Chapter 11 Maddie Harry: Sex, Seduction and Espionage The morning after the dark night that preceded it, is always a day of psychological snakes while shaking off the effects of too much Soma and Arcturian Ale. It hits me with the force of a nuclear reaction splitting my mental atom, leaving me dazed and confused (I heard that line somewhere before) I feared my own reflection in a mirror on those mornings for all I ever saw staring back at me was a cheap human hotel room mattress with too many stains on it. I was the mattress and I could only guess at what the stains were and who left them there as a marker to celebrate their various and varied sexual victories. Asrini on the other hand always, the sober one who took the high road as I wallowed in the late night gutter woke up refreshed and alive with happiness...I could only guess this time it had something to do with last night and our close encounter on the path with her mysterious past that almost took her under the casa blankets with an old flame fanning her passions. We were given clearance to leave Toho 4, make the two minute jaunt and dock on Robotia. As we were checking out of the hostelry I was handed a strange message by the hotel clerk dressed in black. “I can’t read it Asrini. Appears to be some sort of coded message in a language I’m not familiar with.’ Asrini could read and speak 5 planetary languages and 4 Retropolin languages and dialects. When she was spying for the Comreds of the Red East she was a trained linguist and code breaker. as well as a sharpshooter with her vagina. She took the piece of paper from my hands and as she read it I could see her eyes, beautiful as they were normally, now enlarged and I swear I could see the entire Milky Way in them sparkling and bright as the rapid fire bursts of a galactic Gatling gun tearing into the flesh of a Regulus Regulator. “Oh no!” she cried out. “It’s from Maddie Harry. I used to work with her during the war with the Antarians. She was good, almost too good and the Bureau doubted her loyalties to the party. After the wars she disappeared and never left word with me so I was never sure if she left or was killed by our own agents. She is alive!” she said excitedly as a bum who found a good sized cigarette butt on the ground at a space bus terminal. “She wants us to meet her at the Old Chum Cabaret. We must be careful though, it’s owned by Narco Marx and wants the Strip Tease Falcon and will kill anyone who stand in his way. I’ve dealt with him before!” I took it all in as she spoke. Her words and warnings were sharp as a machete decapitating my already shrunken head ready to be hung on a warriors beaded belt in some forgotten lost world. I had heard of Maddie as well and was looking forward to meeting her. Asrini Pemalang and Maddie Harry, the doublemint twins of espionage who used sex as a weapon of subtle interrogation where their willing subjects gave valued information as easy as a school boy jacking off to a International Galactic Geographic Magazine with a hologram essay on the tits and arse of a lost tribe of Penumbrian pygmies. Fat ass Narco Marx who would kill his own child to get his fat hands on the Falcon … Comred agents who had been clumsily tailing us all the way from Saturn and the enforcers of Toho itself who would vaporize me in a speed of light minute if they knew my true mission to Robotia. As for Asrini? She would be Cyborg’d and transformed into a Transsexual Transformer Tyrannasaurus Sex Robotic Sex Worker if we were discovered and captured. The key to our quest to find the Falcon and Asrini’s sister Mary Asteroid was now in the hands of Maddie Harry . Something told me..it was all one big ball and I was next up at the plate to bat. Chapter 12 The Floor Show at the Old Chum Cabaret Robotian night life was a dream sequence of unreality, at least as I knew it, so I wanted to experience as much of it as possible without blowing my internal circuitry. We were to meet Maddie Harry at 10 pm at the Old Chum Cabaret but talked Asrini into arriving early to have a few Soma’s and Robotian beer, not the best beer for a buzz in Dystopia but would do the job. When we arrived at 8 pm it was already in full swing! It was showtime at the cabaret boys and girls, and those of you in between! "Life is a cabaret old chum." I just had to say it, and now that it's broken free of my cranial orbit we can take a delicious look up under the Catholic schoolgirl skirt of delightful debauchery found in the night time twilight zone of the dark side of the cabaret moon. The Old Chum Cabaret was nothing more than one large breathless bordello laden with lacy robot boys in fag drag with tight mechanical waists, while macho manly female eroti-bots donned fedora's looking for some same gender vaginal gratification and satisfaction. Someone had opened Pandora's box of jazz and jive, and Robotia was hell bent for leather and in leather to get it on with a mechanical dose of topless and bottomless displays of wet and wild faux genitalia with a delightful dash of BDSM found usually in the flesh at a Fomulhaut fetish ball. Yes, boys will be girls and girls will be boys and the Robotia cabaret scene was locked and loaded on kink. Tin allow transvestites in tights, Mecha-Marlene Dietrich Dream Machines in top hat and tails, while the topless black machine chorus girls were ramping up the libido factor with bare breasts bouncing and flouncing like two bronze baby moons with nipples extended like 50,000 watt Newtonian reflector telescopic arrays emitting a radio signal of pure sexuality. The whole scene was in full swing with ring-a-ding-ding sexual freedom and expression. Female Cyborgs frolicked playfully baring all while mecha-boys in full drag regalia were traversing the transvestite trail to the land of libidinous Oz, following the Yellow Brick Road of good old fashioned degeneracy where midgets camped it up with the best of them, and Dorothy was making it on stage with Glinda the good witch in a lesbian frenzy free for all! Cue the Flying Monkeys! The neon stage was exploding with exotic dancers who danced, singers who sang and exotics who exotic’d. There was plenty of Soma and cannibis and clientele to add to the highly charged adult sexual nature of the show. From it’s flood lit stage it has spawned the famous and the infamous including Maddie Harry who we were to meet in two hours. She performed on the cabaret circuit during the last Antarian war, managing to extract classified information from seduced military officers who fell under her cabaret spell of flesh and promiscuity. She was not a machine, but a highly charged Retropolin vixen on a mission. The Old Chum was owned by the notorious Narco Marx and gained an unholy rep as a drinking hole for artists, poets, writers, and other drunks to visit, sit and try to outwit each other in verbal fencing matches with as much caustic wit as a flock of bitchy self absorbed drag queens. Soon, the cabaret experienced urban renewal as the old ghetto mentality of sit and drink was replaced by flamboyance and panache of a red light district. It came complete with a bright whore red windmill on the roof that would keep Don Quixote busy for hours dreaming his impossible dream. While most cabarets had “rules and regs” for the regulars, the “irregulars” followed no rules. They were non-existent while flesh, machine and fantasy merged into a Picasso dreamscape. Everything on the stage was ripe with sexual innuendo and it moved to a new neighborhood. One removed far away from modesty, as topless dancers and transvestites could now rub elbows and perhaps other body parts with patrons which included not only the straight community, but also Gay men, Lesbians and Transvestites...Strange bedfellows indeed, but interesting wouldn't you say? Porcelain boys with too much moulin rouge and highlighting eye-popping eyeliner were parading around the tables. Women in mens clothing were becoming the norm and Lesbianism was now flaunting itself openly and deliciously. Fuck the Age of Aquarius...this was the dawn of an era some historians have referred to as that of the Pink Millenium, while on the streets the pink punks strolled along mincing to the symphony of sexual abandon. Alien and machine cabaret girls and cabaret boys pranced and danced in a sequin dream sequence, wearing enough sparkles and spangles that would give Liberace's candelabra a hard-on! Weird? Sing along everybody...grab your fishnets and tank tops and let loose boys..girls...boy girls, girl boys. Long ago, it was the age of the new Lost Generation of old Paris, the Left Banke lefties of literature and artists that included the man's man, Ernest Hemingway, tolling Spanish bells in the thick of the battle, while Pablo Picasso misplaced breasts on canvas, a cubist butcher of body parts that somehow made sense in a mad way as they hung framed in the salons and galleries. Diego Rivera's industrial murals mouthing socialist messages to the working class, while Frida Kahlo self-portraited herself as though committing portraiture masturbation. Gertrude Stein enjoying the lesbian fruits of her lover, Alice B. Toklas who could whip up a batch of brownies to die for, and to fuck for. Tht was now the Age of the Machine and Sex and the Great Gonzo Gatsby was gasping for more...and so was I! More Soma barkeep..and keep it coming. I kept looking at my watch and watching the seconds morph into minutes, minutes into hours when a little after ten pm Maddie Harry entered. She was stunningly beautiful. it was the second coming and I was ready to get my Retroplin asteroid rocks off! Mata Hari! The name alone evokes images of an erotic and exotic temptress awash in a raging sea of spies, sex and foreign intrigue. Secret meetings in dark clandestine alley’s against a film noir backdrop of double-crossing double agents who pass along mysterious coded messages in invisible ink. Betrayal is around every corner.... This is the fully loaded conspiracy laden and emotion packed canvas that is the background for a portrait of the life and times of Maddie Harry. Now this legendary sex spy had me turned on and my booster rocket was ready for lift off… Chapter 13 - The Pussy Galore of Outer Space Flashback! The time is 2970. Those goddamned 70’s! The Age of Dystopian Disco! The event…the last days of the Antarian Wars were raging on the outer limits of the Magellan Galaxy. The Antarian planet was home to the closest life forms outside of our own Milky Way, but it also had the the most adamantly rebellious who would rather die off as a race then join the Dystopian Empire. The Dystopian die was now cast. Antararian President Narco Marx, yep, the same escaped war criminal Narco Marx who wanted the Strip Tease Falcon to get even with Dystopia and would kill us to get it, launched the first offensive of it's universal wide conflagrations that engulfed our home galaxy in bloodshed and war. It would end in defeat for the Antarians even with their superior balance of determination and cosmic chutzpah. Link Wray weapons of mass destruction filled the battle orbs... spies, such as Dystopian Com-Reds Asrini and Maddie were recruited and put to work to gain valuable intelligence on the "enemy" who is defined as anyone in the opposite camp. Maddie Harry was the cream of the crop. An exotic dancer, planetary performer, temptress, seductress, courtesan and one of the most sexual spies of all time along with Asrini. Here I was now at a cafe cabaret with both of them at my table. A delightful piece of male meat between two pieces of sweet bread from the ovens of the Estros Asteriod...bakers to the stars! She used her sexual skills, fetching good looks and ample body parts combined with not just a little bit of nudity to work to her magic on her target marks extracting information from them in greater quantities than a male ejaculation. In fact, in many cases, it was the male erection that enabled her to lead her prey around literally by the short hairs for the long run. Soon she was making the rounds of the local cabaret stages as an exotic dancer. Sex appeal was dripping from every pore on her body on stage and few men, and some women, couldn't resist her gyrating gravitational pull. She was a whole package of promiscuity with a body that was built as shapely and as firm as a Spica Star shithouse. Her fame spread faster than the legs of a ten space dollar whore who was offered a one thousand Canadian space dollar Loonie. She was A List. A hot property. Her most famous trademark was her stripping for the audience, slowly to let each layer of clothing shed and flesh revealed to claim victory over the male hardon and the protruding nipple factor of her female admirers in the audience. She soon was shed of clothing, and all she would end up wearing was a gaily colored jewelled bra with a dazzling display of arm bracelets and ornaments including a beautiful studded belt fashioned by a jeweler named Nudie who had a small orbiting design shop inside the Constellation Mall of Orion on Radiant Rodeo Drive. As her fame spread, her clothing was shed. More nude photos, more nude dancing which all led to trysts with the enemy of both sexes and multiple partners at the same time. Of course the effete artsy Antarian crowd thought her act cheap and tawdry, and maybe it was, but 10,000 Antarian male erections Can't Be Wrong! Along with fame she was a courtesan to numerous wealthy patrons due to her sensuality and eroticism. She primarily had affairs with military men from different Antarian armed force branches. These same military men would be her sworn enemies as war would break out soon. Some high in the military hierarchy were aware of their officers loose lips sinking space ships with the flirtatious minx with small breasts and a hungry sexual appetite. She was a true Bohemian but the Antarian intelligence agencies of began to see her as a dangerous woman because of her promiscuity, and also as a valuable tool to garner intelligence information from the enemy for the same reason. While her vagina would do all the talking, she would listen carefully. As the war intensified..Maddie Harry disappeared. Was she captured and killed by the Antarians or by the Com-Reds who may have suspected her of being a double agent. We thought we'd never know the truth for sure, but, she managed escape death and is now a hired mercencary. So, as they say, whoever “they” are...The Truth is out There! She is an original. The first Femme Fatale that even James Bond would have fallen in love with given out secrets known only to Britain’s MI-5. It was a film noir scenario, before there was film noir. She managed to be a Bond Babe and when it came to sex and spying Maddie Harry was the space age Pussy Galore! Chapter 14 - Captain Kirk Joins the Velvet Underground While waiting for Maddie to arrive I kept ordering drinks and thinking about the room we had just checked into. It was one of those retro jobs, the kind of deco decadence you find in old Miami where retired earthlings used to flock to to retire and die in a tropical Jewish cemetery amid the palms and psalms. I noticed the hallways, foyer and our rooms had a plethora of paintings of a velvet underground nature. If you end up buying a sleazy motel with hourly rates I have found the perfect decor art to go with the shag carpeting, mirrors on the ceiling, stained mattress and broken towel rack with hand towels made from Brillo Pads. Velvet is Velveta! Elvis on velvet? Captain Kirk on Velvet? It's what garage sales are made of. Ok, so maybe it's not high-brow fare found in the Louvre, but, after all, art is in the eye of the beholder, and this particular genre is certainly part and parcel of the "velvet underground" that can trace it's roots of fiber artistry to the 14th Century in the Far East. Elvis may have left the auditorium five centuries ago, but, fiber arts is here to stay in Retropolis and now I find on Roboia as well. It is a weird discipline, but such an individualized one it's a more free form free spirited craft, similar more to improvisational jazz than to a structured symphonic piece.So, the next time you see an Elvis on Velvet at a local garage sale, look at it differently. Perhaps it’s a result of basic urban arts evolution in the field of arts, and not a mutant piece of pop space culture kitsch. Maybe, just maybe it will leave a lasting legacy for posterity as this form of art is passed down generation after generation. Kirk Out As I amused myself musing, the door to the cabaret opened and in walked a vision that could have adorned a velvet holographic painting..it was Maddie herself in the flesh and not a series of holographic hallucinations on a cheap space motel wall. Maddie was stunning! Asrini was stunning! As they kissed the greeting that long lost friends give each other, stunning was not the word. Super Nova is a word that comes to mind. I was watching two brilliantly beautiful breast adorned comets with blazing tails collide, leaving me in a debris field of degenerate high voltage vulva voyeurism. I could imagine making it with both at once...but bullshit...we’ve a job to do first...do or die..life or death in a race to outrun our own home team, the Com-Reds and outfox the Link Wray legions of Narco Marx not to mention getting a camel toe toe hold on Toho treachery that lie ahead of us..a hidden deadfall waiting to impale...and as the man once said…”I never impaled!” Asrini was smiling as bright as the Northern Lights on a light show dark night. “Maddie, this is Doc Yucatan, the best detective space bucks can buy!” I let the sarcasm ride like a winning streak pile of casino chips on a roulette table. My smile was juvenile I’m sure, intimidation intimated by my lack of a cohesive sentence in response. “Yeah, nice to meet you Maddie. Heard a lot about you, and been a big fan,” I blurted out before it was too late to take it back. A Fan? what the hell was I thinking? That may have been the very problem...I wasn’t thinking! As she sat down it was with such quiet sexuality all I could say to myself was “The Eagle has landed” and I wanted to plant my flag on her surface and collect her moon rocks. She was all business however, and got to the point. “I’m glad you came Asrini, for a number of reasons. Mainly though to warn you that Narco Marx knows you’re here and his agents have been following you since you got clearance and docked.” This didn’t bode well, I thought. “I know where the Strip Tease Falcon is and your sister too. Narco has your sister, she’s here on Robotia and is planning to turn her over to the Tohos if you don’t cooperate with him to find the falcon and hand it over to him. Otherwise your sister is destined to be a cyborg hooker and you and Doc will be toasted by an army of Link Wray Evapo Ray guns...batteries not included. The game was afoot! No one spoke like this anymore so I never spoke it aloud but enjoyed the words as they rattled around my head as if they were a load of ball bearings in a disco ball pinata. I wasn’t all that familiar with Narco Marx. Who was he? Where did he hail bop from? How did he get so powerful anyway? So many questions and Maddie had the key to unlock the mystery of Narco Marx and after a few Soma’s was ready to spill her guts. Chapter 15 - Narco Marx and the Hale Be Bop a Lula Hipsters Her story began to unfold as mysteriously as a stripper shedding her feather boa and exposing her heaving upper heft to a delighted, yet drunken crowd of cosmic degenerates. “Narco Marx, or Dr. Karma Ghia as he as known then was one of the best scientists on Retropolis. He and his associates assigned to the Atmo Agency were working on a way of atmospheric transference for the Oxygenisis Project,” she explained with an accent I couldn’t put my finger on. Sounded Slavic, Eastern Bloch Head with a twinge of Rus from Old Moscow, and lets face it...Moscow girls really knock me out. “The goal was to develop a way of replacing a colonized planet’s atmosphere, which could be hydrogen, ammonia or pure nitrogen, and replace it with oxygen utilizing its indigenous elements to cannibalize its own atmos and replacing it with oxygen to replicate Retropolin conditions through a code named protocol, Oxygenisis,” she explained as confidently as explaining finger painting to 1st grader. If she were a teacher I know I would have had a school boy crush on her and wanted now to clap her erasers and dip my fingers in her paint bowl. Class is now in session. “Com Red Intel became suspicious when we found a lot of the research was missing from the computers and at first we suspected an alien agency had breached our security, but we found no evidence of that,” her voice now excited and raised a high note or two as the plot thickened. “We assumed then it was an inside job and switched our focus to Dr. Ghia who alone knew the entire process whereas the other sci guys only worked on phases of it not knowing the whole, only a small piece of the puzzle,” her voice saddening now at the oversight and lack of vigilance on the part of the Intell agency. Now the story took another turn and got downright bizarre. “He left the agency under a shadow of suspicion, but we had no proof to arrest him,” she demurely said. A chance to subject a subject to torture had passed and obviously spoiled the Lubyanka limbo party. Dr. Ghia began to morph into a megalomaniac and surrounded himself with a cardre of cosmic misfits who he controlled through Soma and charisma along with an all you can eat buffet of fear and intimidation. It was a comic cosmic cult of a deadly whistling in the graveyard nature. He also changed his name to Narc Marx as an ode to his growing drug dependency and to pay homage to Harpo Marx and Karl Marx, who I believe were a famous 20th Cent slapstick comedy team whose act consisted of a confusing confluence of proletarian pratfalls and comic totalitarian one liners and rim shots. Now that’s entertainment! Let’s face it Killer Cults have two major components in order for it to grow and prosper by attracting adherents. First, you need a charismatic charlatan who acts as carnival barker to lure and seduce a following into buying a ticket to his or her freak show. Second, you need followers. These can be found everywhere. Just look for the weak among the populous, those who seek but will never find what it is they are looking for and worse attribute of all to me...the need to follow! To acknowledge that you need a leader, is let come to the surface all that “I need a daddy as I was lacking one in my childhood” crap. The meek nor the weak will inherit the earth..Snake Plitzken and Mad Max will. Get these pathetic psyche’s spinning on their mental axis-asses into the religio-sociological orbit of a sociopath’s solar system and the immediate gratification they have long sought is now being bought and paid for through allegiance and obedience to the gravitational pull and shift of the predators bullshit. The end is usually the insane same, whether it’s from the Branch Dividian conflagration to crush Koresh in whacked out Waco, Texas or at the Jim Jones Club Dead Hard Rock Kool-Aid Cafe in a jungle to getting marooned and mooned by Rev. Sun Myung Moon in a compound a Long Wang or Suc Muc Dik 500 years ago. . Oh, if while reading this and you get thirsty….I just made a fresh batch of delicious Kool Aid..CHEERS! Ground Control to Major Tom...Ground Control to Major Tom? Do you Read Major Tom? (static and silence) Retropolis...we have a problem! The next Hale Be Bopp a Lula Comet UFO is ready for take-off...please fasten your safety belts put on your Nike gravity boots and our stewardess will be along with your choice of refreshments including vodka and pineapple juice with a cyanide followed by an arsenic chaser with whipped cream and phenobarbital..so lay back, relax and let the good times roll. As Nike used to say in old telly adverts...”JUST DO IT!!! Narco’s plan was to use a space disc ship he had designed to hook up and back end the comet’s gravitational pull as a propellant to give them the thrust they would need to escape Retropolin gravity and set a course for Titan, the largest moon of Saturn which had a rich atmosphere, deadly, but easily converted through Oxygenisis to transform it in an agricultural paradise for a sustainable food supply. Early explorations had shown that water also existed on Titan s half the battle was won already. Saturn was in the beginning stages of colonization so Titan was the perfect jumping off point to begin is power surge to expand his burgeoning empire. This was not a James T. Kirk led expedition in search of Klingons. Hell, no this Final Frontier was lodged deep space nine in the illusory world of Space Balls (“We are all Assholes!” cult condominium community association of the outer fringes of mental illness. He took so much Soma and loaded up on tranqs that he began worshipping a rotating disco ball and pulsating dance floor with a Nubian giant girl with a bald head singing dressed in a silver tin foil space suit? I had the same vision once...but blamed it on the peyoticite and Soma combo I ingested earlier in the evening in the Venusian impersonator bar. Trekkies beware. This was Mr Looney Bin and he told and convinced his followers that the Jefferson Star Ship he was ready to fuel up was now ready and they should all prepare for a one way ticket to ride to Titan. They dressed in Johnny Cash cruise wear chic black uniforms with armbands as backstage passes to the Big Bopper Hale-Bopp concert in the sky. As Jimmy Buffet said..”it’s 5 o’clock somewhere” and Happy Hour was at hand….up up and away underway. Meanwhile Hale-Be Bop a Lula Bonnie in the Sky with Diamonds did embark on schedule” and Titan and the universe was now within his grasp (he is now President and Supremo of Antaria which he conquered overnight with help from the Toho Robot Armies. Now he wanted to control Robotia and the Tohos. Eliminating The Tohos would not be easy, to defeat them he needed a little help from a little friend...the deadly but fabled Strip Tease Falcon...and he would stop at nothing to gain it and the power it could generate. Soon he would hold the key to universal domination...but first he had to find the Falcon..and Asrini Pemalang and Maddie Harry both held the key to it’s discovery...and I was now an expendable pawn in a cosmic tug of war chess game...and I ain’t no Hale Bopp Bobby Fisher! Chapter 16 Joel Faberge: The Cabaret’s Fabulous Fabulon and the Falcon Asrini and Maddie were in a highly animated state. They had worked together in deadly dangerous situations displaying heaping platefuls of daring cosmic kosher chutzpah guaranteed to excite the senses, not to mention the Soma fueled hallucination of the hydraulic heaven of their rear ends rotating on my axis. hey managed to preserve their combined galactic sexuality with an invisible force field protective thong. These two were a deadly secret spy weapon...I’d talk believe me, no doubt about that and they also have a scented a weapon of mass and ass destruction in the form of a secretion they unleash from the vaginal quadrant vaginal. It happens at certain times of the month when she gives off a heavenly scent of estrogen. As she is busy marking her territory with her vaginal perfume the male is not only erotically entranced, but, is held as a sexual captive in a garden of estros. Sex researchers have found, and this makes sense, she arouses best when she is emitting her scent strongest just inches from the males nose, as well as that of the Lesbos Lesbians under the same spell! You go girls! They, as all females of the species will do in most public settings, excused themselves to “powder their nose” together. Never once did I ever leave a table with Sandoz or Arthur and say “We’re going to take a leak” What is that all about? "Excuse me sir. Where are you taking that leak? I saw you try to steal it now where are you going with it" as though we're shoplifters at Leaks R Us. "Uh, nowhere, I meant to pay for it, not steal it. I'll put the leak back so that way I can leave a leak and not take one!" I would never take a leak ...honest...never. Maybe someone will invent an auto seat..you know like the light switch thing..clap your hands once and the seat goes up...clap twice it comes down..perfect for Father’s Day along with a card that says..."I do give a shit about you darling!" I have also heard through the rumor mill, numerous complaints about the males non-compliance when it comes to putting the seat back down after we have taken a whiz if ever there was a whiz that waz...you ain't the whizzer of Oz so put the seat back down, very carefully, with great care. It has the crushing power the jaws of an alligator that could lop off a piece of your prized territory! So stand back and let 'er drop...be a man...slam it down...yell, “HELL YEAH” at the top of your masculine mountain and man up...go right up to HER and in your best defiant manly voice..look her square in the eye and say..."I put the seat down Honey, so don't be mad." That'll show her. Why is it called a public “restroom?” (Who the hell rests in there? I just want to get in and get out before the guy next me decides to open a conversation with me I don't go in there to powder my nose or any other part of body..well, maybe once but that was in San Franciso and I didn't want to shine! Beware the Rise of the Auto Toilet Machines..it's here now John Conner! Take your stance in front of the gaping yaw of the urinal...carefully unzip so as not the Bobbitize yourself on the way up when done...then you let loose...a fine stream that could snuff out a fire in Smurfland. When you're done..zip and go..and wait..this is the cool part..as you turn away from the urinal..it senses you and flushes automatically. It knows more than it lets on...it has you marked and tagged for extermination. I once went back to peek in the empty restroom after it flushed and swore the toilets were toiling and talking among themselves about their day..."All day Mac, zip, unzip, and they gotta be cute about it and aim for the drain openings like it was a firing range and their trying to qualify for sharpshooter or something. And that one guy, did you see him? Man, I swear he had plastic penis surgery and gave him a Mr. Potato head look. Watch out for him..he sprays like a shotgun all over the place and I want my Out of Order sign As the tempting teases left to keep their powder dry, and in the midst of my musing mist regarding Terminator Toilets, I became acutely cognizant of a sweet, yet pungent aroma enveloping me. As the slightly feminine aroma grew in aromatic strength, a sinister slow creepy shadow fell across the table from behind creating an eclipse of the brilliant stage show lighting. All shadows from behind in the steamy fog night of mysterious Robotia were enough to kick your protection reactionary reflexes into warp speed factor plus one. My fingers reached inside my dingy frayed silver dinner jacket my fingertips dancing gently on the butt of my fully automatic Link Wray Laser Luger. I was coiled emotionally tighter than a sea monster from the Trifid Nebula. As I turned in jerky stop action movements I encountered a rather dapper little alien man decked out in a striped electronic kaftan with blinking neon trim and a cone shaped red fez on his head. He looked like a Galactic Pez Dispenser and his odor was slightly feminine. My olfactory senses decided it was a cross between a garden of Amorphophallus Tianamen found only behind the chinese noodle factories on Bengkulu and that of a feminine hygiene product found south of the females physical equator colliding into each other. I relaxed the grip on my trusty Link Wray as he tipped his fez and introduced himself with a bizarre growling accent I could not place. I was usually pretty good with accents but this palooka had me stuck in neutral for an answer. “Good evening Sir. I was sent by a mutual business contact who you wll soon meet..a Mr. Narco Marx,” he said with his voice raising a pitch as he spoke the hallowed name. “My name is Joel Faberge and I am a Fabulon from the planet Fabulous in the Formaldehyde Formation. Mr. Marx would like the pleasure of your company Sir, along with your two lady companions to discuss, um, matters of a certain bird that is of a mutual and beneficial nature to both parties, n’est-ce pas?” I was right, he was pez dispenser dispensing dialects and phrasing as easily as a tart candy tart himself. Strange little fellow..downright creepy in fact...reminded me of someone I knew in the past. A bookish fellow, yes, a Fabulon immigrant who owned a bookstore on Green Street in Old Sydney, Australia. Arrested for selling the Alice B. Toklas Anarchist and Chocolate Chip Manifesto Cookbook. As I offered him an invite to join us, Asrini and Maddie had returned from their most excellent hygiene adventure, and something told me by the look on Maddies face Mr. Faberge was the cause of her consternation. “ Hello Joel. Vaporized anyone lately?” Her tone and demeanor told the whole story. “You little mincing fuckhead, what are you doing here following us as if I didn’t have an idea? Narco put his pet dog on the trail of our scent? Oh yes, Doc, this little Fabulon is a real prize. Weak and sniveling. Does Narco’s dirty work when no having his 16 nail manicure. Did you frisk little frisky? Always carries concealed will vape you for a free feather boa!” Joel began to shriek, sorry but there is no other way to describe its bitch pitch. “You don’t have any sense of fashion and you can’t shop worth a damn..and..and...remember that soldier on leave from the Sagitta skirmish we met and double teamed? Ha he said my cock sucking was superior to yours, and he loved my chicken piccata better than your canoli’s!” I thought the two of them would go at it right then in the middle of the cabaret show, and I didn’t want to miss the T and A grand rbt finale but what the hell a good down and dirty cat fight between a sexy covert black ops vixen and a flamboyant tri-sexual could be arousing. Asrini and I didn’t say a word during the initial fireworks but both of us had to stifle a laugh? I broke in when I found a breach in the screeching. “Lok you two. We all know what this is about, I mean why Joel is here and being fabulous” I said with a breaking smile, so lets put our petty diff’s aside and get down to biz, before he falcon gets any fabulous ideas and flies away again!” I looked over at he hurt expression on Joels face. He had been humiliated in public, so i leaned over to him, gave Asrini a wink and said to him in a gravelly whisper, “Your Chicken Piccata really that good?” His face lit up and he began laughing. ‘It’s better than her canolis!” he replied. A this point both had calmed down and began to laugh. We paid the check, actually I had Asrini pay it as I had her pay all expenses on this trip. I was near broke. We left and hailed a cab and were off to see the Fat Man, Narco Marx. “OK, everyone,” I said. “Time to be fabulous and find this fucking falcon. We can all fuck later!” I noticed Joel’s face brightening. What the hell..never made it with a Fabulon before. Chapter 17 Narco Marx - The Rainbow Villain Narco held court with his gang of venomous thugs in an ornate penthouse overlooking the elevated cityscape. The decor was definitely a cross between an old 19th Century Arab harem and a cheap shag carpeted motel room one step above a homeless person’s cardboard box of the 20h Cent. Everything was done up in a gaudy purple haze. Curtains, thick rich Victorian or Andelian, I couldn’t discern the difference. Strobe lights pulsed from hidden recessed spaces in the room while dozen or more lava lamps oozed and undulated on the black light enhanced walls. Narco referred to it as cerebral antebellum….I just looked at as pharmacologic and surreal. The furniture itself was overstuffed much as was our host, and all it was retro hovercraft so when you sat down you were immediately reminded of a suicide bean bag ride at the amusement park on the moon known as Bolinas that orbited around the hidden planet of Quatro Stroma in the Areola Galaxy. When we arrived we got frisked by an overly frisky bodyguard, we entered to behold...behold? We weren’t quite sure what we were to behold. Asrini spoke first, startled it seemed as were Maddie and myself. It was Narco in a full tent kaftan dress and full face make-up singing solar system show tunes! “Dahlings,” Asrini whispered in her best affectation,” He’s a mincing maniacal drag queen, but, he does have one hell of voice. No wonder he hangs out with Faberge and the other Fabulons!” Expecting to see an arch criminal with Querubian pinky rings instead we came face to face with a rotund planet of man in spiked heels, a see through teddy with garters, and mesh stockings. I hadn’t been this up front and personal since I was on a case at a transgendered summer camp of gender bending alien frivolity at Frankie's Fantasyland Bar and Grill, proving that alien girls, as well as alien boys who want to be girls... just want to have fun! You go girl! He could have been a gay diva from Mars Is it a Devo? He was bizarre and his voice I have to admit..stellar and faster than a speeding falsetto...he could bend a high note in his bare hands, and who disguised as Maria Callas in Nureyev's body complete with ballet bulge. He had an operatic rock and roll voice and was sporting a turquoise pompadour outer limits outer space hair-do that looks like he just stepped out of flamboyant flying saucer cabaret with a cadre of gay aliens and bi-sexual bi-pods. It was the Mikado meets Hermann Goering in eyeliner in a Berlin Bunker. It's "The Day the Earth Stood Still" with Major Tom screaming at ground control as lightning strikes Lesley Gore. It's Queer Eye for the Space Guy! His flouncing around the penthouse in costume created a private show that was a collision of strobelights, smoke bombs and electro-synth-sound effects. His kingdom was a fairyland...literally, no macho factory assembly lines in this place ruled by a gay Retropolin who did ask and did tell before it was retro fashionable, catering to an assortment of Glen or transgendered Glenda’s, dykes who arrived by bike, intellectual drag queens, street people, the wealthy from the world of art , writers, drunks, junkies, who wandered in and out of lucidity among the collective mass of the Solar Systems social sub strata of masturbation and creativity, and creative masturbation. You need to have your card punched to gain entree to this world. It was Schindlers A-List without the Nazi's but was a real space gas nonetheless. He tossed in a few jokes with his routine. Why not? Jesus did stand up before Seinfeld, gigging at gatherings doing a magic act with parlor tricks and sanctimonious schtick, like that whole loaves of bread and fishes thing which led to a string of bookings and spoken word performances throughout the Roman Empire. (I heard he stole the Bread and Fishes routine from Rodneyious Dangerous Fieldious who first wowed the crowd while touring Mesapotamia with Moses and Abraham, the first of the Marx Brothers who played to packed houses of Philistines in their prime) There are no others like Narco and when he expires his star will shine as bright as ever in the skies at night..pick one out yourself...it's him in the heavens..probably will be smiling down on us as he enjoys one hell of an eternal blowjob! Now that's heaven...Narco Style! He waved us to sit down with a gesture of his hands that was more of a flourish than an invite. I made sure I sat between Asrini and Maddie to enjoy a private fetish fantasy moment in private as Narco ended with a big kick finish. Show Time at the Arturas Apollo was over. He bowed low and we applauded this looney tune as we played along. I looked over at Faberge and he had tears streaming fast and furious from his Fabulon tear ducts. He sat his bulk in a floatation hover chair. “A please to see you two ladies again even though our last encounter was one of an adversarial nature. Asrini, especially you. We have so much unfinished business to complete, regarding the object in question which I assume Mr. Yucatan you have been brought up to speed on, yes?” I nodded in the affirmative “Roger that Narco, but I am here about Mary Asteroid and what has happened to her.” Narc released a laugh from the inner earth of his massive girth. “Ah yes, lovely Mary. You do get to the point and don’t beat around the bush. I like that, yes, I admire that. I like a man who likes to talk to a man who likes to talk.” He was talking gibberish now as though reading from an invisible script written by hack writer Joe Gillis for Norma Desmond’s dead monkey. “Now, we must toast our unique alliance and discuss matters of the falcon and Mary Asteroid. Faberge, please, the Cassini wine. I’ve been saving it for just such an occasion.” Glasses filled, we toasted our host “To the Falcon” Glasses clinked and kept a wary eye on Narco and Faberge. I didn’t trust either of them, and ime would prove I was right on the money with my assessment. Narco was no fool..he was fat, yes, but not a fool. He would also prove to be deadly as we would soon find out as competitors also in search of the Falcon would drop like flies on a flophouse floor! Chapter 18 In The Crosshairs of the Kill Zone Narco Marx was, is and always will be one of those perennial preposterously pompous planetary psychos of the first star magnitude. As bright as Sirius...as infinite as the universe...and more dangerous than an Amish sex fiend on Viagra during Rumspringa Break. As the Nebulon liquor continued its unimpeded flow in torrential typhoon torrents I reminded myself that Narco never gave anything without expecting something more in return on the scales of balance in unbalanced return. He wanted the falcon more than a hooker wants to get paid and move on to the next mattress. His conviviality hardly masked his subterranean intentions. Asrini, Maddie and I, none of us strangers to the old out of nowhere double cross were on our guard. I especially, as it didn’t take much booze anymore to slow my reaction time when responding to an action that required calling on my trigger finger for assistance when backed into a corner before ending up as a bullet riddled cadaver on a stainless steel slab at the coroners. “You will forgive my abruptness if we dispense with any more small talk s can get down to business,” Narco declared and snapped his fingers he pointed with a practiced flourish to a small wooden box on a table in the shadows in the corner for the fabulous Faberge to fetch. The perfect trained dog to serve his master. The box, was held carefully, almost reverently with much ceremony and when opened and it’s contents of Robotian ganja offered to us, his guests, I guessed we were guests. but, just easily we could already have been his prisoners. I wasn’t quite sure at that point. Robotian ganja was a potent and powerful smoke highly coveted throughout the galaxy, and the combination of Nebulon drink and the strain of Robotian Dead Head Panama Red grown in great quantities could send you into orbit around Robotia’s twin Cheech and Chong moons where the killer weed was sown and grown. I was no stranger to galactic drug use. For years I was hopped up on amphetamines from Alpha Draconis, Robotian weed, Martian mescaline and Retropolin LSD. Great triumphant trumpets heralded my as yet unknown literary emergence from a cocoon of anonymity, at least in my own mind. The weed and LSD created the images I clearly wanted to plaster to the blank pages of my writing journal, spray can graffiti on an alley wall, while the high octane speed created an amphetamine anthology that to his day I cannot understand when I read my old journals. It wasn’t the drugs fault...alone. I had a chip on my shoulder, and did not have any literary muscle to exercise or flex yet. A writer has a voice, mine was unsure of itself at the time, and the drugs didn’t make the interpretation any clearer. In effect, I was speaking in tongues, numb tongues I might add..I was not a loud voice in the wilderness...I was a comfortably numb space mime! Soon I added opium, morphine and hashish to the volatile confusion of psychedelic fusion. Now in Retropolin retrospect I could make sense of it all and it was no longer a blurred and scattered jumble of jigsaw puzzle pieces. It was actually beginning to take shape and form so now, overly confident, I put the galactic pedal to the alloy metal to increase the intake of pills and anything else I could get my hands on, uppers, downers, (Darvon a favorite) benzedrine, dexedrine, mescaline, LSD, marijuana, opium, morphine, and strangely...booze.. I was a human yo yo on a short fuse string, ready to burst into flames any minute. To counteract the uppers, a shot of heroin, to corral the heroin, more uppers. Eventually I was back down to a reasonable level of weed and speed, and damned if alcohol didn’t enter the spotlight center stage always fueled by speed weed as I now referred to my laced reefer. A juncture had been reached as a new frontier began to unfold. Narco as it turns out was our new guide and his was evident as he laid out the best laid plans of mice and men on the table. I felt my jaw tighten as he began his discourse. “We all have a vested interest in the recovery of the falcon. I have my own reasons which I’m sure you suspect. Asrini, yes, I have your sister, and can assure you, for the moment she is quite safe and unharmed. Maddie, you and I will have to cooperate and perhaps cut a deal to join forces you and I share an addiction for power and neither of us is a child. As for you Mr. Yucatan, you have been drawn into a dangerous situation and I am afraid there is no escaping it.” He was right of course and all the more reason I wanted to cold cock the sonofabitch and erase the smirk from his face. Narco had a way of laying his cards on the table that brought out the animal killer instinct and desire in a person to leap across the room and take his fat neck in your hands and squeeze until breathing stopped..on his part. “The Com-Reds have been following all of you since you left Retropolis. Toho Intel knows you’re here, and in fact are tossing your hotel rooms at this very moment so it behooves us all to band together and find the falcon before they do. I am not as uh, mobile as the three of you so I will make this one time offer...find the falcon, bring it to me and I will not turn Mary Asteroid over to the Eroti-bot Project...I will partner with you Maddie which will also ensure your safety from being vaporized by your former Com-Red comrades and, ah yes, Mr Yucatan you, Asrini and Mary Asteroid will be given safe passage back to Retropolis, accompanied by my men who are quite handy with weapons,and you Sir, will take with you a hefty sum of space bucks in your pocket to keep you supplied in your various vices until the sun explodes!” He laughed with such largess that I thought he would explode or implode before the Retropolin sun did. Narc was good. I had t give him a silent standing ovation. I felt he had a secret dossier on me that peered into the recesses of my soul, my past and my weaknesses..in fact he knew the right buttons to push on everyone in the room. My willingness to face dangerous situations while stoned, Asrini’s love for her sister and Maddies lust for power and he played us like a finely tuned keyboard, using our individual weaknesses to set us up for the mission and quite possibly...the kill zone! Chapter 19 - Robotian Revolution and the Kotex Vortex The first place to begin any search for stolen merchandise or evidence at a crime scene is in plain sight. The Falcon was too well known to have been smuggled off the planet while avoiding detection by a vigilant and well trained Intel organization. Especially one as advanced and thorough as the one in place by the Robotian Toho network. Even the slithering servile Faberge couldn’t escape its detection, and he was an expert at deception and pulling off a feminine haute couture look without batting an elongated eyelash. Even I, a burger and brewski man had to admit his Banana Flambeau was out of this world. The hiding in plain sight theory was backed by Narco and we were off to find the falcon, the wonderful falcon of an odd Oz. The weekend began with great buckets full of galactic anticipation found only in the adrenalin rush of a Saturday night falcon fever. If Narco didn’t have the damn falcon in his possession, who the hell did? What other players would benefit most from its capture, and more importantly had the means and the balls to pull it off? Narco, Asrini and Maddie could only think of one local group with enough chutzpah to score the bird. The all female Labia Hill Gang. Asrini and Maddie all knew more about this espionage stuff than I did and both Asrini and Maddie had quite a set of invisible balls themselves. Labeled gangsters by the Toho reactionary Supreme Council... the Labias were not mobsters. They were worse. They were revolutionaries! The so-called “underground” whose uprising by half completed cyborg Amazon women against forced complete “erotiobotizatian” was put down with great force by the machine machismo of the full robot mecha-army at Tohos disposal. The half robotic cyborgs were no match and the rebellion, far from over, merely went underground to continue the fight. Lucky me, instead of a carnal pleasure carnival cruise with two sexually exciting and talented human Retropolin dames I was instead going on a journey to the center of Robtia’s revolution which was still smoldering in the streets in small pockets of resistance. The resistance movement was minimal at best and the Labias were outgunned at every turn. We left Narcos penthouse with two of his gunsels in tow whose task it was to make sure we didn’t run out on the job..we all had reason enough not to, but such is the thinking of a suspicious criminal mind. Fortunately I had managed to talk Narco into returning our guns..I was not about to fight Tohos, Com-Reds and Revolutionary Labias without firepower. Asrini and Maddie also had their weapons returned and both were highly trained in the school of one-shot one -kill arts. We traveled to a neighborhood at the far east side of the city, where the Labia Hill Gang held their ground. It was dubiously referred to on Intel charts at Robotias military headquarters as the Kotex Vortex, or among the rank and file, the G-Spot Ghetto Revolution! It happens in the best of families. And you say, you want a revolution...that’s all well and good, but, ask yourself, do they all work as the warranty suggests, or is the reality that they are a worse curse than what they've replaced? As a political and social scientist, I register a negative-two, positively, or lower on the Richter scale, and yes, no social scientist degree, and yes, no -ologist attached anywhere in my name, cart or horse, fore and aft, so don't anticipate any salivatory revelations or orgasmic illuminations in this piece, this, this peek through the peephole of history at the paths followed in revolutionary orbit in a rebellious solar system of social issues and rights of the people. I am merely a dumpster diver in the overflowing trash bin and clutter that has lived blissfully ignorant and comfortably numb on political issues for 35 years. Writer’s words aren't gospel, although some writers will claim they are the second coming of Jesus H. (Hemingway) Christ, truth is...forget the words, and realize it is between the lines, between the sweaty sheets of literature, that you'll find the message, as well as the white space between the words...or what a writer doesn’t write but actually omits, that tells the story and pieces the puzzle together. The old one hand clapping Zen hipster zinger. Somewhere, soon after overthrow and the mask of reform is ripped from the face, the revolution and it's leaders reveal themselves for what they are and the people’s message soon gets trampled by the very same crowds who not long before, stormed the Winter Palace..the fever of revolt is usually followed by the fervor of excess and executions, retaliation replacing revolution, and the monologue of a demagogue’s diatribe turns into a comintern compost of collective constipation. Revolution is an internal family affair...like incest its best kept hidden away in the closet of the trailer. It's a social fabric that has torn, and in time inbred, ready to come apart at the familial seams it seems. It's a case of weird Uncle Hector fucking his 13 year old first cousin dressed in a sheer see-through frock behind the barn, why? Because he can, and the resultant child is a mutant, born with three heads similar to a freak farm animal on display at some roadside rattlesnake farm.. Revolution is not like war where the factions are delineated by a "border" and participants from outside the "family." Nope. Revolution is a good old fashioned down home brother sister fuck. Which brings me to my point about keeping a revolution hot and juicy and alive after it's initial success...it needs the social version of KY jelly to keep it aroused to achieve what it craves....a social orgasm of formidable change of epic proportions. Don't be confused either, nor mislead with the term "civil war" ... no war is civil and when two same family sides parry, it is rebellion...nothing more, nothing less.... As we neared the 10 square blocks of the Kotex Vortex I noticed the neighborhood, was contained far away from the main bordello boulevard of the Eroti-bot entertainment district. Can’t have a revolution screwing up the screwing now can we? It was a small walled big balls city-state on it’s own, inserted as a tempestuous Tampon into the vagina of daily planet life containing the flow of revolt and absorbing the estrous cycle of anarchy it produced. The outer layer of the walls of the Labia’s were completely surrounded by watch towers, armored personnel carriers and armored personnel as well. Sporadic gunfire came from inside the confines of the G-Spot Ghetto as it was also known. It was now or never our chance to penetrate the Labia’s outer and inner wall that acted as protection and a stronghold..perhaps a bad choice of words. Perhaps not! We had mapped a location in the wall near the wide expanse of Urethra Franklin Boulevard were rebel Labias would enter and leave, in and out, unnoticed by the guards. The hidden entrance was called the rabbit hole, and you had to be as mad as a hatter to go in there under the present circumstances, but seeing as being killed by three other competitors for the falcon seemed our only other option, we opted to follow an imaginary rabbit into Robtias Rabbit Hole and begin our adventures in Revolution Wonderland with a full rebel army of notorious victorious clitoris at our disposal. Chapter 20 - Find the Rabbit, and You’ll Find the Falcon As we entered the devastation of a once vibrant section of the city known as the Kotex Vortex I was sickened by the ruin that surrounded us. Buildings leveled in many cases, some emaciated resembling a lost work of art by an ancient artist named Picasso, famous for placing on canvas an ear where an eye should be and juxtaposing a penis in place of a brain. Two heads to his amazing talent were better than one, and frankly I tend to favor the advice I get from my below the belt brain, although it has been the cause of contention on numerous occasions. The rumble of laser artillery created a landscape of rubble in an attempt to level the revolt and bring it to it’s knees but, to no avail. In fact, it fed the freedom fighting frenzy with an increasing vehemence and hunger for revenge and victory among the PMS driven felonious female felons of the Kotex Vortex’s Labian Underground. Sporadic Labian sniper fire was being returned in exchange with hit or miss results as we crouched low in the dark wending our way to the relative safety of the rebel headquarters. As we nervously kept out of harms way, I couldn’t help mulling over in my head the puzzling parting words of Narco. “Find the Rabbit and you’ll find the falcon!” Was it the fat man’s attempt at Zen one hand clapping crap? A punchline by a cheap comic at an improv club? Or...did it actually have meaning and merit? I repeated the words over and over, in an attempt to make sense of it under my breath, quietly, yet audible to Asrini and Maddie. Asrini tossed me literary life preserver first as I was a man overboard and over my head in strange waters in the middle of a revolution that had nothing to do with me. “The Rabbit, Mr. Yucatan is a person..not a thing,” she began. Damn I wish she’d call me Doc so the sexual gap with close causing our ignitions to spark. “The Rabbit is the codename for the Labian leader.” Now we were adding more confusion on top of an already confusing situation, codenames always threw me a curveball and bang….here was another one. “Why “The Rabbit”? I queried in a haggard, tired voice. I was bushed and beat and still hungover. Some day I’ll get my ass into rehab if the urge to place myself in a state of mental urban renewal ever overcomes my desire to tranq myself into my normal sated state of mental urban decay. At this juncture Maddie chimed in. “She started the revolt inadvertently, through her public speaking against Erotobtization of females and was arrested by the authorities, then released, but now felt she had a mission to follow as the practiced increased and more females were rounded up from the solar system.” As we crossed the war zone this woman, this rebellious Rabbit began to take shapely shape and come into machete sharp focus as clear as a set of night vision binoculars aimed at the night time bedroom of a female exhibitionist masturbating under the glow of a faded yellowing street lamp. Maddie described her with what I felt was a more than appreciative tone that hadn’t gne unnoticed by Asrini either. She was, according to Maddies description a Venus de Milo prick teaser with a gorgeous set of super legs, a voluptuous expansive chest ready to explode in a volcanic eruption of heaving cleavage with a bikini wax look south of her border. Christ I was already ready for a second coming. She sounded like the eighth sexual wonder of the world. An iconic beauty complete and replete with combat skills that would make a Navy Seal look like a wimp and a mastery of martial arts that Mr. Miyagi would be proud of. Not to mention a knock down drag out sexy rear-end that could only be described as Mounds of Joy and breasts that could double as two of the finest pinnacles of the Colorado Rockies, perfect for climbing to plant your flag on her mighty twin peaks. On the sexual battlefield apparently she was one hell of a frisky fondle of perfect body proportions. She could attract a female as well as a male and anything inbetween. She was a military strategist who gained cult rebel status of iconic proportions and appeals to both genders. Her bi-sexuality appeals to the gender bender fan base as well. I couldn’t wait to meet this rebel with a sexual cause sporting a three speed Atomic Thruster. I couldn’t help imagining her as an Erotibot, chauvinist dog that I am. Find the Rabbit and you find the falcon. Now it made sense...the Rabbit had the falcon and everyone who wanted it wanted to find her as well. Paybacks are a bitch. I also got the impression that Asrini and Maddie wanted to find this rabbit, but for different reasons still unclear. What was clear was that the Rabbit had gone underground...deep underground and we all had something to lose if we failed...our lives. We finally arrived at the Labian headquarters and we were about to enter and go down the rabbit hole. As we forced the damaged door open I couldn’t help pondering...how the hell did Asrini and Maddie know about the emergency entrance and exit to the Kotex Vortex? It was a secret right? How could Maddie describe her in such detail from rumor and hearsay, with Asrini assenting t it’s perceived authenticity? So many questions...no answers. Either way, she was a remarkable feminist and rebel leader from all accounts. Find the Rabbit and you’ll find the falcon..find the Rabbit and you’ll find the falcon..it was now clear and simple. I was either about fall into a bizarre wonderland or open the door that led to the Ninth Gate of Hell... Chapter 21 The Red Zeppelin Hypodermic Hipsters I had to blow the rusted lock off the steel door with my trusted Link Wray Ray Gun the most powerful handgun of the day that included a deadly vaporising disintegration setting. Developed 30 years ago by an arms scientist named I Claudius Faubus Wallace, the company’s motto summed up the guns purpose succinctly...DISINTEGRATION THEN, DISINTEGRATION NOW, DISINTEGRATION FOREVER. It’s saved my sorry drunken ass many times. One day...five Retropolin years ago I was on a case involving a gang of mineral thieves I was hired to track and bring into Promethean Headquarters. They were stealing power crystals used for fuel and mutant munitions. Seems a little coup d’ grace was in the works on Planet Hydra. I got lucky and cornered one red handed, or blue handed in this case. Hydrans are one colorful race and had three heads allowing them the distinction of being the only sentient beings in the galaxy who could read, think and give a decent Hydran blowjob all at the same time. Shots were fired, I fired back with my accurate Link Wray and wounded one of the blue tri-heads. As it lay on the ground bleeding its lavender blood slower than a stopped up catsup bottle I stood over it..game over and asked it one simple question “Did I fire six shots or only five? To tell you the truth in all this excitement I kinda lost track myself. But being this is a Link Wray XL, the most powerful ray gun in the galaxy and could blow your three Hydran heads clean off, you've gotta ask yourself one question: "Do I feel lucky?" Well, do ya, you three headed punk? I wasn’t always that lucky, and sometimes ended up on the other end of the stick sporting a few broken ribs and face stitches for my trouble. The price you sometimes have to cough up to stay in this game. That’s when I obtained an illegal Link Wray Ray Gun the type of which had been banned by the 252nd Retropolin Congress. I had my black market contact, Izzy the Jew from Jersey jack a shipment of guns to get one of these babies. Now I was in business..a real bad ass dime novel drugstore cowboy..and no more broken ribs or legs. One more leg fracture and I’d be limping along like Walter Brennan with my limbs so pliable I would be able to wrap them around my head and bounce on my ass. As we forced headquarters door open we were immediately spotted by a military drone that began unleashing a barrage of disintegration pulse artillery shells in our direction. Usually deadly accuracy was their destructive calling card but with rapid reflexes we all dove into the doorway onto the concrete floor littered with empty disintegration small arms shell cases from the last battle the Labians had with the overwhelming forces of the Toho’s before going underground. Labian Headquarters had been completely abandoned, Now how the hell will we find the Rabbit Labian leader and hence the secret location of the fantastic Falcon to free Mary Asteroid and save our own skins in the bargain. It was all a crap shoot now I thought until Asrini fessed up. “Maddie and I know where she is, c’mon. Keep the Link Wrays on max and turn the safety off,” she hollered with the authority of a dominatrix as we raced back the street, this time dodging small arms fire from two directions. We were now now in the crosshairs of a crossfire between the Toho’s and the Comreds who had pursued us in stealth mode from Retropolis. We ran through the streets firing blindly in all directions. “Goddamn it, if you knew where she was why didn’t you bark it out sooner. Might have saved us from almost getting fried and vaped.” The it hit me with the impact of a crash dummy hitting the wall. “Excuse me.” No answer. “EXCUSE ME! You know where the Rabbit Hole is? Why didn’t you say so and how do you know?” We kept running while Maddie jumped in with a double barreled reprimand, short but sweet, if you like that kind of thing. “Fuck off Yucatan. We had to check headquarters first to see if we could get any help getting through the Valium Vector, held by holdouts with a slight drug and gun problem who also want to murder their way to power. They hate Labians as much as they hate Toho’s.” Asrini stayed focused and fired volley after volley while sprinting through the shower of firepower being leveled at us. The two of them were in great athletic shape for this shit, while I felt as tired out as a Chinese ping pong ball after ten rounds of fierce competition in Pyong Yang between the current laser pong champs Suc Muc Dik and Long Wang Chung. Now, as though I were not having a great time, we had to fight our way through a Disneyland theme park of hypodermic hipsters who could smell fear ten blocks away and were as thirsty for blood as a fresh Tampon. It didn’t take long to reach the Valium Vector when shrapnel balls were being lobbed at us from the rubble surrounding us. The Hypo’s had spotted us as I spotted some of their stolen Toho armored vehicles racing towards us with their Red Zeppelin flags flapping in the rocket fires red glare of Toho artillery, Comreds small arms fire and a flotilla of drones in a flying wedge formation heading for victory in the vector. The Red Zeppelins, as the Hipsters called themselves, only waged war with the Labians for control of the Kotex Vortex up until now. Unfortunately we had now brought the entire para-military planetary war into their living room. I had a feeling we would not be greeted by a Red Zeppelin Welcome Wagon and free ticket to ride a Thorazine Train to a stairway to heaven. As a very impressive, but slightly battered command vehicle slammed to a halt some very nasty looking armed hopped up thugs emerged. These were not Mousketeers. These were born killers with some very serious derangement issues. We were dead meat and I never even got a chance to bang Asrini or Maddie or both. My bad luck was on path of a winning streak…. of losing! Chapter 22 The Gold Lame General & The Red Zeppelin Space Junkies A Red Zeppelin gang tank flanked by a flotilla of smaller armored vehicles dead stopped in front of us. Heavy metal military looking dread tread contraptions from an earlier era, time warped junk yard dogs with rusting weapons protruding from slits. Mobile fortresses with unforgiving fire power and enough bite and bark to accompany the gauntlet of the generalissimo machismo that soon flowed from the big kahuna with the torn faded insignia haphazardly sewn onto his army surplus chic non-com uniform that suddenly made him a faux general. He also sported a pair of Midas Memphis “thank you very much” gold lame pants and over sized orange sunglasses. Great, I’d seen this kind of character before...in cartoon but, never in real life! A paramilitary picture of imperial perfection if this were a backwater banana republic or Graceland whichever comes first. If Elvis had really left the auditorium he ended up here as a cyborg celebrity just in time for the next dinner show! Viva Robotia! The “Gen”, as he was called, and his merry hypo hipster hop head henchmen approached us armed with older version Faye Ray model guns, usually available on the cheap at the army navy girl scout boy scout surplus stores along with small mess kits that can be converted into small land mines to blow the small 15 inch legs off of a midget and other terrorists posing as little people. At it's highest setting, sedate stun, i is no match for our state of the art rock, cocked and locked trusty Link Wray Defender with it’s “kill them all” max setting models as advertised in Field and Stream of Consciousness magazine and other guns and ammo periodicals periodically produced by Ted Nugent XXIII Publishing. My confidence level increased exponentially along with my adrenaline as I began to feel more and more like Snake Plissken being flanked by the Laura Croft Tomb Raider armed and fabulous Doublemint Twin cheerleaders. I could see out of the corner of my eye Asrini making a subtle move for her weapons safety catch. Maddie followed suit. What the hell, we were ready for anything. “Hold it ladies. Not yet. Too many of ‘em and too much armor protection,” I mumbled. Asrini shot back with one of those “put your tail between your legs “ admonishments, “I’ve dealt with this space trash before, you haven’t. Gotta stand up them to gain their respect.” I nodded and surveyed our situation. Not good at first glance. We were surrounded now on Robotias Valium Vector streets, beat streets, hard streets and harder alleys than I ever saw even in Old Detroit. These streets were smaller, and more cramped with rubble from ongoing battles between the competing gangs keeping the area cloaked 24/7 in the perpetual dark purple haze of artillery and small arms gunfire with a hint of grey and black from the smoldering ruins. Even the broken sewer lines leaking and seeping to the streets had smoke on the water. This place was a Skull Island in the ocean of black hole degenerates and galactic junkies with it's faux Chinese restaurants, one room Soma bars with broken stools, deep within the loins of the tender, with row upon row of skids, all in narcotic film noir sequence, dark, and slow. I had the feeling I was walking upwards against the downward flow of a thousand liquid rain children freely falling from the skies, the other children having broken free from the split apart pinata and spilled out, falling and bouncing down the streets to hinder our quest for the Falcon. We did in the end dodge them artfully as we tread deftly as we avoided pharmacologicl projectiles from space, fired from the Robotian moon at the behest of a beast from the outer rings of Saturn’s rear end planet, Uranus, yer anus, jumpin' Jupiter yumpin Yiminy. All of the Red Zeppelin gang members had the same vacant look. Crazed and deranged thanks to the popular street drugs. Lenny Bruce junkie juice flowing hot and steamy, and dealing from the bottom of a marked deck of cards at a pharmaceutical convention, with unconventional doctors in attendance, wearing togas stolen from New York City bath house locker rooms with fat sweaty Greeks and those from the Baltics with secret rings...eating lunch naked with William Burroughs and a typewriter with keys that stick and ribbons that were worn and faded. Even the junkettes, the young gang girls were strung out, but my x-ray vision allowed me a gander at nubile puberty ready breasts just peeking above the skin with a pink nipple tipped volcano cane ready to erupt with passion as pubic hair began to sprout it's fertile garden below. It was an erotic Robotian visual voyeuristic symphony performed by an orchestra of puberty creating a variation of a hypodermic dream version of the War of 1812 Overture for the libido literate. The “general” himself was no prize either. He was notorious in this pus filled little pool and as he approached I could see he was flying high with a jet stream fix in his arm, a communist Com-Red sympathizer, (they paid the most to mercenaries) and his amphetamine adrenaline anxiety was at it’s peak. “Asrini and Maddie. My my my,” he chortled with a smile that went from grim to delighted as soon as he saw who they were in the dense smoke that enveloped us like smoked salmon in a fish shop in Marseilles. A cheeky cheek kissing frenzy followed between the trio as pretentious as an over acted scene in which some deranged limp wristed playwright has combined elements of “Richard the Third” and “Deliverance” being presented on stage by a hysterical gender bending theatrical troupe performing perchance in the round of Saturn’s left wing rings. “And who is this delightful gentleman?” he queried of Asrini. I always cringe when a man in gold lame pants and blue eyeliner a little too thick “queries” I decided to take the initiative and go on the offensive. I reached out, grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard, you know manly man grip and pumped it hard. Real dick shit macho crap to intimidate. Unfortunately it backfired on me...his grip was just as strong and the look in his eyes betrayed him. Great, another admirer, but put the brakes on lad yboy...you’re not gonna put the pedal to the metal with me sweetheart. I could tell by the look on his face...he understood. “Doc Yucatan” I said firmly. His response was unexpected. “You’re the one that has a 1,000,000 space buck reward on his head by the Com-Reds. The Toho’s aren’t too happy with you either. Any of you. Rewards on all of ya and ha. They also want you alive, or at least one of you, doesn’t matter which one. Hell, they know what you’re looking for. The whole goddamn quadrant knows….it’s the Falcon and the Rabbit has it...doesn’t she ASRINI!” I didn’t like the tone of his voice as he screamed out her name. “What’s your problem asshole?” His face brightened. “Ah, you are protective I see. Well, let me assure you Yucatan. Asrini is beautiful yes, but even more intriguing is her intellect. She hasn’t told you has she?” At this point he doubled over in laughter. I leaned towards Asrini and asked under my breath, “What haven’t you told me, dammit? You know I had a feeling this whole trip was a bad idea. Like the Edsel or the Corvair!” The General couldn’t contain his laughter any longer. Follow me to our bunker, a lot safer there...Robotian reinforcements usually arrive by now with fresh ammo and you could end up with some nasty wounds. You’re gonna love his one Yucatan! Oh gawd, you’re gonna love it I promise!” As he exploded in a gale of laughter we followed the General to safe harbor amid the smoke and grime and the rubble and I couldn’t help but notice the pale worried looks on both Asrini and Maddie’s faces. Everyone seemed to know what was going on except me. I felt as though I was in that dream … the one where you enter the room and everyone is dressed in formal wear and you’re buck naked. Now I could also claim that along with be bucked..I was being fucked.. by experts. Chapter 23 The Red Zeppelins & Cannabis Croissants We followed the Gen to Red Zeppelin headquarters, or a reasonable facsimile of one if and only if your army consisted of The Three Stooges. Sweaty pipes overhead leaking hot water gave the impression you were entering a incontinent rainforest or Seattle in the wet season which is pretty much 13 months out of 12 every year. A real bakers dozen. In fact, speaking of Seattle and bakers, the building was nothing more than a converted franchised Retropolin Starbucks turned into a Robotian Starbunker during the Coffee Wars when Starbucks tried to caffeinate the galaxy by invading each planet, one at a time to gain a frappuccino foothold the same way Dunkin Donuts attained donut hole dominance by introducing it’s Alice B. Toklas Tonkin Bay Tokin’ Cannabis Croissants. The Toho’s were not taking it lying down. Cyborgs, being half machine are not Cappuccino drinkers and do prefer their own special Robotian blends such as homegrown WD-40 mocha while the human Japanese Toho’s had a yen for zen blends. The Coffee War lasted all of six months and Starbucks left as battered and bruised as Juan Valdez falling off of a rocky Columbian cliff with a dead donkey. Dunkin Donuts however did prospered as Robotia was a police state after all! “Nice place Gen,” Asrini said with a smirk in her voice. “You always were a snarky bitch Asrini,” the Gen replied. “Sit. Coffee?” We all shook our heads. “Got any Toklas around here,” I blurted out. “I could use a bot buzz about now.” The Gen snapped his fingers and his toady brought out a tray of some of the best buzz donuts a mechanical planet could offer. As we got buzz bombed we got down to biz buzzed. “My men can get you safely the Rabbit Hole. We can’t go any further. Too dangerous,” he explained. “Once there you’re on your own but you won’t have any trouble, as I’m sure Asrini can get you in and out without any problem.” Why would they let Asrini in without question? More damned questions on this quest fest and not one answer, and Asrini was not about to spill her guts. Who the hell were these Rabbit Hole Amazons anyway, and more importantly how do they know Asrini. The Gen and all of us were as comfortably numb as a coma patient in Bellevue awaiting transfer to a cuckoo’s nest. At last he spoke. “I have three conditions and unless you agree them ...No Deal!” We had no choice so we bit the bullet. “Fine. First, we will require half the reward money for the Falcons retrieval. Second, arrange with the Tohos a sit down with us to discuss amnesty, and third,” damn I hate pregnant pauses as much as I do a pregnant girlfriend. “Third...Maddie stays here.” I sat up fast, “As a hostage?” He smiled benignly, “As a guarantee, Mr. Yucatan, as a guarantee. You can’t be too careful, now can you?” Maddie said is was fine with her. She had grit and spunk as well as body as hot as a comets tail. “Agreed,” I grumbled. “Good. Then we can begin. I’ll tell you what you are up against Mr. Yucatan in case you weren’t fully filled in. The Rabbit Hole Rebels are dangerous..real Eves of Destruction!” Space Pulp - Chapter 24 - The Ethel Merman Cyborgs and the Bob Fosse Fishnets: The Outer Space Gangwar with Panache! It all happened faster than a meteor crash landing on a blind man in the desert. Asrini and Maddie were well heeled with Link Wrays and in one well choreographed swift Swiss movement drew and fired relentlessly vaporizing not only the Gen, but the armed hulks who stood guard at the only exit and who would have certainly done massive bodily damage to yours truly in the doom and gloom of the dark, dank room. The Gen had no intention of letting Maddie leave with us, that was apparent. Even more apparent in hindsight was that Maddie had no intention of remaining behind at the Red Zeppelin version of the Bates Motel. She and Asrini thought and acted in complete unison. One mind...two great bodies loaded with action. I could feel the rush and smell the resultant vaginal discharge flowing like hot lava and I smiled as I thought to myself...how nice it would be if I were Pompeii! The stench of the vaped body count added the musty smell of the standing water and dead space rats and the fog of death mixed with the smoking haze from the crashing rubble breaking up outside from the pitched battle between the Red Zeps on the ground and the surrounding allied forces of Tohos and Com-Reds and their magnificent armed flying drones...death from above raining down on the Vortex. I knew the Tohos and Comreds wanted us too, but strangely enough I had the feeling they were clear cutting a path filled with dead Zeps so we could reach our destination. A reality check reminded me...they both wanted the Falcon too and were strange allied bedfellows now, but I had an uneasy feeling that once we had the Falcon in our possession they would turn their attention to our ultimate demise before concentrating on eliminating each other. Meanwhile at the end of this deadly rainbow Narco Marx would deal himself into game for his grab at the pot of gold, and would in all likelihood be the last man standing, along with Joel Faberge the Fabulous Fabulon assassin and part time hairdresser and maker of feather boa dream catchers shaped like Sock Monkeys. The lasers and phasers were heating up the grey dark of the night, maybe it was dusk, you couldn’t tell the difference between the grey ash and smoke of battle, a nuclear winter effect that would cut off photosynthesis in any case for struggling flora reaching out for a drink of sunshine. Even our clothes became covered in dust...in every direction it was grey, black and faded dirty white. Pleasantville revisited or the back lot of a Tim Burton film where grey card tones trumped a box of Crayola’s. Even the M & M’s were black and white and all the jelly beans are masses of melted colorless gel with islands of sweet sugar the attract the holy roamin’ empire of rodents claiming the black back alley’s and stench filled sewers shooting steam through vents creating islands of global warming for the hopeless homeless winos and junkies to ward off hypodermic hypothermia hypothetically. Asrini stopped fast, alarmed. “Look. We’ve got big trouble,” we whispered. As my eyes focused through the gauze of grey I had to agree. “Shit. Who the hell are they?” Silence except for the fact that dead ahead the streets were alive with the sound of music. As I listened intently I recognized the songs...BROADWAY SHOW TUNES being sung by two opposing female gangs carrying chains, knives, guns, all old school and all with a look of murder in their eyes. “Asrini, who the hell are they?” I wanted to know. I could tell by the look on her face and Maddies reach for her Link Wray it was just about showtime at the old Appollo. “OK Doc now we have a fight on our hands. Those are the Ethel Mermans, and the Bob Fosse Fishnets...two sworn enemies, one is composed of escaped human female and male pre-op slaves from Retropolis kidnapped and destined for Robotian bordellos after conversion into Erotibot cyborgs … the others are Toho Erotibot Bordello Warriors that have been fighting over turf for generations….they’re tough in tights and we have to get through them to get to the Rabbit Hole.” Terrific. I hoped to hell, PMS did not effect deranged Erotibots. I was stuck in the urban battleground of two gangs - real Sharks and Jets shit set amidst a stage of Robotian urban decay, switchblades and guns where a pre-op lesbian cyborg could find love in the heart of Mechanical Maniacal Maria, a Puerto Rican Erotibot. Through it all the gangs wage war wearing Kevlar fishnets using outdated guns doing lavish dance numbers that would make the Bloods and the Crips wince. I kept waiting for the Rita Moreno Latina-bot to strut her stuff showing her best skirt lifting legs as fireball sexy Latina hot as they come...on fire causing a burning yearning sensation in a man’s groin as she took gyrating and thrusting to a sexual plateau to the tune of "Everything's Free In Robotia!” Well great, I thought. Show tune gangs!!! Give my regards to Broadway....sing 'em loud and sing 'em proud! There's no business like show business and damn it..no tunes like show tunes! It's time to man up with a fishnet chorus line of Broadway show tunes. Damn the Ethel Merman torpedos, full Sondheim steam ahead. Don't worry about masculinity atrophied or your wrist gone limp...it's Broadway, and you’re a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day! Afraid you won't be a man anymore because you have an urge to hum or sing a gay white way tune...don't worry..and don't ask/don't tell William. It's overture time This is it, the night of nights...It's time for Henry Higgins to come out of your closet to liberate the Liberace that lurks by candelabra light in all of us..yes, you too! The smell of the greasepaint and the roar of crowd, the chorus girls, and yes, effeminate chorus boys too, fishnet stockings, tights with bulges battling, sweet nutcrackers and Desmond tutu's...spotlights and orchestra pits...backstage frolic with onstage follies. A real man can crush a beer a can with one hand and make Busby Berkeley have an orgasm with a display of flawless manly choreography ...one, two, three kick...all backed by a legendary back line of high kicking long legs with thunder packed thighs dripping with sensuous sweat, attached to a fantasy female with spangles and tassels that sparkle and dangle. "Hair" with nudity and music...the two basic food groups of hungry Broadway theatergoers...of course nudity goes with french fries as far as I am concerned so wherever I can get a taste..I'm in! All Hail Ethel Merman, and when Warner Bros. cartoon characters break out into song singing.."this is it, the night of nights..." grab your best pair of fishnet tights...and let loose a vocal volley...remember...don't ask..don't tell...but above all never mind what others may think of you and your manhood...just smile and keep a stiff upper lip...and be tall and proud as you show off your truly limp wrist!!! The curtain began to rise and we stepped onto the gang war stage...locked and loaded..It was now showdown showtime Gang...one..two..three...kick...one...two...three...kick! Chapter 25 Art Deco & The Eves of Destruction According to Asrini, the humanoids were called the Eves of Destruction allied with the Rabbits rabid legions to hold the Vortex at all costs. These were the front line gang grunts assembled into protective cocoon platoons sworn to protect the Rabbit and to keep the Toho’s and the Eroti-bots from possessing the prized Falcon. If that happened...the Eve’s would lose their only bargaining chip and would surely be defeated by the Erotibots merciless mercenary onslaught . Next stop...Erotibotization and the galactic bordellos. Both factions fought fiercely in this ghetto tough girl competition. I wouldn’t step into the ring with them with 10 Rowdy Roddy Pipers backing me up! It would be like tossing Shirley Temple from the deck of the Good Ship Lollipop into a life raft with Rhonda Rousey on a methamphetamine rush. I could see why the Eves were kidnapped..they were magnificent! Take a cup of female domination, add a heaping hymen tablespoon of labia laden lesbian fantasies to excite the eroticism in male and female alike, then add a delicious dash of a sexy female warrior in a leather loincloth with a dripping wet crotch, and you have the recipe for perfect Amazon Queen. The Amazon Warrior has been a large piece of the fabric of the sexual imagination for centuries. Some guys fantasize about having their ass kicked by one, while some females develop girl crushes on these mighty women as adulation and admiration grows in the camps of both genders who passionately place them on a pedestal as the ultimate woman and Goddess!The Amazon has pervaded pop culture in many guises from Wonder Woman on the small screen to the modified version as the modern day femme fatale of the big screen for a healthy dose of tongue in chic and tongue in cheek eroticism. The sexiest example of "pop goes the Amazon culture" was the fetching 20th Century Xena, Warrior Princess in her erection causing leather loincloth, and super thighs to kill for. Her somewhat "submissive to Xena" girl wonder, Gabrielle helps Xena not only win the day in battle but, also helps to groom her mentors hair lovingly stroking it in a somewhat sensuous manner, and keeps Xena's sword sheath well oiled and slippery. Nothing like a well greased sheath to accept the deep penetration of a long, broad sword after the sexual heat and fury of battle! Gabrielle also looks after her other "needs" and vice versa. That's what warrior friends are for. When it came to genital stimulation for males and females...Xena was a temptress with a raging inferno between her thighs guaranteed to raise an erection as formidable as the Walls of Jericho, and cause a monsoon drenching in even the driest vaginal region. Surfs Up! It's high tide at Vagina Beach! Asrini noticed the look of utter uterus awe on my face. “Down boy. They’ll eat you alive. Some men are merely the other white meat to them while most are usually looked at as a can of dented Spam.” My smile gave me way. I’d be happy being roadkill served up at one of their all you can eat buffets. Hell an orgy of orgasm is about as organic as it gets and beats Tiberian tofu grown synthetically on the Tiber colony. Maddie laughed as though she could read my mind as easily as a Mickey Spillane novel. I was an open book and both girls were turning my pages and playing with my flyleaf. Maddie offered a little more insight. “I fought side by side with the Eves when n assignment. They’ve been kicking ass in combat since they escaped the Tohos and the Vortex Wars began at Fortress Vagina. These are seasoned vets Yucatan.” “These legions of blood thirsty labias make for one hell of a display of girl-on-girl do or die to the death display of feminine force and power! Watch out guys, these girls would and could literally cut your balls off Remember...a hungry hymen is not a happy hymen,” she concluded. I couldn’t help but notice in chauvinist mindset that they also were buck naked up topside. To prove I am not a chauvinist, I have always supported a woman’s right to bare her chest in public! This is a free galaxy after all and besides Gloria Steinham had one cute cottontail! These Eves were held in high regard and many of them engaged in their first girl crush on a sweaty, well built, powerful comrade in arms (and in bed) female dynamo that was all muscle flexing female panther, while they dripped sexuality by the gallon. That's one way for a woman to win a slave-girl for girl on girl in the bed chamber! Rewards have virtues and lets face it, warrior women make for strange but delicious bed-mates! Some of these females had enough fleshy Retropolin tits jumping up and down to raise the erection factor where the mere sight of exposed breasts were enough to defeat an onslaught of erection crazed males mesmerized by fleshy mounds of mammaries adorned with nipples the size of broadsword shields on the attack...and if it was that time of the month, a particularly vicious assault could be expected. Even Toho men who have engaged in combat with them paused in battle when menstruation was at it's bloody peak leaving a deadly liquid trail dripping like a raging river of no return behind them as gallons of victorious vagina viscosity oozed creating a particularly blood curdling sight that stopped the male dead in his tracks. Where were tampons when you needed one.? Speaking of tampons, it reminds me of the story of the little Dutch boy who stuck his finger in a dyke..man was she pissed! That is another story… Asrini interrupted by wet day dream eruption just as errant laser fire began blasting our cover in a crumbling building. “You want tough? Try the Rabbit herself. She is a military genius and I might add, hot as the surface of the planet Mercury. That’s why the Tohos and the Com-reds have a price on her head. The Tohos because she is head of the revolution here against their ertibot apartheid policy and the Com-Reds don’t want her leaving and stirring up resistance in the Dystopian sectors. They want her neutralized. It’s our job to recover the Falcon and get the Rabbit to a safe planet.” “Bullshit Asrini. Our job...my job..I was hired to find your sister. Period. Now we end up in a revolution, where most likely we get our asses shot off and waiting for us behind door number three is Narco Marx, the Ming the Merciless straight out of a midnight madness movie and a bunch of bozo’s with guns from a comic book or a Vonnegut novel!” Bam..a shrapnel grenade went off near our makeshift foxhole of brick and stone. “Yeah, I’m listening. You know I didn’t realize we’d be vacationing in Club Nuke damn it. To borrow a phrase..here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into!” Asrini laughed it off. ”You’re playing with the big girls now Doc.” This was insane and reminded me of a dream I had once involving battling females in sex crazed Switzerland during the 13th Century where William Tell was shooting apples off his son’s head, rapists were stealing "virgin cherries" and holding Heidi down by the pigtails while she yodeled for help! My voyeuristic pigtail yodel daydream was interrupted by the sounds of racing footsteps closing in on us at a heart racing jet pack drag race pace. As I sought the sanctuary of darker shadows, Asrini and Maddie stood up erect ready to red rover the intruders who managed to breach our ramshackle perimeter. Or so I mistakenly thought. Instead they began waving wildly at the three armed thugs approaching us head on, weapons raised. As they got closer, they stopped and began laughing hysterically and waved back. “Maddie Baby...damn it’s you and I see you brought that delicious can of Eskimo tuna with you. Good to see you Asrini. What in hell you doing here? Back to join us?” Maddie threw her head back laughing. “No Art. We’re looking for the Rabbit. Got a bit of a squeeze play going on with the Toho’s and Com-Reds too so we figured this was a safe harbor and hopefully we’ll pass go and collect 2,000,000 space bucks too!” I came out from my burrow, ego bruised by my show of cowardice more curious than ever. Who were these three? They were female in appearance with a slight rustic yet exotic look about them. Asrini not forgetting the social graces handled the intros. “This is Doc Yucatan a private dick from Retropolis..” ( I hated when she referred to me as a “dick”...Doc the Dick! Looks great on a holographic biz card!) “Doc this is Art Deco and the ravishing goddess in yellow battle gear is Long Wang and the purple delight is Wang Chung. The Tranny Squad from the Monte Rock Feather Boa Brigade of Brigand Babes.” I was meeting a human Chinese meal with weapons and could probably end up in the sack with them for the price of two egg rolls at the Suc Muc Dik nightclub in Chinatown in old Detroit. “Pleased to meet you...Art...Wang...Long” I couldn’t say “Long..Wang” with any sense of decorum. Transsexuality is universal in my Century..in fact bi-sexuality is also galactic. Hell we fuck robots, and electronic hermaphrodites fuck themselves. As science became more advanced and stone age 21st homophobia was left in the lobby with the Rainbow Hat Check Girl trannies and tranbots have become some of the fiercest fighting femmes in the gender bender galaxy and are prized highly by the Tohos as Erotibots. Sexy cyborg chicks with dynamo dicks. According to a song by a 20th Century rock group "Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls, it's a mixed up world" In fact, that mixed up world is a delightful copulating cornucopia of tantalizing T-Girls with enough sexual horsepower under their well endowed hoods to fuel inject the Erectus Eruptus factor of their many admirers. These surgically altered buxom beauties possess that physical combination of south of the border male genitalia and north of the border female rocky mountains that fascinate and capture the hearts and imagination of male and female alike. These beauties break the down the barriers and excite the latent or blatant bi-sexual responses from the male of the species with a gravitational pull that can't be ignored. If you venture forth stepping briskly through the vanilla looking glass you'll find that you have penetrated Alice's Sexual Wonderland. If you are in search of the Holy Grail of the bi-sexual merry-go-round ride, you'll discover it in the hurricane tempest of the T-Girl! The tranny is not only regal and resplendent in her looks, clothing and physical makeup, but also personifies the ultimate result in the sexual metamorphosis for those males who feel they are a female being held captive in a male body, but they also have the balls (real balls!) to do something about it. The T-girl throws off the sexual shackles society has forced upon her in the name of fear and homophobia that society has used to inhibit their freedom of sexual expression. All she wants is to be all the female she can be to borrow a military recruitment phrase, as she emerges as a transsexual army of one! It's the yin and yang of attraction simply enough, and what the hell, a little bi-sexuality attraction to a tranny goes a long way! The transsexual not only comes out of the closet, but, does so with fabulous flair, honey dripping honesty and penis erecting panache. These are not crossdressers or transvestites. No sir, these are females trapped inside a male body, an Alcatraz of flesh that inhibits the person’s freedom to choose the gender that best addresses her emotional needs for expression, as well as the desire to parade proudly as the woman she has always wanted to be. The best part is...this is nothing new. This T-girl romp under the sheets has fascinated humankind since the days of the Iron Age! Yes, I could somehow relate the iron age to the birth of the chastity belt but will save that for another time. “Down Doc!” Asrini blurted out admonishingly. “There’s plenty of them here so if you don’t bang Maddie you might get lucky with a tranbot!” Everyone had a good laugh at that of course at my expense. Oh luck be a Tran-Lady tonight. “Can we get going please before I get Wang Chunged tonight?” I said sarcastically. Art agreed. “It gets worse at night. The Tohos have modified the Erotibots withe built in night vision and we only have a few old models. We’ll have to jetpack to the Hole. Gawd will she be glad to see you two, and Doc you can probably have a go at a nice rebel Eve of your choosing, but if not...Long Wang will be glad to do a lunar landing on your moon...you know..one giant Wang for mankind!” I had to smile at that one. Hell, at least it wouldn’t be a total loss. In the grey dark I hadn’t noticed the jet packs they were wearing. Damn near antique RT-450 models. They weren’t as fast as the newer XT 5000 but would do in the cover of dusk and dust to elude the Erotibot mercenaries and reach the safety behind the front lines of the Eves of Destruction..then...The Rabbit and the Falcon. All I had on my mind was getting back to Old Detroit and an evening of drunken debauchery. “Ok, Asrini you ride with me, Maddie you’re with Wang, and Doc, you can saddle up with Long Wang.” We each grabbed the hand straps in front of our assigned and were ready to rocket and roll. As the packs fired up small arms fire erupted around us, but as soon as we were up up and away we shot out of range in the bosom of the gathering dark of night. Chapter 26 - The Parellel Universe I have my own jet pack back at the office on Retropolis. Sleek silver jet job which produces a G-force for easy excursions on the planets with less gravity and magnificently manageable in the atmosphere in the Retropolis gravity field. The system is highly responsive in flight, to the point where I need to closely control my head, arm and leg movements in order not to enter an uncontrolled spin as a Mad Hatter Tea Cup Whips and Chains ride at one of the Betty Page S & M amusement parks favored on the de Sade moon of the Pandoran planet in the Marquis Galaxy. The engines on my pack and all jet packs require precise alignment during set-up in order to prevent instability and a NASCAR spinout. A computerised electronic starter system ensures that all four engines will ignite simultaneously. In the event of a spin, the wing unit can be detached and both me and the wing unit will drift gracefully to Terra Firma on separate parachutes, shaken, not stirred. I always packed solo...now I was holding on to an Oriental pilot that I wasn’t sure had the skills of a fortune cookie! “Ready for lift off?” Long Wang inquired. “Give it a goose Wang, ready to rocket and roll!” I replied nervously. What if I lost my grip? What the hell could I grab to hold on to? His name is Long Wang, so if he lived physically up to his name and actually had a long wang, maybe that was a clue. Long Wangs long wang would act as an airborne tether. No time to think as we left the ground with fuel packs sputtering dangerously until the fuel ignited completely in both engines and we were Peter Panning smoothly except I was flying with Tinkerbell while Asrini and Maddie were tripping with Little Red Riding Hood and Little Miss Muffet. Christ, if Arthur and Sandoz saw us now they’d swear they were watching an Ed Wood movie. Art Deco yelled out, “Not far now, but better to fly over than dodging laser fire all the way.” We could still be shot down from the ground or dethroned by a drone, but in the grey-black smoke and haze we weren’t an easy target. “There it is!” Maddie yelled. I couldn’t see a thing, but all the others were excited leaving me feeling like I was Helen Keller at an art gallery NOT appreciating the treasures hanging on the walls as though they were cattle rustlers in a dime novel strung up by vigilantes with the townspeople gathered around singing “Amazing Grace” while children ate cotton candy and used slingshots to fire rocks at pinatas so they could run off with jawbreakers and toy guns. “Where is it? I can’t see anything!” I cried out. “It’s a rift to a parallel universe, Yucatan. You’ve heard of a Worm Hole where you enter in one location and emerge at the other end in another location?” Art Deco replied. “Only this is the Rabbit Hole and we keep it hidden and guarded. An Oriental Eve found it quite by accident incidentally. Not only does it take you to another geographic location..but, it also takes you to a parallel universe so finding the Rabbit, the other rebels and the Falcon is impossible unless you know where the rift is. It’s Paradise Lost and Found!” “Hang on!” bellowed Art and suddenly there was a force of energy that almost loosened my grip on Long Wang. Lightning surrounded us with a cacophony of zaps and pows, bangs and booms. As we entered the Rabbit Hole our velocity increased voraciously as it propelled us into it deeper and deeper. I felt like a jet packed penis penetrating Heidi Fleiss. My the noise and lava lamp like lights we were traveling through had my head in a leg lock. Except for the flashes of light everything everywhere was black...blacker than I had ever experienced before. We emerged no worse for the wear and were now in the parallel universe where refuge seeking rebels could regroup, plan and plot revolution and protect the Falcon from those who would use its uncanny power to crush resistance and impose its power and impossible restrictions on any planets freedom. I was prepared for that aspect of our adventure, and looking forward to meeting “The Rabbit” I had heard so much about. I also wanted to explore this new universe. Parallel universe that is...maybe there was another me here, but mostly it was the attraction of real women in great numbers, like Surf City, two girls for every boy so I could wax my woody on a sandy beach and hang ten with a Pineapple Princess. As we landed on soft ground my head and my eyes began to clear and I could hear the shrill call of a Mandorian mockingbird, very rare as it could speak in different planetary languages. I had one for a pet once as a child, but it flew into a glass building blinded by sunlight and was brain damaged and from then on only spoke in tongues and became a Southern Baptist. I also noticed something else. Flowers, trees, a red sky and magenta colored grass and a clear sparkling stream with singing fish not 50 yards away. The air was clear..no dust, no haze, no dark. There was color everywhere. Bright colors and intense rainbows crisscrossing the sky with a Monet flair. The perfume of flowers intoxicating and addicting and sensual. My senses were on overload taking it all in. Nature as I had never known it in the grime of old Detroit, was now making love to me on a bed of jasmine and feathers. As I was taking it all in Asrini broke my concentration. “Well Doc, here it is.” Then Art Deco chimed in speaking to Asrini and Maddie and said something that confused me even more. “Welcome home ladies. The Rabbit has been expecting you. You’re welcome to Yucatan. We need someone like you. Welcome to the Revolution!” Chapter 27 The Peyote Mad Hatters of a Lost Dimension Working in the dark underworld of Dystopian Retropolis as a detective everything and every client was a study in psychological black and white, right and wrong, yin and yang. Making matters worse, the physical Dystopian decay of a distressed Detroit was my habitat of gloom, doom and death by drone amidst the crumbling buildings lodged in a “peoples” society under constant scrutiny and surveillance by a paranoid government. Life was bleak on Bleeker Street...and even bleaker on Beaubien. I had embarked on a journey, a questionable quest fueled by my desire to have Soma infused drunken sex with an Eskimo-Asian who entered my office, my life, my mind early one evening. We left the void of everyday Detroit life, entered a vortex of revolution, chased by a trio of gangster and government agencies hell bent on killing us once we had the “treasure” in hand and no guarantee we would come out of this unscathed or DOA. Now into the rift in the universe I was awash in colors and scents, surrounded by innocence, not malfeasance. I had entered the Rabbit Hole and Art Deco was the Mad Hatter conducting a symphonic scene from “Fantasia” complete with dancing brooms as I still lusted after Asrini...the Fantasian Asian. I had officially stepped through the Psychedelic looking glass and Mickey Mouse had become Timothy Leary on purple haze and I was enthralled by the sensory deluge of a fugue in spiritual redundant repetition Everything about the Rabbit Hole burst forth on the anthropological horizon as blinding as a Clockwork Orange Julius Soma flashback. It was the placenta of an orgasm of light and color and lava lamps and light shows and psychedelia along with enough sexual hallucinations from the vaginal vortex of the groin. I looked around me in awe as I swore I could see and fathom, not imagine, and positive they were not holograms, but an army of Hi-Ho it’s off to work we go dwarves, My imagination not were fueled by chemicals for once saw dangerous dancing dinosaurs, macabre mops, beastly brooms and flying flaming fairies all set to a musical backdraft that put you into a blue moody mood of moody blue hue where pink Floyd flamingos dancing fantastic fandangos descend from a Jimmy Page stairway to heaven. It was the flash from an atomic detonation or a Family Dog light show at the ancient Fillmore Auditorium listening to Inna Gadda Da Vida on purple double dome. Amphetamines and marijuana sang while mescaline and acid were the opening ac, as Snow White turned into a pile of cocaine and Sleeping Beauty took a hot shot of heroin, while Mickey joined the SDS on LSD and took to the streets of Chicago with a gang of dancing brooms that eventually met their demise on the campus of Kent State a few years later. The Seven Dwarves became the Chicago Seven Dwarves and went on trial for Fucking up Beethoven...and Donald Duck was banned in Sweden for not wearing pants. The Revolution was on...It was time for Mickey to turn on and drop out...and remember...you don’t need a weatherman or a mouseketeer to know which way the wind blows! The film of my silent mental movie broke as Art Deco cried out to a group approaching us from a hill dotted with small cacti and azul flowers I had never seen before, “OVER HERE! I’ve got Asrini and Maddie with me too. We made it. Tell the Rabbit!” The object or rather objects he was Gettysburg addressing were just making their way down a pale blue hill dotted with peyote cactus...I remember a Navajo friend of the old tribal school told me once..”No need to search for Peyote..the Peyote will find you!” He was right and I couldn’t wait to try this potent alien strain on for psychedelic size. With drugs, as with Armani Gemini Gucci Gumi Asteroidal suits...one size does not fit all. (I found out later the flowers were a highly potent strain of wild Soma plants.) As the strange group approached I noticed they were all females, undoubtedly the Rabbits Hymen Hutch of revolutionaries. Muscular and well built is putting it mild. These were marble sculptures in the flesh. The cream of the galactic crop kidnapped for the purpose of being transformed into Erotibot Sex Cyborgs but had managed to escape and had been holding the Tohos at bay for years eluding capture and liquidation...they were the last line of defense between us and the falcon and eventual freedom. I only hoped the ringleader, the enigmatic Rabbit would agree with my synopsis. I had a practice to return to, a manuscript I had to write for a book for Arthur to publish and utility bills long overdue. On top of all that I had to steal some more script pads from Doctor Ekins desk and I was more than ready for a week long fall down in the gutter binge of sex and drugs...now that’s entertainment if you’re a high school dropout mystery noir dick lit writer and a private eye with a public dick. Asrini gave the order to move forward and follow the female phalanx as they had stopped 50 yards away but motioned for us to come with them. “Don’t worry Doc. This is the easy part. Up the hill and across a stream and then “home plate” as you like to say,” she said with more sarcasm than I thought was necessary so rebutted with “Not home plate you sarcastic bitch, I always said I like to get First base . FIRST BASE..you know..and I’m sure you do know. Probably had more pucks in your net then most!” I could feel an edge in my voice that had me at the point of no return unless I held it in and smothered it with a pillow and let it grab it’s last gasp of volatile air. She was right though. It was all about sex. The universe is about sex and sex is a sport now and always has been. As we headed for the hillside I decided to engage Asrini once more in a battle of wits, knowing full well even on an intellectual playing field she’d kick my ass. “Look Asrini, I have noticed over the years a correlation between sex terminology and the lexicon of the locker room, but then again anyone who knows me also understands that I tend to find that common denominator in as simple a phrase as “Happy Meal” or “Gimme an F” or “Would you like that Biggie Sized?” Sports and sex are not strangers in a strange steroid laden bedroom of of boudoir frolic.” I was proud of the fact that I had the rollerballs to take her on and my momentum foolishly urged me on, lured in by her momentary silence and perturbed look. “In fact,” I continued, “The Holy Bible of Jockdom, Gladiator & Sports Galaxy Illustrated, is for the most part devoted to which college quarterback is being tapped for the Eagles or Packers, but the masses go for asses and the annual Nude Alien Edition bears or rather bares this out rather nicely. Tits and Ass will replace baseball stats every time!” I said emphatically. I was on a fucking roll. “We all remember the first time we made it to first base in the back seat of Buick? Even better, remember that first line drive and home run when you slide into home plate and your crowd of testosterone did the wave and your jumbotron went ballistic? Again, sports terminology got your batter, batter, batter up and you finally didn’t strike out! Let’s face it Asrini...these were the play offs and damned if you didn’t go for the gold for the penis pennant of victory or in your case, the Vaginal Olympic Gold!” Maddie was laughing and jumped into a private battle that now was no longer contained. It was turning into a carnal conflagration! “Hey Doc, don’t forget hockey. You did reference it Mr. Macho and isn’t it a coincidence that Puck rhymes with Fuck? After all the purpose of hockey is get your puck into Asrini’s net isn’t it? Using your big stick and getting your “puck” in her “net?” Maddie scored big time. She opened the floodgates and now Art, Wang Chung and Long Wang wanted a piece of me and the action deserting a sinking ship like wharf rats who’ve eaten too much heroin on the docks of Marseilles. Art Deco was a real fucking comedian. “Basketball is the best. I mean the whole purpose here is simple enough and that is to get your ball into her basket without an assist and without too much dribbling. Dribbling tends to spoil the mood.” At this last comment Long Wang decided to take the plunge filling in any conversational space to deny entry to any pregnant pause that may rise up and quell the anger and buffer the opposing teams. Already I was outmanned by two females and three transsexuals. I had to wonder, how many trannies does it take to screw in a lightbulb? I don’t know either and I wasn’t about to bend over and become a socket to find out. “I don’t know,” Long Wang bikini waxed poetically. “I find a little dribble goes along way to heighten a mood. Wang Chung now wanted in and was an avid fan of fabulon transsexual football. “Look, football speaks for itself..it has fabulous ladyboy cheerleaders and every Fubulon high school has a bevy of he/she cheerleaders and the best part is they’re almost legal aged! You also want to get the punt in the final down, sort of like being at the holographic drive-in in the backseat of a sex pod and the hologram is almost over and you want your fabulon to say it’s ok and make it seem like it is actually his/her idea..and unlike football a turnover is actually to your advantage. Kick, Punt, Kama Sutra!!” My gawd...Asrinis was laughing her sweet Asian ass off and Maddie was ready to roll over and masturbate in a field of hallucinogenic flowers and peyote! It was madness and Asrini made an encore appearance. “Don’t forget Doc. I know you sneak off to roller balls and roller derbys every chance you get. C’mon baby,” she said teasingly, “All that fuel injected estros sports entertainment. Amazon Queens ruling with an iron fist ..Betty Page’s with whip in hand...like the Falcon Doc, these are the things that YOUR erotic dreams are made of and there is something about an aggressive Female that piques your curiosity factor not to mention creating Yucatan erections stimulating and simulating a flag at full mast waving high in the dawn’s early light.” Damn her! She could see through me like a broken window. She knew all along I wanted to bang her and now it was public knowledge, or perhaps it had always been public knowledge except to me. Asrini got one final dig in…”Swimming? Don’t forget your backstroke and breaststroke and yes you are a breast man so time to dive in!” Asrini, remember that phrase “a bird in hand is worth two in the bush? Bullshit..my bird in my hand is not better than my bird in your bush!” There I practically said “I love you” in my own crass way and couldn’t back peddle now. They all laughed and Asrini replied..”Love you too Doc.” We continued to the hill and all I could think of to say to her, as yes, I was in love with her so I simply said. “Get off my back will ya?” Chapter 28 Plan Nine Out of your Mind: Meet Che Stadium & Col. Kurtz! Walking up the small hill was no easy task. I was used to concrete under my feet and level ground in a city that had the pungent odor of an inner city alley after a hobo convention of cheap comet concoctions that would make a Sterno wino think twice before taking another drink. It was a insensitive manly environment where danger lurked and testosterone could save a mans life or make him foolhardy enough to get his asphalt hardened cahones in a sling and leave him in the emergency ward with a couple of broken ribs. It was that rush of the unknown that appealed to the death wish side of my psyche. I didn’t want to know the future. Surprise me sweetheart! All around us were Soma plants in full bloom basking in the red sun of Robotia. I already felt light headed while the pollen drifted upwards as our tramping boots disturbed their slumber and we inhaled the intoxicant and let the Soma plant take root in our imaginations. I was certainly in a real surreal world but questions remained. Big questions. “Art,” I queried, “If all of you know about the rift in the universe, don’t the Tohos know as well how to get in here?” “The rift is fairly new Yucatan. Only discovered two years ago when a stranger who was trapped inside and drifted with it thanks to a faulty continuum and was found wandering about. He came through it quite by accident and showed us approximately where it was and is today. We keep it hidden and we used recon decoys in the past to lead the Tohos and the Erotibots far from it’s entry point while the rest of us did the jet pack boogie. Today the Tohos dont set foot in the Vortex and the Erotibots haven’t broken through our ghetto defenses. So far now at least we are ha, invisible and still they can’t pull the rabbit out of our mad hatter hat!” Arts tale was interesting enough and impressive I must admit but two nagging questions begged to be addressed and answered. Why in hell were we on foot when we could be jet packing blister free and who was the stranger that brought this drifting rift of a strange land with him and whatever happened to him. I had to know...my curiosity was hot and ready to break the pressure valve of polite decorum. “We don’ t use the packs for travel in here because we don’t know if the propulsion gases will cause enough edible pollution over time to eat away at it and have it go up in smoke leaving us visible and vulnerable. As for the stranger? His name was Ed Wood, Jr. “ Ed Wood I understood arrived with a cadre of cretins on the run from a nether realm in another quadrant on the planet Castroid. Ed was a revolutionary from a pathetic planet of droids whose artificial intelligence was similar to the Eroti-bots except for the fact they were not part humanoid, but pure mean machines that developed and learned to act on their own and whose primary goal was to enslave the humans on the planet and raise them as food for the munchie hungry cannabis cannibals from the Carnal Coitus solar system. Ed had designed a scheme to thwart the A-I’s. He called it Plan 8, plans 1-7 sucked and were scraped before they could be implemented. Not disillusioned he buggered on with other like minded revolutionaries. They formed a nucleus of combatants who planned to invade the island headquarters of the A-I high command, assume power and dismantle the machines. They attacked by boats in the dead dread of night and began the invasion at sunrise. They were promised drone support from a neighboring planet as who secretly funded and supported the project. Nobody wants a planetary threat a mere 90 days away from their orb. The promised air support never came and Ed and Che Stadium, his Soma addicted seconal in command, a few remaining troops hid out in the jungles planning their next move. This was when Ed Wood, designed his revolutionary Plan 9 while out of his mind in outer space. He built a large army of followers, mainly trashy transvestites and drug addicts and assorted sordid characters from the other planets nearby, including some a hardcore group of mercenaries called the Ru Pauls who arrived in black mesh stockings and angora sweaters and women's underwear led by a two headed hydra known far and wide as Glen and Glenda dressed in women’s clothing. It was the Flying Fagman from Outer Spaced! Joining GG as he liked to be called were some heavy hitters in the mercenary universe including the brassiere wearing Ro-Man-Wo-Man and his bubble blowing machines of death and the feared Killer Klowns from Outer Space...the Russian mafia of the galaxy. It was a drag queen extravaganza that under the big top of the cosmos will leave a lasting image of revolutionaries with two or more heads in space helmets wearing garters and fabulous angora sweaters...there will be monuments to Ed Wood, Space Revolutionary and Che Stadium, both in full drag..laughing their heads off. Unfortunately they were overwhelmed and defeated but miraculously, as will happen in space, Che discovered a vortex by accident where they could hide and he led the remaining fighters including Ed into into unaware of what lay ahead. It was Ed however who discovered that there many “doors” inside the vortex. Some leading to other dimensions..some to distant quadrants across the void of space ...some to other spaces and places in time. He became so familiar in fact he became a real Casey Jones driving this train when he discovered Robotia and the revolution. He and Che decided to hide out here, join forces with the revolutionaries and fight the Tohos and those errant Eroti-bots. When he met the Rabbit and she asked him why he would align himself with her forces, he said, “Look, I’m a revolutionary and an outlaw now...I'll be all around in the dark - I'll be everywhere. Wherever you can look - wherever there's a fight, so hungry people can eat, I'll be there. Wherever there's a cop beatin' up a guy, I'll be there. I'll be in the way guys yell when they're mad. I'll be in the way kids laugh when they're hungry and they know supper's ready, and when the people are eatin' the stuff they raise and livin' in the houses they build - I'll be there, too. just somethin' I been thinkin' about.” I couldn’t wait to meet this group...a pair of fishnets, and I don’t care who’s wearing them attitude and a rush of Soma makes any day interesting. As we reached the summit of Soma Hill we saw a precision military encampment laid out below us in a small verdant valley, not at all unpleasing to the senses. Crude huts dotted the panorama with a large lodge not unlike a small fortress commanded the enclave. We paused before making our descent into the plateau. “This is the Rudy Valley and that’s Ed Wood’s army and in the large building you’ll find Ed himself,” Art Deco informed us. “First line of defense to protect the Rabbit. Nobody would be able to break through.” We made our way down the north side of the hill and into the camp where we were immediately surrounded by a swarm of combat hardened vets. Asrini and Maddie ran ahead and started embracing individuals in the group while others came up to us shaking hands with Art, Lon Wang and Wang Chung. Again I was the odd man out and after much explaining of who I was and how I came infiltrate their peaceful, yet very wary existence I was welcomed with a few polite yet cautious grunts. “He’s OK,” Asrini assured them as only a woman can do, and that pin we made our guarded way to the “big lodge” by what I finally deduced was a rag tag band of juveniles. “These are rebels? They can’t be more than teenagers.” I whispered to Maddie. “They were teenagers when they arrived here. Buck up Yucatan, once here you remain at your present age, but once you leave your current actual age catches up to you.” Not only was I in parallel universe, but somehow had checked into the Heartbreak James Hilton Hotel in some time warped Shangri-La! The Peter Pan legacy of angst laden juveniles who fend for themselves was alive and well it seemed here in The Rudy Valley The pan-demonium of psychotics from Lord of the Flies to the Lost Boys to Alex and his violence prone Droogies in A Clockwork Orange. In all cases, these kids, these James Dean rebels with a cause are examples of the classic Pan Syndrome, just add pixie dust, mental illness and someone singin' in the rain, and you have all the ingredients. This cadre of kids never grew up, nor had reason to. They had it made to Never Land wearing tights that showed off a lost boys lost bulge in a region we now know as the Sansa Belt Action Zone. Is that a Peter Pan in your pants or are you just playing with your tinkerbell? These kids never made it with the prom queen to my knowledge and it was hilarious hermaphrodite homage at the very least and had all the potential for a gay bar in paradise lost at the most. Hey, it's 5 O'Clock Somewhere and happy hour is about to begin. Peter Pan himself couldn’t have done better. Not a tough Sam Spade character but more of a cross between a young Leo Dicaprio and Ru Paul. It's like having Mickey Rourke play Barbarella (now that could be interesting!) These kids, I found out later, were fierce fighters and the kind of Lord of the Flies comrades you’d want watching your back at all times. Most of the kids, homeless thanks to the war on their own planet started off as gentle and socialized but soon degenerated into wild animals like denizens from the Ninth Gate of Hell. The boys factionalize and the battle is on between conformity and individualism until they unite to fight a common enemy. One of those Red Scare things no doubt of Commies vs. Us paranoia scenarios of the early cold war 1950's of the 20th Century. I wonder how long they can stay united and not see begin to imagine me as an imaginary beast who eventually gets kidnapped by the gang of juvies so that tribute might be offered to an imaginary King Kong who is fookled into thinking I was a nubile white babe with pink nipples to fondle in his fortress of solitude, turning Fay Raye into a finger puppet, yes, use your own imagination, mine is busy right now with my own visual. Or worse I could end up in a "Clockwork Orange" scenario of violence that violates all our precepts of what violence is all about. Would we all be sacrificed to the god Kubrick as we become a carnal feast for the beast f gratuitous sex and violence permeating this fest of fetish as though it were the Fulton Fish Market in NYC on a hot windless August day. The Rudy Valley, where Peter Pan does a Vulcan Mind Meld with Charles Manson. If only I can find a pair of white pants to show off my Peter Pan in all its glory. Maybe if I start singing in the rain it will be safe. If not then I'll become a lost boy vampire and feed only during menstruation periods..a lost boys breakfast of champions! As we approached the lodge of Ed Wood, I could feel the tension in the air among my comrades. “Prepare yourself Yucatan.,” Long Wang advised quietly. “You’re about to meet Col Kurtz!!!” “The horror...the horror” I kept repeating to myself. What the hell...As long as Asrini was at my side I felt safe...besides I love the smell of feminine hygiene products in the morning! Chapter 29 Colonel Kurtz & A Pair of Apocalyptic Fishnets Now Music was assaulting and attacking from deep within the lodge hut of Kurtz. Loud and proud, louder as we closed the gap eliminating altogether the wide space across the barricaded compound as a smidgen of old White Out obliterates a writer’s spelling mistakes that arrive on a typewritten page quite by accident. I was plagued on this whole joyride with my head fronting as an antiquated pulsating neon jukebox in a dive bar. Someone invisible, tailing me in the dark perhaps followed me there and kept dropping old three plays for a quarter coin currency into a front slot to begin its journey at 45 RPM’s s the needle dropped into a groove. The music was a strange brew, a real he man brew of sound that I referred to as He Brew which was human he man music minus all the beards and dancing to Zero Mostel numbers. A sensational sensual sexual saxual saxaphonic saxaphone barfly broad on her last buck for the evening filling the empty seat next to me at the Pacifico bar in Detroit at one a.m. “Excuse me. I have to make a saxaphone call. Can you tell the bartender to keep the blues away from the piano please and do something about that trumpet!” “Doc? Doc?” Asrini had penetrated my thought trance. “Yeah, yeah. Here, present and accounted for.” It was then someone pulled the plug on the jukebox and I was aware of the deafening strains of Richard Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” at surround sound pounding from the compound emanating from a point dead ahead and our destination...the elusive Col. Kurtz. He commanded loyalty, perhaps out of fear maybe shared beliefs. Either way his followers would die for him, that was plain to see. They were Mouseketeers following blindly the evil version of Mickey Mouse. Why? Because they love and worship him. Who’s the leader of band? “C-O-L-O-N-E-L K-U-R-T-Z!” Our guard left us at the door and with one swift deft motion indicated we were to enter. Cautiously I pulled the bamboo door open only reveal a dark interior with wafts and whiffs of Uranian opium billowing from within and rising high in the air outside. As I peered deep into the moody blue colored smoke screen I noticed a rather large humanoid ensconced in its hallucinogenic aura. His head was as bald as a lunar landscape and he was mumbling under his breath to no one in particular, in fact to no one at all. I I could tell he was alone in his world. Those he had gathered around him were mere theatrical props and one dimensional actors on a Samuel Beckett minimalist stage reading their lines for the 350th performance on far out far off Broadway to the entranced patrons of the arts slumming for the evening in fancy dress and already drunk on F. Scott Fitzgerald booze engrossed in a nude performance of “Waiting for Godot” We entered his domain, the den of the lion, not knowing what his response to our intrusion would be. To my surprise he smiled broadly, acknowledging our existence. “Long Wang, long time, no see. Wang Chung you are a sight for these old eyes. Please, you and your friends...sit and relax. I knew you were coming. I could tell by all the activity in the Vortex.” “These are friends of mine Colonel. Asrini and Maddie, formerly Comred agents, and this rumpled character is Doc Yucatan. A detective from Retropolis who came along to help find the Falcon and of course the rabbit,” Long Wang explained. “I know all that already. The Toho’s sent an emissary under a flag of truce to make a deal with me for it’s return. In fact they made me an offer they didn’t think I’d refuse. I surprised them when I turned them down. They misjudged me. My son Fredo, who now works at a carnival as a barker running a tilt-a-whirl and guessing weights on Jupiter said we should take them up on their offer. I told him to never go against his family again!” Then as reading from a copious Coppola script he added “I've seen horrors, horrors that you've seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that, but you have no right to judge me. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror! Horror has a face, and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies.” He paused for that dramatic pregnant pause so cliche in film, then continued as an old vinyl record stuck in a groove “I worry that my son might not understand what I've tried to be. And if I were to be killed, Yucatan, I would want someone to go to my home and tell my son everything – everything I did, everything you saw – because there's nothing that I detest more than the stench of lies. And if you understand me, Yucatan, you will do this for me.The horror! The horror!” I felt like a grocery clerk at a checkout stand waiting for the customer to indicate paper or plastic. I sat quietly enjoying the opiated rush that soon consumed me as his monologue droned on...and on...and on. “I know have blood on your hands Yucatan. You must, I am never wrong about these things.” Col. Kurtz, as revolutionary Ed Wood, Jr. now called himself had frayed internal wiring and his mental connections no longer were traveling the same circuits. He went rogue while fomenting revolution along with his compadre Che Stadium on the planet Castroid with a band of hired juvenile mercs, escaped runaway Regulators. His focus got lost but he, Che and their army of delinquents found the rift in a strange vortex that had many escape hatches. One led to present day Robotia where he developed an army of annihilation aligned with the rebellious Rabbit. “I remember when I was on Castroid during the revolt Seems a thousand centuries ago. We went into a camp to inoculate the children. We left the camp after we had inoculated the children for polio, and this old man came running after us and he was crying. He couldn't see. We went back there and they had come and hacked off every inoculated arm. There they were in a pile: a pile of little arms. And I remember I...I...I cried. I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out. I didn't know what I wanted to do. And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it. I never want to forget. And then I realized, like I was shot — like I was shot with a diamond...a diamond bullet right through my forehead. And I thought: My God, the genius of that. The genius! The will to do that: perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized they were stronger than me, because they could stand it. These were not monsters. These were men, trained cadres — these men who fought with their hearts, who had families, who have children, who are filled with love — but they had the strength — the strength! — to do that. If I had ten divisions of those men our troubles here would be over very quickly. You have to have men who are moral and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to kill without feeling, without passion, without judgement. Without judgement! Because it's judgement that defeats us.” I felt as though I had heard this all before. I felt I was reincarnated as Charlie Sheen sitting an opium den waiting for a hooker, except this time I was the hooker. Long Wang noticed the look of fearful consternation on my facial facade. “He’s a genius Yucatan. I served with him in battle. He sees no grey, only black and white. His see only dialectic logic because there's only love and hate, you either love somebody or you hate them. He likes you because you're still alive.I mean, what are they gonna say about him, when he's gone, huh? What are they gonna say? Are they gonna say "he was a kind man"? "He was a wise man"? "He had plans"; "He had wisdom"? Bullshit, man! What are they gonna do when he's gone? One through nine, no maybes, no supposes, no fractions. You can't travel in space, you can't go out into space, you know, without, like, you know, uh, with fractions – what are you going to land on – one-quarter, three-eighths? What are you going to do when you go from here to Venus or something? That's dialectic physics.” I was trapped in a room loaded on opium with a space cadet Dennis Hopper explaining physics sitting cross legged across from me as a deranged Stephen Hawking tossing physics and philosophy on a creepy Marlon Brando compost pile hoping for cohesion. Asrini and Maddie listened in rapt attention. My fuse on the other hand was getting short. “Love to talk more but we have a mission and a deadline. Can you get us to the Rabbit or not?” The terse tension in my voice could not help but be noticed. Kurtz paused and I felt at any moment I would be hacked to pieces as a sacrificial water buffalo. “Tomorrow you will go. Tonight you feast at a fest here. The Falcon and the Rabbit are safe I assure you. 12 hours will not matter. Now we fest. So leave your guns here and bring along the Canolis. It’s party time!” Chapter 30 Che Stadium and the Rudy Valley Orgy We got up to ready ourselves for the feast, groggy and high already when the elusive Che Stadium walked into the hut resplendent with full beard and cigar in mouth and a smile as wide as the gulf between Retropolis and Luna. I swore he looked like a pop culture t-shirt I had hanging in my closet back on Retropolis in my apartment at the Buckminster Fuller Memorial Dymaxion Hotel next to the YMCA on Lower Mama Cass Ave. in Old Detroit. His smile was as infectious as an airborne virus. “If you all will accompany me as our guests it is our honor to have you join us.” Good gawd he was as smooth as a chamber of commerce salesman at a snake oil medicine show or Kiwanis convention in Kalamazoo. “Che, good to meet you,” I said guardedly. “But I do have one question, OK many questions but first where the hell are we. No one has actually been forthcoming on it?” He laughed one of those “don’t cry for me Argentina” laughs as he answered with the obvious pride reserved only for mighty Mongol conquerors who’ve dealt a deadly blow to those Germanic tribes of ancient yore along the Danube “You’re in the Village Compound of Suk Muk Dic in the lower Rudy Valley located in a rift in a vortex of riff raff and many many degenerate revolutionaries. I hope that answers your question. As for exact coordinates, unfortunately that I can’t tell you. Oh, not that it’s classified or anything. It’s a simple fact that longitude and latitude don’t exist here. It’s a fluid universe wrapped in a cocoon with a spun web of time and space fluctuations. Ha, the more realistic response would be is that we are in a burrito with loose meat falling out of one end except the burrito keeps repairing itself.” Even his voice had the Latin swagger of a Desi Arnaz and Benicio Del Toro as did his steady bearing and “walk the walk talk the talk” gait in rumpled military fatigues and mud encrusted combat boots. I noticed Maddie looking long and hard at his khaki ass while I drooled for a cigar and a bottle of rum SOMA and a naked latin lover senorita with breasts as big as pinatas. “Here. Have a copy of my book,” Book? What book? He proceeded to pass out tiny breast pocket sized books with plaid covers to all of us with a curious title. “How to Talk Dirty and Create Revolution and Influence People” by Che Stadium. “I call it my Little Plaid Book. Tactics and strategy and psyops in the first half, and a collection of Rodney Dangerfield jokes in the back. Love his routines….got a whole holographic collection of his. Great philosopher of the 20th Century,” Che said proudly...and obviously plaidly. “Take my book...please!” Where are the rim shots when you expect them? Loose the dirty comic and bring on the strippers with so many vericose veins showing that her legs look like they’re wrapped in road maps. Oh look, on the left inner thigh...it’s Pittsburgh! How best to describe the hours leading up to dawn before our Falcon foray would come to fruition… let me take a shot at it. Pure unadulterated ramped up rampant debauchery enjoying an overdose of sexual amphetamines laid out on a banquet table with a tasty yet bizarre selection of sexual offerings of near voodoo practices among the village people of Suk Muk Dic that our party was not only privy to, but would also be engaged in as willing and active participants leaving us panting for more . These sexual practices were brought to this planet by Kurtz and Che, implemented as ritual and are referred to in the village as “the bedroom arts” complete with repetitive chants … “Does your poontang have a yen for yin or a thang for yang?” and “Do you ching? I Ching” The Kurtz brand of sexual activity has been around since the last Ice Age on Castroid. It certainly heats things up enough to melt a Polar Ice Cap on Mars. I call it Sex on the Rocks, and bartender, I’ll have whatever she’s having as long as it’s Yin Yang Poontang. I do not celebrate celibacy. Poontang for everyone Barkeep ...set 'em up! As for the missionaries...burn them at the stake and Let's Party with a Game of Naked Twister where your yin (if you're lucky) may end up in somebody's yang! The followers of Kurtz were pioneers when it came to free love and free sex where for three days it was a time of nudity combined with wild, three ring circus sexual activity. (Unfortunately we had to leave in the morning.) The sexual positions are enhanced with mating calls and words. For example, if a hulking Suk Muk Dic resident came up to you says, “Me want do it as does the deer!” Ok, we know it today as Doggie style but I guarantee you if you meet a young lady in a singles bar back in old Detroit and say “Me want do it as does the dog” You’ll get knocked off a bar stool..now if she says in reply, “German Shepard or Standard Poodle” ...you know you’re in Amigo!! The rituals are however sexy as hell where you are encouraged to have a romp or two to manifest manhood and appease the gods of placenta. I spent many pleasurable nights in Tokyo worshipping at the Gonzo Ganja Ginza so can only imagine the results of these daily fornication frolics. Some say the practices began, hidden perhaps in Tibet high on a mountain top where only the 102nd Dalai Lama knows it’s treasured secrets..hell no wonder he’s peaceful, he is contented and administered by virgin concubines who know the hidden secrets of sexual positions and secretions. No wonder he’s smiling all the damned time. Forget the butterfly effect..in the world of fornication festivities down on the carnal commune they also engage in what is referred to as “bundling” (I can hear it now..”wanna bundle baby? Your sack or mine?”) Bundling is a bizarre practice where young couples of the Rudy Valley compound who intend to mate and marry with fuel injected hormonal tendencies, natural sexual curiosities and innate exploratory factors regarding the opposite sex can screw one another with the caveat that they are bound in space blankets on a bed with a force field separating them to prevent their sex organs from breaching the Berlin Wall to get drunk on the elixir of lustful libido mainly to prevent the groom from having his foray bungling in the bundle jungle. Dawn comes early when you’re running on empty. After a night of sheer energy and ecstasy it was time to sober up, put a lock on our libidos and gyroscoping genitals to make the trip to the Rabbit Hole. Che would lead the way with a small platoon. He arrived to get us ready and damn if he didn’t look like he had slept for hours in a fountain of youth, refreshed and invigorated while I must have looked like I spent the night in a flophouse fighting off wino’s and thieves until daybreak. Art Deco was as decadent as they come and prefered his “own” company while Long Wang and Wang Chung had each other to yin each others yang. Asrini and Maddie? Well, while I was engaged in sexual exploits with Sela Ward look alike twins into the wee smalls… they had doubled up with couple of blond Nordic looking bi-sexual beach boy type hulks, probably canal surfers on Mars. I never saw bigger smiles on a woman’s face until that morning. Perhaps after we get back home I’ll take up surfing and wax my woody too. We hoisted our packs on our backs, checked our weapons, and headed out of the Rudy Valley to our destiny ahead. Little did I know that I was about to walk in front of a careening Iron Butterfly bus driven by a drug addled driver named Pink Floyd...the maddest hatter of them all. Chapter 31 Morning Rush Hour at the Revolution We got underway early with the heat of the red sun of Robotia already steady as it pierced the sunrise and leveled the horizon. Che Stadium led the way with his band of merry men who would run interference should we happen to run into a freight train of hellfire from Toho “to protect and serve and kill” recon teams who may have breached the rift. I suggested a pile of donuts for a bait trap to delay them just in case this should happen, but as Che so succinctly pointed out...we had to move fast, no time for Krispy Kreme dreams. “We’ve got to move fast,” he said. “I’ve heard from intelligence that Narco Marx and Joel Faberge had offered their services as well to the Tohos along with the Com-Reds. We were now deep in the shithouse and only one direction left on our compass ...straight ahead.” I wasn’t about to argue. Narco was a formidable foe, not a faux foe by any stretch of any imagination. It didn’t take long for the machismo to start oozing arguing over directions. Che declared, “We’ll take the Geo/Time Rift and be there before you know it.” His proclamation, though convincing was questioned by Long Wang. “If we take the GWB Rift we’ll get there a lot faster.” To which Maddie added, “The Dan Ryan Rift will avoid the morning rush and flux. It can be a real bitch this time of day!” Wang Chung, wanted to take the Chinatown Tunnel rift to pick up some egg rolls but his fortune cookie was overruled by Che, the Latino leader who craved a breakfast burrito that you could only get once inside the Geo/Time barrier at a place called “For Whom the Taco Bell Tolls” Then the whining of the wailing wall began as Hymie Hymen Swartz, one of Che’s platoon leaders declared that the Breakfast Blintz at the “Cheeses of Nazareth” deli was to die for but only available by taking the Bris Boulevard exit after entering the Golda Meir Gateway Rift. Dublin Donohue suggested the Irish Eyes-Danny Boy Rift where everything was bright and gay...Long Wang agreed, for obvious reasons and Gino Dino Gambino wanted to go made guy all the way and take the Fongool Forgettaboutit Freeway rift near the Santa Luciano Coney Island where the gelato gushes from geysers and the Meyer Lansky Memorial Hot Dog Stand where a chili dog is not just a frozen chihuahua. I knew this trip was gonna be a real Alice in Wonderland bitch! Rabbit Hole. What kind of a name for a Vortex Hole in the Wall gang of revolutionaries is that? Was I really going to finally meet this illusory bombastic babe who was giving the universe a kick in the status quo balls in the name of revolution? Would we actually get our hands on the famed Falcon? Would we even come out of this alive? While I was lost in my own conundrum contemplating our quandary my Vidpod rang. It was Sandoz back at the office. “Doc, you’re still alive. Arthur hadn’t heard anything for days from you and I normally wouldn’t call but something happened you might be interested in.” By now my curiosity was getting curiouser and curiouser. “We got a client who actually paid us cash?” I could sense the muffled guffaw stuck in his craw. “”Ha, no way. I man came by last night with a package for you. Actually some kind of object wrapped in old newspaper. Said you would be glad to have it but I should hide it until you got back, so I gave it to Ivana to stash at her place.” I acknowledged his news but he continued somewhat cautiously. “Then this morning the police found him dead in our alley. Vaped. All ID missing. Inspector Bill Burroughs came by earlier nosing around to see if we knew anything about it and also...also...he wanted to know why you skipped the planet? I think he thinks you had something to with it. The murder I mean.” I guess I got a little more than defensive. “Sandoz, don’t tell him a thing. About me, the Falcon and especially where I am. I’ll clear it all up when we get back. Give him a couple of space bucks if he comes around again. He likes a good bribe as well as the next cop. Look gotta go. Heading into a vortex rift and may lose my signal. We’ll be back in a couple of days and hopefully with good news...hopefully alive and not in an acrylic pine box.” Goddamn Burroughs..always riding my ass. No time to figure out who the dead man in the alley was or what he brought to the office in a pseudo cloak and dagger Dashiell Hammett reenactment. All that was missing was a battered trench coat, heavy fog and and that damned blues saxophone music I keep hearing since I began telling this story! Asrini knew there was trouble. She could read my face as well as Helen Keller could finger her way through a braille lesbian porn mag. “Trouble?” she asked. “Real trouble sister,” I replied. “I’ll deal with it later. Just a dead guy in an alley and a mysterious package, and it ain’t even my birthday.” We arrived at the vortex rift Che Stadium had chosen democratically by eliminating Long Wang and Wang Chung’s suggestions scientifically by a few rounds of paper, rock, scissors. I was beginning to hate these vortex forays. It was like passing through a wall of Jello and placenta and when you got through it you were momentarily dizzy and confused. Art Deco was the only one who seemed to enjoy the experience. But then again he’d probably enjoy putting his head in a cannon to see how far it would travel without his body attached. Into the Vortex we went and emerged in a verifiable mental institution of fantasy. I was waiting to see my first Cheshire Cat or Mad Hatter. I remember the tale from long ago. A newer version called “Wonderland Does Alice!” In this fantastic tale a young girl falls down the rabbit hole of puberty (code for loosing her virginity and lands in a fantasia world that would have been Mainstreet USA to Timothy Leary. The imagery and characters have a certain psychedelic panache surrounding them. The story is just one in a long line of storybook children that would end up as a missing child on a milk carton with a full Amber Alert "Don't talk to strangers" ...yeah Alice, that Mad Hatter is about as strange as they come..."Just Say NO to Drugs" and here is your DARE t-shirt Alice...so what does she do...spends time with a hookah smoking caterpillar. Promiscuous? Of course she was...she only got larger so those below could peek up her gingham and gander. Watch out...that rabbit is looking for a hole! So save those milk cartons...you never know when they might become part of your family album. Drop a hit of acid or mescaline and turn on and tune into Wonderland...don't forget to bring the hookah and the condoms Amigos, along with Alice's training bra! We had stepped through more than a rift in a vortex. It was a strange and mysterious land. It took time for my head to clear and when I was fully aware of where we were a thin man with a thin tie holding a thin cigarette with voice with an edge and staccato delivery of words that have been carefully crafted and formulated into sentences as powerful as a literary Gatling machine gun. “Welcome. You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination.” What the hell was he talking about? He was obviously high on something. He never cracked a smile. “Che, who is this guy? Is he crazy?” I asked in a high soprano voice of disbelief. "Look Yucatan, there is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area we call the Rabbit Hole Twilight Zone,” Che explained just as Art Deco cried out, “Look! That's the signpost up ahead ...our next stop, the Twilight Zone!" The thin man with the thin tie led us along a thin patch through a small village worthy of P.T. Barnum. We met a plethora of amazing and bizarre characters. Mock Turtles, flamingos doubling as croquet mallets, a dope smoking caterpillar and everywhere signs...Eat Me! Drink Me! but none that said Bite Me or Fuck You. I only hoped I had time to get loaded on some of their hallucinatory inventory. I could only imagine growing in size and shrink in size (how cool is that?). At the edge of the village there was a caterpillar smoking a multi-stemmed pipe, the kind Turks use (it must have been the hookah that hooked me) and a Cheshire cat sporting a Lenny Bruce shit eating grin as if he just got back from Disneyland and had a corn dog and ate Mickey on a stick in one giant gulp. Finally we came up on the Rabbits encampment. We moved at parade pace and as carefully as possible so as not to alarm anyone and have a phalanx of phallic removing lasers shot at our midsection Then, for the first time I saw her….the Rabbit sitting on a riverbank with one of her captains passing a hash pipe back and forth as spoke with a fully clothed talking rabbit with a pocket watch. I know a few of us out there have experienced the same thing or something similar while in a drug induced altered state ourselves but in this rift it was a reality. She notices us and gets up to leave with the rabbit down a hole. “Follow her,” Che said and we did, free falling all the way. When we landed we ended up in a hallway with more doors to open then Monty Hall has. Or even the Halls of Montezuma. We found keys, lots of keys, and found one that unlocked a door that led to a garden, of marijuana but we were too big, in fact we were giants by comparison and can't reach the ganja so we have to go gonzo to get the goods. Art Deco sees a bottle that says Drink Me, probably a bottle of skid row booze from a Bukowsk bum wine stash. We empty the bottle with the style and grace of Tom Waits on downers, and damned if we don’t begin to shrink and our qualms are calmed like a handful of Quaaludes. The problem now is that we are too small to reach the key to the garden on the table high above now that we are the size of Thumbelina. Thankfully there is a piece of cake that says "Eat Me" on it...I've said that myself a time or two, both in anger on the street as well as passion in bed. I prefer the bedtime version. We eventually gain entry to the Ninth Gate of Wonderland Hell Now it gets real Cheech and Chongy as we run into a blue caterpillar this time with a purple hookah. The damn thing also talks and like any good pusher in a school yard offers us free samples of a mushroom guaranteed to get us blasted higher than a kite, while the other piece will bring us down to normal size. All this growing and shrinking has played havoc with us….imagine how the Rabbit feels as her tampon which doesn’t shrink her body does...especially during the shrink process ..she probably looks like a bomb pop popsicle on a stick or as a sexy lollipop to whet my appetite. This vortex rabbit hole Wonderland was no Woodstock, you can be certain of that. I've taken mucho Soma and Anterian acid in my time and saw the Space Needle in Seattle melt before my very blood shot eyes...I saw Haight Street lift up off the ground and fly into the air...and I even floated encased in a soap bubble over Golden Gate Park, but ,damned if I ever smoked a bowl with a blue caterpillar or did smack with a talking cat. I don't know what Alice was on but we would have paid any price for a hit of that shit… We were now offically in the hole and Art Deco did a little victory dance while Asrini smiled as if she were Yoda hiding a secret and Maddie was breathing heavily in anticipation of something. Wang and Long hugged each other and Che Stadium looked about ever vigilant for anything wrong. I on the other hand kept thinking about a mysterious bundle delivered to my office and a dead man in the alley that I was sure Inspector Burroughs felt I had something to do with. I don’t vape delivery boys. In fact, I tip them with petty cash in my desk just as I do a waitress or a hooker. Now that we were within arms reach of the Falcon we were approached by one hell of a good looking rumpled female revolutionary ...the Rabbit herself. I wanted to be in her hutch from my first look. She noticed my salivating look and disguised heavy breathing. She walked up to me smelling of gunpowder and marijuana and wonderland sweat…”So, you’re Doc Yucatan.,” she said with broad smile of sunshine that melted my heart and fired up my libido. She put her arms around me and led us all to her headquarters. Half way there she whispered in my ear…”Hey Doc, "Is that a mad hatter in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?" Chapter 32 What’s Up Doc? I was beyond disbelief! I was thrown bound and gagged off a Detroit riverfront dock and had washed up ashore battered and bloody somewhere downriver in the past amid a pile of nostalgic debris. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, as puzzled as a finger painting mental patient attempting to comprehend the theory of relativity. She put her hands on her hips striking a pose reminiscent of a sleek, insatiable sexual panther. Delicious hips that invited exploration, which I might add I had held, kissed and savored in the long ago. It was Novira, a real ray gun blast from a sultry sex soaked past. “I’m the Rabbit, Doc. What did you expect when you left me without even a fuck you goodbye wham bam thank you maam Hallmark greeting card in New York. Think I’d wait for you forever? Life goes on, and indeed it went on asshole... even without the arrogance of the high and mighty Doc Yucatan.” Asrini looked at both us, from one to the other, with a rapidity I thought would make her head spin spewing like Linda Blair’s. “Wait a minute. Don’t tell me you two know each other?” Asrini practically screamed. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Maddie had her head down and was facing away from us, but could see the edge of her lip had morphed into a knowing smile. I always hated those “knowing smiles.” They stink worse than a garbage barge of psychological refuse that’s been at anchor in New York harbor in the heat of August for days left to rot until wharf rats with trenchcoats run rampant devouring the putrid remains of a few missing persons left amid the acrid floating garbage / slash / graveyard of New York’s homeless and unwanted and not missed. I had met Windsora (now the “Rabbit”) over 2O years ago in Old Detroit. She was a newly arrived Indonesian woman who was recently divorced from a Canadian Innuit husband who had a propensity for violence and that violence left it’s mark on her face and and a lasting wound on her soul. Windsora fled the border, crossed the river to Detroit and as she could type faster than Pee Wee Herman could come in a darkened adult theater and gave my imagination a sexual working over with a rubber hose of sensuality, I naturally hired her on the spot as my first secretary. I had just opened my own private practice along with my partner Sandoz who was nothing more than a disbarred attorney but a real artist at doctored bookkeeping...for tax purposes you understand. Soon Novira and I were lovers and did everything together. We were inseparable. That is until it came to talk of marriage. I was pretty strung out on drugs and barely keeping the agency alive and afloat and I was certainly not sober nor ready for a commitment, and told her as much. In an attempt to rekindle the fire of passion I had just pissed on, we took a red-eye to New York from Detroit one night. I, for an East Coast romp no strings attached..she with an emotional rodeo rope ready to ride me into marriage. Saddled, bridled and broken into a corral of domesticity. That’s the night I walked out of her...no, out of OUR life and into the dark of the night forever after she was sound asleep from the afterglow of sex and the head numbing effects of Soma. I thought I was free...but I never was..she was always there and would remain in my heart. Now this gentle lady stood before me in full tom-boy battle fatigues leading a revolution! She looked sexier than ever. Sweat and her intoxicating sex smell were drawing me in again. Asrini was confused. I was confused. I never knew about her daughter and Asrini never knew about her mother! “You’re my sister,” Asrini said. “You never told me you knew Doc.” Now it was my turn to be confused. I shot a puzzled angry look at Asrini “I thought you said your sister’s name was Mary Asteroid? She was kidnapped and being held by Narco Marx...Look baby, no one could hold this prized filly down. Why the hell did you make up all this crap. If I had a grapefruit right now I’d smash it in your face!” Angry...you bet your life I was angry. I was living color livid and my blood was boiling and worse, I lost my erection! Windsora stepped closer, I could feel her warm breath my face as she mediated by breaking into the line of verbal fire. “Doc, calm down. After you left me I wanted to get as far away from you and Detroit as I could. My heart couldn’t stand it. So I came to Robotia to start a new life. Hell, Erotibots aren’t all bad, but, I did have an affair with a married taxi driver that began one night. I met him on my way to the Robot Met. He was also from Canada so we had a lot in common. He was a real buff Eskimo from Banff, and was as sexually hungry as a polar bear in heat.” Already I could feel my non-erect member running for cover. “Yeah. I can understand that,” I said feigning faux sympathy. “But...what about all this “sister” line of crap Asrini’s been forcing down my throat? You never told me about a sister!” I was red with rage by now. “Salmon Rushdie, that was my husband’s name, eventually ended our relationship when he ran off with a female wrench wench down at the garage at the taxi stand. We weren’t married but we did have a child..Asrini….she is my daughter.” She turned to Asrini and touched her cheek gently, much as she had touched mine in the past. You could feel the protons, electrons and neutrons of love in her touch. “I didn’t want you to know you were a bastard child so brought you up as..well, your big sister telling you our parents were killed in Boston in a space shuttle collision with a drunken astronaut, a Scottish engineer named Scotty from a starship whose five year mission it was to explore space and go boldly where no man had gone before. Instead he had a few too many one night at the Roddenberry Bar in Roxbury. At least that is what I told you. Forgive me? Please?” Asrini was stunned, but I would see forgiveness flowing inside of her as she hugged her mother-sister. I was ready to explode with questions. “Why in hell am I involved in all this..this ...bizarre family reunion?” Windora paused and began pacing the floor. “I wanted my daughter back and safe with me. She had left Robotia and had embarked on her own career with Com-Red on Retropolis as you know, but along the way she met and fell in love with Vector Laslo whose underground movement she had infiltrated and as love is powerful, she changed sides. She was now wanted for sedition by the Com-Reds and that means certain death by vaporization after a few weeks of torture.” The pregnant pause that followed was about to explode in a pinata loaded with emotional placenta. “I had met Maddie here on Robotia and we were lovers for a time and are still friends. In fact she and Asrini were also lovers when they worked in tandem as double agents. Maddie recruited me when the Revolution broke out. In time I discovered I had a real knack for strategy and planning attacks, successful ones I might add. So that’s the long and short of it.” Windsora mainly wanted to save Asrini and get her here safely I surmised and I was correct. “I planned this whole ruse with Maddie. Between you and her, I knew you would get her here safely away from the Com-Reds and I knew no harm would come to her with you two watching her back. I also needed to get the Falcon out of here and away from the Toho’s and any government that wanted to use it for power over benevolence. So Maddie planned it all out. We got in touch with Asrini through our network. She still believed I was her sister and we made up the cover story that I was kidnapped by Narco Marx so she would not hesitate to come here. I knew Narco wanted the Falcon more a three legged dog wants a three legged bitch, so we leaked false information about a reward for my capture. There is no reward...only shoot to kill, but we wanted to draw Narco into the web in hopes of killing him and being rid of him and I knew if he realized you and my “sister” were coming to rescue me he would fabricate a story to grab the whole prize. The Rabbit, the Falcon, and he had a massive hard on for Maddie.” I was astounded. “He also said he’d kill me, why? What the hell did I do?” “Nothing Doc. Once he had the Falcon in hand, and had me and Asrini killed, and Maddie in his bed, you were the only person left who knew the truth. You, and now Art Deco. You could give that information to the Tohos who would have Narco arrested and in the bargain they would regain possession of the Falcon and squash the revolution.” I felt that fat ass fez wearing son of bitch Narco was lying. Windsora continued, “The Com-Red were close to capturing Asrini for sedition and being a double agent. We sent a message to her with instructions to look you up and gave her the money for your fee. Now you can return with the Falcon and Asrini if she wants to, but I know she is in love Vector Laslo. They really are a perfect couple dedicated to the cause. He’s on Retropolis now in the neutral zone.” It was all clear now...the fog was lifting...I was hit with an emotional 2 x 4 but was regaining my comprehension slowly decompressing as a diver in bell returning to the surface after a journey to the bottom of a deep ocean. Asrini was in tears...I started tearing up as was Maddie and Novira. We were all a mess. I started laughing and crying at the same time. My love making with Rini was as sweet as it was with Windsora. I felt I had been to bed sweating up the sheets in the Paul Simon song “Mother and Child Reunion” Mother and daughter we’re sexual bookends and I still loved them both. “In the morning you will return home with the Falcon which I will give you tonight but tonight we celebrate as a family. A lot of catching up to do! Maddie will go with you to help on the journey. You OK Doc, Asrini?” We both looked at each other and smiled. “Never better Windsor,” I managed, “Never better” I was lying not only to her but to myself. My head was in dervish mode….out of control. A few tranqs would level my mental playing field and went to my room to change and tranq up and let the day’s events sink in. Sink in? I was in emotional quicksand up to my neck and sinking fast...
Chapter 33 The Tale of the Canadian Exodus
Windsora was young when I met her. Hell we both were, and we both had a Jupiter sized chip on our shoulder daring each other to knock it off...but, we were in love and had our whole lives ahead of us, and both of us loved a good scrap and fight. She was barely out of her teens and as salivatingly sexy as a beautiful Asian nymphette could be. You know the kind, you’ve seen her in the produce aisle at the supermarket. Sexy black hair, deep brown eyes squeezing defenseless cantaloupes while you fantasize about playing with her melons and copping a great feel before you move on to the frozen food section pushing a cart with a broken wheel. She’s the kind who who could heat up a pair of Swedish meatballs faster than a microwave oven set on nuke. Her sexually was subtle, but simmering, hot lava pouring from a volcano. She did have a rabid curiosity about politics, science and social injustice. I was only fixated with getting her under the space blankets as much as she was wet for geo-political theory and quantum physics. Our relationship was a delicious Lady and the Tramp trek into the exploration of human political exploitation and spelunking into the hidden caves of her sexuality punctuated with explosive and explicit love making, unbridled and unchained, sex with her was like tossing a piece of raw meat into a lion’s cage...Windsora, like her daughter Asrini was the lioness devouring my own sense of sexuality and she swallowed me whole at the same time . She was more erotic than a Swedish sex film...but after all, Sweden in the 20th Cent banned a cartoon character by the name of Donald Duck for years because he didn't wear pants! Half of Retropolis on a hot Centauri summer night in Detroit can’t wait to get out of their pants and into someone else’s. She was as curious about the world and politics as she was about sex, a deadly combination for a post teen, that fosters a burning desire to save the world by getting involved in social issues while simultaneously ending up sexually aroused with a bad case of "fire in the hole" She had a voracious sexual appetite and can proudly say she took me where no man has gone before.... In between her sexual acrobatics she studied politics and revolution, peace and morality. She had and still has an aversion for Dystopia and is on a quest to right the wrongs of the entire godless universe One day after I left her in that New York hotel room, Windsora left Retropolis for Robotia, where as fate would have it she met Maddie Harry just as revolution was simmering like a pot of hobo stew. They met while Jet Packing in the park and fell in love. Maddie had been involved in a few agency approved and some non-sanctioned tawdry affairs. One such personal affairs was with a Toho politician...who was not quite in tune with Toho;s sinister practices of kidnapping galactic females for conversion to cyborg Erotibot prostitutes. They had common ground. In time she discovered he had another woman on the side, so she left him. Her sexual appetite is now going unfed so takes up meditation and yoga. I guess there is solace in meditation, but, why meditate when you can masturbate? The whole story began to unfold as the Soma and weed began to take effect on all of us loosening their tongues faster a plumber can free a u-joint on a clogged up drain. Windsora’s eyes lit up as she regaled us of their affair. “After I met Maddie and became comrade in arms and bed partners I sent for my daughter Asrini, whom I had placed safely with relatives on Retropolis in Detroit when I fled Canada. She moved back here, with myself and Maddie, still under the impression I was her big sister, attending school here until she graduated, relocated and enrolled in the Com-Red Intelligence Agency against our wishes.” Asrini explained in her Soma soaked raspy voice that put my libido in orbit. “I, thinking I could change Dystopia for the better from within. You know infiltrate and save the world, ha. What a joke!” Idealism is a wonderful thing until emotions and passion cloud the issues. “While I was on a covert assignment when I met Vector Laslo.” Asrini explained. Damn, he was so dashing and handsome. He could talk a good game and banter with the best of them with a rapid fire semi automatic wit and charm that completely captivated me. He would be perfect for Dos Equis beer commercials! I believed in him, and his cause so decided to leave Com-Red and simply vanished, I thought.” The Agency was soon onto her and they wanted her on a cold hard slab in a Detroit morgue. She was on the run now, her mother-sister was underground with Maddie Harry, while orb hopping revolutionary bon vivant Vector was always one step ahead of the agencies out to do him in beer glass in hand. Maddie was already a legend in the galaxy, but together with Windsora, they were something else all together. So what is this fantastic fascination with lesbianism we seem to crave more than we crave banana splits? Maddie said she experienced her first budding lesbian relationships in a boarding college with a roommate. “One night after hitting the books we decided to hit on each other and from there love grew like a mighty sexual redwood. I was also engaging in a sexual affair with my lesbian college prof who was conducting other lesbian concertos while making William No-Tell overtures to me.” The hymen symphonies conducted by the professor, who was a vagina virtuoso, were apparently well tuned while her sexual performances were standing room only. In the end she was "outed" by the administration and admonished for her indiscretions. She was told to turn in her credentials and hit the road. Imagine what would have happened to her in 20t Century America's deep south bible belt? Burned at the redneck stake! Now if it takes place in a fantasy booth in old San Francisco's North Beach, I would have paid good money for that peep show. Windsora is now completely smitten with Maddie and is thrown into the pubic briarpatch and soon they are under the covers of discovery copping females feels after they had both experienced brutal sex with men. So they do what comes naturally after such altercations. They become delicious lesbians, but, in one of those get your mind out of the gutter 360 degree turnarounds, they find more than sex. They also found true love and understanding. All this unfolding during the 3rd Dystopian sexual revolution that was revolting to the establishment of the hypocritical homophobes and pubic pious who considered lesbianism pornographic and not romantic. The left wing, the liberals and the lesbian community however won the battle and the legions of lesbians were clitorious victorious, Asrini however was my main sexual focus, at one time it was Windsora, and recently my attention also focused on Maddie. All three defined the sexual revolution by breaking on through to the other side of the looking glass of conformity. Lesbianism, and multiple sex partners...these three exploded d with much more freedom of expression and free speech..along with a dose of free love and political revolution... my doors of sexual perception were already unlocked...Asrini, Windsora and Maddie..move over and save me spot in bed!
Chapter 34 Last Tango in Robotia
It takes two to tango when you’re tangled up in the space sheets, and I was counting on at least one more dance with Rini that night before making our way back to Retropolis but...there was always the Laslo factor. Victor had penetrated the Rini vector long before I came along and knew he had to be on the perimeter of Rini’s mind at all times. All the love making we had enjoyed on Barbarella was probably fading fast into a landfill of mere sexual encounters encountered along the way of her vast career of espionage. We freshened up in the guest huts cleaning off the grime and dirt from the previous days battle in the Vortex. We were drenched in the smell of electronic laser emissions and the faint perfume of gun powder. It was nice to feel almost humanoid again...we put our clothes in the Dymaxion dry air washers and soon I felt as fresh a as dapper Cary Grant instead of Mickey Rourke after splashing around a Bukowski booze soaked dreamscape. Rini was absolutely stunning! She is a garden of breathtaking tropical beauty taunting the senses in symphonic harmony joined by the chorus of song of birds that would sing to her accompanied by the kiss of the wind in the chimes. She can best be described as a beautiful Indonesian garden of flowers scented with the perfume of the Asia. She had already affected my heart, leaving a lasting footprint as she had carved a gentle path to my soul that would lead me to a gentle wondrous valley of love and peace and inner contentment. I was merely her Western shadow. She was poetry in motion. I was the sunrise in the West, she the western sunset in the East. I was a lust filled volcano and she is the hot lava that consumed me. I was “heart-stabbed” at first glance. The deep pools of brown in her eyes complimented the intoxicating tan brown texture of her soft body. Her spirit shot me out of the sky, and I had tumbled to earth helpless and willingly in love at her feet. I knew I was her captive now, and my heart and soul now belonged to only her even though we came from two different worlds that had collided like fiery comets blasting through the solar system. We made sweet, gentle unhurried love before we joined the others for the going away party Winsora had planned for us. The Robotian sunset began casting cooling shadows as we lay in bed after a tango of love making, her head of beautiful hair resting comfortably on my chest.We were also two different races and after the sex I had to admit...I was totally immersed in her...I was in love! I had never known such beauty until I met and fell in love with her. All along I thought it was just a physical attraction, but damn...love. Neither one of us could tell who would get killed first given our lines of work...was there a future at all for us? For the galaxy? Was it all to be given to us only to have it hijacked by interstellar events out of orbit, out of synch, out of our control? What about Victor Laslo? I’d worry about him later. Right now I held Rini’s small hand and it was time to join the others. The Neptunian wine flowed and our senses waxed and waned with each glass. Home grown galactic ganja lifted our spirits higher than a street preacher loaded on Jesus and Sterno. Rini and I took our place around the blazing bonfire, the smell of roasting pigs from Pluto brought gastronomical anticipation to a new level. The entertainment? It was enough to make a Hydra loose a head or two. Sexy cyborg females, danced and performed. Move over Salome, and take yur seven veils with you. These Venusian vixens, former kidnap victims and transformed sex prisoners of Robotia were now liberated . They were now rebels recruited by Windsora and now carry Link Wray guns as a fashion accessory for a walk down the revolutionary runway. Tonight, they put that all aside, in our honor and with such sensual half human mecha-precision performances I imagined a holiday high stepping show at Rocketfeller Center in Sinatra City, formerly New York, New York with an exclamation point. Nothing gives the debauched Retroplin male a more stand at attention military salute erection than the erotic reality check of a good groin to face lap dance. Need something a little more artistic? Then give a piece a chance by watching a whirly gig girl whirling around on a rim shot badda bing badda boom cheap comics strip club stage spinning like a out of control childs toy top on a pole. Male pleasure in the palace only? Bear in mind that when baring it all these females were straddling the collective laps of the both assembled sexes. Rated on the Doc Yucatan erection scale ...no assembly was required. Windsora and Maddie were enjoying the show holding hands while their senses were spinning in bi-sexual gyroscopic tandem to the genital gyrations of these lap dancing female doing the erectus dance of the muse. She may be a cyborg, but still humanoid so her weapon of mass and ass destruction is in the form of a secret secretion she unleashes to increase her vaginal intoxicant. It happens at certain times of the month, even to cyborgs, where she will gives emit a heavenly scent of estrogen marking her territory holding us as a sexual captive in a garden of estros. I love the smell f Estrogen and a patch of wet vaginal hair in the morning!!! These cyborg girls certainly knew how to get my mojo working by working her own mojo just inches from my face, emitting her scent up close and personal! I admit it is a somewhat juvenile pursuit of mine when it comes to unearthing the mysteries of the vaginal universe in my exploratory quest for the meaning of life in a stale pitcher of Bukowski beer. Before I pull a Pee Wee Herman here, there was also display of prowess in the cyborg mudpits. Female, humanoid or robot mud wrestling is about as erotic and hyman happy event as it gets. It is libidinous to extreme and can evoke an erection in the male of the species and cause a lesbian typhoon below the waist that can be biblical in nature. In the erotic arena of "female" combat it is up there on the pubic pedestal with roller derby and girl on girl peepshows. In this case, no skates, just hard and fast girlie action where the participating female has her hormones set to stun as she body slams her likewise naked opponent into muddy waters, no blues pun intended. It is part sport, part burlesque and all spectacular respectable spectacle. Lets face it, we are all just voyeuristic astronauts enjoying the ride into the outer limits of Planet Female when it comes to the finer art of mud wresling. Drenched in sweat or covered in mud…it’s time to get down and dirty…with a great pair of sweaty and muddy knockers! Gentlemen start your engines…ladies put the pedal to the metal of your girl crush dreams…it’s time to get down with knockers up and get lost in a wet dream leg lock! Mud wrestling by itself is a heavy artillery libido explosion, add to that mud wrestling by teams members of female roller derbys, and you can forget the Striptease Falcon. Hell, this is the stuff that mud dreams are truly made off.
Final Chapter Space Noir
When Asrini, Art Deco, Maddie and myself arrived back on the street just outside my agency in Detroit. I could sense something was wrong. Even the stage prop fog seemed out of synch with the alley cat mood of the neighborhod. It was not a happy homecoming. As we entered my second floor office. The lights were dim and flickering as usual, bad wiring having a feast on power fluctuations. When I opened the door, the scene was a troubling one of a ransacked office, furniture turned over, file cabinets emptied of their contents, all strewn about, a real pro job of tossing the joint. Once the initial shock, one insignificant nano second in time pulled a Jimmy Hoffa and disappeared, I was astounded to find my agency partner Sandoz pretty well beaten up bloody and slumped over limp on his desk cut and bruised. Not exactly a welcome home Hallmark greeting card. As my state of emotional flux went up and down with the buoyancy of a fresh body tossed off a dock and into the dark half Canadian waters of the Detroit River before it floats downriver somewhere near Toledo. I was fluxed, yes, but now realized, we were all fluxed and fucked too. In the room was Asrini’s covert comrade and ego laden lover, Vector Laslo, whom I salaciously referred to on more than one sarcasm filled verbal moment as a pompous, arrogant bon vivant who would rather drink the King’s wine and screw a royal concubine than overthrow the throne if truth be told. I had to admit I allowed a small smirk to form in my mind when first seeing the mighty Vector being held helpless at gunpoint by the fat man with a fez fetish, Narco Marx. The smirk faded faster than an early ejaculation while having sex in a barn with an underage second cousin in a dirty river town in Arkansas. My tsunami of consternation was fueled as I noticed Joel Faberge, Link Wray laser gun in hand sitting smiling with that stupid Fabulon grin of his. His itchy trigger happy finger on his weapon with it’s red hot laser beam aimed straight bullseye on the mark at at my ticker. I could sense in his mental stage and see by the look of animal determination in his eyes he was hoping I would somehow do something stupid frothing with false bravado to draw fire so he could even the score. Joel had an itchy trigger finger, “Keep on riding me and they're gonna be picking iron out of your liver,” he said with lisping bravado.I remember hearing that line before which only goes to show you the cheaper the crook, the gaudier the patter. Seems I picked that up somewhere too. Where do they get the lingo? Narco, as we could see held all the cards and I wasn’t about to call his hand. “I see you made it back safely Mr. Yucatan and with our prized Falcon. Hand it over at once or we will without hesitation kill your partner, Mr. Deco, Ms. Pemalang and yes, you too Maddie...we would have made a great team. Oh well, we must move along... oh, and please, all of you drop all of your weapons. I don’t want any fancy heroics to try my patience and end up in needless killing.” I wasn’t about to make any fast moves. I didn’t know leaving one universe portal and entering another you could experience jet lag, but the last week had taken a toll on all of us. “Alright Narco, here’s the damned Falcon. It’s yours.” I handed it over and was beginning to get my survival senses kicked in gear...my next move better be awesome...or I was dead meat on a platter. I never saw such a look of anticipation on a man’s face..or the amount of drool that it could produce in 300 pound behemoth bad guy. He ripped it from my hands and held it in the manner a young man holds that first pubescent breast in his hand copping a feel under the bleachers during a high school varsity football game. SCORE! The look sooned turned ominous. “This is not the Falcon, Mr. Yucatan. It’s a fake. The real Falcon is made of a strange alloy, heavier than iron or steel...this is a cheap knockoff...probably made in the Gucci Galaxy by Rolexian counterfeiters...a mere souvenir! A toy! Where is it Yucatan..tell me or Asrini will be the recipient of a not so pleasant demise!” “Hell, Narco. I don’t know space alloy from Shinola. This is what I was given by Windsora. Sorry if it’s a knock off. Look, I dodged lasers, revolutionaries, a deranged general with a bald head mumble quoting Homer, and your own amateur hour men too. I’m in no mood for this..What is...IS. Shoot her if you want...shoot me...maybe then I can enjoy the big sleep. I don’t care anymore!” Just then...distraught as a spinster librarian who learns she is pregnant simply by reading the Kama Sutra Joel Faberge breaks down in tears and launches a litany of invectives directed at Narco. “You... you bungled it. You really fucked up his time. You and your stupid plan. No wonder they had such an easy time getting it here! You... you imbecile. You bloated idiot. You stupid fez head!!!.” I offered Joel a used Kleenex from my jacket pocket which he rightly refused, it was old, it was used, i had the remnants of blood from many past broken noses. He sobbed until I thought his spigot would run dry. His emotional plumbing had sprung a leak. Then a break..sirens outside in the dark. It was Inspector Bill Burroughs. He heard through his agents who had been staking out my office awaiting my return. Why? I had no idea, but it would soon be made clear. He raced over as I was now in the building at 1300 Beaubien Street, second floor, Room 202...my office. I knew there had to be a problem...you don’t usually fire up a squad of police goons with sirens wailing to bring a welcome gift. “Mr. Yucatan, I bid you adieu. It’s time for us to leave...I believe you didn’t know the Falcon was fake. You’re not that perceptive in this matter having no experience with it. I prefer not to speak to the police for, uh, reasons you well know. Come Joel..we will return to Robotia. I assure you, we will find the Falcon. By gad this has been an adventure Yucatan!” He bowed, tipped his fez and led a crying Joel Faberge out of the office, into the hallway and down the back fire escape. When Inspector Bill Burroughs and the cavalry finally did arrived on the scene, Narco and Joel had already left the auditorium heading for a space freighter they had prearranged for their escape. Now they would be heading for the pleasure palaces of the Pleiades Quadrant in their addiction filled quest to quench their thirst to finally find the Falcon...Fat chance Fat Man! Bill Burroughs was a cop...100% but strangely he was also a friend in a tenuous fashion, that would soon bridge that gap. Without his customary sarcasm and rapier wit Inspector Burroughs cut to the chase and announced point blank that Asrini and I were both under arrest for sedition, theft of Toho government property and the murder of the man in the alley. I knew we had been betrayed. I wasn’t sure by who, but I had a sinking feeling I had been set up all along from the very beginning. I’m usually right about these matters and when those feelings surface, they’re usually followed by someone biting the dust. “You’ve got it all wrong Bill. I had nothing to do with the murder. OK, I did take the Falcon but not from the Tohos, but from the Rabbit. Besides...it’s not the real Falcon it’s a fake!” He paused smiling broadly as cops do when they know they’ve caught you with your pants down, hands in the cookie jar. “You’ve been suckered Yucatan, sucker punched and you don’t even realize it. You have the real Falcon, please give me credit and don’t lie to me. I’ll take it now and also, regretfully, I will have to turn Asrini over to Comred intelligence. They’ve been looking for her for a long time. She switched sides long ago, and has been working with Vector Laslo fomenting revolution throughout the galaxy. There is a price on both of their heads. Did you honestly think I didn’t know that?” It was now becoming clear to me. The Com-Reds knew from my reputation that I would bring back the Falcon and that Asrini would be with me and Vector would show up for the Falcon and for Asrini. They managed to bring Inspector Burroughs into the plan, probably with a fat bribe. It was a brilliant coup and I had to admire the plan. I also knew Asrini was still in love with Laslo, how deep, I couldn’ fathom, but I could see it in both of their eyes when we ran into him at his saloon on Robotia. Our love making from Retropolis to the Rabbit Hole had not diminished the flame she kept for Laslo, but her love put a damper on my plans for her and I in the future. I could see we had no future..it belonged to them. For me there were always cheap hookers and booze. Not a perfect situation and it would be like replacing a Rembrandt with a paint by numbers landscape scene by a mental patient. Inspector Burroughs derailed my train of thought. “You see old friend, I still don’t have the real falcon, just the fake souvenir you brought back with you, but, I do have two criminals to turn over to the Com-Reds and I have you for an unsolved murder. Case closed. Now where’s the real Falcon?” I was facing a murder rap now and that meant vaporization or exile to a prison asteroid for 50 years or until dead, no appeals in the 30th Cent. “I like you Yucatan, but this is business. Bad business for old friends I’ll grant you...but business we must take care of, you do understand I hope.” Out of the clear blue back forty Art Deco chimed in. “Inspector. If you will call Yucatan’s secretary and have her bring over the package hidden at her apartment you will have the real Falcon I assure you.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “For the record, it was I who had the man in the alley killed.” All I could utter was “Are you nuts Art. What are you saying?” The Inspector was as puzzled as I was. Art artfully explained. “The Rabbit knew full well Mr. Yucatan that you would get Asrini and Maddie to Robotia with your innate skills. The whole plan was a smoke screen to throw the Toho’s off the trail of our real plan. While you were fighting your way through the Vortex we had sent the real Falcon ahead with a courier who was supposed to deliver it here. The Faux Falcon was merely a decoy to keep them thinking the revolution still had it. I dispatched a recon guard soon after our courier left for Retropolis to ensure that he made it safely. Unfortunately, Narco anticipated just such a move so he sent two of his best men who had orders to do what was necessary to get the Falcon to him. He wanted it to establish his own power base on Robotia and overthrow the Tohos who without it would then be powerless. Asrini and you would have been turned over to the Tohos for the reward money.” It was an incredible story that only got more incredible. “Our man was tailing our courier and as he was about to enter the building to turn over the real Falcon to your partner two of Narco’s gunsels tried to bushwhack him. It all happened so fast. Our recon guard reacted and shot both of Narcos guys first. One of them is the body you found in the alley Inspector. As for the other one his body can be found in the Detroit River. Two dead bodies would invite more questions and probing we didn’t want as it could have unraveled our whole plan. Narcos guy in the river has probably floated to Canada by now. Our agents then brought the real falcon upstairs to Yucatan’s office and told Sandoz to call his secretary to come get it and hide it at her place. No one would think to look there. Call her … have her bring it here you’ll see. One curious thing. As one of Narco’s man fell to the ground a snow globe rolled out of his trenchcoat and as his lungs were filling with blood...he kept mumbling over and over one word…’Rosebud...Rosebud” Very strange indeed. Burroughs had his men wait outside as he digested all this new information. His job all along had been to give the Falcon to the Com-Reds who would notify the Tohos that they would keep it here and return it for the reward money. Nothing like a little interplanetary blackmail among enemies to keep life interesting Asrini, Maddie, and Vector Laslo, after a rousing round of torture sessions at Com-Red headquarters, would under duress divulge valuable information to give the Tohos intel on where and how to breach the Vortex, find the camp of the Rabbit and the revolutionaries to launch a massive attack designed to kill and destroy them all. A win win it seems for them but a lose lose for us. I turned to Asrini. “Why did you get me involved in this?” Burroughs jumped in, as usual and explained. “Simple. The Rabbit as you now know is her mother, Windsora, and IS the revolution. Also Asrini I think was falling in love with you, torn in half. If I were a woman I might fall in love with you too. She knew nothing of the whole plan at all. She was told you were the only one she could be confident in to pull the whole operation off. Both of you were kept purposely in the dark in case you were captured you couldn’t possibly have told them anything.” “I’m sorry Doc. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t know,” Asrini cried. So we were both unwilling pawns on every ones chess board. At that moment, our secretary arrived with the real Falcon wrapped in old newspaper. At the same time Vector, Art and myself jumped Burroughs whose men were down the hall out of earshot. I took his gun and we all gathered our own weapons from the floor. We were now in control but what action to take next was not forthcoming. “Look Asrini. We had a brief fling on Saturn, but I know your heart belongs to Vector so take my space pod and get out of here. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Vector. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If my orb leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life. I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that. Now Go!” Bogartian banter had infiltrated my mind once again like a goddamned Vulcan mind meld. She kissed me and said, “We would have made a good team Doc. But we’ll always have Barbarella!” I felt I should have said that They hurried out the back of the building to my space pod parked in the alley, keys in hand. We all followed to make sure they would escape, but danger was ahead of the game. One of Burroughs men was waiting for them by the pod to make the arrest. He held a gun on them and was about to march them to headquarters when a I heard a rare old fashioned gunshot ring out and watched the cop go down like stack of dominoes. I looked around to see who fired the fatal and final blast. It was Burroughs! He not only had a second gun, an old revolver I had given him as a gift on his 10 year anniversary on the force, but he shot his own man. We all looked at him in disbelief….and relief! “I’m tired of working for the Com-Reds Yucatan. Let them escape in peace” and they did. We watched until they were safely in the air. Art and Maddie said their goodbyes and left Bill Burroughs and myself alone in the fog to make their way back to Robotia by pod jacking a vehicle parked in front of a Chinese noodle factory. They had a date with a revolution, we had egg rolls and leftover fortune cookies Bill, still holding the real Falcon in one hand and a smoking revolver in the other, walked with me in the fog in the direction of his paramilitary police orb to make our escape. He had committed treason and was now an enemy of the state. “Where to Yucatan?” I thought for a moment. “I know a cabaret for sale Bill.” He smiled and started up the cruiser. Vector told me he had put it up for sale through a third party to handle the transaction as he had to keep one step ahead of the bloodhounds now. Marked for elimination at all costs...and with him...so was Asrini. Bill Burroughs and I did buy the cabaret and saloon….Windsora The Rabbit and her minions were victorious eventually over the Tohos. Without the Falcon, their power was diminished and they were defeated. Maddie was now back with her lover Windsora and would co-administer a planet where all the Cyborgs and Erotibots were emancipated and free at last, and all the Vortex gang factions were given amnesty and participated in forming a new society..Art Deco would return as well on a mission to kill Kurtz the loose cannon who could jeopardize the new government. Che Stadium went to another planet to lead a new revolution but was captured and killed by government forces. Long Wang and Wang Chung got married and opened a hair salon and did a booming business doing make overs on freed cyborgs. Sandoz now owns the detective agency with our secretary as his new partner and doing quite well. I guess I was better off running a saloon than running a detective agency. As for Arthur Burns...his publishing business has skyrocketed. He’s published a whole series of my Doc Yucatan novels and a comic book series featuring Asrini as a sexpot super heroine that I also developed. The movies and sequels can’t be far behind. On my desk in the cabaret office I have two curious paper weights. One of a Falcon, and the other a strange snowglobe with a winter scene with snow falling on a tiny sled. The only inscription on it were the words of a dying man shot dead in my alley...Rosebud! “Well Yucatan. We made it...Bill filled a couple of shot glasses and we drank a toast…”Here’s looking at you kid.” We downed our drinks and after a moment of silence I said, “Bill about that crack you made. You know, if you were a woman and all. You didn’t mean that did you?” “Forget it Yucatan. I was waxing poetic.” So, whatever happened to Asrini? Vector and her hop scotched around the galaxy, winning battles and whole revolutions. One day in the quiet calm of one of Vectors victories Asrini held him tight, looked him in the eye and said she was returning to me. Asrini came to our cabaret. I was in my office….door closed ….staring at the paper weights on the desk...my old Ruger pistol in one hand..a drink in the other contemplating my suicide and mustering up the courage to do the deed, when I heard Sam play “Smoke on the Water” It was our song...why was he playing it. Too many memories of love lost. I put the pistol down and with drink in hand went out of the office to question Sam’s bad taste in jokes. As I headed for the piano...there was Asrini. Beautiful as ever..with a jewel like tear on her cheek as she looked at me approaching. She had fallen in love and couldn’t deny it and rocket orbed herself to my cabaret. We married and she is my partner in the cabaret...in life itself. A week later Bill broached the subject we all three had been curious about. “I wonder what Rosebud means...what is it?” I philosophised as best I could for a high school dropout “It’s the stuff dreams are made of Bill...dreams and nightmares.” Asrini looked at me with that adventurous look she always had...a brilliant dangerous glow emanating from her gaze. She smiled at me and asked what I knew she would ask…”When do we leave Doc?” Hell...we found the Falcon didn’t we. Whatever Rosebud was...where ever it was….together we’d find it...but that had to wait...I had already booked our honeymoon suite on Barbarella...that would be our first stop...and this time...champagne and Asrini...not cheap wine and one of those damned Erotibots!!!