Finally got home!

From: "Rev. Susie the Floozie" <>
Newsgroups: alt.slack
Date: Wed, Jul 8, 2009 6:33 PM

On Jul 8, 6:00 pm, "Morose, aka Doktor Holocaust"
<> wrote:
> On Jul 8, 5:51 pm, "Rev. Ivan Stang" <> wrote:
> > We/I have some pretty funny pictures of YOU! ("Gang War Veterans" and
> > "Matching Giant Chairs", to be posted.)
> that's not just any giant chair - that's my wife!

Thank you for letting me sit on your wife all wet and naked and
intoxicalated. You know, I thought I felt licking...

Dobbs smiled on me on the way back. I was still in my flirty X-Day
mode and the ticket guy at the airport upgraded me to first class and
didn't charge me for my bag. I ducked into the can and changed from a
Jesus-with-a-gun-&-booze tshirt into something nicer with some
cleavage and I slapped on makeup and did my hair. The ticket guy did a
doubletake when he saw the other Susie. I slipped him the last copy of
BSTF I had in my purse by way of thanks and got on the plane.

Too bad my alky days are over, because they plied me with liquid as
soon as my butt hit the plush seat of 1-D. Spacious accommodations, no
ferndocks in front of me, and a good window view with no wing in the
way--plus a little pillow and woolly were waiting for me in sealed
baggies. Ahhh.... Sure, if we crashed, the impact would crush me--but
I'm the kind of girl who's always a little disappointed with
successful takeoffs and landings, so it was all good.

Too bad I missed the dinner service, but the effusive gay cabin
attending was constantly by with a basket of snack treats and fruit. I
had Twix bars, some Reese's, and capped it off with a banana, and
continual lashings of Dr Pepper. The sunset through the windows was
especially vivid, with great electric orange slashes and streaks of
neon blue--spuckin' fectacular. But the best thing....?

This was Monday night and everything below was shrouded in the
increasing darkness, broken up by the odd string of highway lights and
small shopping plazas between the expansive stretches of blackness.
Then a small flash caught my eye. I looked down at the small fading
glow as it disappeared. Flashbacks already? Cool, that'd be
entertaining. And then I saw another lightburst, and another one. I'd
figured the Pinks were all done with their festival of explosions, but
nooooo... Someone must be shooting off the last of their July 4th
stash in their backyard, I was thinking--when a whole big barrage of
golden anemones and red twinkles and green lightballs went off
silently in the darkness below. This was no backward cone-and-sparkler
blowout, it was a full-scale fireworks exhibition in some jerkwater
town. I'd never considered being on the other end of the perspective:
Below me were hillbillies gawping at the sky-filling grandeur of an
explosive spectacle--from 60,000 feet up, it was like a tiny,
insignificant gas bubble igniting in a tarpit. I tracked the lightshow
as the plane roared past, until the last squibs flickered out and the
darkness won out.

I found myself thinking of the unseen hive of Pinks gathered in the
black-velvet darkness below me, looking up, expectant, flushed, and

Was that an eerie snapshot of us?

Were we looking up, looking for something close, and not finding--
while something far above us swept past unseen above the clouds?

Shitfuckhellpiss, I hope not.

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