LAST SALT

1

KIRK Klark Kornelius Krinklekut-Karr lives in San Heyzeus, Canmerica, a part of the Fellatio Astro-Mons Veneris star cluster. He sleeps with a jug of his still-living father's ashes stashed below his ash-coloured pillow. Mixed with everlasting skim milk and distilled using a complex molecular structure of super-crescently modified hydrocarbon atoms and Jell-O. Daddy's crispy corpse of an arm will never go bad. Thus Kirk Klark Kornelius Krinklekut-Karr is rarely if ever sad, and perhaps you can see why. With a golden-butter sky never clouded in hard acid-greys, and a loving daddy who will never ever truly die.

Kirk—Kalvin to friends, though he doesn't have many—Krinklekut-Karr standing working for the Corporation as an envelope-licker. Licking glue and catching a buzz. The pay is swell and his boss can go to hell. Licking and licking until his tongue grows bumpy bloody sores. Infection ensures never a dull moment is had. And yet Mr. Arseholian, the never-wanted son of sentient Armeanian warthogs, is still yelling at him to pick up the pace.

How dare he tell me what to do. He's only my boss. Not my Rabbi. He doesn't advise me in matters of faith and fortune. So why must he grip me in the vise of life. Tearing me to pieces. From the inside in. Deeper and deeper. Until I can't take another second. In this hellish hole called life itself. The weather's great down here. Warm and cozy. Maybe a little too snug with the furnace set on Roasted Rump. But all in all, I shan't complain.

Kirk hearing the snort and snicker from behind. The whine and wiggle as Arseholian waddles up to his backside. Fecal smell travelling among greasy brown smears across the floor. I turn around and stare into those beady black piggy little eyes.

"What Mr. Arseholian."

"Pick up the pace Karr. You lick too slow. Ain't your mommy ever taught you the art of licking. I hear she's a pro." He snorts in laughter at his own joke.

"Sir. My mother is dead."

"Even better." Snort, snort.

"Sir. My mother is a saint."

"The best whores always are." Snort, snort, snort.

Kirk Karr whistling through his teeth. Angry, exasperated. What is this guy on. Where does he get off. I could kill him five ways to Friday with my tongue. A lethal weapon. Trained in fancy Corporation procedures. Fifteen years of hard thankless work. Or slice his neck with these envelopes I lick. Lethal paper-cut. Watch him bleed all over the floor. Tell him to pick up the pace. Die faster you bum. And wipe your arsehole. Sir. It reeks like your mum did. Last night. When I was teaching her how to lick. Her envelope. Right down its sticky slit.

The whistle blows, shaking Kirk from his heavenly thoughts. Out from the clouds, he sets the unlicked envelope down for later. Grabbing his lunchbox, signing out of the system with a blink of his eyes and heading off to town. Amidst the throngs of fellow Corporation clowns, working for the Man so the Man can stay home. Earning stock points on the souls of man. Little m for little old me. I'm not a fat cat, so I can't earn more money than I could spend in seventeen hundred lifetimes. Can't buy that mechanical jaguar I want. Said I would buy one for little Susie Cumberbitch, too. Told her Cyborg Santa was dead, mauled to death by his own team of robotic reindeer, Rudolph taking his balls as a souvenir. Then later she kicked me in the knee when I told her she'd have to settle for a mechanical dead worm. Saying I was a great big thieving oaf who was better off dead in a ditch than stealing her precious oxygen. Little does she know.

Mrs. Hora Cumberbitch

Her mummy

Sure can

Blow.

2

SUNNY cloudless sky shining acid-yellow tones on the backs of all to see. Lightning trams zipping and zapping around San Heyzeus, flashing yellow-blue streaks with such speed the eye can barely recognize them. Many a suicide day in, day out—better watch where you walk friends, you don't want to hitch a ride on that bullet train. Towers rising and falling faster than the trams, silver steel girders forming a spider's web around the always-ongoing developments. Robots policing the neighbourhood, asking those who make eye contact to prove their existence with a whistle of a tune. People walking smiling with their pets, husbands and wives on chains and hands and knees. Trees waving branches, smiling knots, silent night and day. If a human tree falls in the city. With no one alive around. It makes quite a sound. And bleeds warm sticky sap, red like you and me.

Passing a few human dogs engaging in the timeless activity of lifting legs and urinating on a grinning fire hydrant. Kirk can't help but to shudder to himself. It is unnatural. To be a man or a woman and to crouch in the scorching hot sun. Watching waiting for someone anyone to come. Have a long warm yellow slash all over your face, neck and back. While all you can do is smile a mile long and wide. Grin and bear it, charmed and harmed, hating yourself a little bit more inside. Heart fading, soul shading. Dying a little day by day. Until you get your sought-after cheque. And gladly willingly get back on the ride.

A fire hydrant popping, shooting water from a hose hanging out his behind. He flies this way and that, swung along by the force of the flow, banging head and mouth on concrete below. Battered and bloodied and bruised. Coppers dropping everything and running to the scene of the crime on the senses. Try to get all under control while avoiding deadly streams of component-killing water flow. One attempting to catch the flying fire hydrant on his next pass by. Misses. Again and again. I leave that scene, heading to the feeding pit with my lunch in a can.

Mechanical tuna

From a sea made of grease.

The fish don't go down so good

But at least it bought peace.

3

WAR surrounding San Heyzeus with the barrage of telebombs and premissiles and postnukes. Machinegun fire rattling far-away windows with a pop-pop-pop. Keeps one up late at night. But at least it's not here.

Thanks to the monumental deal between mandroid, church and state. The Jesusfish swims freely, the tuna gone extinct. We eat our artificial fishies to keep the artificial humies at bay. They come from a land to the West or East depending on which way you wish to swim. Bodies running with not hearts nor blood or tears. But with engines, grease and gears. Motors running hot with hate for humans over here. Religious leaders saying non-people are people, too. Deals dealt beyond closed doors. Passion plays and passing planes. An alliance has been made.

Mr. Karr sitting in a favourite luncheon hall. O'Healy'O's Pit O' Rot. The Rot-Pit for short. Eating lunch alone at the window, sitting staring out at the wandering Jews. Walking their own personal Exoduses. Try to find the land of milk and honey and God. Instead find the land of piss and sperm and Nod. A rotten world where being down is fashionable and being affable is ugly. If only I had a woman. Or a man. Or a someone to give my all to. The blood my heart bleeds. The spirit my soul shites. Karr cutting jagged greasy slices of metal, chewing aimlessly forlorn when a hand pats him on the shoulder. Turning to look and seeing an old friend. White shirt and bowtie, pantlegs pulled fashionably high above the ankles. Kiernan Kegelmeister.

"Top of the morning Karr. Fine day today. Spotted a delicious young thing barely weaned from her mam's teat. Crying about this and that. So I says shut yer trap and come with me. Naturally she did, as all the brats need a few bad decisions under their belts. Helps trim the fat you see. Taught her a thing or two about lust. All—that is to say, all for me and none for thee—is fair in love and war. Needless to say she wept right then and there. Had to give her another ride on the lightning rod if you know what I mean. Then I sent her packing. Told her to tighten her braces and come back next week when my schedule's free."

"O."

"That's right. O. A big fat O. Multiple. For yours truly. Now tell me I'm the big Christ back from down under the land of Oz."

"OK."

"That's right, OK. So how about you Karr, you slay any lasses with the righteous rod of rock and thunder yet. Give them the ol' one-two with your baseball battering ram. Tear them a new hole to do both one and two makes three out of. Well I'm waiting. Anticipating the glorious word of KKKK-K. Spit it out Karr. Did you or did you not."

"No Kiernan."

"Ah man don't call me that. What kinda ship d'ya think I'm running here. People hear my Christian name and they think they can Jew me down, no offense. Not if I can help it, no no. Call me by my father's father's name Karr. Please say it. It makes my blood pump downward."

"Kegelmeister. Happy."

"Muchly appreciated friend. Happier than a horse in heat and high on hemp. But back to your present issues. They don't call me the Love Doctor for nothing. The way I see it Karr, you need to liven yourself up. Lie a little more. Women love a little deception. Keeps them on their toes and keeps their teats tough. Medically proven fact, don't you know."

An elderly couple listening in from the table next door. Shaking heads. Making comments.

"I say dear chap could you please tone it down for my lady friend here. I say dear chap her heart is weak, weak I say dear chap. It beats, dear chap, like the heart of a dog or a doe."

Kegelmeister turning to say, "And I say this old bean. Could you please kindly with the sweetest of dosh tucked away in my pocket, shut your mouth or I will break it into exactly three pieces, and scatter them in each corner of the Earth so you will feel compelled to travel vast distances and gather them, and so you may speak again so kindly to violent brutal angry strangers like myself. And take your lady friend with you, honest old bean. It looks as though the rough ride is what she prefers. Or perhaps she would like me to provide the rough ride for her. Atop my flagpole as it flaps wildly in the breeze."

Lady friend with a mouth shaped like an O, hand hovering in front. But I know she isn't stopping all eyes from watching her yawn. Her and old bean getting up, heads shaking, hands trembling as they walk out the door of The Rot-Pit, muttering about damn kids today and how good things were in the old days when the Irish weren't allowed to breathe the same air as respectable civilized folk.

Kegelmeister standing, dropping ten credits on the table for Karr. I look at the money and push it aside. He pushes it back, says no no take it, you need it more.

"After all Karr." Grinning mischievously, he shows me a switchblade, blood dried rusty at the tip. "The Kegelmeister is off to the races. I've got to nail that kind sweet old lady friend before her heart gives out. And maybe if I'm lucky I can be the one to put it out while I nail her to my door. My hammer is primed and pumped, ready to give her a frozen-faced forever O."

One squeeze of the bulge in his trouser leg, Kegelmeister racing away. Shaking his head, Karr pocketing the credits donated so graciously from friendly Kiernan. Such a kind saintly old soul. Knew him back in our rebellious schoolyard days. Making lewd remarks to passing female teachers, giving their rumps a pinch and squeeze. Torching toilets and painting the principal's perfect little Passat with strands of the pink paper. Specially ordered in from Sin Francine, so they said. Made wiping arse a pretty pastime. Beautiful pink and baleful brown. A blend so bountiful. Now that's art.

Tuna in need of a little more zest. This mechanical crap never tastes the best. Too plain, too flat, too metallic and offensive to the tongue. Sprinkle a little salt I think. As my daddy always said, a little salt goes a long way.

Karr tugging on the salt shaker. Finding it's kept on a short leash. The chain just won't give way. Can barely get enough rope to tilt the damned thing. I say. What kind of scam is this place running. Never had this nonsense happen to me before. Karr figuring out how to unscrew the cap on the shaker, pouring salt into his hand. Overflowing white crystals falling through his fingers. He quickly sprinkles it on his tuna. Tasting to see. Nope, not enough. I pour a little more into my hand.

And then the sirens go off. Last salt for me it seems. Androids armed to the teeth storming The Rot-Pit. Taking Karr forcefully away from his lonely table at the window. All eyes on him as he hits the dirty sticky floor wondering what law he broke. Hearing in his ear in that robotic cheer.

Sir.

You bit off.

More.

Than.

You.

Can choose.

4

KICKING and screaming, Karr had been taken from the luncheon hall. Told his rights were left back with that last grain of salt. Dragged blindfolded and beaten and bloodied and bruised to a detention centre. Somewhere where the birds seemed to howl instead of tweet. Where the air smelled sweet instead of sour and the stench of fear stuck sweaty to his skin.

Blindfold off. Puny cell. Bucket in the corner. Shallow pan beside. Don't know which one's the pot to piss in. Glassless window lined vertically with thick metal bars. Seeing through it. Passing vehicles. Neon lights flashing on off, on off. Robocop throwing shut the cell door. Where am I. Why am I here. I demand to see a lawyer. Or Kegelmeister. He'd help me. He'd know what to do. Some plan I'm sure. Figure out a way to escape. Punch heads. Pull wires. Grind gears. Something anything. Anywhere but here.

Another prisoner of the state being dragged in. Can hear him yelling.

"I tell you, you can't get away with this I say. I swear by the hairs on my nether-chin-chinny-chin-chin that I will get my revenge. You will rue this day good sirs. Rue it all the way to your silicon-lined graves. It was only an old lady good sirs. She was one day from death's door anyway, I could smell it on her soul. Not my fault little old me was too mighty a beast for her batcave to receive. And her good chap trying to pry her from her impalement certainly didn't help matters, wouldn't you say. I swear to the Christian God I'm innocent, innocent I say. O hello Karr. Fancy seeing you here. Looks like we're cell-buddies. I call the bucket good chap."

Slinking to the floor, back against the wall, I can't believe my luck. Not green Irish that's for sure. No pot of gold in here.

Kegelmeister unzipping. He leans back and relieves himself into the bucket, groaning with pleasure.

Nevermind then. Perhaps there is a spot of luck to be found in here.

When life gives you a bucket

F*ck it

And unleash a steamy yellow stream

Of your own Irish green.

Make your own luck.

It's an old Irish scheme.

It's how the Irish dream.

5

CAGE rattling open after a quiet hour spent in solitude. Kegelmeister in one corner, Kirk in the other. A plate of something being brought over to Karr. Lowered to the floor and pushed toward him, he sees and smells what he is to eat.

"I can't eat this. This is preposterous. My guts couldn't even begin to digest it."

Kegelmeister already halfway through devouring his own dinner. "Try some Karr. It's actually quite tasty. Can feel my private donor bank being bolstered. Gooey creamy white cells growing in number. Urge to ramrod rising. If that old lady could see me now. She'd come alive again just to die a second time. With an even bigger O upon her pretty wrinkled face."

Kirk Karr staring revolted at his plate. Green and red. Arranged like art. Looks like real food, too. Like before the deal with Robo-God. Better try a little. Just a bite. Pull a piece off with my fingers. Pop it in the mouth. Move it around with the tongue. The master's method to trying strange new cuisine. Salty. Alkaline. Fleshy and leafy. Swallow.

Turn to see Kegelmeister licking his plate like a dog. He sets it down grinning, then groaning. Clutching his belly. Standing up and throwing down his pants, squatting over my unsoiled pan. Ripping a painful bowel movement, eyes scrunched up, face pink and throbbing veiny. Hearing the clang-clang-clickety-clack of brown-red contorted metal plopping down into the pan.

Robot rushing in to collect the spare parts and feces. Rushing out, cage closing. Damn. Opportunity over.

"Don't eat anymore Karr. Dear Christian God. I think I just had a religious experience. I feel as though I'll never be the same after that. Karr. Can you look for me. Here. I'll just bend and spread. Tell me Karr. Am I bleeding."

"Quite. Kegelmeister how are we gonna get out of here. I have to get back to work. The envelopes need me. I'm late. Arseholian will kill me."

"Ha ha, Arseholian won't kill you. The only thing Arseholian could kill is a trough of slop. And maybe a corpse. He's harmless. Besides. If he tries anything you tell me, OK."

"OK."

"Good Karr. Now I really need some paper to wipe me rear. Don't want to get an infection. That would really ruin my date tonight. Can you imagine if a lass took my pants off and I was oozing pus from my two-hole. She'd run like the wind. I'd have to ride her slipstream to catch her, and quickly stab her with my pole. Maybe in her rump. That would really slow her down. Give her something to think about. Like whether she likes it or not. Guards, guards. Where's the buttwipes in this hell. I'm talkin' to you buddy. Yeah you. Where's the damn paper here. You expect me to walk around like this. Bleeding from my anus. This is how Lincoln died, don't you know. O you shrug, do you. The nerve of that bot. I tell you Karr, if they had to take craps like us then there'd be a little more respect going on in here. I swear. It's demeaning what we humans have to go through. Christian God and His perverted sense of humour."

"Kegelmeister. Maybe you can use your—" I nod and raise my eyebrows.

"Ah. Karr you genius. It is supposed to be sterile isn't it. Well it's worth a shot. Let me squat, lift and dip. O, it tickles. You're sure this is healthy right. Lift and dip. Lift and dip. Maybe prod a little with my finger. Pokety-poke. Well. It's certainly changed the colour of the water."

Lifting his pants again, Kegelmeister spying a robot walking over. Carrying a letter.

The cage opening. Letter being handed not to Kegelmeister but to Karr. "A. Letter." Cage sliding shut again.

Kirk, my boy,

I received the news shortly before it happened. My god. Is it true? You're in jail? This can't be possible... But I suppose I should have seen it coming. In fact, I did. But that's beside the point. If you're in jail, then I suppose you don't have the ashes of my arm, do you? No, no, of course not. Then it means you won't be sleeping well tonight. And that simply won't do. Not at all.

Kirky, I've taken the liberty of bribing the police. You should be able to walk out. If not, just whistle for the guard. Is Kiernan in there with you? Tell him I said he should get a job. And make sure he doesn't wash with his own urine. It's unsanitary. And unsightly.

You may be wondering how I know so much. The truth is, well— The truth is that there is no truth. Can you understand that? No? No matter, because it's not true. Only it is. O, you'll figure it out.

I hate to be the one to inform you, but it seems your doctor called and left a message about some very necessary, important operation. You need to be in to see him right away. He said it could be a matter of life or death. You know these doctors. Very melodramatic. It's always life or death with them, isn't it? Anyway, give her a call when you get the chance. O, did I call her a him before? She had a sex change. So he's a she now. Or is she a he. I don't know. Just call him. Or her. Or whoever.

When life gets rough

Just take a puff

Of Daddy's ashy stuff.

Love,

K.K.K. Krinklekut-Karr, Sr.

6

AFTER tugging on the door of the cage, Karr and Kegelmeister found it was unlocked and waltzed on out of the detention centre without a passing glance from the robocops. Heading their separate ways now. A wave farewell from him. A ta-ta from me. I walk through a part of town never graced upon my brown orbs. Feel foreign here. A stranger in a strange land. Think I recognize the street here. Nevermind. Hmm. Let's see. That building looks familiar. But it's so far away. May need to walk to it, ask for directions.

Kirk Karr travelling a thoroughfare stippled with neon lights and the blight of poverty. Emaciated men and women and their children struggling to reach out. Barely have the strength to beg. Handing out the credits given to him by Kegelmeister. A charitable donation to a worthy cause. Least one can do. One feels one's noble duty has been done. The soul whitened in this blackened world. Scrubbed with bleach and steel wire mesh. Let the old blood out. Does the heart good. Rids the body of toxins.

Passing a darkened alley, stopping to peer into the murk. Seeing a figure, familiar but too dark to make out. Hello in there. Who are you. Friend or foe. Seeing them stumbling waddling forward as if unsure of their movements. Armeanian warthog, snouted and tusked. Pants down at his ankles, exposing hairless shrivelled private parts to the world. Smaller than I would have thought.

"Oink oink Mr. Arseholian."

No reply from the boss pig. A runner of drool depending from slackened jaw. A gleam of blood-tinged bile spattered on shirt. He steps into the light. Able to see a scar running around the skull like a faded tattoo. Strange. That wasn't there before.

"Fancy seeing you here. Nice night tonight. Sorry I never got back to worky-work. Had a bit of trouble with the coppers. All good now, though. I can be in tomorrow, naturally."

Arseholian letting out a groan robbed of his good insulting nature. "Uhhhhh..."

"Are you feeling well Mr. Arseholian. If you don't mind me saying so. Well, you look like shite. From a wee baby's diaper. Pardon the expression."

Arseholian extending arms, scrunching and releasing fingers rapidly in the age-old symbol of want and desire. Pelvis thrusting forward and back in need. "Uhhhh..." Penguin-walking forward as Karr steps backward. Gross motor skills impaired by the lowered pantaloons. Arseholian goes tumbling to the ground, banging his jaw on the broken glass-strewn concrete. Skidding to a bloody painful halt. Knocked-out cold.

Not taking any more hints, Karr running from the bizarre behaviour of Mr. Arseholian. Always thought he was a bit of a weird fellow. But not like that. Not right in the head. Public indecency is a terrible crime. Should be punishable by public execution. Only way to teach a proper lesson to any would-be exhibitionists and probable fondlers. String them up by their delicate parts and let them hang in the sun. Watch them roast like chicken and elongate until the skin tears, withhold medical treatment and then they bleed out from their brand-new custom-made orifice. Serves them right.

I seek salvation in one of those autoshops specializing in lube-jobs. Find the most intelligent-looking person and ask.

Hey Brainy

You got the lubrication

But

Do you know

Where the weirdness

Ends.

7

HELPFUL fellow pointed me—after trying to sell me a five-dollar lubing—in the right direction. Far away. To concrete fields yonder. Get to thinking of a journey undertaken by yours truly once upon a tender time. With a little lady who wouldn't tell me her middle name. Had to guess. Like it was a big funny game. Ha ha. Ha ha, indeed. Only I never won. We walked and we walked and I asked and I asked. No she said, no no, a million times no. Got to thinking the game was rigged. Asked her what the deal was and she revealed. I don't have a middle name. Big laugh. Thinking of her as I wander west. Big laugh. No clue what I'm doing. Just walking. Thinking. Guessing.

Like what the meaning is to life. To live. But what about death. To die. And to live is to die. To die is to live. So what is the difference. To love. In death. In life. Life is love. But is death love. Only if you're weird. Things Kirk Karr ponders while walking.

Sun rises fast and puce on the skyline. Didn't know dawn came so early. Must be the nanites they spray into the air. Way up there. Where we can't walk. Only fly. Passing birds and bugs. They hiss and click and chirp. Entering the city main. People out and about already. The city that never sleeps. San Heyzeus. Saint Hello Greek Thunder God. Only a prettier phrase.

Spying the office of my doctor. Wishes to see Karr. Decides he should drop in unannounced but very much invited.

Entering a room of the sniffing snivelling sick. Not looking so good. One woman reusing tissues. Passing it around for noses and rears to be wiped by the others. Then back to her. A flick and swish and it's good as new. Apparently.

Karr grimacing as he shuffles by. Over to the secretary. Who looks up with a scowl then a smile.

"Greetings Mr. Krinklekut-Karr, Jr. Have you an appointment."

"No no, not for me, miss. I have received word, however, from my father that the good doctor is requesting my visitation to this here fine medical establishment. Is this true."

"Quite true Mr. Krinklekut-Karr, Jr. Would you like me to make you an appointment."

"No no, certainly not. Just fit me in before these other people. Just need to tell the good doctor that I'm as healthy as a horse and I'll be on my merry way. Won't take long at all."

"Certainly Mr. Krinklekut-Karr, Jr. She's just finishing up now."

With a nod, a show of teeth and a click of his boots, Kirk wandering off to study the horrible art lining the walls. Doctors always have the worst taste. Hard to take their health advice seriously. When they enjoy pictures depicting men with spread arses and dogs playing cards and smoking illegal cigars.

Door opening. I turn to take a look at my predecessor, check to see what shape they're in. O dear. Not good at all.

Man groaning with curled lip and crossed eyes. Scar around head like a hellish halo. Pants around ankles like Arseholian. Hips gyrating to and fro. Avoid his inward stare and attempts at solicitation. Weave around his erotic gesticulating and slam the door.

"O, greetings Kirk. Didn't expect you so soon. I take it your papa delivered my message."

"Yes Doctor Heshe, that's right. May I ask what this is regarding."

Doctor Heshe fondling own breasts through the thin white fabric establishing she is, in fact, a doctor of medicine. Notice a rather large bulge down in the same place my own smaller bulge rests. Quickly averting eyes.

"O, nothing much Kirk. But it is serious and must be performed immediately. Little operation. Will help clear your mind. Tell me, have you been experiencing headaches or nausea lately. Dizzyness."

"No, no and certainly no."

"Hmm. Well, how about libido."

"High as it's ever been. Would you care to find out Doctor Heshe. And please do tell me what your Christian name will be on this fine day."

"James. I decided upon something decidedly androgynous. Well, Kirk, if your libido is that high then it seems you are a perfect candidate. Would you please bend over this table and drop your trousers. The drill and power-saw is just to perform a little, ahem, delicate brain surgery. And this needle is a little sedative so you don't scream. The other patients don't like the screaming. Tends to scare them away, and we can't have that, can we."

Doctor Heshe menacing with drill and saw, needle full of green fluid tucked sideways between the teeth. Kirk finding no hope here in this little room. Leaping through the window and falling to the ground below.

She

Never

Said

What the bulge

Was

For.

8

BLOODY shards of glass at his feet, Kirk setting off for greener pastures. Only to be stopped by a thrusting wall of mindless people. All with scars running 'round their skulls. Men and women alike. A human centipede of demented drooling debauchery. I let out a little squeal of disapproval. Like a mouse. And gain the attention of this ghoulish group. Some removing themselves, others maintaining the train of fornication. As they maneuver themselves slowly but surely towards Karr.

Turning to run. But only see another obstacle. Another wall. Closing in. From all sides. What to do. What to do. Could pray to Christian God. Or Nod. Or maybe to myself. Spot Arseholian among the throng, snorting and crapping and humping. Raising his fists to combat the coming forces of doom and gloom and despair, Karr spinning in circles. Watching waiting for the first to fall.

Only to hear a shriek of heroism.

"Get back you vile brainless Humpers or I will, I assure you from the deepest depths of my heart and soul, break off your jaws and suture them to your arses. So you may forever shite where ye eat. Like the deplorable damned abominations of hell ye are."

"Kegelmeister."

"That's me Karr. Had to kill a few dozen of these monstrosities when they got in the way of my piece of arse I was in the middle of obtaining through lies, deceit and treachery. These ignoble bastards and bastardesses. They killed me beautiful piece of arse. Didn't stop me from having a quick go. But then I had to scoot scoot scoot."

Kegelmeister swinging fists of flurry, landing blow after blow and scattering Humpers—as he called them—to the burning-hot macadam. Developing a nice-sized human-humping heap. Back to back, Karr and Kegelmeister warding off their attackers and attempted-molesters. Fighting through the crowd like the glorious and the brave. Until they have an opportunity to flee like cowards.

Turning corners. Running with the wind at their feet. And into the clutches of an armed trio.

And

At the head

Of the triangle

Is a sexy woman.

Her hard nipples point

And her large weapon aims

At my quickly wettening crotch.

9

"WAKE up Karr. We're in another cell it looks like, buddy. Just my luck. Can't catch a break in this town. Syphilis, can catch that no problem. Gonorrhea and HIV, too. But not a break. Makes me want to go on some sort of spree. With this here knife. Teach them all a lesson. About what it takes to make a man go insane. In my case it's having the female form withheld from mine own. And not enough knockers to knock. And, yes, being jailed for no discernible reason. Twice in one day. I mean, Jesus of Ireland, what the hell, man. The first time I just ravished an old lady to death. Innocent mistake. Where's the crime in that. And she was begging for it, too. I mean, really. Tell me Karr. And now some smoking-hot babe and her two goons think they can imprison us without stating why. I oughtta ravish her, too. Think I should Karr. Think we should do it together. A tag-team, the KK Krusher. We bash her head in when she comes. Then slip it in. I'll take the one-hole, you take the two-hole. Then we both try the three-hole. She looks like that kind of devilish lass. Did you see the way her teats looked at me."

Karr rubbing his eyes and propping himself on both elbows. Looking around. Dingy room, not quite as luxurious as the robocops' jail. Not even a window or a toilet. Just a dirty floor, dirty walls, and dirty Kegelmeister. Not even a door I can see, either. Head hurts. Feel a bump on the back of the noggin. And another. On the base of the skull.

Waiting a half-hour for something anything to happen. Then it finally does. A door opening in a wall where no door appears to be. The woman from the trio entering, gun at her hips, breasts large and proud and deadly. Two goons proceeding her, standing left and right of each swollen cheek.

"Hello you two. The name's Angel. Angel Devorsky. Of the Illuminaughty. Perhaps you've heard of our secret organization. I take it from your silence and looks of continuing dumbness that you have not. Perfect. I shall forward a missive of congratulations to the marketing team for their hard work. Keep your eyes on my eyes gentlemen, and not on my boobies. Delightful though they are. Lot of hard work and money put into them. So naturally I don't wish for you to leer at them like a couple of leprous lechers.

"You may be wondering why you are here. And not out there. With the other drones. Well, what can I say. Ha ha. You failed your tests. Well, you failed less Mr. Kegelmeister. The naughty bug you have caught, so it would seem. Mr. Krinklekut-Karr, however. You are not only not naughty but not infected with a host. That simply will not do. You should have listened to Dr. Heshe, Mr. Karr. You must realize that you have no power in this world we are writing. Our masters are set to arrive. We need the place clean spick and span.

"You both still look deeply confused. Allow me to explain. Actually, nevermind. Hulio and Wexter. Implant them, please. I have business to attend to. Ta-ta."

She leaves.

They move.

We kick.

They drop.

Another in the bucket of luck.

10

ARMED now with weapons tucked away surreptitious and secret. Sneaking along the white-walled corridors of this unnameless Illuminaughty facility. Is it San Heyzeus Illuminaughty. Or Canmerica Illuminaughty. Both or neither. Nobody knows except them I suppose. So many names, so little time to use them.

Seeing men and women coming in our direction. Start to nod but then realize we are meant to be infected with the disease of never-ending screwing. Stupefy ourselves a little. I join Kegelmeister in his humping of the air. Though for him that comes naturally whenever a female is in sight.

Realize we don't have a scar. Try to tell Kegelmeister such a revelation when he stops to point out a large auditorium. Grunting dumbly for any potential audience to our award-winning performances. Peering around and seeing the coast is a ghost—that is, quite clear.

"That's our ticket Karr. Blend in there. Find some female Humpers to screw. Hear they really have endurance, too. Will go at it until they die. Hear that heightens the 'gasm. Normally one tries to screw the brains out of someone. Karr I think I want to try and screw the brains back into these poor tragic souls. Let's get in there and do our duty."

"A nobler cause there has never been. But one problem, Kegelmeister. We don't have scars on our heads."

"Ah, true true, Karrtoo Deetoo. Shall I carve one into your face for you. And then you can do me. Hold still while I make a little mess. Trust me I have experience with this sort of thing. Need a steady hand. Which normally goes against my very principles as a man of auto-stimulation. But I can manage. Should have been a surgeon."

Karr avoiding a sharp knife to the skull. "No, no. Slicing and dicing shouldn't be necessary. Perhaps we can lie. Say we received a new method. Experimental. A scar unseen."

"Genius Karr. But what if they ask to see it. You can show them your lack of foreskin, but what about me."

"Tell them we got it via injection. We're very high up on the totem pole of host insertion. The best of the best."

"Got me convinced. I'm already starting to believe it. Now Karr, there's just one thing I've noticed. It has to do with your method of, oh ho ho, humping. You're just not doing it— Well, not wrong. But not the way I was taught. It doesn't look quite natural. Here. Try it like this. Yes, but not quite. You're getting there. Try again. Practice makes perfect. Very good. Now try it on me. Ah, that's the stuff. I think you're ready. Shall we."

Hump our way through the darkened theatre. Seems there's a slideshow on the screen. Projector projecting. Red velvet curtains drawn. Finding our seats front-row centre. Nice and comfy. Not bad company, either. When they seem preoccupied by the film. Must be taking all their brain-power. Can't hump and think at the same time. Popcorn being passed around. Not mechanical. Peculiar. Could get used to this fancy dump.

Movie beginning. Old lady telling us about the Illuminaughty plan to dominate the world. First they manipulate the signing of the treaty that led to us eating robo-fish all the time and being policed by androids. Sneaky shysters. Then they get all the Jewish doctors to recommend that we come in for an examination. Where they proceed to bugger our brains and invade our innocence with an alien agenda. Makes us want to hump and have lots of horrible little kids. After a certain incubation period the aliens hatch in our heads and come out our nostrils. Where they proceed to— Oh dear.

I guess that's why

They never said

When.

11

THREE months later and things are still weird for Kirk Klark Kornelius—the last salt of the Earth—Krinklekut-Karr. Kegelmeister got infected one strange night while prowling for pussycats. Came back humping. Never quite been the same since then.

The alien overlords are kinder than the robocops were. The only problem is there are more mechanical tunas to eat. Now that all the humans are bred to breed. To feed the need. That the aliens have to eat red meat.

And now the robocops war in the streets against these evil alien masters. Fight for freedom in a world where they have none. Kirk finding it odd that he's joined forces with non-humans. Kegelmeister, too, but only if he can still screw. Which he can. Robots have a remarkable number of port-holes and open sockets with which to fit a phallic part.

The Illuminaughty still reign, but second to the aliens they helped birth.

Hard to believe this all started with Karr trying to get a little more salt out of that shaker.

That last salt

Is the last bit

Of the

Free

Me.