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They made a little base up in the hills. Hid it real good. You could hardly see it. That's why all them chupicabras bounced they asses the hell out a there. Army got this repellent crap. I don't know what it is...All kind a hinky-dinks. Some comes in a spray. Some is like a 'lectrical pulse. But you gotta know the right micro-frequency. The wrong one don't do nothin'. Just makes 'em lose bladder control. And you know what that smell like.
Them what holds the reigns 'round here, like Stinker Jones and 'The Posse' (that's what they call themselves and yeah, that includes Zeb too) hopin' for a super weapon. Can't nuke 'em all up. Not 'cause they don't want to, but 'cause an even bigger posse, like what they got back in Washington, won't let 'em.
Oh, I knows they calls the Big Boss Man up here 'the president.' But he ain't no such thing. Yeah, we got The Stone House. And yeah, he wear the suits. And his wife all smiley and wavey an' all. Ain't had no lady Big Boss Man yet, so I don't know what a husband gonna do.
But what we call 'the president' is really just like an old time territorial governor. Click on an Earth-side news service an' he jus' the 'facilitator of the administrative council.' Log onto same thing on Mars an' he the president. 'Cause what we got here is a failure to communicate.
So them Barsoom (capital city) goomers got this thing. If y'all been wit' us a little while, you know what I mean. That cat-killin' pulse what got used back a The John Carter Sports Center. That convict killin' pulse what got accidentally on purpose switched on over at the penitentiary. Work real good too. Now they gotta try it out in the open. Figured all the people be shucked outta them borderlands by now...An' they mostly got it right too, 'cept for like a few no account stragglers and them unfortunately stranded Texacos.
Now don't go pointin' fingers at Zeb. He worried 'bout his family. He is. Got 'tective goomers out lookin' for 'em and everything. Only they ain't lookin' where his people be. Lady friend say he real shook up 'bout the whole thing. I do not know her name. This a new one. She got real fancy, scientifically orchestrated boobies too. I do not know what options she done picked out. But I hear she got all the good ones. So I am guessin' skeeters ain't too much of a problem and she must get pretty good 'mega-wave reception. Mus' come in handy at picnics and all.
But them Texacos don't know a kit-kat turd 'bout this. They still stuck in that God damn tank. An' if you wanna know the truff, there a generous helpin' a solid waste mixed in with all that yellah stuff too. Lucky that ole Johnson's Popcorn tub so luxuriously commodious.
Army goomers in them hills gettin' ready a fire that pulse bastid right up. Oh, they do see all them chupicabras makin merry 'round the ruins a that old tank. But who gonna go down and mess wit' them son-a-bitches? 'Sides, guys (and that include the female guys too) takin' bets as to what it gone do to 'em. Seen holograms a them 'sploded kitties. Seen what all happened to them jail birds. But this real life. And this gone be good.
Meanwhile, back in the tank, Bart squintin' out a less smeared up spot tryin' a see if a fly-by comin'. He figure Zeb got goomers out lookin'. An' he right. They just not lookin' down here.
Chupi bastids quiet now, jus' cootie-searchin' each another, or scratchin' they butts. Butt scratchin' seem to be a big mornin' activity in these parts. He did see a shiny, little football thing whiz by high up, but it jus' a bee bop. It jus' one a them fas', little Chinese hinky-dinks.
Kids is wakin' up. Shame a see how sad they is. Now they know it wern't no dream.
Miss Sissie still hear that 'lectric hum.
But nobody else does.........not yet.........
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Them what holds the reigns 'round here, like Stinker Jones and 'The Posse' (that's what they call themselves and yeah, that includes Zeb too) hopin' for a super weapon. Can't nuke 'em all up. Not 'cause they don't want to, but 'cause an even bigger posse, like what they got back in Washington, won't let 'em.
Oh, I knows they calls the Big Boss Man up here 'the president.' But he ain't no such thing. Yeah, we got The Stone House. And yeah, he wear the suits. And his wife all smiley and wavey an' all. Ain't had no lady Big Boss Man yet, so I don't know what a husband gonna do.
But what we call 'the president' is really just like an old time territorial governor. Click on an Earth-side news service an' he jus' the 'facilitator of the administrative council.' Log onto same thing on Mars an' he the president. 'Cause what we got here is a failure to communicate.
So them Barsoom (capital city) goomers got this thing. If y'all been wit' us a little while, you know what I mean. That cat-killin' pulse what got used back a The John Carter Sports Center. That convict killin' pulse what got accidentally on purpose switched on over at the penitentiary. Work real good too. Now they gotta try it out in the open. Figured all the people be shucked outta them borderlands by now...An' they mostly got it right too, 'cept for like a few no account stragglers and them unfortunately stranded Texacos.
Now don't go pointin' fingers at Zeb. He worried 'bout his family. He is. Got 'tective goomers out lookin' for 'em and everything. Only they ain't lookin' where his people be. Lady friend say he real shook up 'bout the whole thing. I do not know her name. This a new one. She got real fancy, scientifically orchestrated boobies too. I do not know what options she done picked out. But I hear she got all the good ones. So I am guessin' skeeters ain't too much of a problem and she must get pretty good 'mega-wave reception. Mus' come in handy at picnics and all.
But them Texacos don't know a kit-kat turd 'bout this. They still stuck in that God damn tank. An' if you wanna know the truff, there a generous helpin' a solid waste mixed in with all that yellah stuff too. Lucky that ole Johnson's Popcorn tub so luxuriously commodious.
Army goomers in them hills gettin' ready a fire that pulse bastid right up. Oh, they do see all them chupicabras makin merry 'round the ruins a that old tank. But who gonna go down and mess wit' them son-a-bitches? 'Sides, guys (and that include the female guys too) takin' bets as to what it gone do to 'em. Seen holograms a them 'sploded kitties. Seen what all happened to them jail birds. But this real life. And this gone be good.
Meanwhile, back in the tank, Bart squintin' out a less smeared up spot tryin' a see if a fly-by comin'. He figure Zeb got goomers out lookin'. An' he right. They just not lookin' down here.
Chupi bastids quiet now, jus' cootie-searchin' each another, or scratchin' they butts. Butt scratchin' seem to be a big mornin' activity in these parts. He did see a shiny, little football thing whiz by high up, but it jus' a bee bop. It jus' one a them fas', little Chinese hinky-dinks.
Kids is wakin' up. Shame a see how sad they is. Now they know it wern't no dream.
Miss Sissie still hear that 'lectric hum.
But nobody else does.........not yet.........
=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=<>=
please click on that SHARE button. favor us with a COMMENT. thank you
