346 lines
21 KiB
Plaintext
346 lines
21 KiB
Plaintext
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Underground eXperts United
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Presents...
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[ Website Oblivion ] [ By Max West ]
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____________________________________________________________________
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____________________________________________________________________
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Ross H. Pollette writing as Max West
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1175 A Oak St. S.F. CA. 94117 (C) R. H. Pollette '98
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WEBSITE.OBLVion.666 #2
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Mendoza spat at the screen door now locked in his face. "...Yeah?! Well
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just fuck you! ...and you know? In my humble opinion, you are a Goddamned
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BITCH!" He yelled in her dried out yard at the kitchen window where he
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could see, through his own pissed reflection, her silhouette flipping him
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off. "You don' access me man! I fucking access you! GOT IT?!" Stamping to
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his car, he threw himself in and slammed the massive door of his cherry
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1972 Lime Green Caddy El Dorado, sitting at a cockeyed angle across the
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driveway. "Why couldn't the chick just get it straight?" he grumbled,
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jamming the big car into reverse. "Goddamn it!"
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Squealing down the street, he stabbed the power button on the arm rest
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getting the window open enough to stick his head out before flinging back
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a defiant, "No bod-y-y-y-y!" He checked his rearview mirror for some kind
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of reaction, but it was strictly nada.
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Mendoza: Bit Stream addict, whose attention span was tentative at the
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best of times, cooled out behind the sensation, however illusionary, of
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the virtual wind breezing through his pompadour while he smiled a CAD
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smile. Turning the corner on two wheels, he fell down time, barreling
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along un-roads where guys who sort of looked like Jimi Hendrix extracted
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tortured howls from the squirming larva they played instead of guitars -
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where silicon based pornography dry fucks crystal particles dreaming of
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Carbon-where the Ice Cold Loop drops him off back at the intersection
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leading to the El Cortez Motel and Trailer Park over in Virtual Town,
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located at: http: www.fuc u Ass hole net./puck.shit.shoot.666. Everything
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was just a short hop in Cyberspace.
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Mendoza knew that there was one sure way to take his mind off that crazy
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bitch: He'd go get some virtual neon, blowup toy action-a dog, a
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Pineapple, a big dice, for Christ's sake!, whatever. "Ah, that damn static
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electricity!" he panted. That's what did it for him. He'd been overheard
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many times at the Aztec bar explaining to anyone who'd listen: "You just
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rub 'em against that ol' zipper on your jeans and, well... there was no
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need to go into the obvious results, just reach for a Kleenex afterward
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and call it a day." Right on!
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The thing behind the counter at the 'V' Gas'n'Go on the outskirts of
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V-Town, whined to him about how they'd sold the last inflatable toy hours
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ago, as it fluttered and congealed in and out of a shape that resembled a
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store clerk, (at least like he remembered them), about as much as a
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Preying Mantis looked like a lawnmower. "You think you're the only guy
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around here who likes those things?" It asked rudely.
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"Uh, you know where I can get one?" was all he could bring himself to
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mutter at the warped attendant before it lost cohesion again, this time
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turning into a sort of metallic donut covered in hairy mustard yellow
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spikes.
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"Well! If you need one that bad, you'll have to go someplace else I
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guess..." The donut lisped in a prissy voice Mendoza thought was
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completely out of it, considering the way the item looked. Annoyingly,
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the virtual creature, mincing and swaying with what would have been hips
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if it'd had any, was moving in a little too close for comfort; He also
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did not appreciate the insultingly familiar look deep down in the liquid
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pits of it's eyes-for a second he thought he could see little pink hearts
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fluttering his way. M. was just reaching for the weapon he kept in his
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belt, when he heard a toilet flush, followed seconds later by the bland
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emasculated form of the Gas 'n' Go manager appearing down the counter on
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his right, apparently from the blank wall.
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"Kin I hep yooo? Is they a prob'lm he-are?" The southern Web-Boy with
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a shit eating grin from ear to ear, looked from his customer, gun half
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pulled, back to his virtual employee, who'd stopped eye-grappling with
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Mendoza and now stood contritely to the side adjusting its name tag.
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"Randy? What's all the commotion?"
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"Well, he started it!" Randy sniffed in its offended Queer voice.
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Ignoring his assistant, the manager asked,
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"Uh, wha'wuz it yoo needed, sur? Did you want to pay fo' some gay-us?"
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"He said he was looking for some of those blow up neon toys and I told
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him we were all OUT!!" Randy cut in.
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"Ya day-ed? I guess we's out of 'em alright, but we do have someo'
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deese." Mr. Van-Mendoza checked the name stitched over the left pocket-
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carefully placed some items in hygienically wrapped plastic on the counter
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directly in front of him. Mendoza examined the novelties skeptically: The
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'Clap-on' sound activated light switch; The fly swatter that looked and
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worked like a toy gun; The salt and pepper shakers that resembled cows or
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corncobs all in Day glow florescent pink and yellow, but it wasn't what he
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wanted, not by a long shot.
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"No man. Thanks, but this shit just ain't it. Not doin' it..." He
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turned his back, contempt for their inefficiency written in every line of
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his face.
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"Ah now son..." the manager started between smirks, ("Don' go off
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mad..."), but Mendoza was already half way across the lot to his car,
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muttering.
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"Damn! A guy gets his mouth all set for some inflatable fun and all he
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gets is this crap! Cyber-shitheads!"
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A couple of miles down the road he came across a liquor store called
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Slick & Marty's where they just happened to have a brand new shipment of
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cheap blow-ups including the ubiquitous dog that squeaked when you lifted
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it's rear leg-M.'s favorite-all in the violent, brain dazzling shades he
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craved. Somewhat mollified, he headed for his destination, the palm tree
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lined court of the El Cortez, free pool and color T.V. Motel, his home in
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V-Town.
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Mendoza flopped back against the quilted turquoise, Nagahyde headboard
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in unit 666. Between hits on the chrome injection apparatus, he dialed his
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Virtual phone looking for some pals. His selection scanned as he started
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to nod off-It'd been a long haul. Just seconds later, as he sat up in the
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bed rubbing his face, Casper the Gnarly Ghost appeared in the open door,
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pushing a cart load of dope, bottles of Liquor, mixers and hors
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d'oeuvres, followed immediately by Zink-Boy, a hybrid mix of Front-end
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Loader, 1200cc Harley Hydroglide and a dead horse, but an inveterate party
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guy. Mendoza knew from experience that these two would not give out on him
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until the last drop of whatever they had was gone. It could take a week.
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"Hey, hey Dozer! M'man!" brayed Zink-Boy revving his twin motors in
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party anticipation. "Let's kick out the Jams!!"
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Sometime later:
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He brushed at a mosquito that kept buzzing around his stomach. Through
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his half stupor his butt felt cold and exposed when it shouldn't have and
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this is what finally brought Mendoza out of his drunk. He stared down at
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Zink-Boy who was fumbling at his jeans.
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"Git the Goddamned Hell away from my ass fuckwad!!" Zink-Boy turned his
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dead white horsey eyes up to Mendoza with undisguised insincerity.
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"But, you said..." His windy voice trailed off.
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"Said?! Said?! What'd I Goddamn say? I don' think I said nuthin' bout
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what you got in mind muthafucka!.." He yanked his pants up over his bare
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ass with a vicious tug, kicking Zink off the bed. "God! Goddamn it! I
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can't believe this shit!" The more he thought about what had almost
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happened, the madder he got. He reached into the drawer of the nightstand,
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his fingers questing through the pages of old bibles, used rubbers greasy
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with forgotten love, a couple of broken ant farms and miscellaneous other
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material to grasp the handle of his nine mm Perp Eradicator. Leveling the
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weapon straight into Zink-Boy's rotted ear, he fired. The Boy flew away,
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hitting the far wall with a thud.
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Oh! Dozy, pal!" Casper gasped, just out the shower, looking squeaky
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clean. Always the mediator he chided, "You guys ought to be friends! What
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with all the violence in the world today."
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"Hey, fuck you Sheethead! we are friends," Mendoza groaned from under
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his pillow where he'd stuck his pounding skull, looking for peace and
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quiet, "...just can't handle people getting' out there and tryin' to take
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advantage of me... damn!.."
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"Yeah Casper.." said Zink-Boy scrabbling up onto his dead horse legs,
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"That was really a rush man! I feel wide awake now, I could go for another
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week at this rate."
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"Fine!" Mendoza warned through the pillow, "...you stay the fuck away
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from my ass!" After a menacing moment of silence, loud snores filled the
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room. Casper and Zink watched a virtual cartoon saw cutting a log, as it
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hovered over the Bit-Addict for a couple of minutes, then looked at each
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other and shrugged.
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"Well, I guess he'll be out of it for awhile." Casper laughed. "Wha'cha
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wanna do? Ya know I just shot up in the bathroom, so I'm feeling pretty
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frisky and frankly, your wired outta your mind m'man! Do we want to waste
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it sittin' around here watching El Pricko sleeping it off?"
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"Yeah, you got a point little buddy. Let's go do sumpin'." Impulsively
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Zink grabbed Mendoza's car keys off the fake Danish Modern dresser. Giving
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Casper a wink and signaling for him to be quiet, they tip-toed through the
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door smothering their giggles.
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"I don't be-lieve your stealing Mendoza's 'Green Queen'! He'll kill
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both of us if comes to and finds her gone..." Zink blew through his
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corroded lips as he unlocked the car door.
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"Shee-it! I ain't afraid of Taco Bell in there. Besides, fuck him!"
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The little ghost nerd was filled with admiration.
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"Zink-Boy, you are so cool."
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Zinky was at the wheel of the big machine and lovin' it. Casper
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preferred riding shotgun so he could work the CD selection and chop out
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lines of Virtual Cocaine and Meth. Zink's yellow gapped tooth grin was
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everywhere as pieces of dried muscle and stringy hair flew off him like a
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terminal case of dandruff. Deep down inside the twin cylinders of his
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chest a rumble of pure satisfaction bubbled into the steaming interior of
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the Cadillac-this was when he was always the happiest: Illegal as hell and
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going fast; He was burning it up! But first he had to get rid of a little
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extra baggage. In the rotted brain of Zink-Boy, treachery, like a pretty
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flower, bloomed. He was going to ditch the Pollyanna-like ghost geek first
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chance he got. The kid was O.K., as far as it went, he was a good soldier,
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but not Zink's idea of a real bud, no matter what Mendoza thought. He
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rammed the car over the curve, into the lot of the Gas'n'Go and parked,
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motor idling.
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"Uh, I gotta drain the ol' lizard; how 'bout you pal?"
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"Yeah, now that you mention it-thanks!" Casper chirped. Poor little
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fella, he looked so sincere that even the mummified heart of the obnoxious
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hybrid twitched in mild sympathy; but the kid still had to go - he was too
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damn innocent for any real fun.
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"Right kid! You go ahead, I'll follow up the rear," he told the opaque
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sucker. Briefly Zink wondered about the advisability of leaving Casper,
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since he was a pal of Mendoza's'. "What the hell," he reasoned, "Charley
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don't surf..."
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As soon as the little spook passed through the door marked, Caballeros,
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around the side of the main block of the building, Zink-Boy tromped on the
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gas, barging into the steady stream of traffic leading out of V-Town and
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off through the Cyber countryside. He didn't waste time gloating over his
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little deception; The kid would probably cry for a while but he'd manage
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to find himself a baby elephant or some other woodland creature who could
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get him a fix, just like always. After all, it was V-Town.
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Casper was soon forgotten. At the moment, Zink was conducting a visual
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search for the road kill site where Mashed-Snapping-Turtle Willy,
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(MST-Willy), hung out. A dark huddled something was waving a broken leg or
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tail, about an eighth of a mile down the road and it seemed to be in pain.
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Back on Earth time, this obvious Road-Monkey would easily be mistaken for
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an animal run down by an indifferent motorist and left to die by the trash
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can a few feet away from it-this is a common practice. But it was only
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Willy directing him over to the location of his pickup. Zink veered
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dangerously toward the flattened animal, barely slowing as he rumbled by.
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Willy threw out a sticky pseudo-pod of intestinal flesh, attaching to the
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'B' pillar and hauling himself through the open window, where he landed
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with a soft plop on the couch sized front seat.
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"ZIN-KEY! You ol' analog bastard! Been missin' you for a while Bro!"
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Zink-Boy shoved another quart of tequila into his side tank and shook off
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some of the snow storm of crank that was all over his face.
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"Here, take a poke on some o' this." He jammed a loaded Crack pipe
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coming out of the transmission hump, already sizzling, under the hole
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where Willy's mouth used to be and watched him greedily suck down the
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entire five gram rock that had been in it.
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"Man! That's just what I needed!, whooo-shit!..gimme some o' dat booze,
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will ya?, 'fore the top of my fuckin' head blows off!" While his partner
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slouched down most of a half gallon of Vodka, Zink gave him a general
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outline of his plan: "Hot chicks! Hard drugs! Rot-gut liquor! Big guns!
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that's it; Ya got anything better to do?"
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"Chicks did you say?" goggled the horny road kill simulation. Willy
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smoothed as best he could the broken turtle meat on top of his partly
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visible skull.
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"You got it ol' buddy!" After about ten minutes grooving on the Caddy's
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sound system and gazing out the window at the blurring landscape where
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banners for triple X sites alternated with fractal trees, Willy suddenly
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sat up.
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"Oh man, I almost forgot: I ain't really interested in chicks anymore
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Bro. I'm Gay now, man." Zink took his gaze off the road for a moment to
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check his pal out.
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"Well, don' really matter much I 'spose.." he told the wild-turtle
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indulgently, "main thing's poppen' yer rocks, eh buddy?" Willy, pumping
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yellowish pus, laughed.
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"You always were a broad minded fuck!" he raved. "You know that's why I
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liked you." One paw had begun to creep toward the hybrid's whip corded
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horse leg, flopping back and forth with the motion of the vehicle on the
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now bumpy back road toward Webville. "You know one day I woke up and just
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decided I liked the taste of some good ol' manhole or maybe a big hard
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one, you might say, I got into it-Golden showers, cum shakes, the
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works..."
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"Knock it off Willy!" Zink threatened, eyeing the patchy object covered
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in maggots that was only centimeters from his thigh and moving steadily
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closer. "Not into that kind of shit right now. We gotta get Splink off his
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dead ass before we can really groove."
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"Splink? Really? Well, fuckin-A man! I mean, we is gonna party, eh
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dude?!" Willy was happy. Actually he was more than happy; he was very
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happy.
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When they both saw the familiar sign, Webville General Store, jump up
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on their right along with the lugubrious form of Splink on the porch, who
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was mostly a big bare white butt with a piece of shit for a nose, they
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both had to laugh. He dangled his one good leg with its patented combat
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boot while picking at his other leg, (meat down to about mid-thigh and
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exposed compound fracture for the rest), in an abstracted sort of a way
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and only looked up when they skidded to a dusty halt in front of him.
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Zink reflected somewhat nostalgically on the low resolution of the
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building, revealing its eight bit origins.
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"C'mon Spink, jump in, we got some partying goin on!" yelled Willy,
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banging on the side of the Caddy with an enthusiastic fist. Splink looked
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at them with tired puppy eyes.
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"Oh, hi you guys. What was that? Party?" They couldn't help noticing
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his slight hesitation, even though the massive buzz rising in their heads.
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"I want to, but I don't think my Mommy will let me-I'm supposed to be
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watching the store." From inside the crude software building a digital
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female voice shrilly demanded,
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"Who you talkin' to out there?! You better not be jackin' off, you
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worthless Prick!" etc.
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"Heh!, must be mom.." sneered Zink. "Hey Splink! Get in man-let's ditch
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this retro Mario Brothers bullshit! Fuck Mom! We got stuff to do man; Now
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let's go!" Splink, not entirely convinced but easily swayed, climbed into
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the backseat over bags of Day-glo plastic toys and mason jars full of corn
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liquor, Meth and Cocaine, old Big Mac wrappers and shattered bidets, with
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many a backward glance at the open door of the general store where his
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mother's voice probed the atmosphere, her irritation like a heat seeking
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missile looking for a target: Now he was a "Worthless Ass-hole," now "A
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Useless Piece of Shit," (That one kind of hurt), and before long the
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inevitable. "Lazy Cocksucker"--one of her standards-- belched from the
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depths of the store. Minutes later, to the warning slap of shower thongs,
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the source of these and other less favorable character analysis', appeared
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on the porch, eyes glowing phosphorescent red.
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"WOW!!" yelled Zink and Willy simultaneously. "What a knock out!"
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Willy, though Queer, could still appreciate relentless physical beauty
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where it existed in women or whatever. Splink, looking really worried in
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light of this new development, begged,
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"C'mon fellas, let's go before she gets pissed."
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"Wait a minute boy, I think we need to explore this shit," drooled
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Zink, "Yo Mama is a babe!" Turning to Willy for back up he asked,
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"Whatcha' think amigo? Wanna see if she'll party with us?"
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"Uh, yeah, I'm with you man. Ya know, turn off the lights and one ass
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hole looks just like the next one ta me. Let's do it!" Splink, who was
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growing seriously alarmed moaned,
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"No you guys, I wanna have fun. That's my Mom."
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Three pairs of eyes, two dead white, two rotten and fallen in, two
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saucer big and goggling, surveyed the luscious curves of Splink's mother.
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The minds behind the peepers, each lost in their own respective agendas,
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alternately scoped the clinging sweater and skin tight Spandex, the
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reality of the taunt flesh barely hidden beneath. They dug the
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pneumatically round globes of her thirty-six 'B' cup boobs, surmounted by
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erect nipples, the size and shape of a number two pencil eraser; The
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sensuality of the full red lips curving in an arrogant pout of a prime
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grade bitch; The ever so slight bulge of her stomach; The length of the
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foot long hard-on pulsing against one leg. Splink had turned so red with
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his shame, he looked like some sort of obscene beet. Willy had the car
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door half open, one of his brown, mashed turtle feet almost on the ground,
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when Splink's Mom pulled up the surprise she'd been hiding behind her
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back; an extremely ugly looking Super Mouse.
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"O.K. boys.." she purred in a voice that dropped to their balls and
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squeezed tight. "Your time has definitely come. I am personally sick of
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you Dickless wonders feeling me up with those stinking eyeballs. You too
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Splink!-you think I like having perfect tits like these? Hermaphrodite
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Momma pointed to the obvious. "..or an ass like this?" She wiggled it
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provocatively, stoking up the already over heated lads practically coming
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on themselves where they sat. "Well, your wrong, wrong, WRONG!" Viciously
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she clicked both buttons before any of them could even reach for their
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zippers-they didn't have time to scream, bark or puke before they began to
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scan off, downloading to dimensions unknown...
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In the college town of Slack Grove, Iowa, a Web Geek fingering himself
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to a Necro butcher hit, is driven insane at 600 MHz of pure horror somehow
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overriding the system and bringing into the student computer lab the
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impossible delirium of the three Web Meisters in their stolen car, not
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really giving a damn where they were just ready to get down.
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"Ye true Party Guy is not bound by Ye Time nor Ye space," Necronomicon.
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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uXu #461 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #461
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subscribe@uxu.org - notify@uxu.org - info@uxu.org - submission@uxu.org
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