Postal

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Being captured by millions of bug-eating naked women isn't nearly as fun as it sounds.

But I'm bound to my coveted cool sparkly rock at the top of the plateau, so it's not a total loss.

A thundering black vehicle lazily circles the dark sky above me. As it drifts slowly closer, I can make out the vanity plate. It reads: "SANTA'S SLAYER".

"LOBO!" a voice booms down. "YOUR FREINDS HAVE ABANDONED YOU." A pause. "PLUS YOU LOST YOUR DENTAL PLAN."

"Stay away from my rock!" I says defiantly.

"YOU HAVE NO IDEA THE POWER OF THE LIGHT SIDE", the voice says.

"I'll never join you!" I says.

"WE MAIL OFF REBATES AND ACTUALLY GET THE MONEY BACK."

"Mail?" I spit.

A pause.

"WELL," says Kringle over the megaphone, "I WAS HOPING IT WOULDN'T COME TO THIS."

"Do your worst," says me.

"ARE YOU SURE?"

"No," I says. "Do I have to wear a uniform? Or sit in an office with a guy that farts a lot?"

Another pause.

"MAYBE".

"Fuck off!" I says.

"IT'S A PRETTY COOL UNIFORM REALLY. VERY MILITARY."

"What color is it?"

"I GUESS IT'S A TAUPE."

"What the fuck is a 'taupe'?"

"IT'S A KIND OF DUSKY BROWNISH-GREY, I SUPPOSE."

"What are you people hiding in? Shit?"

Suddenly, the whole sky is filled by the mighty dragon Scraps. Leathery wings flapping, they rhythmically obliterate the horizon.

I can hear the explosive sound of his wings, his breathing.

An eye the size of a billboard is mere meters from my face.

My bowels voided.

"Nice going, dumbass!" I yell. "What color is clean underwear in this dimension?"

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