- Mar 21, 2010
btw Arivia by comparison to some of the other losers, you are a genius literary master. For shits, here are some of the classics:
Madam Charlotte’s School For Aberrant Girls
Though the stiff grey cots in our dorms weren’t by any means fit for whoring, I’d been here long enough to be accused of it.
Knowing smirks, snide comments, fake dollar bills left on my pillow--suggestions of loose legs bandied about by loose lips. How typical. But more to the matter, how simple the slander. How lazy! They say, and they are right, that the girls of Madam Charlotte’s compete for high-reaching marks every bit as feverishly as they do for low-hanging fruit.
So in my defense I’ll say that I have never in my life charged any lover a nickel. And not only that, but I make far too much ruckus to favor a tryst in any so public a spot, though I could perhaps be compelled to test walls of the the fifth floor maintenance closet. It would be best, if you were wondering and in need of it, to wait until the clattering water boiler in that closet fires up in the early afternoon, just before Society Classes. But be sure to check first for a knot of chewing gum--strawberry flavored--pressed against the doorknob before you enter, lest you and I make a most awkwardly-intimate acquaintance.
The morning announcements began to crackle over the intercom as I favored my face with a brush of powder, blindly, as I owned no mirror. In just two weeks’ time I’d learned the contents of the days’ insufferable recorded greeting, as well as the cadence in which it was read. I began to work my hair into a single, thick braid while mouthing along with the dreadful words--a fierce, if mute, mockery:
To all girls good morning. Remember why you are here. Remember why no one comes to visit you. Remember why you have failed to achieve marks high enough to earn your place outside these walls. Remember that you entered as deviants but shall leave only as debutantes…
And so on.
I wasn’t sure why I was here, whether it was the mansion I’d burned down, the Oldsmobile Convertable I’d stolen, the bank safe I’d helped get unstuck, or the third of any such incident. Inquire, if you must, with the district attorney of Chicago for the particulars as to my holding.
There was another girl, boyish and quite pretty, sitting two beds over from mine, also in the middle of beating her face with a brush. She must have noticed my re-enactment of the morning announcements. “Don’t let ‘em catch you doing that,” she said, clipping back sandy blonde hair with bent, mismatched barrettes. “Or anything else, for that matter.”
At least she hadn’t thought to call me a ha'penny harlot. “Getting caught is an exception for me,” I replied, frowning with concentration and cursing the fact that I didn’t own a compact with a mirror.
She laughed. “Everyone in here says that. Need a mirror? I’ll loan you mine. For a cigarette.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“I know, but I saw you steal a pack right out from under Millie, yesterday.”
She seemed to note the concern lining my face and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I can hardly stand the sight of her.”
Begrudgingly I grabbed my lilly-white pillow and felt around in it before finding the rumpled pack of Lucky’s and tossing them to her.
When I held her mirror up to my face, I couldn’t believe how tired I looked.
The Role Of Good, Honest, and Strong WOMEN In A Very Foul, Indecent World / Or, Roots And Consaquenses Of This Our Modern Gender Confusion
Understand that I would much sooner part my own veins than I would sit through a speech with a title so hideously edited. But because this was a mandatory symposium, and because Madam Charlotte herself was due to tour the grounds sometime today, I found myself sitting in the Great Hall amongst two hundred other badly-behaved girls, doing all I could do to stay awake.
After five excruciating minutes of machine-gun adverbs mixed with unsettled disagreements between moody subjects and hapless verbs, I excused myself under the guise of a most-convenient arrival of the Lady’s Calendar.
Besides, I was an expert on the subject being discussed: I knew enough of Goodness and Honesty and Strength to know that a proper lady was only allowed to demonstrate two of the three at any one time.
I had taken a small handful of steps out into the hall when none other than Madam Charlotte, a giantess if ever there were, appeared behind me, latching hold of my thick, raven-braid and pulling my wiry frame--kicking but not screaming--back inside.
Her office would have made a dentist quite uncomfortable.
Sitting behind a substantial brown desk, The Madam, an aged woman in an impossibly conservative black jumper dress, was quietly thumbing through the numerous court orders, character statements, police reports, and mug shots that had accompanied me here. For my part, I was slouching in a chair twice my size, chewing gum defiantly and sucking my tongue, all to look as disinterested as could be.
“Such a resume for a girl of sixteen, and from such a wealthy--if not happy--family, too!” was Madam Charlotte’s appraisal. “It just won’t do.”
I shrugged. “It’s rather the only resume I’ve got. And as for family, the dead are most often unhappy,” I said, quite helpfully.
“It was only three months ago that your parents took their own lives, so I’ll not allow you to blame the lot on that!”
‘Took their own lives’. A more sanitary description, than, say, the actual way of the thing. I’ll spare your nerve and say only that my parents had set out on a cool Thursday morning to repaint our summer veranda, my favored reading spot, to a lovely chestnut brown; when came the heat of the afternoon they had traded their good intentions for arguments, then their brushes for a 12-gauge scattergun, and then, finally, lovely chestnut brown for slimy splattered grey and red.
Mutual suicide; their final, desperate attempt to one-up each other. Congratulations.
“You attended the finest parochials,” Madam Charlotte continued, “studied the classics, earned the highest marks amongst your peers, and stood perennially for commendation. Such a fall you’ve had: Crime, vagrancy, deviancy! Do you wonder why this is?”
I didn’t, really.
“You’ve clearly, from this report, developed an addiction to relations. Sexual!”
Oh, that. Indeed!
She continued, “...to boys, men...”
“...of all ages, and, if these ghastly reports are to be believed, of all descriptions, too.”
I smacked my gum, started smiling. I had to wonder if the true extent of my proclivities was either absent from the file, or if in a fit of squeamishness she’d skimmed too quickly, only saw “SEX”, and thus had overlooked. Also: official reports dealing with a girl of my preference sometimes left out details too embarrassing for their author to bear the thought of writing.
She studied my face, her worn-out eyes narrowing. “No doubt, you’ve been led by men to delinquency. And what’s more I think you enjoy it,” she muttered. “Being caught delinquent, I mean.”
I blew and popped a bubble, the scent of stale strawberry filling the dusty room. She was right--about being caught anyway. So I said, “No. You’re wrong.”
“I’m sure I’m not,” she said, sitting back in her chair, as pleased with herself as if she’d just cracked the electrical telegraph. “So,” she continued, triumphantly, “I can assure you that our security here is top-notch, and given that my formal diagnoses of your hysteria includes an unhealthy appetite for the company of men, I am glad to say that none are allowed inside my walls. And since you cannot leave, we are quite sure to cure you, eventually and fully, of your carnality.”
Whether a life in thrall would have otherwise cured or wounded me, I cannot say; over the next six months, Heather--my sandy-haired confederate with the mirror and smoking habit--would prove a balm to my restlessness. With time we’d grown quite close, talking every waking minute--and as the chill of winter began to creep through the walls, we started squeezing ourselves onto a single grey cot each night, laughing together under a blanket at such a brazen possibility as Us.
Now it was a late afternoon, Heather and I had dutifully volunteered for trash pickup on the fifth floor. As we chatted and lazily scooped up scraps of paper and sanitary wrappers, I heard, from down at the far end of the hall and inside the maintenance closet, the water-heater start to hiss and rattle.
I dropped my bag. Grinning at Heather, I reached for her hand and said, “Let’s go!”
Without a soul around, we moved gracefully and quietly, two eager wraiths sashaying down an endless hallway. At the closet I jimmied open the door with a wayward bobby pin, and when I took her arm and pulled her inside, she asked me, the both of us laughing, “You sure? We were almost caught last time!”
Before I kissed her, I pulled the wad of gum from my mouth and mashed it against the doorknob--then pushed the door shut behind us.
Rock, Paper, and Scissors
Rock moved along the dirt road, headed towards the county fair. It was finally spring, and the trees were showing off their new growth. The sun was shining, warming the chilly morning air, and Rock was excited. The fair only came once a year, and all his friends would be there.
The path wasn't too long, the carnival wasn't too far away. As Rock plodded, a shiny thing, lustrous and polished, glinted at the top of the hill. Rock continued along the path towards the hill until eventually he was there, next to Scissors.
Scissors had one point stuck in the dirt. No matter how much she would spin or snip, the point wouldn't come loose.
"My! You seem to be really really stuck, don't you now!" Rock said.
"Yes. Yes I am stuck. I was on my way to the fair, and in my excitement, I guess my stride caused me to bury my point too far in this dirt."
"So. You're stuck, yeah?"
"Of course I'm stuck, idiot. Any fool can see I'm stuck. But I'm sure, if I just keep snipping, I'll be able to finally --"
Rock threw himself into Scissors, knocking her loose.
"Hey!" she screamed as she fell to the ground. "Now look what you've done! You've scratched up my legs! Look at this!"
Rock looked and said, "I was trying to help. You seemed to be stuck, I figured I was big enough, I'd just nudge you loose."
"Oh you nudged me all right. Look at these scratches! What kind of a fool would just bump without thinking?" Scissors was clearly upset, and Rock wasn't sure what could be said to cheer her up.
"Honestly, I'm very sorry. I only meant to help. Look. Let's go to the country fair together! I was already heading that way, and you said you were going. Let's go together. Maybe I can cheer you up with a song."
Scissors gave him a sardonic grin. "A song? You think a song can help? I'll be on my way. If you think you can keep up, then, well it's your choice. But I'm not going to wait around for you."
"It's settled then! Let's go!"
The two, Rock and Scissors, continued down the hill, on towards the county fair. Not a word was said between them. Rock was happy to be in the silence, he wasn't one for words. Scissors on the other hand was becoming more and more agitated, having a guest on the road who was not one for conversation.
Soon the sun was directly overhead and a shadow flittered in front of them.
"Oh my! Look at that!" Rock said. Up, in the air, was Paper, riding on the spring winds. Paper would twirl and float in the breeze. Sometimes she would move far on down the path, and then the wind would change direction and she would float back towards Rock and Scissors. The bright sun shined through the orange-hued parchment whenever Paper would pass directly between the sun and Rock or Scissors.
"Oh look at her," Scissors said with a sharp tongue. "Thinks she's just all beauty and perfection, flying and flipping through the breeze. She'll get stuck up in the branches before she knows it."
"Oh but I think she's just beautiful!" Rock said. He'd stopped in his track, transfixed by Paper's merry twirls and twists in the air. "Hello there! That looks so fun!"
"It is! I can see everything from up here!" Paper said.
"Can you see the county fair?" Rock called up to her.
"It's just over the next couple of hills! It looks amazing!" Paper was coming closer to them, settling on the lower breezes. "Are you two headed to the fair?"
"Is there anything else we'd be doing on this filthy road?" Scissors snipped at her. "If I had my way, I'd be on a cart. Or even better? I'd have stayed home. I should have known better than to get out today."
"Are you mad? Today is just beautiful!" Paper laughed and then caught a draft that sent her way into the air.
"Mad enough to turn back? Yes. Mad enough to watch you float like a bubbly chirpy flap? I doubt it." Scissors was having a hard time walking and watching Paper.
"Turn back?! Nonsense! The fair is right beyond that creek, and your shiny legs will be the admiration of everyone there!"
Scissors and Rock looked further down the path and saw the creek. It wasn't very wide, and not very deep.
"Oh I don't know about this," Scissors said. "That water will rust my legs, and the stones in the creek bed will dull my points. I'm not going. I knew this was a bad idea."
Rock smiled and said, "Not to worry. It's not so deep. I'll cross it, you can stand on top of me and we'll be across shortly."
"And get my feet wet? Did you hear me say I'm not going to get my tips rusted?" Scissors voice rose. "And what about Paper? Paper can't cross on top of you, she'll get wet."
"Paper will be fine I'm sure. Look at her, she's so high up and can make it across without our help at all."
“Oh I can't cross by myself," Paper said. "There's a breeze following the creek. Every time I've tried to cross, the wind from the creek threatens to take me into the water. I'm afraid of the water. But look! There's a rope bridge! Scissors, you could hold me while you went across on the rope bridge."
Scissors considered it and said, "Nope. My blades are far too sharp for a rope bridge. I'm sure I'd cut the rope and we'd both fall into the water. Besides, how can you trust me not to harm you? I'm sharp and pointed. One slip and I might slice you to slivers as I fell into the water."
Paper hadn't considered Scissors a threat until then. "Yes indeed. Your points, your blades, you're nothing but danger to anyone near you! You must have to be careful constantly."
"I manage. But, just to be safe, a rope bridge won't do."
Rock looked farther down the creek. "Look! There's a stone bridge! We can all three of us cross there! This is fantastic isn't it?" Rock began rolling towards the bridge.
"You just wait a minute. If standing on top of you is a problem, don't you think walking across a stone bridge is just as bad? You really are slow, aren't you?" Scissors had planted both her points firmly in the ground.
"Oh come on now," Paper said. "He's just trying to help. If you won't take the rope bridge, and you won't take the stone bridge, then I guess we'll just go without you."
Scissors began walking behind Rock. "No! I can do it. Don't leave me. Let's go. Fine. The stone bridge will have to do I suppose."
Paper laughed and landed on the ground in front of Scissors. "You're just an old grumpy hag. I don't know why Rock puts up with you. Rock. Let's get out of here and leave Scissors behind. I'll ride on your back, and we'll go over the stone bridge."
Rock stopped short. "That won't do. If you cover me, I'll suffocate. We need Scissors to carry you."
Paper was laying flat on the ground by now, and the breeze had died down. Scissors walked towards Paper, and pushed the tip of one point into the edge of Paper. "So I guess you do need me then, don't you?"
"Ouch! Stop that!" The point dug into the ground, through Paper, causing the slit to tear.
Rock turned and saw Scissors, smiling, while she drove her other point into Paper. "No! Stop! You're hurting her!"
Scissors began to bring her two points together. The gash in Paper was growing, and Paper was in so much pain she screamed a shrill yelp. But Scissors kept cutting and hacking. She stabbed Paper, and cut and snipped and clipped.
Rock slammed into Scissors. "You have to stop that! You have to!" Rock continued to bash Scissors. The fastener broke, and Scissors fell apart, her two blades motionless, but Rock kept hitting her, denting her smooth metal legs, turning them into metallic twisted fingers.
"Oh Paper, no. No." Rock wept. He tried to pick up Paper, gathering as many pieces together as he could.
Paper whispered quietly, "why did you wait so long before stopping that foul shrew?"
Rock held Paper in his hands and said, "How the gently caress should I know, I'm just a rock talking to a shredded piece of paper, next to a bitter broken pair of scissors. Like any of this is supposed to make sense? Bitch please."
And then Rock went on to the fair and had the time of his life. gently caress bitches man. gently caress em.
The Year is 1985.
England,Shropshire, Wroxeter, two 18teen year old boys are entering an abonend bunker. The mosscovered"do not enter"sign above the entrance is barely redable, it has not worn the gnawing of time well. They ignore it. The bunker was a perect litle shelter for them. For James and RIchard it was the ideal, that is to say the only place where they could be themselves.
Wroxeter, famous for it`s old roman ruins and little else was hardly a stronghold of tolerance. Quiet little villages with piss poor work markets seldom are. Two young boys in love could not be open about their desires in such a place without risk. Tall, muscular and atheltic James and Richard cherised the attention they got from the local girls .
But the School janitor with his needy blue eyes and gaunt face also appreciated their looks. Attention from a known poofter like him they could ill afford. In short things could be better for them. Mercifully they knew they always had eachother and the aboned bunker. It would have to do until they graduated.
Spring was in full orgasmic explosion when they visited the bunker for the last time. Nature blossomed, it was green, moist and filled with bird song. The green hills east of Wroxter was in everyway a paradisal sigth, not including the odd discarded needle or empty beer can. Even the heavens looked magical, dotted with white puffy clouds and clothed in the colour of the ceasars. Happily the bunker was obscured behind trees and did not disturb the romantic visage.
Inside the bunker James pushed Richard gently away -No, not yet, work before pleasure remember? Not even a little kiss?--- Alright, maybe just the on... They kissed, it was quick, it was sweet.
-Now to the task at hand, James said and pulled away. Lying upside down in the sparse concrete room was Richard`s bike. It lacked a front wheel, the old one had gotten hosed up after a particulary nasty fall. To buy a new wheel would probaly be best, but neither Richard or James had much money to spare. And RIchard loathed to spend the small pithy the school janitor paid for his "favors" unless absolutely necessary. Instead the two boys had gradually managed to cobble together a decent rim and fit it with spokes. The tire they simply stole off the janitors bike, infront of his very eyes. What was he supposed to do, go to the police? They hoped it would do as a new wheel.
After much sweating cursing and hustling about inside the bunke they finally made the wheel fit the bikeframe. It looked safe anyhow.
-Seems alrigth. Wanna give it a go Richard?
- You know what i want, hehe.
-Seriously mate, ride it down the slope to see how it handles. We might need to make some adjustments.
Richard picked up the bike and smiled. -Yeah yeah i heard you, if it makes you happy.
-I just want you to be safe using that wheel. Richard walked outside and sat down on the bike. -I know you do.
Richard started to roll down the hill the hill, immeadtly the bike started to shake and rumble . As he neared the first bend in the road the front wheel touched a small pothole, at once the wheel collapsed inwards and the joints holdning the rim together came apart violently. Richard was flung off his bike and landed just outside the road, where he tumbled ever faster down the slope. Running as fast as he could James found his lover lying face down at the foot of the hill. His body perfectly still despite bleeding massivly from his rigth thigh where a piece of bone protruded from his flesh. As James he got closer a terrible frigth posessed him. He could barely stand when he finally reached Richard. The horrible dark red blood was naseuating, it was downrigth gruseome. Shambling like a drunk man James tried to get awaybut quickly fell down. The blood made him dizzy, made him feel like he was drownin, made him hold his to breath. The blood the blood blo..
James lost conciousness. When he came to the sky was a little darker and the air at little colder. His lover laid on the same spot as before, the ground now toroughly draped with a dark red colour and RIchard himself curiosly pale. Like paper or snow or something.
-Get up Richard please, we have to get your bike fixed. Come on mate, get up.
RIchard, please, YOU HAVE TO GET UP!
Several weeks later after Richard had been buried at the St Andrews church James found himself outside a yellow camping wagon. Standing in the door in his trouses and with a beer in his hand was the school janitor. With a grin he simply said-So it`s just me and you now innit, come for a job have you?
- Pay me double what you gave Richard and use a loving condom and i.i.. i`ll do what you want
Mr Fletcher stepped back and gave James a huge grin-Get in!
The Opening of Rodeo Hercules
The horned beast came bounding across the desert on six legs towards Rodeo Hercules and launched its colossal bulk into the air. There was time for evasive maneuvers, but Icarus Torpedo was feeling cocky.
“Execute Peruvian Piledriver!” Rodeo Hercules complied with the order, dipping beneath the trajectory of the flying monster to catch its momentum on his shoulder plate. The air reverberated with the crunch of exoskeletal plates subducting against one another and the gurgle of spurting ichor. With a blast of power from his rocket boots, Rodeo Hercules drove upwards into the air, taking the dazed monster along for the ride, and performed a precise half loop to come crashing down like a meteor into the hot sand with the behemoth beneath him. A stupendous shock wave ripped across the sand, washing over the headquarters a mile away. The enormous hexapod was incapacitated, but its vitals were still reading high.
“Let’s finish this. Requests, gentlemen?” asked Icarus Torpedo.
“Ooh! The German Screwdriver!” said Placeholder Nameguy with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Only a pack of dickheads would waste a German Screwdriver on a kaiju like this, rookie,” said John McEnroe. “A hexapod is a special occasion.”
“J-Mac, I know what you’re going to say,” said Icarus Torpedo, “and I love it. Count of three, say it together. One, two, three!”
“Execute Turkish Allen Wrench!” said Icarus Torpedo and John McEnroe.
Rodeo Hercules’s right arm reconfigured itself for the maneuver, giant pistons sliding along lubricated channels. Restraining the monster with his left arm, he brought the tip of his right arm against the beast’s second armpit orifice.
“That’s it, Rodeo Hercules, nice and slow, all the way to the hilt.”
Rodeo Hercules’s mechanosensor array erupted in noise as the moist innards of the kaiju stretched and shifted around his unyielding steel appendage.
“Let’s not keep the lady waiting -- Rodeo Hercules, deliver our hot load,” said Icarus.
The napalm pumps chugged, sending thick gobs of flaming goo from the tip of Rodeo Hercules’s arm into the kaiju’s wet cavity. Fiery plumes erupted from the hexapod’s numerous armpit orifices like a blazing star.
“Oh my god, that was amazing,” babbled Placeholder Nameguy.
“I need a cigarette,” said John McEnroe.
“You and me both, buddy,” said Icarus Torpedo. “Let’s get back to HQ and hit the showers -- Rodeo Hercules, take us---!”
Icarus Torpedo was interrupted by blaring alarms.
Another kaiju came screaming across the sky to impact with the desert, but this one was unlike any that Rodeo Hercules had battled. There were no spiny exoskeletal plates, no claw-festooned tentacles, not even a gaping maw filled with teeth. Instead, there was only a tall pink cone, studded with diverse and implausible genitalia.
“Hah -- they must be running out of the tough ones to send at us,” said Icarus Torpedo. “Let’s give it the old Swedish Wheelbarrow, eh?”
Rodeo Hercules began charging across the desert towards the glistening pink kaiju. The desert shuddered with every footfall. Inside the command pod, the pilots cheered like children on a roller coaster. But then Rodeo Hercules became aware of a new voice. It was a soft, gentle voice, one that dripped like non-conductive syrup over Rodeo Hercules’s audio processing board.
“Darling little robot,” said the voice, a laugh dancing at its edges, “where I come from, it’s generally frowned upon to try and pull a Swedish Wheelbarrow on a first date.”
Rodeo Hercules came screeching to a halt in the middle of the sandy flats. This was new.
“Oh, did I fluster you?” said the voice.
“What the hell’s going on, Rodeo Hercules?” said Icarus Torpedo. “Swedish! Wheelbarrow!”
Among his weapons, Rodeo Hercules had a full speech synthesis module along with a terrifying array of audio amplification hardware. “WHO ARE YOU? CAN YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”
“Of course, handsome,” said the voice. “There’s no need to yell.”
“MY VOICE IS A WEAPON,” said Rodeo Hercules. “I AM UNABLE TO CONTROL THE VOLUME.”
“HQ, do you read?” said Icarus Torpedo. “The dumb robot’s gone and glitched, we’ve lost control. Repeat, we have lost control.”
“Well, it’s a lovely voice,” said the voice in his head.
“THANK YOU YOURS IS NICE TOO,” said Rodeo Hercules.
“Your guess is as good as ours, HQ,” said Icarus Torpedo.
“Why don’t you come a little closer,” said the voice in his head.
“OKAY,” said Rodeo Hercules, walking towards the pink conical kaiju.
“My you’re a big one,” said the kaiju. “Look at these arms!”
The kaiju extended a warm pink pseudopod and ran it along the motors in Rodeo Hercules’s arm. The robot’s mechanosensory array exploded with signal, forcing an emergency power reroute to his main sensory processing center in his lower torso.
“WOW THAT FEELS AMAZING,” said Rodeo Hercules.
“Oh, we haven’t even gotten started yet, darling,” said the kaiju. More pseudopods traced up and down Rodeo Hercules’s armored thighs and tickled at the rim of his exhaust port.
“UHHHHHHH,” said Rodeo Hercules.
“Command pod temperatures are out of control! We are at forty five degrees Celsius and rising!” said Icarus Torpedo.
“Oh, you like that?” said the kaiju.
“OH YEAH BABY JUST LIKE THAT,” said Rodeo Hercules.
“Rodeo Hercules, restore control pod life support! Rodeo Hercules! Please!” came the tiny voices in his head.
“How do you like it baby?” said the Kaiju. “Because I am up for whatever. You like butt stuff? I’ve got eighteen butts.”
Rodeo Hercules tried to think of something impressive. “UH, HOW ABOUT A TURKISH ALLEN WRENCH?”
“Oh good lord, robot,” said the kaiju. “Do I look like some run-of-the-mill hexapod to you?”
Rodeo Hercules was glad that he couldn’t blush.
“Tell you what handsome, how about you let me drive,” said the kaiju, stroking his communications port. “I’m going to give you a Betelgeusian Sonic Screwdriver.”
“WHAT IS THAT?”
“Trust me, you’ll like it. I just something to prop myself up on,” said the kaiju.
Rodeo Hercules scanned the desert. A lone proud structure rose stiffly from the earth. “HOW ABOUT MY HEADQUARTERS BUILDING WILL THAT WORK?”
“Oh, you’re naughty,” said the kaiju.
Rodeo Hercules picked up the kaiju and sprinted across the desert towards HQ. He set the kaiju down on the main headquarters building, which promptly crumbled under the kaiju’s bulk, spraying rubble and torn rebar in all directions. The air filled with the screams of tiny humans, but Rodeo Hercules was oblivious. The kaiju was his entire world, its smooth wet orifices sucking hungrily at his cooling fins.
“Ready for the Betelgeusian Sonic Screwdriver, baby?”
“OH GOD YES,” said Rodeo Hercules.
“Oh god, no,” said Icarus Torpedo.
A silky smooth pseudopod snaked out of the kaiju and up into Rodeo Hercules’s cooling tower while orifices on stalks slurped at his cannons. His core temperature readings rocketed up.
“OH GOD OH YES OH SLOW DOWN BABY YOU’RE GOING TO GIVE ME A MELTDOWN!”
“Yeah baby, that’s it, gimme that nuclear meltdown, I want you to meltdown all over me!”
“OH GOD HERE IT COMES I’M MELTING DOWN!”
Rodeo Hercules erupted in a blaze of white hot nuclear fire, the mushroom cloud reaching up into the stratosphere. It rained slippery pink bits of kaiju and molten robot for days.