Story Thread 5

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ReplicantHissing and clunking, the engine finally gave out and the car slowed to a stop on the desert road.
NieceThe chickens in the back clucking away.
Fork U"Yeah, right." she says. "This is the oldest trick in the book. You get me out here in the middle of nowhere and feign car trouble. All this effort just try to get me to look at your lizard."
Eric J. Gustafson"But the Emerald Gecko is a thing of rare beauty!!"
Replicant"You must realise, though, that your stories don't con me," she said. "Just because it's scaly don't mean it's a lizard." She stood there and glared at him, defiant with her arms folded, the moonlight reflecting brightly from the polish on her wooden teeth.
Thread 2 | Thread 3 | Thread 4
Dan Kinney"I know," he sighed, kicking some sand around a stray human skeleton.
"And all this empty pretense is only distracting me from becoming a rising power in the fast food industry. I don't know what came over me." Sinking to his knees, he began to weep copiously.
Tim O'NeilShe put a knobby hand on his shoulder.
"I invented a new kind of french fry, did you know that?!" he cried out to her.
"I crinkle cut a beet one day, I was bored, y'know? But the damn thing actually tasted GOOD!" He sobbed into the dirt.
"Look, we need to, uh, find a place to stay for the night or something, unless you know where we can get some gas, and judging from the look of this place, I'm betting not." She looked about the desert, glanced at the sunken columns and huge warped pocket watches that littered the landscape. Nope, no gas pumps.
Baron Saturday"Yes dearest," he muttered humbly. "We need to find a big fat chick though."
"Well, I know where we can get one. Come on!" she urged.
They turned and walked through the shattered glass, which crunched beneath their combat boots like a small child eating a bowl of cereal. He absently stomped a skull into tiny pieces.

They found their armour-plated Honda gold-wing where they had left it - leaned against a lamp post which stood as a forlorn tall sentinel on this vast plain. The desolation stretched for as far as the eye could see - the shattered glass (which gave the sunset vista a rather lovely air) and shattered bones relieved the monotony somewhat. They had often wondered how a lamp post had come to be in such a place, but had put it down to the vagaries of slip-time.

Little did they know that it was actually an alien transport, camouflaged to make it appear innocuous. Within lived a tiny leprechaun, who spent his days and nights masturbating, waiting for his big date. She was already a couple of thousand local-years late, but what the hell, he figured he would give her five thousand more before cutting out.

The couple (his name was Robert, hers was Cunt) had meanwhile hopped onto their psycles' seat and revved its anti-matter drives to life. Robert turned on some tunez, adjusted his goggles, and they sped off into the void of space-time in search of fat chicks and cow asses.

ReplicantAfter travelling for a while, they swapped the bike at Robert's insistence for one of the special hyperspace upgraded Edsel replicas at the nearest branch of Ralph Spoilsport's Interstellar Motor Showroom, and continued their journey.

Several hours/parsecs later/above, Robert turned to Cunt, pulling a cigarette out of a packet he had been keeping in the pocket of the daring little number in purple and pink plaid which he had slipped on whilst they were travelling, and offering it to her. "Cigarette?"
Cunt drew her attention away from the five-dimensional map that she had been staring at and looked at it. "Yes, I know."

Robert frowned and lit the cigarette. And then realised why he had taken it out in the first place, and started smoking it. Cunt raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You always smoke a cigarette in your fly?"
"It relaxes me there, okay? Quit carping and look out where you're meant to be driving. You almost hit that asteroid just then. And remember to check your mirror when going into orbit!"

"Christ!" she snarled. "Who's carping here? You want to start driving again? You sound just like my mother." Cunt shot Robert a glance that could have burnt the hairs off a Greek woman's thighs.
"Why, did your mother complain about your driving all the time?" Robert unclenched his perineal muscles and let out a long thin trail of smoke. "You wanna see me make smoke rings? I'll have to get into the back seat."

Cunt flipped him the finger. "No - you really do sound like my mother. Come to think of it, you look like her too. I always wondered why she never shaved off her beard - she claimed it kept the flies away, but I wasn't so sure."
"Well, I - SHIT! LOOK OUT!" Robert dived over and wrenched the steering wheel sharply downwards, causing the car to hurtle out of the path of a convoy of small space ships shaped like lamp posts. "It really is true about women drivers!"

"RIGHT!" Cunt wrenched on the handbrake and brought them metaphorically screeching to a halt out of hyperspace and back into real space/time. "That's it! I quit! I've had enough of you and your comments, this car, your mission for Commander Vr'h's with those DAMNED chickens, everything! You made a real error of judgement getting rid of the bike, plus I think you were taking the piss when you told me that Cunt was a title of great honour on your world and that it was necessary for me to assume it undercover. Screw you, screw your mission and screw any hope you ever had with me of getting laid. I'm out of here."

The woman whose real name was Natalie jammed on her space helmet, picked up her valise off the back seat, opened the door and stepped out into space. The vacuum that resulted from her opening of the door was so powerful that it pulled off Robert's toupé - the one he had had attached all those years ago, after the drunken incident at the hypertattooist's when he had had "The Cubbies for the World Series" 3-D tattooed onto his cranial plate. Robert screamed and yanked the door shut, but it was too late. She had gone, and so had his toupé.

Natalie scowled and turned on her boosters, never looking back at the broken man who was now weeping in the car she had just left forever. Spotting a shuttle stop on an asteroid close by, she jetted over to it. Walking into the diner, she sat down on one of the stools and removed her helmet. She was just about to order, when a rough hand spun her around by the shoulder and she found herself looking up into a face she hadn't seen for a long time.

Baron SaturdayMeanwhile, back in the luxurious confines of the Edsel, Robert was HIGHLY pissed.

"Stupid fuckin' cunt.", he muttered, "I paid 500 credits, terran, for that goddamn rug!"

He watched as she jetted away into the starry clouds of the galactic core. His hand idly toyed with a baseball bat he kept in the seat beside him. It was one of those really tiny ones, made good hardwood back on Earth Prime. It also featured spam for the "Cubbies" on it.

He thought about how it would sound connecting with dear Natilie's head.

Give a fuckin' woman a LITTLE responsability, and look how they fuck things up! Jetting because of his perfectly rational assement of her fucked-up driving habits, and for her PERFECTLY GOOD nome-de-guere! What the fuck was wrong with "Cunt"? It was the best part of a woman, anywaze!

He absently twitched the head of his penis, causing a slight cascade of ash to fall to the floor.

"You stupid fuck, have you no TACT?", his penis called from around the cigarette in its mouth.

"Oh, shut up. You just think with your balls.", Robert retorted.

"Yeah, easy for YOU to say! YOU don't have to deal with the problems of Mr. PROSTATE when he doesn't get a good spew out of me every once in awhile!"

"Yah, yah. We'll get your silly ass up in some bitch's twat soon enough. First we need to think to how we're gonna bait the Zorgian Muffin-snatcher without a bitch!"

"You said you know where a fat bitch is.", his penis drooled, starting to get erect.


Robert deftly applied the bat to his crotch. It felt good to get out the anger Natalie had stirred in him.


He slapped his penis with the miniature "Louisville Slugger" again.

"Hey, you asshole! You're gonna regret that when your synapses are reconnected to mine!"

"Heh. You'll be dead of cancer first, then I'll trade your sorry ass in on a NEW model, a BIGGER model!", Robert promised his errant penis.

Robert's penis (his name was "George", by the way) grumbled a bit, though he didn't attempt an erection again at this time, and said, "Well, we could go to that diner you picked Natalie up at in the first place..."

Annoyed at George's sudden reasonableness even more than he had been at his rebellion, Robert decided that there was NO WAY he was going back to that dive! Ha! He'd show both Natalie AND George who's the boss about!

He rammed the car back into warp and headed in exactly the OPPOSITE direction from the area he had picked up Natalie- an old and rather run-down section of the galaxy back towards the central core, and headed towards the upper-crusty outer worlds.

"And where do you think you'll get the cash for one of those high-priced call-girls?", George asked from his trou. "And by the way, you can ditch this smoke. That is, unless you want me to drop it on the carpet, and you know what THE bossman said about the LAST TIME you burnt up a vehicle for no goddamn good reason!"

"Yah, yah.", Robert grumbled, yanking the butt from his penis's lips and cracking the window enough to create just vacuume enough to suck it out into the cold of space. He resented any little thing his penis was able to get him to do, and would just about go to any lengths to avoid being put in a position to have to fulfill even the most reasonable request George could make.

Let's face it, Robert wasn't the BEST guy to have as a partner....

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