Hole Punch by Simmons, Garth (the dot read aloud TXT) 📕

old man's house. They put a net on him and his cat and they shock blasted them both into epileptic near-death experiences. Neurones fired in their gyrating, half-dead, debt meat.

The Collector Squad laughed and so did the audience at home.

* * *

Jerusalem is in flames. Black smog obscures the sunlight. A tank shoots at a crowd of student protesters. An airship flew in the sky bearing the banner:

"Trust Angel Trust: Financial Management For You And Your Next Of Kin."

ICONOCLASM

The people who think they are clever sit on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. For one night only the warehouse is a theatre for a counter-cultural performance by the theatre troupe: ICONOCLASM.

On stage, a man wearing a rubber-mask of a politician is bent over the lap of a man wearing a rubber-mask of the Queen.

“Bad boy!” shouts the man wearing a rubber-mask of the Queen.

The people who think they are clever smile and clap in collective affirmation of their big, mad ideas.

THE REBEL

On the planet Ukatrax, a Ukatraxi slave had finally had enough. With his big fists and brute strength he smashed a human slaver's head against the wall of the subterranean mine. He tore the legs from another and snapped another in half. He killed many others. It was a massacre.

The Rebel turned to his fellow Ukatraxi slaves.

“Break free of your chains my brothers! Let us escape from our masters!”

The other Ukatraxi slaves cowered in fright and fear. Some were still trying to punch for precious minerals with their bloodied fists.

“This isn’t happening,” they muttered.

“Stand up and fight!” demanded the Rebel.

An old, Ukatraxi patriarch ambled bent toward the Rebel.

“What would we be if we had our freedom?” he asked.

“We would be free if we had our freedom! We wouldn’t be whipped and beaten! We wouldn’t be punching through rock with our fists! We wouldn’t be watching our fathers die and our mothers die and our children die and our friends die at the hands of the humans! Did you not see how I killed a whole group of them on my own? The Ukatraxi are stronger, bigger and braver than the humans! Think of how strong we would be united! Together we can crush them and reclaim our world! Make a Ukatrax for the Ukatraxi!”

A female Ukatraxi stood up.

“The humans took my eggs! I will fight with you!”

She punched the cavern ceiling with her big fist.

“No women allowed!” said the Rebel. “I’m going to punch the Human Empire to dust! On my own if I have to! If I fail then I shall be an inspiration to the next generation! Revolution is possible through Ukatraxi strength!”

* * *

The Rebel punched open the throne room door and stomped towards the Arch-Slime Drylicktius, puppet king of the planet Ukatrax, who lay in his hot tub throne. His hairy maidens ran away with their sponges. The Rebel stomped towards the Arch-Slime. The Arch-Slime turned away from his many televisions to look sloppy-eyed at the Rebel..

“Oh come on mate,” bubbled the Arch-Slime. “You’re interrupting my telly!”

Fat with USB implants, bubbling fart water cloys his skin of wet clay. In his fattened fist he held a television remote control.

“You are nothing but a stooge!” shouted the Rebel, as he pulled the sloppy king out of his bath. “You sold out your species so you can be everything a Ukatraxi shouldn’t be! Using your fists for nothing but self-indulgence! Letting everyone else do the punching for you!”

“So what?” laughed the Arch-Slime. “I’m having a right good time of it!”

The Rebel dropped the Arch-Slime back in his hot tub.

“Useless!” spat the Rebel.

“Have a look at all this telly they gave me.”

On one screen: strange long-necked lizard creatures were tied up in basements and beaten, flayed and turned into handbags. On another screen: handbags on sale for forty-five credits. On another screen: bird creatures stuffing their feathers into sacks made from each others' skin to make pillows. On another screen: pillows being sold for forty-five credits each. On another screen: the Ukatraxi smashing their bloodied fists into the rock, the humans stood behind them whipping the Ukatraxi and laughing.

“We are entertainment to them?!” shouted the Rebel.

“What? The Mining Show? I love that one. The funniest thing about The Mining Show is that the humans have the technology to mine this planet in three hours. It's just that they think it's more fun to do it the slow way, more screams and all that. Much funnier.”

The Rebel wrapped his big hands around the Arch-Slime’s fat neck.

"Every time we punch stone it hurts!"

"Yeah..." gasped the Arch-Slime. “…I know... but you don’t… want to… be put out… out of a… job... do you?"

A human film crew burst into the throne room and pointed their cameras at the Rebel and the Arch-Slime. The Rebel dropped the Arch-Slime back in his tub and turned angrily toward the film crew.

“We're on the telly!” shouted the Arch-Slime.

Human soldiers burst into the throne room. They shot the Rebel.

The film crew gathered around, pointing their cameras at the Rebel as he choked on his juices.

“Look!” shouted the Arch-Slime. “You're on the telly!”

Three days later, the corpse of the Rebel began its tour around the hovels of the Ukatraxi slaves.

"Is that the bad one?" asked a child to his mother. "The one who tried to resist?"

RUGBY

In the town of Rugby, an outsider asks:

"Is there a lot of Rugby going on here?"

A tank-muscled and oyster-headed local points to the horizon:

"There's a lot of Rugby going on out THERE mate!"

JACK'S BACK!

When Jane saw the Cadillac smashed up against the street lamp, she knew it could only mean one thing.

“Jack's back!”

When George heard the clipping of cowboy boots around the corner, he knew it could only mean one thing.

“Jack's back!”

* * *

The thirty to fifty year old kids all danced at their house party that night. They were celebrating New Years Eve. They were on