The Special Forces Unit was busier than usual. Shawn Nuthall and his elite crew were busy modifying another guitar for Carlos Santana. It was a mod they had performed before on many of Carlos' other cherished axes. The tricky part was getting the sighting mechanism hidden into the top perfling that was the Santana model trademark. Without a good sighting mechanism, the integrated semi-auto .50 BMG barrel and action from a cannibalized Barrett would be just that much harder to aim. Not that Carlos needed to aim anymore as he usually fired from the hip while doing a signature max feedback bend. But Carlos was a stickler that anyone should be able to pick up one of his off-stage guitars in an emergency and use it with precision, so the sighting mechanism had to be there.
Notably, the Santana SE models had had .338 Winchester Magnums installed in them from the beginning. Carlos insisted that the student edition of his guitars made by PRS be all that they could be and never hold back the budding guitar player.
Special Forces Unit team Leader Shawn Nuthall had received a call just a few hours prior.
"We've got a problem." The voice on the other end said breathlessly. "Ths time it's Zombies! We need your most powerful weapon!"
The members of the Special Forces Unit immediately started searching for the most suitable weapon.
"What about this?" One of the elite crew members enquired.
He was holding a device known only as the Rod of Stewart. It was a short stick that had clearly seen better days. All leathery with a torn sticker that had clearly once displayed the legend 'Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?'.
"That's no good! It can only be handled by leggy blondes!" There was only one weapon in this building that could take out the zombies...
" Bring me the Tequila Sunrise Glow Private Stock. We're gonna need those Firebirds!!!"
T'ok Tewmuch glanced up from his eugenics science station at T'ok Schmaak. The commander, Grand T'ok Schiddt was taking an awful, but profitable risk. The unicorn breeding program was on schedule and the Earth zombies were paying them well.
T'ok Tewmuch wondered again where the Zombies could find so much raw sewage for payment when the commodity was all but depleted on his own home planet of Gorn'shdt. He checked over his controls again as a practiced officer should while T'ok Schmaak adjusted the smoke and mirrors which hid them from the Eath's peoples. It was the oldest trick in the book, but it still worked.
But Grand T'ok Schiddt was taking no chances. He had ordered a geosynchronous orbit above the Southern pole of the planet and before leaving Gorn'shdt he had taken the precaution of painting the mothership Snow White snow white. It was with wry humor that he named the seven scout and delivery ships after dwarves. Presently the cargo ship Sneezy was slimeing its way back for another pickup of unicorns for the impatient Mor Izmor.
Grand T'ok Schiddt was uncomfortable with Izmor, particularly the way one of his zombie eyes kept rolling out of its socket and disappearing into what would have been a sinus cavity in a normal human. It was no matter, both zombie and non-zombie alike were disgusting life forms to him even though there was an untidy profit to be had in the ensuing war.
Autumn sky gave the zombie a disgusted look.
"Your eyeball has dribbled into the disgusting goo you call your head, Mor."
The zombie reached into the muck that was once his brain, and pulled out the eyeball with a spoon. It was accompanied by a puddle of slime. He dipped it into his glass of Glenfiddich, put it back into his eye socket, and then downed the drink.
"Eeew," said Sky. "That's really, really gross."
"Not as gross as seeing some of my Immortals eating into your abdomen while you watch and breathe your last few breaths, Sky. You think we won't? I don't care what you think of us. You're here for a reason, that's all. Otherwise, you're just another meal to me."
To demonstrate his seriousness, he spooned out the eye again, dipped it into his Scotch, put it into his mouth, and bit into it so that the eye's juice spewed into her face. "That's what I think of living humans. The eyeballs are strictly for my good looks. And for snacks."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a jar. His fingers reached in and soon found their prize. Mor popped another eyeball into his empty socket and looked at the girl, who suppressed a gag. "Another private stock financier, I think." He sat back and smiled. He had nothing but time.
Mor Izmor looked at his watch. It was 4 AM. He wasn't tired. Zombies don't sleep. "Get me Day-O, now!" he called out to his zombie-at-arms. The man staggered out into the night to obey the order. Soon the tent flap opened, and another large, muscular zombie shambled in. "What's up, boss?"
"Man-Dye, there's a girl I want you to meet."
"What, you think I'm stupid, man? You think just because I'm dead and a zombie you're going to fool me again? I'm not that stupid."
"Actually, Man-Dye, I think you are indeed that stupid, as you have proven once in the past before we were teammates on the Lions. But there really is a girl this time. She's in the corner over there. Take a look."
"I'm not even gonna look, OK? Not gonna look, because I'm not gonna give you the chance to laugh at me again, Boss. Sorry. I'm not buyin' it." He stared at Mor.
"It was an important mission I had in mind for you, Man-Dye. I'll give it to someone else, then..."
"I won't get fooled again!" shouted Man-Dye. "Oh no!"
A few seconds passed. Out of the corner of his sunken eye, Man-Dye Day-O saw the girl.
"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" he screamed, the rawness and drawn out excitement palpable in his shredded vocal cords.
The Gorn'shdt had more to offer the zombies than one-horned steeds. In any war, intelligence was worth far more than materiel. T'ok Tofuturr'kay eased his scout ship Dopey out of a cloud bank, laying a trail of smoke and adjusting his mirrors as he descended. He smiled as he pondered the dichotomy between his craft's name and its mission.
The guitar plant on Kent Island was heavily defended with what looked to be crate after crate of tracer rounds chambered for the fourteen big 20mm Solothurn S-18/2000 semi-autos on the roof and around the perimeter. T'ok Tofuturr'kay could see long hoses leading from the two huge gleaming silos filled with KC Masterpiece to each of the gun emplacements. Clearly Mr. Smith was serious about both plant defense and planning a massive zombie brain feast.
As he shifted slightly in his seat to better reach the awkwardly placed laser-com, T'ok Tofuturr'kay accidentally nudged the mirror control.
On the Northwest corner of the building, Mike Deeley, who was having morning break Natty Bo on the roof, saw the mirror flash out of the corner of his eye. With a speed belying the girth in his Hawaiian PRS Guitar shirt, he spun the heavy Solothurn on his target. The last thing T'ok Tofuturr'kay knew in this life was the sweet smell of KC Masterpiece as his craft was riddled with exploding 20mm rounds.
The only thing T'ok Abhout'it heard on the laser-com in the mother ship was a scream and then static.
Jane Buzzdriver went to her room, locked the door, and laughed to herself as she removed the mask that made her look like a human, revealing her T'ok identity.
"Jane Buzzdriver, indeed," she said out loud in T'ok. "My real name is M'gill, I call myself L'ill, but everyone on T'ok knows me as N'ancy." She began to hum a tune she'd learned as a very young female maggot on T'ok, and then began to recite the lyric.
"With the lights out
it's less dangerous
Here we are now
I feel stupid
She stopped singing for a moment and thought. "Maybe I'll change my name to...Buzzkiller..."
If we all pool our unicorn dollars, can we buy our own herd of unicorns?
Yes we can. Send me all your money, and I'll be sure to put down a deposit for you, and let you know when the unicorns arrive. ;)
Originally Posted by watelessness
Deep in the bowls of the mothership Snow White, List'sin Twodoo'hr Mute'sik helped another unicorn cow calve a fine new unicorn buck. The calving always needed assistance because the unicorns started growing their horns in utero, something that may have contributed to their extinction on almost every planet the Gorn'shdt had seeded them on.
He thought about his upcoming T'ok exam. List'sin Twodoo'hr Mute'sik was both anxious and eager to end his days as an enlisted List'sin and enter the ruling ranks of the officer class T'ok. It was also important to him because only the T'ok were allowed to speak.
"I don't know if this story line is working, Les, it's a little thin."
"Well, dude, if you flip the two switches down, it goes into full plotbucker mode and fattens right up. See?"
"Wow, yeah! So it's both a thin plot and a thick plot depending on how you set the plotbucking switches then?"
"I gotta say, that's some pretty ingenious thinking. And no volume change?"
"Right. It's all in one book, no extra volumes needed."
"Can you blend the plots?"
"You bet. Although this one is a stop tale. So you can blend them, but you can't bend them." :)
M'Gill watched as her... It's husband walked towards the car that had just pulled up outside. By now the fake skin that had covered her body was melting away exposing a green, waxy flesh like substance. She carefully aimed the weapon at the car. M'Gill would wait until Lazlo had entered and the car had begun to drive away before unleashing the weapon. "This will be your last day on Earth Lazlo." It muttered.
Lazlo pulled open the door. "Uncle Bob?" He enquired.
"Not Quite. My Name is Paul Smith."
"I love your designs! I think I have one of your jumpers!" Lazlo said excitedly as he sat down in the passenger seat.
"Not that Paul Smith!!! Paul Reed Smith. I make the guitars you own!
M'Gill cought sight of Paul. "What the...! How can this be? Paul should have been at the factory!" She aimed the weapon at the car as it drove off. She curled a bony digit around the trigger but just as she pulled the car dissapeared.
"Wrrraggghhh... Noooo!" She / It growled. M'Gill had missed her chance.
"I have bad news for you." paul said. "Your wife is not your wife. She is T'ok. One of the best trainees from Mak Shi'tup"
"It can't be true Paul!" Lazlo said solemly.
"I'm afraid it is Lazlo. When i rang to speak to you I enquired about her letting you buy more guitars. She agreed immediately. I knew then something was amiss. I'm sorry"
Paul reached into the glove compartment and passed Lazlo a book. "What's this?" Lazlo enquired.
"It's the 'Twenty One Rules Of Tony'" Paul answered. "It was written by me and Tony McManus. You'll find all you need to know on how to deal with the Zombie invasion. Read it and memorize it."
Suddenly Paul wipped around in his seat and reached into the back of the car. Lazlo noticed a man with a PRS in the back. Paul was flicking switched and turning knobs like there was no tomorrow.
"This is Mike Ault, he's my weapons tester."
"Hey Mike" lazlo said, offering out his hand. Mike didn't shake it as he was too busy with his weapon.
The car they where travelling in allowed Paul to teleport from one place to another in a split second. Before Lazlo had a chance to even read the first rule of Tony he was at the factory. Right into the middle of the battle...
I was going to make some smart a$$ed comment about drinking a 12pack and scoring 11 holes in one in golf once (as did the other 3 guys), but then I read the rest of yous guys' novelette and decided it was not worthy. Righteous keyboard pecking, dudes. :rock:
Man-Dye Day-O stood up, and stretched. One of his arms came free of its socket, but he managed to push the bone back into place. It made a squishing snapping sound that woke up one of the privates in his squad.
"Day-O! Dayyy-O! Daylight come and I wan' go home," shouted the zombie "I'm hungry, dude." He was sick of the drills, sick of cleaning unicorn dung, and he was hungry. His eyes settled for the hundredth time on the woman in the chains they were dragging along behind the unicorns.
Autumn Sky looked delicious.
Man-Dye Day-O turned, and gave the zombie a righteous blow with his elbow that knocked his soldier's head clean off.
"Pick it up and let's go," he snarled.
Sky didn't know whether to be grateful or to vomit.
Bennett abruptly woke up from the long, lumbering, tangential dream that had clouded his mind for the past several hours.
Zombies....unicorns....guitars...some crazy guy named Les who was singing "Rocky Racoon" while imitating Kurt Cobain. It was all beginning to blend together. At some point....it almost made sense. But, the dream images were fading fast, and all that was left was the primoridal ooze of the T'Oks that was still on the bed covers.
What? T'Ok ooze...then it wasn't a dream.
Just as Bennett came to this realization.....he received an email letting him know that the "Song Title Game" had rolled around to his turn once again.
"Whew" he said under his breath, as he quickly left the T'Ok presence, never to return, always to remember how close he came to.......REALITY!
Autumn Sky passed in and out of consciousness. Her thoughts wandered to the man she used to know, the man she loved but left. She remembered everything about him, but most of all his goldtop PRS guitars. He could play both sweetly and savagely and Autumn truly didn't know which turned her on more.
Autumn's skimpy shirt was torn and tattered such that it barely hid the braless perkiness underneath. Jumba-Jimba loped along beside her lustfully. He had always preferred the young and tender and the thought of nibbling Sky from her toes on up had his zombie mind reeling.
Just as he was about to reign in his unicorn and make his move, a loud crack rent the air followed by the distinctive sweet smell of KC Masterpiece. Jumba-Jimba looked down mournfully. "That's gonna leave a mark," he thought as he stared at the ragged 5" hole in his left leg. His steed bucked and fell having absorbed the bullet that had just ripped through the now useless leg of the zombie.
"The car they where traveling in allowed Paul to teleport from one place to another in a split second. Before Lazlo had a chance to even read the first rule of Tony he was at the factory. Right into the middle of the battle... "preparations.
The factory was running three side by side triple shifts, cranking out hand-made guitars at a dizzying pace. The PRS building expansion undertaken just a few years earlier stood stead with the call to arms now. News that the T'ok were not only supplying the zombies with their steeds, but also providing intelligence had been confirmed by examining the craft Deeley had shot down earlier. Inside were unicorn horns and a zombie cypher and coded map.
Paul immediately set Nuthall and The Special Forces Unit to breaking the cypher and producing a usable map in the hopes of learning the enemy's positions and intentions. Whatever the contents of the dispatches, one thing was clear.... an illustration in the corner of the map showed burning guitars and zombies feasting on sanders and assemblers.
Day-O heard the shot and saw his comrade fall. He opened the screen of the audio locator strapped to his thigh. It was always on, always recording so that the location of anyone firing a shot at his squad could be triangulated; each rider had an antenna that reported in to the system wirelessly. The system had been a gift from the T'ok.
He found the location of the shooter in a moment, and began to deploy his crack zombie team who were well-trained in the art of maneuver. A squad wedge was formed, as the mounted team could maintain visual contact easily.
Day-O also messaged his commander, requesting additional fire support and backup. This was going to be an interesting day. They began to move forward cautiously.
As they moved forward, ever cautious....ever considering all the possible ramifications of different maneouvers....suddenly...unexpectedly.....with no time to prepare.....the unthinkable occurred!!
Inside the factory, Lazlo set down his heavy go bag and unzipped the top. "What's with the Wonderbra, Lazlo?" inquired Paul.
"It's a long story.."
"Save it," Paul cut him off as he rushed off to the wood library.
Lazlo dug out his Glock, holster and dipping pouch and secured them to his belt. He checked a mag for the AR-10 and rapped it home, chambering a round and putting the gun on safe. He thought of Autumn, free to wish and reminisce now that Jane had turned out to be a T'ok, curse her.
Lazlo wondered through the huge guitar factory as Paul met with key personnel on urgent defense matters, He didn't know what Paul had in mind for him. After all, it was his grandfather Buttme who had most of the experience fighting zombies.
The factory was indeed busy. Every other guitar coming off the line was a goldtop, renowned for tone and assassinating rogue unicorns. Much to his great pleasure, he saw that the factory was once again making the light but potent goldtop spruce hollowbody with piezo.
He picked one up and noodled a song his grandfather wrote during the first zombie wars. This guitar was perfect for that song. It had enough electric growl for the stanzas representing the zombies and enough acoustic peizo sweetness to represent the innocents they savagely slaughtered.
He was rusty, his fingers slipping. As he played, he thought of the timeless words...
"Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent
Snot's running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey zombie death
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey zombie death..."