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he does it. I remember heading back in my time machine, the S.S. BOOTSTRAPS,
and meeting him and Pat Garrett at a pleasure house in Oklahoma City. The
Kidney was just a squirt then, went by the name of William Boner. Mean little
sucker. Watch him gun down five men in cold blood, and I think to self, this
guy's just a skin full of testosterone! We sure could use him back on the
Moon!
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Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of Tasteless Pleasure
Says, "Okay!" when I tell him about all the free sex. Don't tell him about the
lawyers or the lunches, though.
Funny thing though.
Time travel ride shakes him up lots.
And hell, he mutates!
So how am I supposed to know this would happen.
Anyway, Billy the Kidney's still a great guy and all, we just have a robo-mop
trail along after him, cleaning up.
Like Lazarus Hung says, "A man gains immortality through his brain and his
sexual endeavors." Sounds nice, though a little male-chauv-piggish.
The reading was interrupted by a hoarse shout from without the swinging saloon
doors.
"It's the Jism Gang! They're here. And the Kidney is "
Bang! The sound of an echoing shot was followed instantly by a bwanng sound as
the ricochet whistled about the room.
"Arggh!" said the voice. A big man in boots and a bloody vest staggered
through the swinging doors.
"They got me!" He collapsed, his spurs pointing toward the ceiling, still
jingling like Christmas bells.
"Oh Lordy!" said Wild Will, hastily closing his books and ducking under a
table. "It's the Kidney! And he's a-comin' here! Hide, Stoned Ranger! Hide,
Procto! The Kidney's a killer when he's in black spirits, and when he hears
the Stoned Ranger's here, he's not gonna be in a good mood!"
Such was the air of gloom and doom projected by all the drinkers in the saloon
as they dived beneath chairs and tables, that even Bgr's knees started
knocking. The Chinger made a swan dive behind the bar.
"Hide, Bill!" he shouted back. "I got bad vibes about this!"
Bill, who was working thirstily on his whiskey, was too plastered to really
care much. He made a token effort to get behind the bar, but he found that his
spurs had somehow gotten tangled with the bar rail. He was working on trying
to take off his boots when the saloon door slammed open and the first of the
outlaws squished through.
"It's Frank! Frank Jism!" came a frightened whisper from beneath one of the
tables.
Bill was so stunned by the thing that walked in that he stopped his struggles
and simply stared.
The creature before him looked like a giant comic book thought-balloon dressed
in Western garb. Its body was round, bulbous and sheened with a thick fluid.
Dark eyes peered malevolently out from beneath a black hat. Around its
bulbous, glistening base was a belt and a gun. But its waist trailed off into
a thin whiplike flagellum, which somehow not only supported its entire body,
but provided its forward movement as well.
Frank Jism was a gigantic spermatozoon!
"Eggs!" Frank Jism ejaculated. "Where are the goddamned dancing eggs, fer
Chrissakes!" A protoplasmic arm and hand and finger held a gun. It squeezed
off a round into the ceiling, and plaster rained down. It turned squinty
little eyes toward Bill. "You, there, pardner. How cum you're not a-quiverin'
and a-quakin'
like these other cowards! How cum you're not a'hidin' underneath a table."
The sperm squished over toward Bill, a dripping frown on its liquid face.
"Care for a drink?" asked Bill.
"I don't want no goddamned drink!" Frank Jism snarled liquidly. "I wanna know
how cum you think yer such a hero!"
It stuck its gun directly into one of Bill's nostrils.
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The cold metal was enough to wake up Bill's heretofore intoxicated sense of
self-preservation. "Well, actually, Frank, to tell you the truth, I can't
move. My boot's stuck." He pointed down to the spur caught in the bar rail and
wiggled his foot. For some reason, when he pulled on it again, his foot slid
out, revealing a damp and noisome sock.
The reaction on Frank Jism was immediate. His pale white face turned an
immediate beet red. He started choking. The gun dropped from his hands and he
fell back, gasping.
Immediately, a hail of bullets erupted from beneath the tables and behind the
bars, rupturing the membranous surface of the giant sperm's skin. Frank Jism
collapsed upon the ground, his flagellum whipping about like a dying snake.
With a gasp, Frank Jism died.
"Geez, Stoned Ranger!" cried somebody. "Put your boot back on! You'll kill us
all."
Bill slipped his sock back into his boot and then looked back at Frank Jism on
the floor, melting away like an ice cube on the stove. Shuddering, he poked
his nose into his glass and finished his whiskey.
"Okay!" a growling voice cried from beyond the door. "Reach for the ceiling,
toadstool!"
Bill lifted his hands.
Another sperm slithered through the doorway. It looked exactly like Frank
Jism, only this one had a scar running down its bulbous face and body.
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