CHAPTER 21: BEEF JERKY AND CHICLETS
The band pulled off of the turnpike and onto a gravel parking lot in front of two signs, one of which said 'GAS,' the other 'EAT.' The irony was lost on them. Spilling out of the semi they stretched their legs and took in their surroundings. Flat, treeless prairie as far as the Martian eye could see.
A bunch of truckers in matching baseball caps emerged from the restaurant. They spotted the group standing by the semi and ambled over, spitting tobacco. One dull-eyed, bad old boy looked the band up and down and smiled, his vacant glare coming to rest on Suzy's microscopic halter top.
"You're gonna catch your death o' cold, little lady."
The other truckers snickered, kicking clods of dirt with their workboots. Menace hung like beef from a hook.
"And you fellas look like you could use a haircut."
The next to speak was a visibly nervous Buckley. He didn't like the violence if there was any way to avoid it, and now that the band had tasted blood he wanted to keep the body count to a minimum.
"You know, you're right. We had much better hair last tour."
With hatred thick in the mid-western air the truckers came towards them. Gizmo let out an interplanetary war-whoop. Aside from killing that metal band, this was gonna be the only fun he'd had down here yet.
Unfortunately, for the Okies, they didn't know what 'red-neck' meant until they'd fukked with a bunch of Martians.
The asphalt cowboys lost limbs, eyes, testicles and everything else in the brawl that ensued. Flannel arms ripped from sockets as though they belonged to mannequins, blood flowed and hideous shrieks filled the nighttime sky.
For the truckers death came swiftly, like everyone should come. The ringleader lay motionless on the ground, his blackened heart ripped out and a plug of tobacco turned deep crimson in the corner of his mouth. Trash toyed with the notion of eating him, but settled instead on a breakfast of beef jerky and Chiclets.
The gravitational pull of Earth being what it is, the strength and agility of Lucifers Crank were superhuman. How they managed to breathe in an oxygen based atmosphere had something to do with the adaptability of people in their profession, and the fact that they never stopped drinking long enough to give it much thought.
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CHAPTER 22: EROTIC TINCTURE ENGINEERS