SPACE NOIR BAR by Mike Marino (top books to read txt) đź“–
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a stage of Robotian urban decay, switchblades and guns where a pre-op lesbian cyborg could find love in the heart of Mechanical Maniacal Maria, a Puerto Rican Erotibot.
These two gangs wage war wearing Kevlar fishnets using outdated guns doing lavish programed dance numbers (they were created to do pole dancing and strip in some of the hottest clubs in the galaxy after all!) I kept waiting for the Rita Moreno Latina-bot to strut her stuff showing her best skirt lifting legs as fireball sexy Latina hot as they come...on fire causing a burning yearning sensation in a man’s groin as she took gyrating and thrusting to a sexual plateau to the tune of "Everything's Free In Robotia!”
Well great, I thought. Show tune gangs!!! Give my regards to Broadway....sing 'em loud and sing 'em proud! There's no business like show business and damn it..no tunes like show tunes! It's time to man up with a fishnet chorus line of Broadway show tunes. Damn the Ethel Merman torpedos, full Sondheim steam ahead. Don't worry about masculinity atrophied or your wrist gone limp...it's Broadway, and you’re a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day! Afraid you won't be a man anymore because you have an urge to hum or sing a gay white way tune...don't worry..and don't ask/don't tell William. It's overture time This is it, the night of nights...It's time for Henry Higgins to come out of your closet to liberate the Liberace that lurks by candelabra light in all of us..yes, you too!
The smell of the greasepaint and the roar of crowd, the chorus girls, and yes, effeminate chorus boys too, fishnet stockings, tights with bulges battling, sweet nutcrackers and Desmond tutu's...spotlights and orchestra pits...backstage frolic with onstage follies. A real man can crush a beer a can with one hand and make Busby Berkeley have an orgasm with a display of flawless manly choreography ...one, two, three kick...all backed by a legendary back line of high kicking long legs with thunder packed thighs dripping with sensChapter 23 The Ethel Merman Cyborgs and Bob Fosse Fishnet Erotibots
We followed the Hipster rebels to Red Zeppelin headquarters, or a reasonable facsimile of a military compound if your army consisted of The Three Stooges in a Tim Burton film. Sweaty pipes overhead leaked hot water giving the impression you were entering a incontinent rainforest or Seattle in the wet season, which is pretty much 13 months out of 12 every year. A real bakers dozen.
“Nice place ya got here,” Poontang said with a smirk in her voice. “You always were a snarky bitch,” the General replied. “Sit. Coffee?” We all shook our heads. “No coffee, but if you have Toklas Brownies around here,” I blurted out. “I could use a buzz about now.” The General snapped his greasy fingers and his whacked out toady brought out a tray of some of the best buzz brownies a mechanical planet could offer.
As we got buzz bombed, the General got down to biz buzzed. “My men can get you safely to the Rabbit Hole. We can’t go any further. Too dangerous,” he explained. “Once there you’re on your own, but you won’t have any trouble, as I’m sure Poontang can get you in and out without any problem.” Who the hell were these Rabbit Hole Amazons anyway, and more importantly how do they know Poontang?
Soon the Toklas infusion hit me full force and I was as comfortably numb as a coma patient in Bellevue awaiting transfer to a cuckoo’s nest. The General leaned his khaki camo bulk forward, obviously to be emphatic. “I do however, have one condition. Unless you agree to it, then we do not have a deal!” We had no choice so we bit the bullet. “You will get the Falcon off the planet and away from the Tohos. If they regain it they will be a formidable foe and squash the revolt. We can handle them now and we will fight the Rabbit and her gang on even ground in our little civil war, but, should the Tohos regain their former power the revolution as a whole is at an end.”
“Agreed,” I grumbled. He didn’t know we already had plans to exchange the Falcon for Poontangs sister anyway and that meant the Narco Marx factor. Who knows what he thought we were going to with it being the simple single minded revolutionary that he is.
“Good. Then we can begin. I’ll tell you what you are up against Mr. Yucatan in case you weren’t fully filled in. The Rabbit Hole Rebels are dangerous, but first you have to get past the Ethel Merman Cyborgs and Bob Fosse Fishnets here in the Vortex!” We control this vector, the Rabbits control the Rabbit Hole, but these two groups are relatively new to us. We’ll eventually wipe them but for now a mere annoyance. Great, more pretenders to the throne of this shithole Vortex.
Strangelove motioned for us to get moving, so we exchanged our good speed wishes and lucks and made a hasty exit from Red Zep headquarters with his men running interference for us in the streets where the battle was still raging. The stench of the vaped body count added to the musty smell of the standing water and dead space rats mingling in the grey fog of death and the smoking haze from the crashing rubble breaking up outside from the pitched battle between the Red Zeps on the ground and the surrounding allied forces of Tohos and Com-Reds.
The sky was filled with magnificent armed flying drones...death from above raining down on the Vortex. I knew the Tohos and Comreds wanted us too, but strangely enough I had the feeling they were clear cutting a path filled with dead Zeps so we could reach our destination and in the bargain bring back to Falcon within their collective reach.
A reality check reminded me...they both wanted the Falcon and were strange allied bedfellows now, but I had an uneasy feeling that once we had the Falcon in our possession they would turn their attention to our ultimate demise before concentrating on eliminating each other. Meanwhile at the end of this deadly rainbow Narco Marx already held the trump card, having dealt himself into game early for his grab at the pot of gold. In all likelihood be the last man standing.
The lasers and phasers were heating up the grey dark of the night, maybe it was dusk, you couldn’t tell the difference between the grey ash and smoke of battle, a nuclear winter effect that would cut off photosynthesis in any case for struggling flora reaching out for a drink of sunshine. Even our clothes became covered in dust...in every direction it was grey, black and faded dirty white. Pleasantville where grey card tones fought a box of Crayola’s. Even the M & M’s were black and white and all the jelly beans are masses of melted colorless gel with islands of sweet sugar that attract the holy roamin’ empire of rodents claiming the black back alley’s and stench filled sewers shooting steam through vents creating islands of global warming for the hopeless homeless winos and junkies to ward off hypodermic hypothermia hypothetically.
Poontang stopped fast, alarmed. “Look. We’ve got trouble,” she whispered. As my eyes focused through the gauze of grey I had to agree. The streets were alive with the sound of music. As I listened intently I recognized the songs...BROADWAY SHOW TUNES being sung by two opposing female gangs carrying chains, knives, guns, all old school and all with a look of PMS murder in their eyes.
I could tell by the look on her face it was just about showtime. “OK Doc now we have a fight on our hands. Those are the Ethel Mermans, and the Bob Fosse Fishnets. What the General forgot to tell you is one group, the Merman’s, are escaped human female and male pre-op slaves from Retropolis who were kidnapped and destined for Robotian bordellos after conversion into Erotibot cyborgs … the others are full fledged Toho Female Erotibot Warriors the Toho’s sent in to recapture the Mermans. They’ve been fighting to stalemate for two years now. Both are tough in tights and we have to get through them to get to the Rabbit Hole.”
Terrific. I hoped to hell, PMS did not effect deranged Erotibots. I was stuck in the urban battleground of two gangs - real Sharks and Jets shit set amidst a stage of Robotian urban decay, switchblades and guns where a pre-op lesbian cyborg could find love in the heart of Mechanical Maniacal Maria, a Puerto Rican Erotibot.
These two gangs wage war wearing Kevlar fishnets using outdated guns doing lavish programed dance numbers (they were created to do pole dancing and strip in some of the hottest clubs in the galaxy after all!) I kept waiting for the Rita Moreno Latina-bot to strut her stuff showing her best skirt lifting legs as fireball sexy Latina hot as they come...on fire causing a burning yearning sensation in a man’s groin as she took gyrating and thrusting to a sexual plateau to the tune of "Everything's Free In Robotia!”
Well great, I thought. Show tune gangs!!! Give my regards to Broadway....sing 'em loud and sing 'em proud! There's no business like show business and damn it..no tunes like show tunes! It's time to man up with a fishnet chorus line of Broadway show tunes. Damn the Ethel Merman torpedos, full Sondheim steam ahead. Don't worry about masculinity atrophied or your wrist gone limp...it's Broadway, and you’re a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day! Afraid you won't be a man anymore because you have an urge to hum or sing a gay white way tune...don't worry..and don't ask/don't tell William. It's overture time This is it, the night of nights...It's time for Henry Higgins to come out of your closet to liberate the Liberace that lurks by candelabra light in all of us..yes, you too!
The smell of the greasepaint and the roar of crowd, the chorus girls, and yes, effeminate chorus boys too, fishnet stockings, tights with bulges battling, sweet nutcrackers and Desmond tutu's...spotlights and orchestra pits...backstage frolic with onstage follies. A real man can crush a beer a can with one hand and make Busby Berkeley have an orgasm with a display of flawless manly choreography ...one, two, three kick...all backed by a legendary back line of high kicking long legs with thunder packed thighs dripping with sensuous sweat, attached to a fantasy female with spangles and tassels that sparkle and dangle.
All Hail Ethel Merman, and when Warner Bros. cartoon characters break out into song singing.."this is it, the night of nights..." grab your best pair of fishnet tights...and let loose a vocal volley...remember...don't ask..don't tell...but above all never mind what others may think of you and your manhood...just smile and keep a stiff upper lip...and be tall and proud as you show off your truly limp wrist!!!
The curtain began to rise and we stepped onto the gang war stage...locked and loaded..It was now showdown showtime Link Wrays set to kill mode. Countdown...one..two..three...kick...one...two...three...kick! Fire!
uous sweat, attached to a fantasy female with spangles and tassels that sparkle and dangle.
All Hail Ethel Merman, and when Warner Bros. cartoon characters break out into song singing.."this is it, the night of nights..." grab your best pair of fishnet tights...and let loose a vocal volley...remember...don't ask..don't tell...but above all never mind what others may think of you and your manhood...just smile and keep a stiff upper lip...and be tall and proud as you show off your truly limp wrist!!!
The curtain began to rise and we stepped onto the gang war stage...locked and loaded..It was now showdown showtime Link Wrays set to kill mode. Countdown...one..two..three...kick...one...two...three...kick! Fire!
These two gangs wage war wearing Kevlar fishnets using outdated guns doing lavish programed dance numbers (they were created to do pole dancing and strip in some of the hottest clubs in the galaxy after all!) I kept waiting for the Rita Moreno Latina-bot to strut her stuff showing her best skirt lifting legs as fireball sexy Latina hot as they come...on fire causing a burning yearning sensation in a man’s groin as she took gyrating and thrusting to a sexual plateau to the tune of "Everything's Free In Robotia!”
Well great, I thought. Show tune gangs!!! Give my regards to Broadway....sing 'em loud and sing 'em proud! There's no business like show business and damn it..no tunes like show tunes! It's time to man up with a fishnet chorus line of Broadway show tunes. Damn the Ethel Merman torpedos, full Sondheim steam ahead. Don't worry about masculinity atrophied or your wrist gone limp...it's Broadway, and you’re a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day! Afraid you won't be a man anymore because you have an urge to hum or sing a gay white way tune...don't worry..and don't ask/don't tell William. It's overture time This is it, the night of nights...It's time for Henry Higgins to come out of your closet to liberate the Liberace that lurks by candelabra light in all of us..yes, you too!
The smell of the greasepaint and the roar of crowd, the chorus girls, and yes, effeminate chorus boys too, fishnet stockings, tights with bulges battling, sweet nutcrackers and Desmond tutu's...spotlights and orchestra pits...backstage frolic with onstage follies. A real man can crush a beer a can with one hand and make Busby Berkeley have an orgasm with a display of flawless manly choreography ...one, two, three kick...all backed by a legendary back line of high kicking long legs with thunder packed thighs dripping with sensChapter 23 The Ethel Merman Cyborgs and Bob Fosse Fishnet Erotibots
We followed the Hipster rebels to Red Zeppelin headquarters, or a reasonable facsimile of a military compound if your army consisted of The Three Stooges in a Tim Burton film. Sweaty pipes overhead leaked hot water giving the impression you were entering a incontinent rainforest or Seattle in the wet season, which is pretty much 13 months out of 12 every year. A real bakers dozen.
“Nice place ya got here,” Poontang said with a smirk in her voice. “You always were a snarky bitch,” the General replied. “Sit. Coffee?” We all shook our heads. “No coffee, but if you have Toklas Brownies around here,” I blurted out. “I could use a buzz about now.” The General snapped his greasy fingers and his whacked out toady brought out a tray of some of the best buzz brownies a mechanical planet could offer.
As we got buzz bombed, the General got down to biz buzzed. “My men can get you safely to the Rabbit Hole. We can’t go any further. Too dangerous,” he explained. “Once there you’re on your own, but you won’t have any trouble, as I’m sure Poontang can get you in and out without any problem.” Who the hell were these Rabbit Hole Amazons anyway, and more importantly how do they know Poontang?
Soon the Toklas infusion hit me full force and I was as comfortably numb as a coma patient in Bellevue awaiting transfer to a cuckoo’s nest. The General leaned his khaki camo bulk forward, obviously to be emphatic. “I do however, have one condition. Unless you agree to it, then we do not have a deal!” We had no choice so we bit the bullet. “You will get the Falcon off the planet and away from the Tohos. If they regain it they will be a formidable foe and squash the revolt. We can handle them now and we will fight the Rabbit and her gang on even ground in our little civil war, but, should the Tohos regain their former power the revolution as a whole is at an end.”
“Agreed,” I grumbled. He didn’t know we already had plans to exchange the Falcon for Poontangs sister anyway and that meant the Narco Marx factor. Who knows what he thought we were going to with it being the simple single minded revolutionary that he is.
“Good. Then we can begin. I’ll tell you what you are up against Mr. Yucatan in case you weren’t fully filled in. The Rabbit Hole Rebels are dangerous, but first you have to get past the Ethel Merman Cyborgs and Bob Fosse Fishnets here in the Vortex!” We control this vector, the Rabbits control the Rabbit Hole, but these two groups are relatively new to us. We’ll eventually wipe them but for now a mere annoyance. Great, more pretenders to the throne of this shithole Vortex.
Strangelove motioned for us to get moving, so we exchanged our good speed wishes and lucks and made a hasty exit from Red Zep headquarters with his men running interference for us in the streets where the battle was still raging. The stench of the vaped body count added to the musty smell of the standing water and dead space rats mingling in the grey fog of death and the smoking haze from the crashing rubble breaking up outside from the pitched battle between the Red Zeps on the ground and the surrounding allied forces of Tohos and Com-Reds.
The sky was filled with magnificent armed flying drones...death from above raining down on the Vortex. I knew the Tohos and Comreds wanted us too, but strangely enough I had the feeling they were clear cutting a path filled with dead Zeps so we could reach our destination and in the bargain bring back to Falcon within their collective reach.
A reality check reminded me...they both wanted the Falcon and were strange allied bedfellows now, but I had an uneasy feeling that once we had the Falcon in our possession they would turn their attention to our ultimate demise before concentrating on eliminating each other. Meanwhile at the end of this deadly rainbow Narco Marx already held the trump card, having dealt himself into game early for his grab at the pot of gold. In all likelihood be the last man standing.
The lasers and phasers were heating up the grey dark of the night, maybe it was dusk, you couldn’t tell the difference between the grey ash and smoke of battle, a nuclear winter effect that would cut off photosynthesis in any case for struggling flora reaching out for a drink of sunshine. Even our clothes became covered in dust...in every direction it was grey, black and faded dirty white. Pleasantville where grey card tones fought a box of Crayola’s. Even the M & M’s were black and white and all the jelly beans are masses of melted colorless gel with islands of sweet sugar that attract the holy roamin’ empire of rodents claiming the black back alley’s and stench filled sewers shooting steam through vents creating islands of global warming for the hopeless homeless winos and junkies to ward off hypodermic hypothermia hypothetically.
Poontang stopped fast, alarmed. “Look. We’ve got trouble,” she whispered. As my eyes focused through the gauze of grey I had to agree. The streets were alive with the sound of music. As I listened intently I recognized the songs...BROADWAY SHOW TUNES being sung by two opposing female gangs carrying chains, knives, guns, all old school and all with a look of PMS murder in their eyes.
I could tell by the look on her face it was just about showtime. “OK Doc now we have a fight on our hands. Those are the Ethel Mermans, and the Bob Fosse Fishnets. What the General forgot to tell you is one group, the Merman’s, are escaped human female and male pre-op slaves from Retropolis who were kidnapped and destined for Robotian bordellos after conversion into Erotibot cyborgs … the others are full fledged Toho Female Erotibot Warriors the Toho’s sent in to recapture the Mermans. They’ve been fighting to stalemate for two years now. Both are tough in tights and we have to get through them to get to the Rabbit Hole.”
Terrific. I hoped to hell, PMS did not effect deranged Erotibots. I was stuck in the urban battleground of two gangs - real Sharks and Jets shit set amidst a stage of Robotian urban decay, switchblades and guns where a pre-op lesbian cyborg could find love in the heart of Mechanical Maniacal Maria, a Puerto Rican Erotibot.
These two gangs wage war wearing Kevlar fishnets using outdated guns doing lavish programed dance numbers (they were created to do pole dancing and strip in some of the hottest clubs in the galaxy after all!) I kept waiting for the Rita Moreno Latina-bot to strut her stuff showing her best skirt lifting legs as fireball sexy Latina hot as they come...on fire causing a burning yearning sensation in a man’s groin as she took gyrating and thrusting to a sexual plateau to the tune of "Everything's Free In Robotia!”
Well great, I thought. Show tune gangs!!! Give my regards to Broadway....sing 'em loud and sing 'em proud! There's no business like show business and damn it..no tunes like show tunes! It's time to man up with a fishnet chorus line of Broadway show tunes. Damn the Ethel Merman torpedos, full Sondheim steam ahead. Don't worry about masculinity atrophied or your wrist gone limp...it's Broadway, and you’re a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day! Afraid you won't be a man anymore because you have an urge to hum or sing a gay white way tune...don't worry..and don't ask/don't tell William. It's overture time This is it, the night of nights...It's time for Henry Higgins to come out of your closet to liberate the Liberace that lurks by candelabra light in all of us..yes, you too!
The smell of the greasepaint and the roar of crowd, the chorus girls, and yes, effeminate chorus boys too, fishnet stockings, tights with bulges battling, sweet nutcrackers and Desmond tutu's...spotlights and orchestra pits...backstage frolic with onstage follies. A real man can crush a beer a can with one hand and make Busby Berkeley have an orgasm with a display of flawless manly choreography ...one, two, three kick...all backed by a legendary back line of high kicking long legs with thunder packed thighs dripping with sensuous sweat, attached to a fantasy female with spangles and tassels that sparkle and dangle.
All Hail Ethel Merman, and when Warner Bros. cartoon characters break out into song singing.."this is it, the night of nights..." grab your best pair of fishnet tights...and let loose a vocal volley...remember...don't ask..don't tell...but above all never mind what others may think of you and your manhood...just smile and keep a stiff upper lip...and be tall and proud as you show off your truly limp wrist!!!
The curtain began to rise and we stepped onto the gang war stage...locked and loaded..It was now showdown showtime Link Wrays set to kill mode. Countdown...one..two..three...kick...one...two...three...kick! Fire!
uous sweat, attached to a fantasy female with spangles and tassels that sparkle and dangle.
All Hail Ethel Merman, and when Warner Bros. cartoon characters break out into song singing.."this is it, the night of nights..." grab your best pair of fishnet tights...and let loose a vocal volley...remember...don't ask..don't tell...but above all never mind what others may think of you and your manhood...just smile and keep a stiff upper lip...and be tall and proud as you show off your truly limp wrist!!!
The curtain began to rise and we stepped onto the gang war stage...locked and loaded..It was now showdown showtime Link Wrays set to kill mode. Countdown...one..two..three...kick...one...two...three...kick! Fire!
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