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

The dawn would come soon enough. I wanted to get a jump on the day so Poontang and I could get underway on our foray (and I hoped for some foreplay along the way!) We would take my d-lysergic fuel injected LSD 25 Model nuclear booster rocket jet camper to  penetrate Robotian  security in pursuit of the truth in our search for the missing  Mary Asteroid. .

Robotia was not one of those  big bang theory planets born of southwestern desert Navajo fire and ice. It  was a purely mechanical planet, populated with a spaced out electro-race of Exoti-Bot Erotibots created by  of the Ray Mond Burr scientists of the nefarious Planet Toho.  They are the direct deranged descendents, with a lunatic  lineage dating back  the 20th Century where they began as filmmakers and creators of a series of Japanese anti-nuclear films depicting a mutant atomic lizard known as Gojira/Godzilla! A whole series was made featuring this anti-hero including the lost episode called, “The Day Ray Mond Burr Ate Tokyo” a highly prized collectible still today by Sci Fi mental case Lucas Loony geeks of the  post George Lucas generation.

The Tohos evolved,  ultimately emerging in the 25 Cent from a cocoon of isolation as a galactic political and technological force to be dealt with while wearing diplomatic kid gloves. They were still pissed off about the atomic Amityville horror of Hiroshima where a gay Enola came out of the nuclear nightmare closet. Spreading the holy unconditional surrender gospel of mad mushroom cloud radiation.  

They morphed into an advanced race of techno-freakoids dabbling in sideshow robotics. First as toys for little snot nosed Earth kids, before they moved on to highly advanced A-I industrial robotics rendering all former robotics along those lines outdated and inconsequential.

The big push began by the end of the 21st Cent when they had created an entire army of mercenary military destructo-bots for hire to the highest bidder engaging  in petty territorial geo-porn squabbles  over borders and the three R’s ….race, religion and resources.

As the machines advanced they were put into use by the emerging Retropolin/Dystopian Empire during the Great War of 2348 led by the victorious Com-Reds of the far out far off east. Once Earth was unified under Com-Red conquest, it was rechristened Retropolis. Obviously someone in Com Reds PR department was a Fritz Lang fan.

As a reward for their service to the Com-reds, the Toho’s were awarded their own quadrant to create a mechanical planet, (and unfettered permission to pillage and plunder their galactic neighbors as modern day Vikings) They were also allowed to set up Toho Entertainment Neighborhoods in major cities on Retropolis itself composed of delightful Exoti-Bot Eroti-bot creations developed after the Great War for a rapidly growing  marketplace  for hyper hymen and power penile genital gratification.  Nothing like a Eroti-bot lap dance to get your Wi-Fi antennae erect for a strong signal. Homo-robo-sexual somewhere over the rainbow encounters were  encouraged as well as today gay was the new hysterical and robo-lesbianism was promoted to flourish, mainly by the manly hetero voyeur crowd. Even Robo-pedophilia is not illegal with an underage eroti-bot if the robot was manufactured recently and at least 14 years old and it’s circuits haven’t been tampered with.

I had done my homework on the history of the  mystery of the Falcon. The original Mr. Toho was visited one dark night at his Okinawan summer hillside mansion overlooking the South China Sea by a duo of Peruvian Indians back in the year 2016, an age of sexual weakness. Twitter Tweet twits, political correctness and corrupt governments world wide . The Peruvians were big fans of Ray Mond Burr featured in the first English language version of Gojira. When they saw an old “video tape” including  out-of-synch dialogue, they took it as a message  that the Ancient Ones had returned to Earth.

Cave drawings and spoken tribal word stories relate how strange beings in strange ships landed in the Andes to visit this hidden race of Earthlings and dazzle them by turning the plateau landscape into a giant dog and pony show etch a sketch by laser beaming circles and other symbols marking their territory as if they were a pack of mating wolves.

Before they left to explore orbs of interest they gave them a gift of a glowing bird that was in effect a power source of knowledge and science that in the hands of a person or persons could harness the secrets and power of the entire universe. How they use that power is up the individual...either way...the glass of rum would be half full or half empty.

This same Falcon was kept safe for centuries then turned over to Mr. Toho by the Peruvian Ray Mond Burr Cult of the Andes. It was handed down Toho to Toho where they learned to unlock the Robotic Genesis Project that led to Mercenary Bots to establish their power base and the Exoti-Bots Eroti-Bots to rack in the space bucks. It was kept in the Toho underground vaults where it also powered the mechanical planet of To Ho which is completely dependant on it for it’s defense and it’s very existence. Without it they are as powerless as a client with erectile dysfunction in a whorehouse.

Toho’s R And R Department used the Falcon to develope the famed Eroti-bots…..which enabled them to ramp it up a notch utilizing their erotica expertise to experiment creating sex Cyborg’s, half sentient being/half machine sex slaves gathered from a universal garden of military and political prisoners as well as kidnapped beings forced to submit to transference. The Toho’s are major league. These ain’t the Mets!

If I was going  to tango in a computer circuit circus I figured I had better Boy Scout myself up and be prepared by fortifying myself with  an evening of debauched abandon in the br I owned amid the robot sex bars and opium dens of the Toho District of Old Detroit with my friends, my  publisher of my usually deadline late mystery novels, Arthur Burns, along and my agency partner, Sandoz Diego Cerveza.

Old Detroit's Toho District ran parallel to the riverfront and was dangerous after dark. Hell, Detroit was just as dangerous in the light of day as a dame on PMS encased in a Kevlar bridal gown ready to toss a bouquet of grenades into a meeting  of paraplegic Girl Scouts in a hospital ward with 6 boxes of cookies left to sell.

Across the river from Old Detroit was the district of Old Windsor, a former city of what was known as Canada, the land where Poontang Pemalang  had just left and entered my life.

Windsor...Ontario!!! Canada! Dangerous, sensual, sexy and very very….well, Canadian, Eh?  Intrigue mixed in a syringe loaded with a wet dream dose of Canuck sex and suspense...rowdy rebels from French Quebec, hot body hockey players with large sticks who only want to score a goal in your net and puck you all the way from maple leaf Montreal to the land of the Eskimo nymphomaniacs, where it is intuitive for an Inuit to do it...whether on an ice floe or in an igloo...bone and boner chilling sex in the hinterlands for the hind ends. It's a rustic whorehouse where a Banff blow job is mere pennies on the dollar...use Detroit Currency and she'll go 'round the world' in less than 80 days, minutes, seconds....the land of Nanook and Nordic Nookie. A land of Scandinavian Warrior Princesses with Viking vaginas as strong as steel traps....

Canucks, Con artists, hookers from Halifax, and pickpockets make fantastic promises to eager space travelers who are in a hurry to leave Old Canada for safety after the danger dawns on them.  Money and moose hides are the currency of freedom, and the hustlers have a field day conning the hopefuls and taking their last Loonie with nothing in exchange leaving them with dashed hopes, useless pennies, and dashed dreams of escape...back to their home planets and safety. Why escape Retropolis? Everywhere in this teeming Canadian colony, inter-galactic nationals fornicate furiously in fur hats. Detroit is just across the river….. so why not fuck there?

Sandoz, Arthur and I came here often,  not just because of it’s unique atmosphere of its propensity for interplanetary proletarian perversity. (Once a pervert, always a pervert I always say!) but mainly because we owned this  drinking watering hole in the wall. We purchased a few Exoti-Bot Eroti-bots that spared nothing in the way of bizarre scintillating entertainment from the Tohos making our joint  the jazzed up jumpin’ Marquis de Sade drunken dungeon  of debauchery and weirdness.

When Arthur and I arrived just after 6 PM.  Sandoz was already there  making small talk with one of the human waitresses when he saw us enter from the illumination of  the flickering neon of the club’s entrance. “Hey Mates!” he yelled excitedly across the room and above the din of the cacophony of the crowd. Bloody Aussie accent always gave him away as a roo eater that couldn’t shake his down under roots.

“Sandoz, you always amaze me” Arthur said in a voice that betrayed his admiration for Sandoz’s proficiency with the opposite sex, human, alien or mechanical. “I swear you ugly sweat you must be part machine yourself. How the fuck are you…Mate. Ha, just want you give you taste of your own bloody Aussie medicine to feel at home or at least until you lose that hideous accent. I expect any minute to see an outback woman on her bloody knees sucking on your pouch when I hear that goddamned voice of yours”.

“Alright boys, drinks. Arthur’s paying yes?” I said as I motioned for one of the Asian waitresses that cruised the customers tables in numbers so great I felt I was in Old Tokyo’s Ginza on drag queen festival night loaded on Soma and ready to take my pick of the litter. I noticed there were more eroti-bot dancers than usual on the stage. Sandoz had purchased the extras when we were finally in the black and I felt comfortable that it was space bucks well spent as these delicious morsels were mechanical models more realistic looking and acting as well as more erotic and exotic than all the others we had purchased a few years ago.  

“Aye Mate, they’ve got some new  electro-mech-synth talent they brought in from the Leonid Sector. Some sort of experimental bots I guess,” yelled Sandoz over the ring-a-ding ding din of the crowd and the music in harmony with the whirring noise of the giant Toho robot strippers  with mechanical tits and hydraulic action asses all in synth synch by our  MC, Viet Minh, a  Vietnamese female cyborg ho ho ho Chi Minh comic and ring master who directed the stage show yelling into her microphone “Hai, Hai, Hai”

We had purchased the Detroit Bar in Old Detroit’s Greektown renaming it “The Space Noir Bar”