Mayhem & Murder

The trio tore through the desert in a stolen military grade Hum-vee.

Arm casually slung on the window, mesas rolling in parallax the background sand and blue, the driver turns to us and smiles, “Hello! Welcome to today’s episode of  Magnificent and Sexy Intergalactic Mayhem and Murder. This here is Jizz Baberella–” A wild shock of red, red hair tousling in the open cab, she wears a fuck me mouth and cargo pants under a kevlar jacket. She throws fingerguns at us, pa-pow, here’s looking at ya, baby. “–and A. Shade Darker. Hey, does the A stand for asshole?” A gloved middle finger wavers in the heat, and the umber man in the trench coat rakes back his long greasy hair before returning his attention to the rocket launcher snuggled against his torso. “And then there’s me, today’s host, Cranky Jo, cropped yellow hair, ugly mug, biceps built like a keg–” Wagging eyebrows above hard masticated cigar. “–that’s all of me. The show is starting, let’s go!”

The grey city of  technocrats loomed, buzzing with the lazy trajectories of gendarmes like flies above shit. Jizz slipped a hand toward her crotch and shortly her thong was flapping war red on the aerial. Shade sat zazen on the hood. “Pre-combat rituals,” winks Cranky Jo, who just grinned like a wolf and accelerated.

JIZZ: It’s a heist. UFN UFN UFN went Jizz, spread-eagled to all of creation.

SHADE: We’re gonna steal a city. Shade licked his rocket launcher and turned a passing shack into kindling.

CRANKY JO: Ha ha ha! YACK YACK YACK said his machine gun to the sky.

Here they come!

The sexy stench of Orgone fuel preceded the gendarmes, vicious ships bristling with mind fuck artillery and state-of-the-art gun ninjaz. Cranky Jo aimed his gun and let it do the talking for him while he drove like a madman through the gouts of flame the ships spat at them. A red-eyed ninja crashed into a copse of cacti. Another left a long red stain along the hardpan. Shade made great swathes of flame with his deadly paintbrush. Jizz, her hair wailing in the wind, sniped gendarme after gendarme as she slipped back into her pants. The ships plowed to the ground bursting like pustules, ejecting the dark carapaces of dead state-of-the-art ninjaz. Technocrat modified vultures circled, alighted, their electronic brains bypassed by nervous systems that never forgot the taste of blood.

Leaving behind a tattoo of murder and mayhem they entered the city limits where there are plasma rays turrets and booby traps. The Hum-vee exploded! Jizz landed on her feet. Cranky Jo fell into a turret onto an astonished ninja and immediately began firing blue beams of destruction at the city. Shade, launching at the ground, KOOOM! rocket jumped KOOOM! like a KOOOM! mad frog through the KOOOM! chaos. Black figures swarmed from the city with martial arts celerity. Jizz ran the gauntlet, touching pressure points of ninjaz, and left behind a wake of statues contorted in pain. Shade, crashing with agony along the ferrocrete of a superhighway, leaped to his feet and played shooting gallery with these ninjaz. It rained meat and the vultures, following the trail of death, circled.

A choreography of grace and accident, they fought their way to the heart of the city. Cranky Jo runs up the street, rattling off his old gun, “Now for a word from our sponsors and we’ll see you…”

A baby with a single tooth and a pink bow tied around the sparse hairs of her skull is skipping through a beautiful, heaving meadow in her diapers. Swallows shower the air with their song and butterflies wander through the tall grasses. Rabbits and squirrels scamper with exuberant play around the feet of deer. She is carrying a pair of massive guns, a voice-over intoning

The Infinity Series no. 3, so easy to use even a baby could do it,

running now through the meadow with guns blazing, turning cuddly woodland animals into pink mist. A butterfly sparkles into confetti and the baby babbles gleefully,

now for the first time available to the public, with customizable settings and a wide range of selectable ammo from bazookas with extremely long range capabilities

igniting a doe one mile away into a flaming effigy and baby pushes a button to bring out a screaming revolving chainsaw capable

of cutting down a fat old tree or the foundations of a building. Conveniently priced at $19.99 megabucks, it comes with a free ammo storehouse on a moon of your choosing to the first 10 buyers. (Add $136 mega bucks for shipping & handling).

Baby flips a gun into the air and throws us a thumbs up, the other gun shuduh-duh-duh-dering into the sky. A bird tumbles down.

“…after the break, where you find we’re at the jazzing neon sideshow atmosphere of the Technocrat City Hall, a supposedly impregnable fortress. Ha ha ha!

“Here we go!”

Ragdoll robots tumbled down the steel and concrete stairwell, firing with incredible precision. Too bad precision has nothing on Jizz who giggled through bullet time and engaged their self destruct sub-routines. The trio made many floors before they exploded, sealing the passage.

They burst into a hall of giant windows trimmed in gold. Hordes of state-of-the-art ninjaz hurtled through each and every one, until the scene became a firestorm of reflection tumbling to the plush carpeting.

“Ooh, pretty,” said Jizz, having already grabbed a ninjaz by the ankle to employ as a club. Shade stuck to his guns and noted it was a good thing the plush was the color of blood; that would be a bitch to get off. Cranky Jo just shrugged and sucked on his cigar, leaning on a door frame with his arms crossed. Shortly they picked their way through the litter of bodies and glass, and raced to the penthouse.

The mayor’s door loomed, somehow silver and gold at the same time, forged of Ultradamantitanium.

“Shit.” (That was me, says Cranky Jo.)

“No problem. Thank our sponsors for this motherfucker,” said Shade, who fiddled with his bazooka before raising it.

“Now for another shameless plug brought to you from yet another of our sponsors, and as always, we’ll see you after the…”

Fade in to the rolling hills of a vineyard. A gray templed man with arisocratic bearing in mahogany robe and slippers is puffing at a meerschaum pipe. A wine globe nestles in his hand, the purple liquid sloshing tannins into the air.

Poppy Vineyards is proud to offer the most refined hybrid of papaver somniferum and vitis vinifera.

He sniffs at the wine, sloshes it some more. The background fades into a leathered and wood-paneled office space. He sits in a luxurious armchair and crosses his legs. He sips

to celebrate your order, The Holy Trio of Intoxication is made complete with a nugget of cannabis included within the bottleneck. Our customers demand only the best,

and before passing into unconsciousness,

Available at your local liquor establishment or licensed drug pusher…

“…break it down, already!” yelled Jizz.

“Hey, the ad’s finished?” said Shade. Cranky Jo tittered. Jizz fumed. Shade shrugged and pulled the trigger. The world turned to gold dust and silver rain.

“I could get used to this,” sniffed Jizz, bringing the goblet close to her nose. “This is the life!”

The mayor lay trussed up at their feet, the severed fist of a state-of-the-art ninjaz extending from his mouth. Jizz used him as a footrest, her high heels digging into the small of his back.  Cranky Jo blew lazy smoke rings towards the ceiling, and Shade plugged these with bull’s eye shots. “Our employers won’t be happy if you decided to take up shop,” said Cranky Jo. “Even if they’re tyrants worse off for this city than that pig over there.” The man on the floor squealed.

Shade nodded and said, “Our word is our bond. If we reneged on a contract, we wouldn’t be able to get a job system-wide.”

“Shit,” said Jizz, “Can’t a lady dream?”

This is Cranky Jo, today’s host, and thank you for watching. I hope it was a complete waste of your time and you were needlessly entertained by sexy mayhem and murder. Until next time, heeere’s the

Magnificent and Sexy Intergalactic Mayhem and Murder

Bicycle Diaries

The trail is hedged by oak boughs of many varieties. I careen down this lash of asphalt through the small, false backyard wilderness of the suburb. My spine tingles as my rear wheel rattles alarmingly and a grin scimitars my face as the prospect of being a red stain on stone manifests itself exhilaratingly. A couple of bearings are missing, but what the hey! it keeps my mind off my mind. haha what a pun!

A pair of signs loom as I approach. One lies on its side. Bold black paint on bright, rusted orange proclaims a detour. I don’t listen and follow the path until it gradually curves into disrepair. It leads to a forty meter corridor which span a ribcage of municipal architecture. The bike path that traverses its cool shade is abandoned to progress; instead of the usual asphalt, it is a bone-rattling expanse of stone salved with concrete that resemble the organic, organized chaos of a wasp’s nest. Sitting on a comfortable lump of concrete I imagine to be cooling magma, I am ironically and utterly alone. Forgotten sodium lamps glitter newly where the sunlight sneaks in the gap between constructs. The ground rumbles from above: the freeway is lusty today. It’s a Saturday after all. I get up and walk to the median and urinate feely on the stones, all the while chuckling to myself, for reasons difficult to fathom.

At the base of the Locust tree is the mangled remains of a squirrel. It looks almost mummified. I wonder why it clutches a broken D.A.R.E. ruler in its jaw and paws. A Budweiser lies in pieces around its stiff person.

I sit on this flat sheet of decayed concrete studded with large lumps of gravel, the detritus of the massive construction projects that never seem to finish. The City claims it is soil erosion prevention, but the excess leads me to believe that creek beds are just convenient places to put the waste products of new roads. But nature adapts beautifully to progress and renders urban decay with a multitude of crawling, scrabbling, slithering homes. I frighten a snake and it slips with sinuous panic into the sparkling current, a ribbon of chaotic motion with a definite vector, to peer from a patch of algae. Oh, how it waits, immobile in the bright rushing!

The water’s always appealed to me. Never staying in one place is something I think about often these days. The least I can do now is run in place while the scenery moves me. A battery of birds frolic on bobbing branches.

I am happy, at least for the moment.