by Stanley Lieber


tags: 1961, mars2, fng, jerrymander_mold, spiro_mold, tab1

9 August.

So, in the middle of his blowjob he looks up and expects to see, like, a bunch of dead grey rock and shit, right?

Hunt-uh. This was not what he expected, right?

He near to smashed every switch on his control board when he finally saw it. There, down in a rather large crater on the dark side of the moon, was the biggest resort hotel he had ever seen. Actually, it looked to him like there was a whole little town down there, right? So he drew his craft in closer from the night sky, to get a closer look at whatever the fuck was going on.

He barely pulled away in time to miss being disintegrated by the deflector shield. Coming by on another, more liberally distanced pass, his sensors informed him that there was what appeared to be a giant plexi-plastic bubble over the city. A sort of glass ceiling, if you will.

So, what does he do? Why, he blasts a hole in it, of course.

Down on the ground, a little boy had let his dog out to see a man about a horse. He was standing there, in his backyard, looking up at the night sky, when he sees this guy’s craft come crashing through the bubble.

Well, the craft’s blasters apparently hadn’t been enough to handle the bubble’s natural bio-genic feedback, and so he was sent hurdling to the surface. The craft touched down in the boy’s neighbor’s (who weren’t home at the time) backyard. The child raced over, but his dog hadn't finished pissing, see? All over his Asics.

The boy and his dog found the charred remains of this guy and his mistress, right? So he runs home, and his folks (first thing) get a hold of the press.

Next day. The headline reads:


Now. Where’s my cocaine?

FNG looked around. TAB1 was still staring straight up, sans visor, peering through the pink clouds at some distant, though persistently incoming pink object. No one had brought any cocaine.

"No one brought any cocaine," he said.

"I spoke but rhetorically," Jerrymander sighed. He leaned down and snorted the ground, his two nostrils presently caked with sand.

About a mile downrange Spiro had set out with his dog.