| | | And so the night comes around again, not a moment too soon as the great red planet swings in front of the even greater red giant - and Baz is dragged kicking and screaming to the lynching tree, or rat's distillation vats behind the Space Bar.
Slowly, slowly, as the Captain Priestess explains her plans for world domination in excruciating details while stroking a white cat, the struggling Baz, lashed to a giant bottle of Ol' Janx Spirit which begins to eat into his flesh even as the noxious space brew drowns him, is lowered into the gaping maw of the beer vat.
The bubbles that rise from his silently screaming mouth spell the word
FINK in a bizarre example of art imitating life.
"Well," say the Captain, dusting her hands off and taking a dainty sip of the now Baz-flavoured beer, "that's a good job. I couldn't have been arsed to go through his effects, that's for sure."
MAFIA, PM me your choice of tonight's victim, just for fun. |
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