Uschi! (33 page)

The old, dry wood and other flammable housing materials were most agreeable to burning. The conflagration spread as if the dinosaur construct was bathed in gasoline. By the time it was standing erect again, the Tyrannosaurus Rex was from top to bottom engulfed in raging yellow tongues of flame as large in many areas as a man. The dense black smoke issuing from it was foul and choking.

Still it wanted to fight. It came lumbering at a hastened step toward Uschi, bonfire of a tail swinging from side to side and leaving behind it in the grass a trail of scorched and smoldering blackened footprints. A prodigious quantity of glowing red embers and dark ashes flaked off the blazing thing with each move it made and fell as heavy as February snow. The head reared back and silently pretended to roar one more time, now with a great blast of fire belching from the mouth.

“Run, titty bitch, run!” taunted a standing on the sidelines Li’l Bocephus. His hateful guffaws sounded rape at gunpoint loveable. His fangs in the illumination of the burning imitation dinosaur shined like a piranha fish’s teeth under the glow of a black light bulb. “Watch them fat udders of hers bounce! Boom! Boom! Boom!”

Fire was an outstanding motivator, goosing the T-Rex to ever-greater speed. Her devil-bestowed quickness fell short this time. The burning prehistoric creation got in close enough on Uschi to singe her Alfred E. Neuman hairs, snapping jaws snatching her up whole in its mouth and clapping smoke and fire ringed lips down around her.

Pandora and Dusty set their plaything’s mighty jaws to begin chewing on its mouthful. But this mouthful vigorously protested against that action.

Inside the thing’s mouth it was hotter than the foreskin on a human torch’s tallywhacker. The surrounding flames were licking at her past due for an embalming flesh. She would have already asphyxiated on the choking smoke if breathing happened to be one of Uschi’s top shelf priorities. She was on her feet but hunched a far ways over, her back braced against the drywall roof of the fake dinosaur’s mouth, knees out to her sides as she straddled between her legs the charred wood and melted floor tile squirming forked tongue, and her feet were solidly planted on the lower jaw.

“You know,” she grumbled to the dino’s teeth and gums, “it is unwholesome predicaments such as this one that really chap my precious pussy lips.”

Uschi raised her back and straightened her legs, pitting her Satan muscles against the T-Rex’s jaws. She was successful in prying the mouth apart. The wind got in there and helped in dissipating some of the smoke, and for the first time in a long stretch of years legitimate concern blossomed in the eyes of the conjoined twin verdilaks.

“Where is she getting all this strength?” questioned a frustrated Dusty. The strain of fighting against the green woman’s might had her figure 8.2 on the Richter scale quaking from head to toe.

Pandora’s eyes had rolled back into her head, the sockets turned all white. She was vibrating just as fiercely as her attached sibling was. “Godfuckingdamnit. Too much … strain. I don’t know if I can hold this up for much longer.”

By the time Uschi’s grandiosely voluptuous figure was extended to its full upright stance, the muscles in her legs were ballooned and veiny like the engorged udder of a cow desperately late for a milking. The T-Rex was distressed over its distended mouth. If it could have it would have behaved the same as a dog after discovering how yucky a toad taste and spat her out and been done with her. Currently the best it could manage was to wildly shake and bob its head. So far that brought no relief to its malady.

One final surge of hellish zombie brawn and the fraudulent dinosaur’s jaw mandible broke off from the burning head. It dropped, bounced once off the bathtub belly, and then crashed to rubble like a flaming and fragile meteorite before the clawed feet.

Uschi did not fall along with the mandible. Instead, as the jaw dropped away below her feet, she slid down the reptilian simulated giant tongue and swung like a young Johnny Weissmuller in his Tarzan prime down safely to the ground not far from where the sister vampires stood. She worked faster than their overtaxed minds could perform and took hold of them each by their heads. A fleshy clap as she helped herself to a pair of firm handfuls of scalp with her two hands.

Both Dusty’s and Pandora’s Three-Mile Island craniums fit quite well in her palms. Uschi ripped the conjoined skulls apart down the center of the unavoidable birth defect. The sisters were for the first time ever in their existence separated. Their two brains as well went in different directions, no longer lying side by side, rubbery blood vessels severed and sensitive synapses broken.

Their telekinesis powers were canceled. The T-Rex instantly desolidified and fell apart into a huge pile of roasting garbage. Denny was no longer pinned down onto the hood of the Cadillac.

They were turned toward one another, Uschi deciding to allow them this one and only opportunity to see each other from a new perspective before she punched their tickets and sent them on to the big sleep.

Pandora, hemorrhaging blood and brain material heavily from the side of her single skull, looked across the way and did what she believed she would never do: stare at her sister Dusty face to face.

“Hi there,” moaned a slack-faced Dusty when noticing sis eyeballing her. Her own cascade of rich red gore was flowing from her own massive head injury like watery raw sewage running out of a funnel.

“Hi there back at you,” replied Pandora. She dropped her clarinet and couldn’t resist and raised a hand and gave sister dear a slight but polite wave.

Uschi told the both of them, “This is the part where you two go away and never are allowed to come back. More violence, please.”

She smashed their heads together. Skulls spectacularly shattered and all traces of brain matter were pulverized to smooth jelly. It was a grisly masterstroke that easily registered as a decapitation. The two bodies immediately were reduced to vile goo that puddled and briefly bubbled on the ground, then dissolved entirely away to nothing. The earth in these twin spots spoiled and died and became so ruined and infertile nothing ever again would grow or hold any trace of life here.

With the mental control over him vanished, Denny sprang up off the hood and none too dexterously dropped to the ground. His broken rib forbade any long lasting celebrations of freedom. It was a sadistic discomfort that left him doubled over and shuddering. He put his hands over the break and used his fingers to tenderly as possible move the broken pieces beneath his skin around until he judged he had them back where they belonged.

Li’l Bocephus heard him moving around and turned to face him. The dead country boy with a hankering for human blood was gravely concerned at the idea of an untethered titty bitch on the loose and started to hustle at a frightened trot toward him, his footsteps rustling in the high vegetation.

“I’s got us a plan, retardo. How about you, me and all that fine-ass blood stored up inside you skeedaddle off into the thicket where nobody can ever find us before your funbags bigger than your head sweetheart can catch up to me and do me any misery? Don’t you worry none—I’m gonna treat you right. Be cooperative with me and I promise to kill you with no pain and quick as a fly’s fart.”

Denny found Van Sloan not far from him in the grass and weeds.
Hello, new friend. Good to have you back again.
He closed his hand around the electrical tape handle; made sure his grip was firm and could do what he wanted to do with it. A vampire slaying scheme was already hard at work formulating in his head.

I did it once. Who the fuck says I can’t do it again?

That was quite the radical confident thinking for someone as typically anti-positive minded as Denny Gleeth was. He grinned a little at the realization he came up with such a thought all on his lonesome. It even made him feel a touch proud of himself.

I can do it. I ought to do it. And here I go doing it.

When Li’l Bocephus stepped in close enough, Denny bellowed an attack cry and suddenly lashed out in a powerful backhanded swipe with the mower blade he named Van Sloan with the same savage efficiency of a Robert E. Howard hero. Contact was just above the knee of Li’l Bocephus’s right leg. The awful goddamn sharp blade was more than up to the task of slicing through clothing, meat and bone. The cut was complete, a full amputation performed.

Li’l Bocephus had just begun to hop on the one whole surviving leg he was left in possession of, a tirade of cussing and fussing on the brink of spewing from his mouth, when Denny rose to a standing firm and determined position and was coming at him again with intentions of whittling off another chunk of him. This time it was a downward axe chop of a motion he swung with. He went for Li’l Bocephus’s tattooed arm, and got him between the U and the C in FUCKED in the ROY ROGERS FUCKED MY MOMMA. The removed partial limb dropped and the stump was quick to bleed.

The third time with Van Sloan was a vertical swipe to the belly, slightly above the belt and opening Li’l Bocephus as if his middle was an envelope stuffed full of content. A splatterpunk’s delight curtain of fleshy viscera and watery blood and uniquely odorous intestinal fluids poured out of him.

“There you go,” a satisfied with his labors Denny told Li’l Bocephus. “You try and make do with all that I just gave you.”

The drugstore cowboy abomination fell guts drooling stomach first to the ground, and a singed and still smoking in areas soot blackened Uschi hit the scene just in time to step up and anything but lovingly plant a foot down securely between his narrow shoulder blades. That made for damn sure positive he weren’t about to go and try and hightail it from the premises.

She gave Denny an impressed glance and slowly wetted her lips. “Somebody I enjoying fucking has developed a taste for carnage. Oh my, Mama does like.” And her arm went out and hooked around his waist and she pulled her lover boy in close to her.

That broken rib of Denny’s didn’t appreciate that much. As his wrecked body collapsed up against her, Denny had to cry out at the hurting. “Careful, careful, careful! You’re playing way too rough. I hate to tell you, sugar cube, but you’re currently dealing with damaged goods. I got no more I can give you. That was the last adrenaline surge I have to offer. I’m too pained, too dehydrated, and too thoroughly from A to Z tuckered out for anymore adventuring with you tonight. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna be dead weight for now and the foreseeable future. You need to get me out of these woods and to some civilization, I’ll tell you that much right now.”

She picked up the discarded part of Li’l Bocephus’s severed arm and took a considerable bite out of the meaty area of the hand between the thumb and forefinger. There was that spicy kick she had been yearning for for so long. The heavenly taste was like an A-list celebrity Hollywood orgy going on in Uschi’s mouth.

She said around her lips smacking chewing, “My poor, poor best thing. Don’t you worry; we’re done with our business around these parts. We’ve killed enough things for the time being. I’m going to put you in that pink Caddy and take you somewhere divine. We’ve had a blast of a time here in the ol’ Mapache Thicket, haven’t we? Been murdering vampires and undesirable people and unique critters and causing all different kinds of havoc. I am so proud of you. I’ve seen real improvement in your confidence and attitude about yourself these past few days. You’re turning into the caliber of man I know you can be, best thing. That warrior’s heart you possess is kicking ass and taking names. I never had a single doubt. And I’m not doing too shabby my ownself. Look at me, I got the man I love right here with me, his dynamite dick that always explodes just the way I love it to in my super pussy, a set of tits that could conquer the world if they ever had a mind to do so, and somebody delicious to eat on. What possibly more could a decent and clean thinking all-American girl such as me ask for?”

Li’l Bocephus heard all that and buried his face in the grass and held nothing back pity wise as he pathetically whined into the dirt, “Don’t this take a big ol’ steaming shit in my dishwashing machine.”

Epilogue

PART 1

T
hongor Bronson had been introduced to the spectators as a modern day barbarian. He was a giant mass of muscles grappler who entered the wrestling ring wearing animal skins covered tights and to Basil Poledouris blood and thunder main theme music to the first and best Schwarzenegger Conan movie blaring over the auditorium’s sound system.

But he weren’t looking all too particularly barbarian at the moment. Thongor was in dire jeopardy. His opponent in tonight’s wrestling match, the Lampshade Maniac, had him cornered in one of the ring corners and was relentlessly hammering him with a pitiless series of open hand chops to the throat.

The referee in the ring with the two adversaries was about as useful as testicles on a doorknob. He had already called for the bell and disqualified the Maniac from the match, but that didn’t halt the sadistic throat chops, and when the ref physically attempted to intervene, the three hundred eighty-two pounds of muscle and hateful attitude with his face covered behind a real lampshade he wore on his head and hailing from parts unknown paused just long enough in his Thongor abusing to take the little man in the zebra striped shirt up in his immense arms and present him with a godawful awesome powerslam to the canvas mat that knocked him as sound as diarrhea running unencumbered through a colander. Then he was right back on the throat chops on Thongor Bronson. It looked as if he were determined to kill the modern day barbarian.

The bell ringer continued to clang away over and over again on the bell in some useless attempt that maybe he could reach some sane area of the Lampshade Maniac’s mind and coerce him to quit his savagery. The red-faced ringside announcer was out of his chair and screaming into his microphone for wrestlers from the back to come and rescue Thongor, but none seemed to be coming.

A person could barely hear any of this over the chorus of boos coming from the capacity crowd that filled the Kaki Hunter Sports Auditorium in beautiful downtown Corpus Christi, Texas. Besides the boos and a plethora of obscene hand gestures, some ticket holders were so caught up in the moment they felt compelled to share creative sentiments they screamed at the Lampshade Maniac.