Posted by NL on February 29, 2008 at 13:45:21:
Oberth, that was the big one, the Great Mother Ship: 999 feet of polished dura-loonium alloy and molly-tungstun-carborundum and stuff like that, and when Oberth lifted off the blast killed every living thing for miles around, with heat and radiation and shock waves. The rocket scientists, why, they all gloated over their consoles with big fat cigars stuck in their faces like smoldering turds. They were so proud! A credit to the RACE! The human brain is a work of art, worthy of a great God of the kind we like to spread our buttcheeks for, oh yes indeed! In the mighty human brain a rocket equates to a pee-pee to a cigar to a smoldering turd and it all adds up to death and sex and sex and death and rockets and laser-guided bombs and smoldering turds and big cigars and even that shiv I carry with me always! And don't forget the pee-pee. Loosha, don't you see? It's the biggest story of all! Oberth, the big kahuna of space, refered to as "she", though it was phallic through and through (Oh! The might and the majesty of the Human Brain! Praise God!) carried in her belly the little 123 foot long winged lander, a glider actually, and just as designed long ago by that great Nazi scientist Von Braun, the little winged phallus parasite thing christened by the crazies who made it all happen "Werner"-- Werner was duraloonium too, and rexeroid, and all manner of cunning good things fashioned in the shape of a weenie with wings and within that weenie within a weenie there dwelt the might Rocket Men, the Spaced Men! All alone in an elongated metal box within an elongated metal box, fierce and fightin' ALPHA MAXXO-MALES fresh out of fighter jet "cock" pits and test pilot school, they were supposed to stay sane for the six months it took to make the orbital transfer to Mars. One out of the six arrived alive, for he had triumphed over the other men, killing them all and he fed upon their bodies, eschewing the space rations but he complained constantly. "Why didn't you goddamn sumbitches pack this motherfucker with WIMMIN I could kill and eat and fuck and kill and eat, instead of a bunch of MEN! I ain't no goddamn queer! This ain't supposed to be no goddamn PRISON!" Ah but public morals would suffer on a coed flight. Just say no, you know? Chastity until the marriage hearse arrives, and all that. Fortunately it was not necessary for anyone down here on the ground to hear the man's raving. They substituted the voice of a well-known actor and all we heard were disquisitions on the nobility of the cause: God, Patriotism, and the usual swill designed for the pacification of idiots. God be praised! And when Oberth, the Great-Mother-Ship-Phallus arrived in her Martian parking orbit all hell broke loose! We know that Loosha, don't we, the story of how the Martian sponge Brain Rocks took over, broadcasting sex death and chaos songs into the brain, first, of Captain Al "Alpha Male" Scheissdrek, sole survivor of man's first trip to Mars! He said, you know, there's a sort of peculiar giant human face down there on the cratered plains, with an even larger nose... and as his voice trailed off the high res cameras shifted off of that decidedly semitic face and slid across the sponge brain rocks. Oberth, the mother ship, vanished in her ninth orbit, and ashes fell from the sky all over Earth. Even today, Loosha, you cannot so much as pour yourself a bowl of cornflakes without finding ashes in it. And many, even today, succumb to fever and chills. And don't we all feel that this present horror is not the premium, the prize as advertised? We all thought, at least I did, that we would get something like a little plastic model of a Curtiss Robin, a validation of our being, but modest and benign. Since you are a girl, Loosha, maybe you expected a sort of loonie-escent dildo thing, much like a rocket (or a turd or a cigar or a winged phallus-- gosh knows what girls might like) but now we find ourselves awash in blood. Of course, Loosha, blood is sticky and good. I certainly look forward to spilling yours. I think I'll stick this shiv I carry always with me into your big natural boobs, little shallow stabs to torture them and make the blood come. Later I'll probe your bellybutton. Can't figure out whether I'll fuck you before I kill you. Maybe yes and maybe no. At any rate, when this is all over I think I'd like a cigar. But first we have work to do! We have to interview Dr. Rocket! Only Dr. Rocket, over at the Redstone Arsenal, has the answers we need!
Goddamn it! I was so mad! Loosha fell asleep. I guess I did bore her.