SPACE NOIR BAR by Mike Marino (good novels to read TXT) 📕

not wearing pants. The Revolution was on...It was time for Mickey to turn on and drop out...and remember...you don’t need a weatherman or a mouseketeer to know which way the wind blows!

The film of my silent mental movie broke as Long Wang cried out to a group approaching us from a hill dotted with small cacti and azul flowers.  “OVER HERE! I’ve got Poontang and Strangelove  with me too. Tell the Rabbit!” The object, or rather objects he was Gettysburg addressing were just making their way down a pale blue hill dotted with peyote cactus...I remember a Navajo friend of the old tribal school told me once..”No need to search for Peyote..the Peyote will find you!” He was right, and I couldn’t wait to try this potent alien strain on for psychedelic size. With drugs, as with  Armani suits...one size does not fit all.

As the strange group approached I noticed they were all females, undoubtedly the Rabbits hymen henchmen hutch of revolutionaries. Muscular and well built is putting it mild. These were marble sculptures in the flesh. The cream of the galactic crop kidnapped for the purpose of  being transformed into Erotibot Sex Cyborgs, but had managed to escape and had been holding the Tohos at bay for years eluding capture and liquidation...they were the first line of defense between us and the Falcon and eventual freedom. I had a practice to return to, a manuscript I had to write for a book for Arthur to publish and utility bills long overdue. On top of all that I had to steal some more script pads from Doctor Ekins desk and I was more than ready for a week long fall down in the gutter binge of sex and drugs...now that’s entertainment if you’re a high school dropout  mystery noir dick lit writer and a  private eye with a public dick.

“Don’t worry Doc. This is the easy part. Up the hill and across a stream and then “home plate” as you like to say.” Poontang said this with more sarcasm than I thought was necessary so rebutted with “Not home plate you sarcastic bitch, I always said I like to get First base . FIRST BASE..you know..and I’m sure you do know. Probably had more pucks in your net then most!” I could feel an edge in my voice that had me at the point of no return unless I held it in and smothered it with a pillow and let it grab it’s last gasp of volatile air.

She was right though. It was all about sex. The universe is about sex and sex is a sport now and always has been. As we headed for the hillside I decided to engage Poontang once more in a battle of wits, knowing full well even on an intellectual playing field she’d kick my ass.


I was on a fucking roll. “We all remember the first time we made it to first base in the back seat of Buick? Even better, remember that first line drive and home run when you slide into home plate and your crowd of testosterone did the wave and your jumbotron went ballistic? Again, sports terminology got your batter, batter, batter up and you finally didn’t strike out! Let’s face it Asrini...these were the play offs and damned if you  didn’t go for the gold for the penis pennant of victory or in your case, the Vaginal Olympic Gold!”

Strangelove was laughing and jumped into a private battle that now was no longer contained. It was turning  into a carnal conflagration! “Hey Doc, don’t forget hockey. You did reference it Mr. Macho, and isn’t it a coincidence that  Puck rhymes with Fuck? After all the purpose of hockey is get your  puck into Poontangs net isn’t it?”  Strangelove had scored big time. She opened the floodgates and now  Wang Chung and Long Wang wanted a piece of me and the action, deserting a sinking ship like wharf rats who’ve eaten too much heroin on the docks of Marseilles.

Wang Chung was a  real fucking comedian. “Basketball is the best. I mean the whole purpose here is simple enough and that is  to get your ball into her basket without an assist and without too much dribbling.  Dribbling tends to spoil the mood.”

At this last comment Long Wang decided to take the plunge filling in any conversational space to deny entry to any pregnant pause that may rise up and quell the anger and buffer the opposing teams. Already I was outmanned by two females and two transsexuals. I had to wonder, how many trannies does it take to screw in a lightbulb? I don’t know either and I wasn’t about to bend over and become a socket to find out.

Poontang was laughing her sweet Asian ass off and Strangelove was ready to roll over and masturbate in a field of hallucinogenic flowers and peyote! It was madness and Poontang made an encore appearance. “Don’t forget Doc. I know you sneak off to roller balls and roller derbys every chance you get. C’mon baby,” she said teasingly, “All that fuel injected estros sports entertainment. Amazon Queens ruling with an iron fist ..Betty Page’s with whip in hand...like the Falcon, Doc, these are the things that YOUR  erotic dreams are made of  and there is something about an aggressive female that piques your curiosity factor not to mention creating Yucatan erections stimulating and simulating a flag at full mast waving high in the dawn’s early light.”

Damn her! She could see through me like a broken window. She knew all along I wanted to bang her again and again, and now it was public knowledge, or perhaps it had always been public knowledge except to me.

Poontang got one final dig in…”Swimming? Don’t forget your backstroke and breaststroke and yes you are a breast man so time to dive in!”  I had only one comeback. “Poontang remember that phrase “a bird in hand is worth two in the bush?  Bullshit..my bird in my hand is not better than my bird in your bush!” There I practically said “I love you” in my own crass way and couldn’t back peddle now. They all laughed and Poontang replied..”Love you too Doc.” Chapter 26 - Plan 9 Out of Your Mind

 

 

 

Walking up the small hill was no easy task. I was used to broken tableaus of concrete under my feet and the uneven ground only a teeming steamy inner city could provide. Forget napalm in the morning. I love the  pungent odor of an inner city broken bottle strewn  back alley the day after the night before of a wandering haiku hobo convention of cheap pink lady concoctions that would make a Sterno wino wink and think twice before taking another drink.  Those dark alleys are  a  manly environment where rabid danger lurks with bared fangs and only testosterone could save a mans life or make him foolhardy enough to get his  asphalt hardened cahones in a sling landing  him in the emergency ward with a couple of broken ribs. It was that rush of the unknown that appealed to the death wish side of my psyche. I didn’t want to know the future. Surprise me sweetheart!

The Robotian hills were alive with more than music by the Von Trapp Family. We had entered the canvas of a Van Gogh landscape surrounding our feet with a thousand  hallucinogenic Soma plants, now in full psychedelic bloom as they enjoyed the osmosis orgasm of the red sun of Robotia. I already felt light headed from the pollen drifting upwards as our tramping boots disturbed their slumber and we inhaled the intoxicant letting the Soma plant take over our imaginations. We were  in the bullseye of a real surreal world, but, very real questions still remained. Big questions too. My inquiring mind needed to know.  “Wang,” I queried, “If all of you know about this time-geo  rift thingy in the universe, don’t the Tohos know it as well, and how in hell do we get in here?”

Wang didn’t waffle. “The rift is fairly new Yucatan. It’s a rip in the universal fabric.” Great, what is life? Now I had my answer. The next time someone asks me that I’ll have the answer. My friend, life is nothing more than a cheap suit hanging on  a Hong Kong rack on the garment district.

Wang was on a roll playing the part of history teacher. “It was stumbled  on two years ago when a stranger trapped inside drifted like a piece of cosmic seaweed thanks to a faulty continuum.  He finally emerged here on Robotia wandering about. He came through it quite by accident and showed us approximately where it was and is today. We keep it hidden and we use recon decoys  to lead the Tohos and the Erotibots far from it’s entry point while the rest of us do, or actually did, the jet pack boogie. Today the Tohos don’t set foot in the Vortex anywhere near here. Too dangerous still with our hit and run tactics we use to pick them off. The Erotibots haven’t broken through our ghetto defenses either so far.  For the time being  we and the rift are invisible to them and consequently,  they can’t pull the Rabbit out of our mad hatter hat!”

Wang’s tale was interesting and impressive I must admit, but two nagging questions begged to be addressed and answered. Why in hell were we on foot when we could be jet packing blister free, who was the curious stranger that brought this drifting rift of a strange land with him, and whatever happened to him?  I had to know...my curiosity was hot and ready to break the pressure valve of polite decorum.OK, three questions. The Soma was beginning to cloud nine me.

“We don’t use the jet packs for travel in here anymore,” Long interceded. We don’t know if the propulsion gases will cause enough edible pollution over time to eat away at it and have it go up in smoke leaving us visible and vulnerable. As for the stranger? His name was Ed Wood, Jr. “

Ed Wood, I understood arrived with a cadre of Cococabana revolutionaries  on the run from a the planet Castro. Ed was a human dime novel revolutionary from a pathetic planet that created  droids whose artificial intelligence were similar to the Eroti-bots except for the fact they were not part humanoid, but pure mean artificial intelligence machines that kept developing on their own with an unprogrammed primary goal to enslave the humanoids on the planet and raise them as food for the munchie hungry cannabis cannibals  from the Carnal Coitus solar system who scavenged the universe looking to pillage and plunder everything in their path.

Ed had designed a scheme to thwart the A-I’s. He called it Plan 8, as plans 1-7 sucked and were scraped before they could be implemented. Not disillusioned, he buggered on with other like minded revolutionaries. They formed a nucleus of combatants who planned to invade the island headquarters of the A-I high command, assume power and dismantle the machines. They attacked by boats in the dead dread of night and began the invasion at sunrise. They were promised drone support