342 lines
21 KiB
Plaintext
342 lines
21 KiB
Plaintext
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Underground eXperts United
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Presents...
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[ Mendoza's Jelly Problems ] [ By Max West ]
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____________________________________________________________________
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____________________________________________________________________
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MENDOZA'S JELLY PROBLEMS
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By Max West
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"Everything was like, cool." Mendoza reassured himself, hauling his
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custom, crack powered 1972 El Dorado, into the speeding traffic in front of
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the Hollandia, free color T.V. Motel. He was oblivious to anything but the
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mission and the huge Coke buzz lighting up the inside of his rubber skull.
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He up ended the last three fingers of Bourbon he'd been working on,
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tossed the empty pint then jammed his foot down hard on the gas. Uttering
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inarticulate obscenities, while the happy sound of breaking glass faded in
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the distance, Mendoza jockeyed into position between a cream colored New
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Yorker and a Lincoln convertible with "Just Married" scrawled on the side.
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"Fools.." He sneered at the young couple, who looked back smiling, as
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he came along side them, laughing when he saw the worry at what they saw,
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seep into their eyes, maybe even spoiling a beautiful day.
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On the heavily modified dash, Mendoza glanced at his gauges. Optimal
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operational levels, (OOL), were called for at all times: The modified
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microprocessor/microwave oven (a), cooked the raw coke, then fed the Rock
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(b), into the post-processor which automatically sent fumes (d), into a
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collector (e), and on to the flexible pipe attached to the transmission
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hump (f), placing it within easy reach, so that theoretically the driver
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could keep both hands safely on the wheel. Special vents fed fumes into a
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Methane type converter (g), where the fuel was produced.
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"It's so beautiful...really beautiful," he chanted, gazing at some
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road barricades topped with a giant flashing yellow arrow off to one side.
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"So practical."
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About a half a mile behind him, Mendoza caught sight of flashing red
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and blue lights moving up on his tail-he must've been going too fast again.
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"Oh man! I need these dudes like I need another ass hole!" He
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bitched. "This could ruin my whole evening..." An amber warning light
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winking among the Cadillac's Baroque instrumentation drew his attention,
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which was a hard thing to do at the best of times. . .
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"Shit! What we got now?, systems malfunction?! Damn! I gotta pull
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the fuck over man!..." The only problem was that there wasn't any place to
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stop; instead of an emergency lane on his side there was a high cement curb
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and a chain link fence.
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He'd been traveling at well over legal velocity in the fast lane of
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the Interstate and though there were at least fifteen other vehicles going
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almost as fast in the other three lanes blocking his path, Mendoza
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considered this to be a minor consideration in the face of possible car
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trouble. An irritating whine was coming out of his system's monitor
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stressing the fact that he had to get over to an off ramp or something and
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pronto! With macho force he yanked the wheel hard throwing his barge sized
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automobile into a broadside skid dangerously rearing up on two tires before
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plunging through the other motorists, heading for the right lane. The
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terror of colliding metal and rupturing gas tanks his rude intrusion
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caused, as he plowed to his destination. made little to no impression on
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the frisky agent, he was in a speed driven state of satori, with just one
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thought in mind: He just had to get over; and soon he was sitting at the
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top of a handy ramp, motor idling, his mind like a cheap carnival ride
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going round and round but never getting there.
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Mendoza had installed so many dials and meters, which were required
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for the constant monitoring of the car's complicated fuel system, he
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couldn't remember what the amber light meant, but he was pretty sure that
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the processor was low on Monkey Dust.
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"Damn car was more of a crack hound than I am, man." He grumbled,
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pulling the release under the dash and opening the door.
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"If I didn't trust those fuckin' computers not to screw you around
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baby, I'd let one of them do all this work, but I know you like the
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personal touch..." he told her gently, running his bare palm along her
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sleek flanks as he stumbled to the open trunk where he pulled out the five
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pound bag of pure Bolivian walking powder. He stuck his head in and took a
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few deep breaths to clear it.
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"Don' wanna be messing around complicated machinery half drunk."
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Pulling the smoking top off a large stainless steel funnel attached to the
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manufacturing unit, he dumped half the bag into it, then slammed the lid.
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Inside, he goosed the accelerator until he saw the amber idiot light
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wink off. Down on the freeway above which Mendoza sat on the overpass,
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experimentally smacking his lips, testing the mixture, the scene was total
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destruction. He was completely insulated from the sounds of exploding gas
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tanks, sirens, the cries of the helpless victims or the greasy stench of
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burning human flesh. His concerns were with the mix: Maybe if he added some
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Crystal Meth, a little PCP, Hell! A touch of Drain-O probably wouldn't hurt
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either....The high sizzling in his head like the sound of bacon frying,
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reminded him that he was supposed to be on a mission. Jamming the CD up a
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notch so that the bass could rip his intestines out foot by foot, just the
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way he liked it, he told the Green Queen: "Mama, it's time to go! "
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M. eased the big car into the single line of rubber-neckers on the
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other side of the overpass, skirting the chaotic multi-vehicle pile up.
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Blazing flairs littering the ground turned the scene into a sort of blood
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and chaos birthday cake.
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"Shit! What a mess!" Mendoza commented, turning up his sound system
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to blot out the screams and other noisy distractions.
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"Those ass-holes need to go back to driving school..." He was waved on
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past a big pile of burning bodies and twisted smoking metal with all the
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rest by a young, green-faced, State Trooper who looked like he wanted to
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heave. The ICI agent was glad to get by the smooth-cheeked cop-if the guy
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had barfed on the side of his Caddy, well....He shrugged in the time honored
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fashion of his countrymen.
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Mendoza alone on the road under a medium drizzle and within five
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miles of the City was already getting hard at the thought of all that X-gen
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pussy he'd soon be perched up in the middle of, when his cell phone started
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chirping.
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"Goddamn! Now what?! Haven't I had enough interruptions for one day?"
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He'd been spacing out on blond women with small mouths and big noses, tied
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down to various style beds, but now that was all shot to hell!
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"YEAH! What!" he spat into the mouthpiece,
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"My, my..." Lewis, lofty and superior on the other end let his breath
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out with a slight hiss. "Getting a bit testy these days aren't we?"
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"What the fuck do you want now?" Mendoza wasn't giving anything away.
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"For one thing I'd like you to report in more than once every other
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month...and for another I need to know what you've found out about Audry;
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Where is she?"
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"I'm supposed to be on this Jelly detail, remember?" Mendoza,
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deliberately sarcastic, could tell his tone got to Mr. Cool, and he liked
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it just fine.
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"Get your ass back to HQ now, damn you! Report in or I'll cut you off
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cold turkey..." Threats like these impressed the wired Mexican like shit on
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a pillow case.
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"I got Jelly to fry, and I mean downtown man! Over and fuck you,
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out!" He closed communication by tossing the phone through the window,
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immediately forgetting the conversation.
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In the next few minutes, two things did impress the irritable agent:
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He was horny as hell and somewhere during his little talk with his boss
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he'd made a wrong turn. He should have been to the City limits by now, but
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instead he seemed to be heading further into the countryside. The landscape
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he traveled was dark, damp and unfamiliar with only a distant radio tower,
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it's red lights dimly winking, giving any hint that he was close to
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civilization. He'd just started to curse Lewis and his untimely call when
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his headlights picked out the curvaceous outline of a solitary hitchhiker.
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He had time to take in the long black hair and the way her thin
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cotton dress fluttered and blew around her legs as she held up a hand
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lettered sign that he couldn't decide said, 'Scottsdale AZ.' or 'Fuck Me
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Now!' Whatever it was, he was going to stop, and he did, tromping down on
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the brakes with both feet. Backing up the thirty yards or so it'd taken him
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to stop, he was mindful not to run over a cute family of Raccoons which had
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mysteriously appeared, whiskers twitching. He heard the woman purr,
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"Oooh, so sweet!" while the animals passed, and the sound of her
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voice fanned his already molten Testosterone into fusion heat.
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By the time the dark hared woman had thrown down her sign and crawled
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into the passenger seat, he was so hot all he could do was gargle at her
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through the blasting industrial waste sounds coming from the car's banks of
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speakers.
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"Back seat...." She took one glance at his unzipped jeans and the
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member lurching from them like some new species of blind but rapacious
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Galapagos lizard and complied without hesitation. Before their butts hit
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the seat, they were locked in a frenzied tangle of arms, legs, mouths and
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sex organs that would have made a spider shudder. Mendoza's near infamous
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tongue was everywhere, slopping, dribbling long strings of saliva that
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steamed as it escaped his wriggling lips; his clawed fingers ripping at her
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clothes, his prehensile toes subduing hers. He heaved, sweated, and shot
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the tube, surfing the breakers of lust lagoon. When he finally ran out of
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things to do, he blew his rod yodeling to the unseen gods of pleasure and
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pain.
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The words were hardly out of his mouth when he realized he was no
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longer lying on a woman, but floundering in translucent Jelly in which a
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black cut-out bra was partially suspended, slowly sinking.
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"Fuck!!!" he hollered, trying to extricate himself from the horrible
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clinging stuff.
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"Oh yeah, and so well too!" a sultry voice said from material the
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color and consistency of Penn State one hundred weight oil. He saw a slight
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ripple where the woman's head had been, followed seconds later by a ghastly
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congealing motion rapidly reconstructing into the beautiful face of a big
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nosed blond. Surprisingly he hadn't lost his erection during the abrupt
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transition and now it responded to the gentle squeeze of encouragement
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'she' gave it. Mendoza, a real trooper till the end, just shrugged and came
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again.
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"What the Hell!" He temporized, " Cum now, get horrified later...
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Nobody in my family ever missed an ejaculation for whatever reason if they
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could help it.."
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They drove, not talking-the blond Hippy chick in the Dead Head dress
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and Birkenstocks sat against the door nodding her head to the beat of the
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Teeny Tiny drunks on Mendoza's CD player. He felt pretty good, and even
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though that change thing was Goddamned strange, right now that Jelly looked
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just like a seventeen year old White girl! and that couldn't be bad. She
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aimed big blue innocent eyes at him, tuned in, and immediately Mendoza felt
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his cock begging for more.
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"Pull over in the bushes somewhere cool Papa.." she growled back in
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her throat like the world's oldest and dirtiest whore.
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He was still leery of the Jelly but truth to tell, he was finding
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that as long as it stayed in human shape it wasn't that bad, the smell was
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starting to turn him on and the stuff could seriously jam!, Like nothing
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he'd ever seen, and that was saying a lot. Of course, after pulling over
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to the side of the road every twenty minutes with scattered pole smoking
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along the way they were getting pretty familiar, and being a Human male, he
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was starting to want more out of her. He was thinking the unthinkable: What
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would it be like to have sex when the Jelly was still 'Jelly' .
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They were driving East, puffing on a joint when he finally asked.
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"But what is it? I mean, can you like, have sex with humans when your
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doing that Jelly scene? She'd changed again while he was watching the road
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with crack blown eyeballs; the sleek redhead fiddling with his Gameboy
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turned pale, sucking her breath in outrage. He saw reproach fighting with
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prick-hunger in her perfect face.
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"No!, Never!" she half choked.
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"But baby, why not? Didn't we sorta, that first time...I mean..." his
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voice trailed off-frankly, he was a little disappointed in her reaction.
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"That was an accident; I lost control. It'd been so long..." He raised
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a deliberately disbelieving eyebrow at her. "It's forbidden. That isn't why
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we're supposed to be here!" She was full of conviction. Mendoza thought she
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sounded like some sort of Commie.
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"Yeah, but why? He insisted, "Forbidden fruit, man, like, it is
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always sweeter..."
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"You wouldn't understand," she cut in. "It's too complicated; Let's
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just say the price is too high." Our South of the Border 007, was not used
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to women, no matter how bizarre they may be, refusing him; She just wanted
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to be talked into it, he concluded.
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"But..." he started again.
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"Look honey, I like you a lot, O.K.? but I don't want to talk about
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it. How about one of those cigarettes..." she looked down, grabbing the
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carton of Lucky Strikes on the console and he let it go for the time being.
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They'd traveled for more than two hours without further conversation
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after he'd tried to force the Jelly-sex issue again unsuccessfully a
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hundred miles back. Mendoza, who had an inhaler full of Either up his nose,
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saw the 'Welcome to Oklahoma', state boundary sign flash by in the fleeting
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glare of his headlights. The Goth-punk gal beside him stared out the window
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sullenly drinking beer, not looking at him, The occasional clink of her
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nose ring against the rim of the can was about the only indication that she
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was there at all. Suddenly, she slid next to him putting her wet tongue in
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his ear, moving it around the way she knew he liked it. She used her best
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seductress voice on him,
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"Give it to me. In this car, right here, right NOW!" But Mendoza did
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not give it to her right there, right now!. He pushed her back, glancing at
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her out of the corner of his eye with a mixture of slyness and seeming
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indifference.
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"Can't now Babe; got work to do." He took another pull on the inhaler
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while the atmosphere began to congeal. He could feel her frustration and
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that was exactly where he was at. He'd already copped to the idea that the
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Jelly needed sex more than he did, which was saying a lot. He didn't know
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why, but it was true. He was going to hold out till he got what he wanted.
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They traveled for ten more miles before she gargled,
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"Goddamn it ! I gotta have SEX!!!" He was completely unperturbed,
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reaching over to turn down the noise.
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"We can do it all you like," he crooned, "...I theenk you know the
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conditions..." When he took his eyes of the road to see if she was getting
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the message, a Jamaican Island girl who'd replaced the punk, was solemnly
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shaking her dread locks. "Damn!" Thought Mendoza. He'd almost caught the
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change that time but that stuff was too fast.
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"Yah, and fuck a bunch of dis shitty-shit, mon..." She turned the music
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back up to loud, flashing him an unreadable alien expression, but the band,
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Dwarfstar with it's sexually explicit lyrics was getting her worked up to
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what Mendoza guessed was close to a fevered pitch. To it's credit she held
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out for another ten minutes.
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"Alright! You win, you cocksucker! I'll do it! Come on, NOW!" She
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reached over with one bare foot to his side, pushing down on the brakes.
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Taken off guard by the unexpected maneuver, M, just managed to wrestle the
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El Dorado to a screeching halt, missing by mere centimeters, the cement
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picnic table and benches at the roadside rest area Lady Luck had thrown in
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their path.
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He sprawled across the couch sized seat while she tore at his fly
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with damp, red painted nails, prompting the low moan of delicious self
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disgust curdling up from his writhing lips. When the warm sloppy Jelly
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slumped over his inflated cock and began working there, he practically
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whined.
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"Be Jelly for me baby, C'mon and be sweet, sweet Jelly..."
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He figured it was probably ruining their relationship, but he
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couldn't help himself from talking her into doing it five or six more times
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before he felt drained enough to sleep. M. puzzled briefly before crashing
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about what secrets the Jelly was hiding-did it have to fuck humans to keep
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it's shape or did it just assume the shape of whatever it fucked? And where
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did it come from and what did it do in it's spare time?.....
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Mendoza woke to the sound of children's voices. For a minute he
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thought he was still in the dream, the one about the giant Jellyfish
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seething out of his mother's douche bag and into his shorts, before he
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realized he wasn't even in his fuckin' car! The damned thing wasn't even in
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sight! He peered around slowly, feeling one of his, 'spells', (some called
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them psychotic states), coming on, taking in a family of tourists who
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must've showed up during the night; semi-animate turtles with a mandate to
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piss. Then up at the chill gray sky filled with anemic, nearly transparent
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clouds; A few Carbon Monoxide strangled Poplars hovering over the rough,
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and somehow reminiscent of toilets, cement picnic table where he flopped,
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completed the depressing scene. His Green Gal was gone! The Sonofabitchin'
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kuntJelly was Goddamned gone too!
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On one of the benches attached to the table, sat his canvas gym
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bag-the emergency kit-a note stuck on top with a piece of Duct tape.
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"I guess writing isn't one of their strong points." Mendoza reflected
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sarcastically over the Jelly's chicken tracks. "What the Hell is this
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shit?-"..I should keel you but I can't...(?)" he read, scratching his beard
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stubble. What did this crap have to do with it stealing his car!?
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"Fuck this." He unzipped the bag deliberately avoiding any thought of
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this new Betrayal for the time being, secretly hoping she'd taken something
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so he'd know what a cheap bitch she really was. Surprisingly everything he
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could remember was in place. It looked like the Jelly-chick did have some
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class after all. He made a fast inventory: 1/2 lb. Blow; Oz. Meth; Oz. H.;
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Ether and a Pink five pack; nine grains of Morphine; Assorted quantities of
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LSD, PCP, MDA, EXstacy and Thorazine. He pulled up a panel in the bottom
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containing $2,500.00 in cash, fake passports, I.D.'s, driver's licences and
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beef jerky sticks. In the zipper compartment he found his 9mm Glock, four
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clips ammo., prophylactics, SK70 super lube---but his car!
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"Goddamned son of a bitchen', whorekunt bitch!" he yelled into the
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claustrophobic Oklahoma air.
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"Hey!, Hey!, Hey!, Hey!, Watch yer language! We got kids over here!
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What you think your doing, you WINO!, on that table? We need that table
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more than you...." What Mendoza assumed was the male tourist had spoken--to
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him. He heard the sound of a million Hornets, rising, angry and then the
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yapping of dogs punctuating the smooth flow of the insect song. To the
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rapidly Jonesing agent, all the yapping was coming from some bulky
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multi-colored thing with fat white appendages jutting to the ground or from
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the sleeves of it's garment. The irritating noises were coming out of a
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hole in the creature's bulb on top of the blob of a body. Other, smaller
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Bulb-Heads appeared by the big one and also made impolite suggestions his
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way.
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"Shit!" he told them. The big Bulb-head charged, a snarl on it's
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protesting cavity. Mendoza grabbed his automatic, pumping three more holes
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around that noisy one and it went away.
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Soon, (and sooo predictably), the Bulb-family began to wail like
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alley cats. He left them wailing, driving off in their station wagon,
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heading East.
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* * * * * * * * * * * *
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The glow of a Neon bar sign: "DEW DROP IN", causing the rain
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dribbling on his dusty windshield to fraction into a hundred sickly pink
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and green droplets, caught the bloodshot eye of the Mexican Man of La
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Mancha. His thick and swollen tongue reminded him again that he needed a
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drink. He glanced down at his feet where about twenty little empty
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Finlandia Vodka bottles were rolling back and forth with the car's motion
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and decided to pull over.....
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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uXu #490 Underground eXperts United 1999 uXu #490
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http://www.uXu.org/ - info@uxu.org
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