The view was nice. Through the panes of dirty glass, past lettering that read: rotagitsevnI etavirP ,edapS .S was a city filled with rejoicing. Though it was a bright and cloudless day several rainbows glided incongruously above Alton Tower toward the wooden ship anchored in the soon to be renamed Zynga Bay. The ship was large for a row boat. It had 30 rows of benches, and it had towed a city to a new world. YoWorld. Unfortunately, it might have put me out of business. Evil plans thwarted, script kiddies attempting dirty deeds done dirt cheap were leaving town like horrified vegetarians at a Texas BBQ Cook-off. I was reaching for my bottle of Old Noob, having already stuffed a fresh Itsaboy cigar into my face, when the door swung open. I think I heard the guy across the alley begin playing Wagner on his baritone sax as she strode into the room, a massively, beautifully proportioned dame with gilded battle gear complete with horned helmet and leather touches that hinted at fantasies I hadn’t known I had. She had thighs that would have made Mae West sigh, and muscular arms that told me this gal would make a guy feel he’d had a massage if she just hugged him. She was wearing a Triple E, solid gold mess kit that spoke to me of Valhalla. Without asking I knew her name must be Brunhilde.
Posted on: Fri, 16 May 2014 04:58:23 +0000
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