raw planet then terraform it for centuries until it is just right. When
Markman has selected his wish from the extensive breakfast menu they begin.
First genetically engineering a species, then planting the crops, then finally
building the harvesting machinery to harvest the crops. On many an occasion
Markman would select meat with his breakfast. That involved extra work, as I'm
sure that you could imagine. The finest roady chefs in the galaxy would then
take the fresh raw ingredients and use them to create some of the most delicious
dishes known in the entire universe.

He was a really big fan of toast soldiers. He could plunk those little slices of
toast into half-boiled eggs for hours on end. So delicious.

When he was done, they would throw the plates and cutlery in a black hole, then
raze the planet to the ground. If he had fish, they would boil the oceans. If he
had birds, they would napalm the sky itself. If he had chickens they didn't know
exactly what to do. Chickens spend a lot of time on the ground, but then again
they can fly. Some of them can fly very well. So what are they going to do? Just
to be on the safe side they throw the planet into the sun.

Markman was a very fussy eater.

--------------------------------

The warm up bands were over. It was showtime for Burn and Steel Rose. Finally
they could stand up against each other, side by side, in a pure test of rock
band versus rock band with some guy from outer space. Oh yes it was going to
rock. It was going to rock HARD!

The curtains were lifted. OMG there's Steel Rose, OMG there's Burn. Yeah Yeah
Yeah! Oh I'm so happy I could just... just... *bump*. Oh yeah!

Richard was the first to take the microphone into his hands. Yeah he was always
the more aggressive of the two. He was so confident that there new stylings
would completely blow Burn away and win them the hearts and mind of all the
rocking fans in that stadium tonight. Yes, there was no way that they could
possibly lose.

"So... ahh... Hi" said Richard. They crowd exploded. Bodies flew here and there
and everywhere. OMG this was so exciting!

"We've been thinking about our music a lot lately, you know? Thinking about the
music and what we want to say" said Richard. Such an orator! "I think you are
gonna like what you are gonna hear tonight."

Tyler was also an orator. He didn't have a gag reflex or anything. Swallows too.

"Dudes, welcome!" he said. The crowd exploded again. They couldn't tell if they
had exploded any bigger than the other explosion. Still, a few people broken
some bones. One guy dislocated his shoulder and it looked totally gross and
somehow awesome. I uploaded the photo to flickr.

Tyler didn't know what to think about Steel Rose's new direction. I mean, did
they know that we were going in a new direction too? Maybe. There was always the
danger of ninja spies. Just like normal spies but deadlier.

"We've taken a new direction too," said Tyler. Oh fuck now I sounds like Steel
Rose is in charge. That is totally not the case. Burn is in charge. Burn is
gonna rock this house down. "It's totally different and better than ANYTHING
STEEL ROSE CAN DO!!!!!1!" he yelled. Yeah that oughta set us apart. Now
everyone is thinking about us, Burn, and not those freaks, Steel Rose.

Richard was tired of being called a freak. He gave the signal, it was time for
Steel Rose to start their set. The lights came on, illuminating every member of
the band. Yeah. All the guitarists in the front row who were looking out to see
what type of guitars they use were totally bummed. There were no guitars on
stage at all! Not even a bass. If you could count that as a guitar. Which they
didn't, because electric guitar totally rocks it hard and all night!

All they had were these stupid bongos. Oh fuck what were they gonna do with
that. The crowd hushed, waiting for the killer opening riff, but it didn't come.
No, instead they heard the soft pittar patter of bongos. Like, bongos?, what the
fuck are they doing with bongos? Yeah maybe the bongos were just for the start
and then they take the bongos and they smash them on their heads or totally
stomp on them and stuff and then they take out their massive electric guitars
and shred it for TOTAL ULTIMATE POWER!!!! It's what all the ninjas are doing
right now and ninjas are totally cool.

Everyone looked over to what Burn was doing. Maybe Burn had the answer? Maybe
Burn could cure their insatiable desire to rock and rock hard? From the look of
them, no. Gone were the rock hard abs and bulging biceps. Gone were the tight
leather pants and OMG is that a sock in there or can I totally suck your dick?
No, instead they were replaced by baggy sack-like dresses of medieval England.
Not that anyone in the audience knew much about medieval England except from
some heavy metal bands. That was back when there were wizards and dragons right?

No. Idiots.

Tyler was totally rockin' it, acapella style. He was serving up some tasty riffs
of merry old England on the vocals. At the top of the stage, where all the
lights were hanging off, a banner rolled out and down for all to see. They were
expecting to see Burn. Where the fuck are Burn? Who the fuck are the Hamlet
People?

They looked over to Steel Rose. Those fuckers still have their bongos out,
banging them like a bunch of beatnik motherfuckers. What the fuck is the deal
with that? Where are the killer solo riffs and cock rocking beats? Why does
their new drummer keep speeding up?

They looked back to Burn. Burn weren't going to save them any more. There was no
Burn. There was only The Hamlet People. Why do they have different costumes? Why
is one of them a fireman? Why does Dakota have a handlebar moustache and a
leather vest?

The crowd was confused. They didn't know what to think anymore. Burn and Steel
Rose were taking new directions. Was this the new thing? Would they all have to
buy berets and sexy fireman outfits? What if someone liked both Burn and Steel
Rose? Would they have to wear both at the same time? How would that possibly
work?

Oh my god we just don't know what to think anymore? Somebody please help us?
Somebody please? Tell us what to think! Tell us how to feel! We need to know how
to dress, what music to listen to. I mean, we can't figure this all out by
ourselves? OMG WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO!!!

The crowd were getting restless. They were surging, about to rush the stage. Oh
they were going to make those bands pay. They were gonna shove those bongos
right up their asses, that's for sure.

Just then Pippin flew onto the stage. The lights focused on him, a bright
coloured speck in this grey monotonous soundscape. "Squawk!" he cried. "Squawk
squawk squawk!"

The bands stopping playing, the crowd calmed down. Pippin flew up onto Tyler's
shoulder. Tyler gave him the microphone.

"Tweet tweet brrp... brrp. Tweet tweet squawk squawk squawk. Tweet tweet tweet
tweet tweet tweet... tweet tweet squawk. Brrp brrp? Tweet tweet tweet tweet."

Someone from the crowd yelled out, "The pidgeon's right!". Yeah! Kick-ass little
pidgeon-- I mean budgie. Stupid pothead can't tell the difference. Everyone was
happier now. Much happier. This little birdie has shown us the way. The true
meaning of rock!

Zombie vampire wombats attack!

Everyone was peacing out at the concert. Little Pippin had transformed the crowd
from an angry bogan mob into a hippy love in. Everything was just chilled. The
crowd, the grooves. They could really get into Steel Rose now. Those bongos were
totally cool. Really groovy man.

---------------------

The zombie vampire wombats could feel the love above them. It was surging back
and forth, building in intensity. They hated it, like they hated all things.
Except hate. They loved hate. That was really ironic. Can't love hate without
love. Everyone needs love. Even haters.

The wombats hated that thought. That thought drove them to this. This immortal
existence as zombie vampires. Unless they got stuck out in the sunlight or
someone blew their head off. Then it's not a very immortal existence. It was
easy to keep out of the sunlight. Just go out at night. No sunlight there. 

It was a bit harder to stop someone from blowing your head off. I mean someone
could just sneak up on you with a loaded shotgun. Then you would be toast. But
wombats had big thick necks. It was really hard to separate the head from a
wombat. That's what helped them defeat all of the other zombie vampires. Didn't
help against the zombie vampire elephants though. Man those were tough. Don't
underestimate a zombie vampire elephant. They are tough cookies. Not so great at
hiding from the sunlight though. Especially the desert elephants. That's what
got them in the end. HA HA HA HA HA take that you stupid elephants!

---------------------

Grond Markman was rockin' out. Rockin' out on the bongos. He didn't think it was
possible before. I mean, these little things are so small. He had to throw away
his drumsticks. Bongos had to be played with the hands, man. Yeah, rocking!

It was hard going at first. There's not much variation in the whole thing. It's
a bongo, you just hit it and it makes a sound. It was sound in theory. Oh, did I
just make a pun? Ha ha ha ha ha, thought Markman.

Were they ready for me to announce that I was actually Mark Grondman? he
wondered. No, he decided, they couldn't possibly be ready for that. The beat
technology on this planet was far inferior to what he had on the ship. Why his
super mega drumkit could wipe out this entire stadium in a matter of moments.
Speaking of wiping out stadiums, what happened to the last stadium. It looked
like beat energy, but completely unfocused.

Hmmm... perhaps they needed help with control. Perhaps they had the pure beat
power, the power of a single beat perhaps. But they could not control it.
Grondman could teach them how to control it. How to use that power to get them
off this stinking mud heap. Out into the stars where there were hot chicks and
scary monsters.

He sped up the bongos a bit. Yeah that's it. Just a bit faster! Oh yeah faster
again! Faster! Faster! Faster! YYEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Suddenly

---------------------

The ground started to shake. Pippin screeched loudly and quickly flew away. Man,
something sure spooked that budgie. I wonder what it could be, thought Tyler.
Woah this stage is getting real unstable. This is terrible build quality. What
did they spend all the money for this concert on? It certainly wasn't the stage. 

Parts of the ground started caving in. People started to fall. They weren't at
their most alert state. A thick haze of smoke was in the air, and a large number
of people were wearing beads. Never a good sign.

The fallen gave little out quiet little murmurs as they fell. A little "hey"
here, a "woah" there. People didn't notice so much from the ground, but Tyler
and everyone else could see it clearly from the stage. Something fishy was in
this henhouse.

Red fountains started to spray out of the holes of the fallen. Grond Markman had
seen that before. It was blood, spraying up in a death fountain. A very common
sight for a man that travels to worlds with scary monsters. Oh noes scary
monsters! he thought. I thought this was a hot chicks planet?

Zombie vampire wombats suddenly burst out of their holes. They were like a black
plague, swarming all over the crowd. Some went to the brain via the back of the
head. You just crack it open like and egg and feast on the gooey insides. Others
went through the face. These were generally the male zombie vampire wombats.
They preferred young women by default. It was a very strange fetish that they
had built up over the years, eating the faces of young women. But hey, when you
are an immortal hellspawn doomed to an eternity of darkness on this world you
have got to get your rocks off somehow. If you have to eat the face off a pretty
girl to do that then hey, who am I to judge?

Others preferred to suck the blood out of the victim before going on to the
brains. They were a strange and foreign type to the zombie vampire wombats. Most
called them vampire zombie wombats instead of zombie vampire wombats. Others
just called then "teh gheys". I think you can all agree with me that they are
fucking sick individuals. Where do they get off performing their sick perverted
acts in front of all the other zombie vampire wombats, the normal zombie vampire
wombats?

That's the problem, right there. These damn vampire zombie wombats. They are
causing the upfall of our society! It's all those activist zombie vampire
wombat judges! They're making all these laws and reinterpreting the zombie
vampire wombat bible to suit their needs! Zombie vampire wombat Jesus didn't die
(again) on the meat hook so that a bunch of activist zombie vampire wombat
judges could go around rewriting everything for these vampire zombie wombats. I
bet that they are secretly closet zombie vampire wombats! Sick fuckers. Why
don't they eat out some pretty girl's face like a normal zombie vampire wombat?

---------------------

Grond Markman watched it all unfold before him. Look at those sick and
disgusting little creatures. These filthy little things. These pathetic humans
have no chance of defending themselves against these foul creatures. Though I
guess they are more marsupial than fowl. Oh, did I make another funny? Oh ha ha
ha ha ha.

No, there is no way that these humans could defend themselves from this horrific
onslaught. Look at those wombats eating those girls faces off. Man that is sick!
I don't want all the hot chicks to be eaten by scary monsters! thought Grond
Markman.

No! Not on my watch! No longer will I be Grond Markman. It is time to reveal
myself to these people, but not in a sexual or naughty way. I mean it is time to
unveil myself to these people. No, fuck that sounds ghey as well. No, shit,
fuck! I have to think better! AAAHH!

Markman hit his head against the bongos. THINK BETTER FUCKWIT! Ahh that's
better, got all the drugs out of my system.

Yes, it's it time to tell them my true identity...

"I," he shouted, "AM A GAY!" Yes finally! No! Shit! Wrong!

"I," he shouted louder, "AM MARK GRONDMAN!!!! GREATEST DRUMMER IN THE
UNIVERSE!!!" Everyone either thought he was totally high, or though "OMG FUCK
ZOMBIE VAMPIRE WOMBATS!".

Mark Grondman, seemingly fuller in stature and more powerful than Grond Markman,
pulled out his killer drumsticks from behind his back. Oh yeah, he thought. Now
you are really gonna feel the beat, MOTHER FUCKERS!!!

Oh fuck, no drum kit! Time to harness the power of the bongos. The beatniks can
do it, and the beatniks are a bunch of fucking pussies. Let's bash this bitch!

Mark Grondman started wailing on the bongos. It was a totally killer set. He
sped it up more and more. It always sounded better when it was faster. But no
beat-energy formed. Where was all the beat-energy? What kind of fucking pussy
assed drums are these?!?!??!?

Suddenly a small amount of beat-energy started to form. Oh yeah, now we are
cooking! He rolled it up, forming a tight ball. It was nowhere near the power of
what he could conjure on the Dave Grohl. Awww man, everyone might start thinking
that he had no game. But Mark Grondman had game. Mark Grondman had game in the
bucketloads. Like he was a fucking game fountain, spewing his gameness on the
faces of thousands of women. Woah that image is totally fucked up right there.

He rolled the ball out, toward the wombats. It wasn't that tight, it was hard to
tighten up a beat-energy ball on a bongo drum, so he had to send it out slow,
slow... slow...

The ball coasted toward the wombat/human pile of blood and flesh and fur. Kinda
like when on those road runner cartoons when the coyote tries to catch the road
runner on like an Acme rocket car or something. And then like he lights the
rocket and jumps in the car. Then the road runner goes by and the coyote get's
ready. The wick on the rocket starts to burn down. Finally it hits the rocket,
but it just goes out. Then he tries again later that day. He's got it all set up
and stuff again and the road runner is going all past him and stuff. He totally
starts up the wick. Then he hops in the car and gets ready for the boom. The
wick burns into the rocket, but still there is no rocket sauce. He totally looks
out behind him and wonders why the rocket doesn't work and BOOM! There's the
rocket sauce!!!! A HA HA HA HA! Then we cut to the road runner and he's all
running and stuff and we are like, "What are you doing coyote? Why do you always
want to catch the road runner? Is she like a totally hot chick or something
because she doesn't look like a chick to me?", and the coyote's all "SHUT THE
FUCK UP I'M ABOUT TO CATCH TEH ROAD RUNNERZ LOLZ!!!!11!". But then the coyote totally
overshoots the road runner. The rocket is way too powerful. When it works
because it didn't work before. The rocket is so powerful that he goes straight
into a cliff. The camera like pans out and the road runner zooms past he's so
fast and then like one of the wheels just rolls out all smoking and stuff and
falls to the ground. Yeah that's about how fast the beat-energy ball was
travelling.

Oh fuck they were totally gonna get it when that ball hits. Ha ha take that you
little monsters. Fuck with Mark Grondman will you? Ha!

One of the wombats pounced on the energy ball, popping it.

OH FUX WHAT WAS THAT! thought Mark. THAT IS TOTALLY NOT WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO
HAPPEN!!!!111


When wombats attack

Uberbrad the Uberbread had been working tirelessly for the past twenty four
hours. Would all this effort pay off end the end? There was only one way to find
out.

Before him marched his starchy legions. Companies of croissants, entire
divisions of loaves. Unsliced of course. Such a horrible way to die, being
sliced. He had baked them in wholemeal, white and multigrain varieties. They
weren't allowed to mix though. He secretly hated the wholemeal loaves the most.
Those dark ones just weren't proper. Bread, real bread, is white on the inside,
white on the outside. And it was how the Teapot God wanted it to be. Yes, the
wholemeal loaves will go in first, as trailbreakers. Sure, they may die in their
millions, torn apart by the sharp fangs of millions of deadly undead fiends.
Uberbrad the Uberbread was prepared to take that sort of a risk if it meant
victory and/or showing the wholemeal loaves their place in bread society.

He had french sticks by the millions, ready to plunge their wheaty goodness into
the dark hearts of those icky evil zombie vampire wombats. Ha ha yes take that
stupid wombats! Dinner roll grenades were all laid out neatly, as well as larger
roll bombs that were to be dropped on them or set as bread mines.

Uberbrad was so strapped for resources and desperate to save humanity that he
enlisted the help of the pastry people. He suspected that they wouldn't be much
help to him though. The pastry people are far too sweet, far too caring. What
could that icky sugar wheat mixture, a defilement of the true nature of the
wheat, possibly do in this battle. Uberbrad hadn't planned that one through, but
he imagined that if he sent them in after the wholemeal bread then he would at
least get enough time to ready for his real attack. The honest to Teapot God
white loaves, and some multigrain because they were usually rich and bought lots
of neat extra gear for battle. Their women were pretty hot too.

They readied for battle. Strapped in, locked on. Everything was set. This was
going to be a big one, he thought. Perhaps the biggest of all time. Yes, there
were hard times ahead. Hard times indeed.

They started to move out. Such a massive contingent of wheaty troops took a very
long time to get moving. It might be hours or even days before they make it to
the battle. Uberbrad hoped that whoever was there would manage to survive in
time for the cavalry. They might make good shields during the battle.

-------------------------------------

The wombats, finishing off the brains and blood of the audience, rushed the
stage. Dakota was the first casualty. Some sick freak wombat ate his face off,
then ate his brains. The wombat didn't realise that Dakota was a guy at the
time. He had a name that sounded like a girl's you see. It was all dark and his
eyes were smeared with blood. Later on the other zombie vampire wombats would
totally pay him out on that one. They would say "ah hah you ate some guys
face" and he would be all "shut up you guys!!" But secretly he always knew that
Dakota was a guy. He just happened to have a girl's name, so the wombat thought
he could get away with it. Aside from all the jibing it seemed to have worked.
Ever since he was a baby zombie vampire wombat he had a strange fetish. A fetish
for eating the face off of men. Yes, I know that sounds weird. Any normal,
healthy young zombie vampire wombat would be totally eating some hot chicks face
off. But now he felt like a total freak. Why would it be so strange to eat some
guy's face?

Burn took most of the carnage first. They were all hanging out at the front of
the stage, and that where the wombats surged in. Oh they fought so valiantly.
Fireman took off his firemans hat and started beating wombats left and right.
But it was in vain. The wombats were too numerous and too eager for blood and
brains. Soon we was buried under and avalance of zombie vampire wombats, we
couldn't see him anymore. He screamed out in pain but was suddenly cut off. Then
a few moments later there was a burp and a skeleton popped out. HA HA HA HA
that's pretty funny.

None of the members of Burn survived for very long. Even Tyler Dunn, so outed in
his gheyness, didn't last for long. They got him pretty quick. It was hard
though, for the wombats. They had to get through all that hair. Tyler was fully
permed and fluffed. That's just like a net of tangling spider webs or something
to a horde of zombie vampire wombats. Soon Tyler's hair was filled with zombie
vampire wombats. He was running around the stage screaming OMG WOMBATS ARE IN MY
HAIR OMG OMG OMG! But there was nothing he could do about it. Once you get
zombie vampire wombats in your hair there's nothing much you can do. I mean you
could cut off all the hair but then you would look totally stupid.

Once the wombats polished off Burn they moved onto Steel Rose. A couple of the
wombats lefts to take on the roadies. Earlier in the battle they had noticed
that roadie blood had an unusual property: it made you completely high. Soon
wombats were completely addicted to the taste of roadie blood. I mean the hippy
blood was alright, but after a bit you just got the munchies. These roadies keep
you going all night long.

One of the wombats jumped up, neatly slicing off Richard's right arm at the
elbow. That was a marvellous piece of precision carnage. All the other wombats
stopped for a quick clap. Clap clap clap clap clap, they clapped. Richard looked
at his stump of an arm and screamed. OMG MY ARM! MY ARM! Blood started streaming
out and spraying all over the wombats. They totally loved it when they did that,
but they generally preferred when it sprayed on the female wombats. Another
wombat jumped up and tried to take on the other arm. He stuffed it and totally
knocked himself out. Ha ha ha ha! they all laughed at the stupid wombat. Back to
stunt school you stupid wombat.

Mark Grondman was beating off wombats left and right. It was hard work. These
things were so god damn tough. His drumsticks were having little effect. He
would plunge them in hard and fast but the wombat would just keep on coming.
They would drop to the ground, seemingly killed be the hard thrust of long thick
wood into their heads. But no! He thought that they were dead, but then they get
up again and keep on coming. Oh noes look out! Mark clutches his shoulder. Ahh
fux stop biting me you little fuckers! he scream. Oh noes, once you are bitten
by the zombie vampire wombats you are done for. You start to turn into a zombie
and then you are all slow and dimwitted. Ha, they haven't seen dimwitted yet!
thought Mark Grondman. They haven't seen me on the piss.

Alec was also continuing his assault on the wombats. It was hard work but he had
met similar creatures before in Australia. He thought that ninja vampire
kangaroos were tough but this was something else. His sword made light work of
the wombats, but unless he got the head off they would just reform and keep
coming back. Man I should have remembered to bring my silver sword, thought
Alec. But no I don't need it. That's for werewolves, these are zombie ninjas.
Why do they have to be wombats! WHY! WHY! WHY! What sick fucker thought up the
wombats! So hard to slice the head off of a wombat. It's like they have no neck
god damn it!

Mark Grondman was doing it tough. He was very slow and dimwitted now. He had to
concentrate. He was dimwitted most of the time, because most of the time he was
on the piss. Why do I waste my life away like that? he asked. Too late now
you've got a zombie vampire wombat on your back! *stab* aahh that got him. But
he wasn't drunk right now, so the zombie affect was really just making him
normal. The slowness was an easy fix. Mark Grondman was the greatest drummer in
the world. As such he could unconciously speed up continuously. So really he
could relax and just let himself speed up. Man this zombie thing is pretty good
when you think about it! You don't have to spend money on the booze anymore and
I can just relax and speed up naturally without having to worry about people's
heads exploding from all of the awesome. Rad, man.

A wombat leaped for his throat. He plunged his left drumstick into the chest of
the wombat, missing the head but going straight into the heart. Good thing these
were quality wooden drumsticks. That wombat just melted away and turned into a
pile of sludge. Ha ha ha! thought Mark. Look how the tables have turned!

Mark and Alec stood back to back. A circle of wombats formed around them. This
was looking pretty grim. There was no way they were getting out alive. Well,
Mark was already half-zombie. He wouldn't be adverse to finding a nice hot chick
right now and eating her face off before taking out the brains. Oh yeah that
would be nice. Alec was busy beheading wombats ninja style left and right. It
was only a matter of time before Mark would turn and start trying to eat his
brains. How ironic that after all this time together fighting the zombie vampire
wombats and the vampire zombie wombats (Alec was very sensitive to different
lifestyle choices) that Mark would turn on him and eat his brains.

ZOMG how are Mark and Alec going to get out of this one alive? Who noes!

Suddenly the lights go out. The zombie vampire wombats have cut the lights. They
hate lights, Alec thought. Maybe I should have thought of that earlier? We could
have used that knowledge somehow. Alec and Mark were fighting blind. Alec had
major ninja skillz, he was totally used to fighting hundreds of crazy foes in
complete darkness. Mark was using all of his musician skills, hearing the
wombats as they flew through the air towards him. Every wombat that came near
was prompty stabbed the heart. They were surrounded by so much icky wombat goo
that the stage was getting very slippery. If they fell at any moment they would
be instantly set upon by the zombie vampire wombats. Oh noes that would totally
suck.


Do not underestimate the power of complex carbohydrates

Mark and Alec were struggling. There seemed to be a hell of a lot more wombats
than before. They keep jumping up, taking quick precise bites aimed at their
knees and necks. Mark got another nip, this time on the elbow, but it was almost
too late for him. The zombie sickness was taking hold. His scratches and cuts
were oozing blood. OMG Mark might die but like then not die because he would
become a zombie?

Alec had l33t n1nj4 sk1llz so he was ok for now. Mark was blocking off most of
the back attacks and they were the hardest to deal with. He still couldn't
believe it. Mark Grondman, the hero of the universe and the greatest drummer of
all time was here, on Earth. Why didn't he notice it before? Grond Markman, Mark
Grondman. It seemed so straight-forward now! Oh why didn't he notice earlier. He
could have got an autograph. But he had bigger troubles now. Mark was starting
to turn. He could sense that, his ninja senses tingling with excitement as Mark
was debating in his head. Eat brains? Don't eat brains? Eat brains? Don't eat
brains? Eat brains? Don't eat brains? Eat brains? Don't eat brains? 

Oh I think I'll eat the brains. Mark turned and made a swipe at Alec. Alec
deftly leapt away. Suddenly the surrounding wall of zombie vampire wombats
became more like a cage than a circle of death. They wanted to see this, wanted
to see who would win between a battle of Mark and Alec.

How could he do this? Alec wondered. Mark is an idol, a hero among all in the
galaxy. Sure he would speed up all the time, but then again don't all drummers?
You couldn't blame them, really. It was only natural to speed up. To want the
hotness, the chicks and stuff. Oh well. If I have to kill Mark Grondman then I
have to kill Mark Grondman. I'll worry about the wombats later.

Mark made another lunge, attempting to shove that deadly drumstick of death into
Alec's buff chest. Alec sidestepped it, bringing his gleaming samurai sword down
onto Mark's neck. This sword was cold forged Japanese steel. It contained
hundreds of layers of super strong steel. Against a neck like Mark Grondmans it
could slice through like a GSXR-1000 motorbike through a large packet of
marshmallows. And Mark's neck looked particularly like marshmallows at the
moment. The sword didn't really look like a GSXR-1000 motorbike though. It
looked more like a sword, a samurai sword, like the ones in the movies.

Alec brought the sword down with all of his might. He hated to do this, but he
must. He didn't want his brains eaten by his childhood hero. The sword glanced
away, deflected by Mark's second drumstick, which he held in his other hand as
most drummers do. Oh fuck that's one tough drumstick, he thought. This is going
to be a harder battle than I anticipated.

Mark thrusted and parried. Alec thrusted and parried. This was a close fight, a
fight between equals, between friends, between lovers. But there would be no
make-up sex after this one. Not if you don't count eating someones brain out. I
hope he doesn't eat out my face, thought Alec. That would be totally gross and a
bit wrong I think.

Mark was busy concentrating on the fight. Brains! he thought. Brains! Brains!
Brains! He wasn't in the mood for more complicated thoughts. He was mostly
thinking about chewing down on the sweet man's face. Oh yeah that would hit the
spot. Alec has a totally chewable face. Oh that's just fucking gross. God damn
ghey zombies stop trying to eat other men's faces. Get a room. Sheesh.

Under normal circumstances Alec would be doing very well right now. He had run
his sword straight through Mark a number of times. Mark was more a used
pincushion than a man now. But that didn't stop Mark from wanting his sweet
juicy brains. Mark had special zombie powers now. He was starting to slow down,
even his drummer's intuition for constantly speeding up was failing to make up
for the zombie slowdown. However he was losing the need for internal organs. The
last time he took a breath was over five minutes ago.

Finally Alec made a breakthrough. He feinted another beheading move. Poor Mark
was none too quick with the thinking. The moved looked exactly like a beheading,
but if he had the psychology going he would have know that Alec would not try
the same thing again. Or would he? If Alec had guessed than Mark had guessed
that Alec would not try it again, then Alec could do it again and Mark would be
totally fucked up. Of course this is trivial because at the moment Mark can't
guess. He's just a zombie right now, one hundred percent, so we will call him
Zombie Mark.

Anyway Alec made a breakthrough with a beheading feint. Instead of doing the
actual beheading he instead was aiming for that second hand. With the second
drumstick coming up to block the beheading he saw where to go. He adjusted the
sword arc a little and bam! Zombie Mark's hand came right off at the wrist,
sending it and the second drumstick tumbling away.

This left Zombie Mark with only one drumstick. He was getting very aggressive
now, not letting Alec capitulate on the win. If he could wear Alec down enough
in a few minutes time he would be able to plunge this drumstick right into his
heart and feast on his delicate face and moist, chewy brain. Of course that is
not what he really thought. What he was really thinking was BRRAAINNNZZZZ!!!!

Alec was busy dodging and weaving, trying to escape that deadly drumstick of
doom. Maybe he could wear down Zombie Mark. Maybe he will run low on energy or
something? Perhaps. No wait that wouldn't work. Zombie Mark is a zombie. Zombies
don't run out of energy. They just keep going, relentlessly, until the job is
complete. Then they wait, wait for more life to come, more brains to evolve, so
they can eat them. Totally gross.

Alec was dodging and weaving, weaving and dodging, when finally he got his
second big breakthrough, right through Zombie Mark's right elbow. Zombie Mark
screamed, "BRRRAAAAINNNSSS!!" but he really meant "ZOMG WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED
TO MY ARMS OH FUCK NOES!!!!". Fuck noes indeed, thought Alec. All the wombats
were all "ooh now he's got him" and "ooh I'm going to eat that one's face".

Zombie Mark charged toward Alec, trying to bludgeon him to death the the stubs
of his arms. They'll grow back, right? RIGHT??!??!!?! Yeah sure they will.
Idiot.

Alec sidestepped him and swept his sword around low, slicing through Zombie
Mark's legs at the knee. Zombie Mark fell to the ground. ZOMG is this the end of
Zombie Mark Grondman? Oh such is the life of an interstellar zombie drummer. One
day you are banging hot chicks on Eros 7, then next day you are fighting for
your life against a horde of zombie vampire wombats and then you get bitten by
some of them which turns you into a zombie and then you start trying to eat your
friends face but he has elite ninja skills and just cuts off all your arms and
legs. Bummer.

Zombie Mark struggled on the ground, but it was so hard to get up when you don't
have arms or legs. Eventually he managed to onto his knees, which I guess were
his feet now that he had no shins or ankles or feet. Alec brought his sword down
on Zombie Mark's neck. There was no way he could defend against a killer ninja
blow like that. He just had to take it. "Brains," he thought. "Brains brains
brains brains brains."

Alec's super ninja sword sliced clean through Zombie Mark's neck, separating his
head from the rest of the body. There, that should do it. Zombie Mark started to
melt into the stage. Be one with the music, rock buddy! thought Alec.

The wombats were all touched and stuff. Then they started to close the circle
around Alec. OMG what was Alec going to do? Did he just trade getting eaten by a
friend for getting eaten by a bunch of strange zombie vampire wombats? He should
have totally chosen the friend. Oh well to late now......?

Suddenly a shaft of light beamed down onto Alec, the wombats jumped back,
shocked with the pure intensity of the beam. A voice was heard over a megaphone
from directly above them.

"Sorry we took so long," said the voice. "Had to stop for petrol and they were
all 'you have to prepay for your petrol after ten and we were all but how much
do we need'. It got pretty ugly, I'm sure you don't need to here all the
details. Anyway. Your time is nigh, little zombie vampire wombats!"

It was Uberbrad the Uberbread. He had arrived just in time!!! Well maybe a
little late because everyone was dead except for Alec. But Alec was about to die
unless he had something up his ninja sleeve which he usually does. Ok well maybe
Uberbrad didn't arrive just in time. Maybe he was late. Fuck I hate people who
always show up late. Do you think that we want to hang around and wait for you
all day?

Streams of french loaves shot down, skewering zombie vampire wombats and pinning
them to the stage. OMG that looks so cool. The zombie vampire wombats were
totally not amused. Oh noes! they thought. It's the bread people!

Giant tins of loaves descended onto the stage. They jumped out and immediately
threw themselves against the undead wombat army. Alec thought that they looked
like wholemeal loaves. Yeah take that you stupid wholemeal loaves. Fucking
gangsta fuck heads. Where are your bitches and hos now?

The loaves put up a valiant fight. But really what can a loaf of bread do
against a zombie vampire wombat? Not much I guess. They could act as a sort of
deterrent though. Keep the zombie vampire wombats occupied while all the bloody
brainy people ran away. Alec took that as a cue and bolted for the hills.

Soon there were breadcrumbs everywhere. The wombats were getting tired and
confused. These bread loaves don't have any blood. How are we supposed to get
any sustenance from them? They don't have any brains either. What the fuck is
going on?

Down came the caramel slices, the cream filled chocolate coated buns and all the
other sugary pastries. Soon the wombats were completely fucked up. Too much
sugar.... too much sugar... oh fucks they thought. I knew I shouldn't have eaten
that eigth caramel slice. The wombats were all wallowing around, feeling like
they were about to puke.

Then came the gingerbread men. They had a saying in the land of pastries: "Don't
fuck with the gingerbread men. They are bad ass motherfuckers". Damn straight.
These bad ass motherfuckers were about to open a can of whoop ass on these
zombie vampire wombats. They were all decked out in their war frosting. Yeah
bitches, suck on some of this, they thought, pulling out some chainsaws and
crowbars and shit.

They started wailing into the lethargic wombats. Oh fuck noes! thought the
wombats. Stop beating us up motherfuckers! Gingerbread men were coming at them
from left and right, totally digging in with the chainsaws and shit. Yeah a
chainsaw would totally fuck up a zombie vampire wombat. Sure, a bullet was
painful, but it wasn't anything like having your ass shredded by these fucking
rotating blades of pain. Fuck that hurt. It would take a whole week to grow that
ass back.

The wombats fled off of the stage. Suddenly they were surrounded with dinner
rolls. Oh noes Uberbrad had guessed that they would flee back to their holes!
BOOOM!!! The wombats were totally fucked up. Between Alec and Mark and all the
sugary pastries and those bad ass gingerbread men they were completely screwed.
They had no choice but to cheeze it back underground as fast as they can.

You may have won this battle, Uberbrad, but we'll be back. Oh yes we will. We
are so going to eat your stupid bready face.

Breadomancer

It had been tough times, those first few years struggling against the zombie
vampire wombats. Oh, we thought that the we went pretty well during the battles
at the start. Wombats would pop up, then we would apply a bit of napalm and nuke
the fuckers. That worked pretty well.

But then they started to change, started to adapt. Soon they were burrowing
under our cities, stalking us at night, one by one. This was a different war, a
guerilla war in the city. A war between man and zombie vampire wombat. Our
cities didn't last for long. They were too dangerous. There were too many nooks
and crannys where a zombie vampire wombat could hide, waiting for the darkness
to fall so he could go on the hunt. At least there were fewer stray cats and
dogs nowadays. But man, waking up dead could really ruin your day.

Soon the cities were deserted, except for a few danger seeking daredevils. Oh
there were prizes for the daring. High technology devices, laser beams and
forcefield generators could be found in the cities. If you knew where to look
and could defend yourself against those zombie vampire wombats.

It was cool at the beginning. Just hop in, steal a few dozen frickin' lasers and
cheese it. But for some reason the supply of laser beams and forcefield
generators became a trickle. They finally stopped just two years later.

So the cities were abandoned. They became ruins, reminders of an almost
forgotten past of idyllic times. When the land wasn't covered in zombie vampire
wombats. When most people had never heard of zomg. But now everyone had heard
that terrible cry, ZOMG!

They moved out into the countryside, trying to eke out a living in the fields
and mountains. Millions died, either from the zombie vampire wombats or just
starvation. There was no more oil, no more electricity. Civilisation had to go
back to horse and plow almost overnight.

Most of their efforts went into the giant wheat fields and bakeries. Bread was
their only hope against the undead marsupials. For some reason.

Civilisation moved forward, clumping around the most powerful bakeries where it
was safer from the zombie vampire wombats. Eventually industries began to form.
Buildings were being built. It was hard work creating one from scratch, but they
managed. Bakeries became larger, more powerful. They could crank out loaves so
quickly that they were just made on demand. Their french stick launcher was so
powerful that it could pin a wombat to the ground from two kilometers away.
Provided that the wombat sat still for the duration of the travel time and
didn't get out of the way when he saw the french stick about to skewer him. Ok
that happened pretty rarely bit still, two kilometers for a bread stick is
pretty cool.

People worked hard, toiling in the field for every single grain of wheat that
they gather. More wheat meant more bread. More bread means survival, survival
against those dastardly wombats. Some began to wonder, what is the secret behind
the bread? Where do they get their power from?

The world ticked by, still spinning around the sun. It spun around many times,
but not extra quick or anything. Ha ha if it did that then people would all be
flung off. That would suck. It didn't do that. It has just been a very long time
since all the previous stuff.

Man and wombat had kept their uneasy balance for sometime. Then finally one man
discovered the secret behind the bread. He was mad though, but then again most
scientists are. He designed devices that could power themselves on the bread.
That was totally wicked, think of all the fantastic applications of this
technology. Yes, mega bread shooting spider tanks! Eight legged monstrosities of
hard steel. Yeah sink your teeth into that you stupid wombats! Ha ha ha ha! They
worked hard on minaturising the turrets from the top of bakeries. If they could
reduce it to just a few tons in weight then they could mount them onto these
spider tanks. Yeah that would be totally cool.

Meanwhile the wombats were having a breakthrough of their own. One wombat
theorised that it should be possible to fly, seeing as they were vampires and
Dracula could fly if he turned into a bat. He tried it out. It worked! Ha ha ha
ha that was totally cool. They could just fly straight in and start eating
chick's faces. Ha ha.

The sun was not such a major problem for the wombats any more. Sure it hurt
their eyes, but they didn't turn into dust when it hit them. One of the more
thinky wombats, one who had munch a lot of brains, came up with the idea of
sunscreen. They just apply it to the fur and then off they go. Eventually they
managed to breed the sunscreen trait into the wombats. Now they could go outside
during the day. But they didn't want the humans to know about it. No, they were
going to surprise them. Catch them off guard. Then, major face eating action.

So the humans had their eight legged spider tanks with french stick turrets on
the top. They had to keep near the bakeries, or "nodes" as they called them.
These "nodes" were the source of all their power. Oh noes what if they
overloaded the node? Then all the power would go out and they would be toast.
Get it? Bread, toast. Ahh forget it.

The wombats were all flying about now too. They could fly during the day. It was
pretty hard work though. A wombat doesn't have very good aerodynamics. But hey,
it was better than walking.

Wow that's so good. It sounds like the sort of stuff you would read about in a
proper published novel!

------------------------

Over the year there had formed myths and legends. One was about Alec, the ninja
pirate king of the west. He would return one day and wreak havoc among his
enemies. The other, Pippin the budgie. He was also return to rock thy house with
major party. That pretty much summed up the philosophy of the people at this
time. Super ninja pirate skills and partying. Like when a ninja totally flips
out and kills a dozen wombats that just sprung up in his backyard, then pulls
out his guitar and wails an awesome solo. That's just totally like, it. That's
was all people aspire to be in these times.

But they were other myths too. Myths about a secret society. A society of
scientists and philosophers who had understood the true power of the bread. They
could wield magic, twisting and molding the power of the bread to serve their
purposes. There was talk that a few could even tap into the power of the bread
itself. Imagine what one could do with such power! They could totally flip out
and kill thousands of zombie vampire wombats at once. Then they could plug their
axe into a distoring amp and totally wail on a killer power solo extreme! These
breadomancers, as people liked to call them, could be very powerful indeed.

Shiann was not one of these breadomancers. She was just a sissy little orphan
girl who always felt small and nobody ever liked her even though she was really
pretty. She had a job in a factory. Of course there is only one sort of factory
at the time, a killer spider bread shooting tank factory of course. Society just
didn't have time for anything else.

She was one of the few that could bend the power of the bread. She would take
small pieces of bread and fit them into the little bread cages. Then if it was
all wired up correctly then shazam, the spider tank got lots of power and it can
move around and shoot stuff.

It was important work, I guess. But Shiann really hated her job. For one thing
get rival was a complete bitch. This big tittied blonde slut with a tan. How
could she possibly get a tan up here in the mountains? What a fucking slut. She
must be a complete slut, Shiann thought, look at the size of those tits!

Shiann thought about having a man, one day. But it just didn't seem to suit her.
All the men around were all 'oh look at me I'm a man' types of men. Why couldn't
she find a different kind of man? A man who doesn't have to be all "I'm a man"
about his man-ness. Why can't she find a woman man. A person who is all "I'm a
man" but looks just like a woman? Not that she was totally lesbo or anything. No
she totally wasn't lesbo. No lesbo here. Fuck those titties were big.

She was busy making her bread enclosures for the spider tanks when she heard a
commotion at the gates of the factory. Everyone had stopped their work and taken
a look. OMG! On the gates some guy was impaled. What force could have done that.
Not zombie vampire wombats, they thought. It's the middle of the day. Besides
they wouldn't be able to get them all the way up there on the top of the gates.
Totally not zombie vampire wombats.

Everyone went outside to take a look at the man. Yeah he was totally dead, no
doubt about it. You can't get impaled on a fence and expect to get away with a
few scratches and a couple of bruises. People were gasping and whispering to
each other around Shiann. She struggled to get through the crowd and get a good
look at the man. Finally she made it to the front and took a good look at him.

She wouldn't say that he was particularly pretty. Then again Shiann wouldn't say
anything like that about any man. She just didn't seem to get along with them.
Anyway, around neck was a sign. It was written in blood. Ewww blood. That's
gross. The sign said "It's ON!!!!" and it had a paw print down the bottom. Oh
noes it was the wombats!!!!! And it's ON!!!! The final battle between man and
wombat!!! Who will win!!!!

The factory manager came and made everyone get back to work. He picked on Shiann
especially. "Do you want to go to the breeding factories?" he said. Actually he
was just being honest. Shiann was totally hot and a trip to the breeding
factories could get him into her pants. She took it as a threat though, 'cause I
guess that would be how you take such comments in situations such as these. Like
if a cop pulled you over and asked you to step outside then you wouldn't assume
that the cop wanted to take you out to movies and a dinner. Cops have feelings
too you know. They have wants and needs. They need love just like everyone else.
But no, everyone has to be all in their face about being a cop. They just want
to help people, can't you see that??!?!!?!

Shiann was totally not into breeding factories. She would much rather stay here
and work on the bread containers for the spider tanks. Maybe should would go if
it meant that she could have babies from sex with women. I mean, nobody had
really tried it before, so maybe it would work? Shiann could dedicate her life
to it, she felt. Perhaps if she stuck at it, maybe ten or twenty years of non
stop sex with thousands of other women. Maybe should could have a baby at some
point in time?

------------------------

After a few months of double overtime without pair which is TOTALLY unfair the
humans were ready for the final battle. They had lined up their thousands of
killer spider tanks, filled to the brim with french stick ammo. Oh those wombats
were so going to get it.

Shiann was their too. They said that she was going to repair them if they failed
in the battle. She told them that she would rather go have sex with chicks. They
told her to stop being silly and get back to work. Nobody liked Shian :(

------------------------

In his super fancy breadomancer castle the wizard watch the battle commence.
That is a pretty fucking big battle, he thought. It reminds me of my battle, so
long ago. Oh Mark, why did you have to go all zombie and try to eat me?