Saturday, November 5, 2011

HUMAN CHILDREN TURNED TO SLUGS UPON WHITE HOT SAHARA SANDS

Meanwhile, back at the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau, Baylah is making a good recovery. She remembers little of the searing pain, but recalls a troubling dream. Hordes of tiny piranha surround her in a hot, steamy shower. They spurt out of the shiny, wet tiles and wriggle up from the drain. hundreds of them slap their cold, clammy bodies against each other as they swin toward her naked flesh. You know those little metal and plastic jaw-clamps they use to pull staples out a papers? Well that's what their teeth are like. Each and every razor sharp bite scoops out a neat, little appetizer sized dollop of flesh, till she looks like a screaming slab a bloody swiss cheese with a  soaking wet lady head and  oh-so-vulnerable bouncing lady breasts. OUCH! that must hurt! And as the red fluid washes down from her once shapely body, squadrons of miniature, strong-armed lunchroom matrons squeeze their asses up out of a bottle of Herbal Essence shampoo to manically stir the borscht-like concoction into a heady brew. Then, approximately half a hearbeat later, she's lying naked on a freezing ice flow pitching and rolling through cold Antarctic seas, as Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons (circa 1963) play buck-buck for the right to do all kinds a nasty things to her under a vivid, star-kist, clear, black sky.

Then she wakes up, suspended in the throbbing chords of the GreatArmonica and it's all over. The tickling vibrations feel good. Each magnetic resonance stimulates her body in a new and delicious way. The burns begin to pucker up and close, till her skin seems covered with thousands of pouting kissy-lips.

And she hears the muffled sound of rasping sea ditties, as the mermaid hag serenades her through the walls. While somewhere, in a hidden place come the raw and oozing screams of an imprisoned Jersey Devil.......Shhhhh, he's rattling the bars. Someone yells - Throw him the fat, little human girl. That'll shut him up......... But another voice says - No, she goes to that vampire bitch they got twitchin' in the G.A. (Great Armonica) Room. Can't you SEE the number on her ass!?........ Thus Baylah knew her next meal was in the offing.

Doctor Franklin poured over data spewed through the many fontlets of his new liguid matrix computer (the first of its kind). I could provide a more detailed description of this miraculous device, but then our agents would be forched to pluck you out of your warm, cozy beds the better to de-spine-a-tate you (the bones make such good soup and after all, the Jersey Devil DOES have to be fed.)

Don't be shocked. We prepare for war, kiddies. Desperate times breed desperate measures. The aliens don't hold back. Look down from the heavens ( if you have that ability). There, behind those towering dunes. Right there, just a little to the left of the navel of the Sahara. See them? No! Not the fleeing, human skeletons! I mean the children, those boys with the shaven heads. The ones turned to caterpillars from the neck down. How plump and funny they are. Oh, the sun must burn. See them? But how can you not see them!? The vultures do! And the little black things.... what are they, scorpions? Well they appear to see them quite well too.

And our friends in the New Jersey Pine Barrens? What news have we of them? Well they stomp their feet to old Scots-Irish bawdy songs, played through a chill, November night, while Little Annie hugs her knees and rocks deleriously in the corner..... Oh, look at Pin-Head-Mel clapping. He likes it. He really likes it....... Faster, Annie! Rock faster. Rock faster!

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