Blonde Venus

Blonde Venus (2012)—
Berlin Cabaret Crooner

—for Frank Sinatra

That's life, that's what all the people say.
Götterdämmerung in April,
Berlin in May
But I know I'm gonna change that tune,
When I'm back on top, Bormann in June.

I said that's life, and as funny as it may seem
Those Nazis get their kicks,
Stompin' on the Welt...
But I don't much care, Buenos Aires baby,
Paperclip keeps flying me real high.

I've been a soldier, a Bankster, a spy,
I've been up and down and all around
And I know one thing:
Each time I find myself, in the gutter,
I pick myself up, spit on the human race.

That's life, you can't deny it,
It’s Beltway jackboots in May
But the Messerschmitt Moon in June
Just take one look at me, you think I’d tell a lie
I fly Nazi UFO’s up in the blue-eyed sky!

I've been a Von Braun pimp on the take,
A NASA Blonde Venus on a fling.
I've been up and down in cabarets
Each time I find myself showing a little leg,
A sucker flies by & picks me up again.

That's life, that's how it works,
Don’t deny it, don’t gimme a smirk
Your greedy heart knows it’s true
The Anglo-American Banksters are gonna
Go bankrupt big time when it’s all due.

Darker Than You Think II

Dead Planet LCVIII

Darker Than You Think II

Afterwards, the Snake Kid turned his face toward me. Smoking a cigarette as I watched the Arkham landscape slide by us. He gave me a cool, bored look—her eyes were pale-green & slit-slanted. I could feel a cold shudder of intuitive alarm running thru me—as I was becoming aware of some strange kind of illogical attraction.

Had I been hypnotized by his Snake Eyes—there in the back of the limo? I couldn’t remember everything that happened during that long night drive—although of course I felt completely drained of energy. The Snake Kid must’ve got me—in one of my more weaker moments. He was better at shapeshifting than me.

I’d always been somewhat cynical toward human beings for a long time now—considering myself immune by now from ever liking or loving any of them. Their progeny—my young Miskatonic University freshmen whether male or female—I didn’t find particularly challenging or charming. Amusing sometimes—but only somewhat.

But the Snake Kid was different. He was cynical like me—he tolerated human beings as if they were some primitive sub-species. Unknowingly enthralled to the ancient Reptoid Elite. It was just business for me—sucking dumb young freshman human males off.

Although a couple of times—I actually thought it was the other way around. Lizard love for humans could get addictive—many of them were half-lizards anyway. At least down there between their legs—ever since the Fall from Eden.

A throwback lizard schwanz from the ancient cosmic war dayz—when perverse genetic engineering & DNA shameless boytoys had been grown in vats for the Lizard Elite. Like down in the TEMPCO underground bunkers & sex laboratories beneath Fuckushima— before the nuke fuck-up earthquake & tsunami.

Looking in his snakeskin pocket for a cigarette—the kid appeared modishly severe, but plainly expensive. He’d cunningly chosen me as the one with the most to lose—so that he could restore his bleached, famished, vampiric desires for the weekend. Before the long flight back home—to the Amazon rainforest.

Something to maintain his albino process—keeping his pale white skin-color & human-like complexion going for awhile. He preferred a big basket—with thick coils of wiry snakeoid pubes stuffed down there deep inside a man’s shorts.

“So you’re a leg man for the Arkham Gazette?” the kid asked.

He said it with a certain soft, throaty vitality that was mysteriously exciting, somehow revealing, yet his manner kept remaining casually impersonal. Crisp & vigorous—like somebody immune from getting a shot of semi-poisonous snake venom.

“Yeah, just a job,” I said, not interested much in Arkham business anymore or enlarging upon that modest fact. Not after experiencing more obscene enlargements & major seismic shiverings in my groin area when he grazed down there, getting what he wanted.

I wondered if the kid got off on the ones who truly heard the siren calls of Snakes—entrenched in darkness & hidden powers of evil long before he even made his move. The banksters and the boards of directors, the politicians and the preachers, the tenured faculty professors downstairs in Mondrick’s den—were these his usual prey?

We were in no particular hurry—putting the commandments of the Reptoids into practice, even though they'd become incalculably much more 'stealthy' than during Crowley's time.

Their genius had been to mouth the pabulum and the platitudes of Western liberal democracy—while sucking it dry down to its foundations. The Snakes worked literally around the clock to destroy human manhood, personhood and autonomy—while throwing humans off the scent with the mewling drivel of their babbling witch doctors, their televised talking heads and their postmodern puppets in the Professoriate.

“Was I Snake or human?” I asked myself.

Surely not all the way one way or other—that was just the usual anti-Reptoid rant. The one humans came out with all the time—almost like a knee-jerk reaction.

But confronting a stunningly goodlooking Alien Reptoid like the kid was completely different—it caught me surprised & unawares. As if I were suddenly standing there before him—completely naked like the dumb naked ape half-human half-lizard that I was…

The Snake Kid had me in the palm of his hand—and he knew it too… From then on when I said something silently to myself—I knew that he was listening to me. Even though he was yawning—bored with what I said.

He could hear me think. Everything I said to myself parenthetically—ended up more or less nakedly telepathically apparent to him.

Darker Than You Think

Dead Planet LCVII

Darker Than You Think

“Why, gentlemen, are snakes Evil?”

The darkness of the night suddenly became darker—the deeper darkness of the unknown. The Ayahuasca had begun to define the dark study, the tall gothic windows shrouded by dreary curtains, the fireplace providing the only warm, the mantelpiece with some candelabras for light. But not much…

We could all feel it—it was a “creeper.” But Mondrick had already been there & told us what to expect. A slow-acting hallucination—this rainy, stormy night. A mysterious visitor was coming to meet us he said—but we had to be in the right mood. He wouldn’t say who or what it was—but it had to do with his recent expedition to the Amazon rainforest jungles.

I was a reporter for the Arkham Gazette & taught a journalism class on Cthulhu Lit at Miskatonic University. I’d read most of Lovecraft’s rather ridiculous, depressing, desultory cheap pulp fiction novels.

My rather dense young adolescent undergraduates—especially the young freshman males—believed in the outlandish plots & gothic horror. What naïve fools & small town morons. But even tho I scoffed at such ridiculous otherworldly plots & melodramatic scenarios—I could still sense the hair on the back of my neck standing straight up tonight for some strange reason.

But my young college students weren’t the first to scoff at the Lovecraft novels I’d selected for the class—reading anything actually was a major accomplishment for most of the usually dysfunctional college misfits these days.

But they were online which helped somewhat—their email assignments & discussions flowed here & there with a certain listless amount of intelligence. But also there was a certain undertow of foreboding fear…when it came to Cthulhu Lit at Miskatonic U.

I must confess I probably cheated Mondrick that night with the Ayahuasca—I’d heard about the nausea & hallucinations that Ayahuasca evokes. So I’d popped some strong sedatives & only imbibed a tiny sip of the supposedly hallucinogenic Amazonian drink. I was skeptical of Mondrick’s theories…

Of course, everybody else went into a trance that evening except me. I had no intention of rolling on the thick Persian carpet or vomiting my guts out in the bathroom. Nor did I particularly believe that Mondrick could share anything worthwhile with me. Playing Don Quixote with the Amazon Indians. Already most of the group were in a relaxed laid-back stupor—when I decided to get up & leave.

I was much too old for any hippie hallucinations anymore or babbling away with some stoned peer-group circle-jerk entertainments that night—with Mondrick as the ringleader maestro of his aging bored ex-hippie colleagues.

I got up & tiptoed to the door to make a graceful exit—that’s when I felt a sudden shiver that made my skin crawl & my teeth grind together. There was no reason for it—I didn’t feel any frigid blast of fetid air from the crypts or the rainy night out there.

I slid-open the heavy doors to the den—and there it was. It looked trimly cool & handsome—like a streamlined snake in a kimono. It was just a flash though—surely just a tinge of mild Ayahuasca illusion. I rubbed my eyes—then looked at it again.

“I don’t blame you,” it said. “I was too bored to come down & face all those helpless, stoned sycophants in here. Mondrick himself, well, he’s bad enough as it is—without being loaded.”

I smiled, stepping outta the den & closing the doors behind me. “Mondrick & his esteemed colleagues are already much too loaded to opine much about anything tonight—except maybe their bellybuttons.”

The mysterious stranger shrugged & we stood there in the hallway. It was no longer an “it”—but rather it had shapeshifted into a normal red-blooded human being interestingly enough. A gangly teenage kid—oddly dressed in a kimono.

We went into the kitchen & had a drink. For some reason I thought it was the Ayahuasca that had given me the first impression of the kid being something else. He seemed quite charming though—I assumed he was a young hustler or kept boy that Mondrick occasionally lived with now & then.

“Enjoying hanging around the creepy mansion?” I remarked casually, smoking a cigarette sitting with him at the kitchen table.

“It is kinda goth isn’t it,” he said. “Mondrick flew me in from my Amazon village the last night. I’m not that impressed—it’s kinda cheesy here in Arkham isn’t it?”

I nodded knowingly. I was impressed. The kid was no inarticulate naked native from the jungle wilds—he was rather sophisticated instead. Probably a local landowner’s son just visiting the States.

The next time I looked at him—he was wearing a swank dinner-party tuxedo. Surely I was more stoned than I thought I was—either that or the kid was some kind of shapeshifting Amazonian wizard?

He talked to somebody on his cellphone & then said “Let’s get outta here & go for a nice little ride, what’d ya say?”

The stretch limo was waiting—it was my turn to relax & do some shapeshifting. I was good at becoming a bump on a log. I was bored that evening—it was a Friday night. I had the weekend in front of me—with the usual task of sitting around my apartment grading e-papers. I needed a change.

We went for a long drive instead—this young handsome young strange visitor & me. After a joint, I switched the empty conversation to who he was & what his name was.

“Snake,” he said. “Snake” Plissken is my nickname—that’s what Mondrick usually calls me. Half-jokingly when we have dinner together. He likes retro-horror urban guyz like me—straight outta “Escape from New York,” dontchaknow.”

I nodded knowingly—perhaps too knowingly. I had the young guy’s tuxedo half-open already—the rich scarlet velvet sash & then the puce lavender dinner jacket spread open to show off the goods.

The kid wasn’t wearing a shirt—and didn’t have any shorts on. Just the bare goods—and then some. I usually wasn’t so aggressive with strangers but there was something immensely attractive about him.

“My god,” I said to myself. “He’s got a million dollar body & the weirdest glowing-in-the-dark fuming flame-red pubes down there. Plus something else—lurking & sliding around & down his leg. Like a dark, evil Anaconda snake?”

The kid yawned. His blank face confirmed only a bored expression—as if he were the one loaded on Ayahuasca & not me. Which I later found out was true—he’d imbibed a huge portion of the drug up in the bedroom before coming down. Although he didn’t act like it—probably used to it, I said to myself.

It was supposed to be a surprise—all of Mondrick’s guests were gay professors or at least fairly homoerotically-inclined colleagues in that fatal little gathering in the den. The more gay the more they’d be able to accept the inevitable—the kid as a Voodoo Snake Visitor from the Amazon.

I yawned too—I wasn’t particularly impressed. I’d never been much a Don Juan or Valentino or Lounge Lizard. I found all that rather adolescent & infantile—like “Devil Girl from Mars” & all those Godzilla remakes on Netflix. Sex bored me—I preferred the classics like Dickens’ “Tale of Two Cities” & “Great Expectations” if you wanna know the truth.

Yes, my favorite film, for some reason, had always been David Lean’s Great Expectations (1946)—the opening spooky graveyard scene, for example, with Tony Wager as Young Pip & Finlay Currie as huge, hunky, butchy Magwitch the Convict.

There amidst the weeds & old leaning tombstones—under a grim cold English scudding stormy sky. It had always stuck my imagination—a chicken & a convict both caught up somehow in the best of & the worst of times. Kinda like that dark night in the limo.

I suppose I still identified with Pip being manhandled by that rough-trade unruly convict so rudely—and then being spoiled by Miss Havisham later on in her dumpy abandoned mansion. The story of my so-called life—forced down on my knees in a graveyard & made to make love with the living dead.

The sleek black limo drove thru the night—the robot chauffeur minded its own business. We drove & drove for hours that night—I got to know quite a bit about Reptoid jungle romance & skanky Amazonian Snakeology. Nothing I didn’t already know already—but definitely lots of dark Voodoo Nightmare Alley youngmale mythology stuff…going bump in the night.

Nothing that I wasn’t already aware of—after spending so many Mardi Gras long lost weekends down there in the View Carré. French Quarter decadence & New Orleans Mardi Gras cross-serpentine sexualities—nothing was new to me.

I was born decadent I suppose—just like Snake Plissken & those like him. The only difference was I grew up semi-human down in the Delta—I was simpatico with Snakes in the swamps & bayous long before I got it on with anything else. I’d been had by bigger things than just water moccasins—I knew what Delta dinge queens knew only too well.

“What’s that?” he asked me.

“Oh, you know, don’t you? In childhood, Cajun children are taught that if they are bad the lou-lou (boogeyman) or the loup-garous (werewolves) will get them. And they did—they got me for being bad. Once you’ve gone lou-lou—there’s no turning back.”

The kid nodded—it was his turn to nod knowingly now. We were both Snakes & we knew it—that’s why we were both telepathic. We could read each other’s minds inside out. And it wasn’t pretty.

The lou-lou lizard brain doesn’t begin or end. There’s no closure to its consciousness—a prehistoric synchronicity rules its various connections & time-lines. It’s hard to explain with the Queen’s English—but we both whispered in each other’s ear. The hissed utterances—that most humans don’t hear.

The Snake Kid

Dead Planet XCVI

The Snake Kid

“A cephalopedalis.
Well. How nice.”
—Philip K. Dick,
The Man in the High Castle

I was pretty skeptical at first—skanky rumors were always circulating in the Red Light District as usual. I discounted them as nothing more than just some more juicy horror story hearsay. I yawned in kitschy disbelief.

Then I met one. It was a “stormy, rainy night” as the story goes. I was coming home from the Zero slightly tipsy—hardly drunk though.

It was a Saturday night—the Tokyo fag-noir slick rainy streets were sullen & moody as usual. I was walking down the alley to my place—taking the fire-escape up there. Cause the elevators weren’t working late at night anymore.

I stopped to light a cigarette. It’s then I noticed it—I was being followed. By somebody or something. I had this uneasy feeling that I was being stalked—it sent goosebumps up & down my nelly spine....

The hair on the back of my neck—bristled & stood straight up. The last time I felt that way—was the time I got rolled by the Octopus gang. A lowlife bunch of Yakuza wannabe punks. They hated mutants—and faggots too, of course.

“Gotta light?” the kid said.

I turned around & there was this gorgeous number in a trench coat. He had shades on even at this time late at night. But I could tell he had really strange slit-like snake-eyes starring at me—I could tell because they glowed in the dark.

I flicked my Bic & he steadied my hand—I was shaking pretty bad because I was so nervous. No surveillance cameras in the back alleys—making them perfect setups for crime & murder. But by then I didn’t have time to run. Besides the kid was kinda cute.

He was smoking some kind of weird Hong Kong “funny joint.” He blew it in my face—exhaling it in a long series of smoky ghostly circles of lust. He didn’t need a light—he needed something else.

Before I knew it—I was higher than a kite too. That Hong Kong weed was dynamite—must’ve been laced with opium probably. I motioned to the kid to follow me. Down the alley & up the fire escape. Into the darkness—since the electricity had been cut off. To save bucks—since Fukushima.

Up in my dumpy apartment—I lit the faux Liberace Vegas candelabra—all the Tokyo queens had them for tricking late at night, coming home from the bars. I fixed a couple of drinks—without asking him what he wanted.

“S-s-s-s-s-s…” he whispered in my ear.

“Does that mean you like me—or you’re gonna kill me, huh?” I asked, smirking.

The kid smiled. He let me see this long snaky forked tongue—it came slithering outta his mouth. He had these tight cruel lips—he was so new-born & vulnerable. Just outta the vats. He wasn’t used to smiling. But I could make him smile...

We stood there in the kitchen—totally amazed at first. I’d never seen a guy with a tongue like that—of course, I’d heard rumors about Fukushima snake boyz by then. Everybody had. This was before I really started getting into it. Enough to take a chance on love...

I was easily seduced though—he was my first Snake Kid. His tongue was at least a foot long, forked at the end & quiveringly pink. As if he were smelling me out—you know, the way snakes check out their prey? He got it halfway down my throat & I tried to keep it together. It was hard though...

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I said sipping my tequila. Trying to make a joke of it all. Surely it was just my stoned imagination—like I surely hadn’t felt that obscene snaky thing tickling my tonsils dontchaknow? The tequila tried to make me forget—Johnny Walker was scarce these dayz. I wished I had some though...

The kid just shrugged—he was good at it. He played it low-key—but he was definitely tres radioactive hot stuff. Probably just in from Fukushima was my bet.

“I remember,” I said to myself. “It was that kitschy Mexican flick outta the Sixties—you know don't ya, “Brainiac.” Directed by the famous cult director Chano Urueta—known as “El Baron del Terror” the brain-sucking vampire from hell?”

The kid just shrugged.

“You know,” I continued, trying to loosen up the conversation. “About that fiendish reincarnated Baron—who comes back outta the past to get even with all the relatives of the guyz who burned him at the stake back during the Inquisition. What a fuckin weird flick, man!!!”

The kid just shrugged. He narrowed his eyes though—checking me out to see if I was for real. For some reason I amused him, made him feel different, funky.

I fixed us another drink. Yeah, it was an awesome horror flick—garish, flamboyant, even baroque. Kinda like what was going on now. Impossible yet appealing in that satirical Mexican trashy kitschy way of dishing American juvenile drive-in sexploitation movies way back then.

I looked at the kid—he looked at me. I was wondering to myself like what the fuck was under that mysterious trench coat of his? He wouldn't take it off. Suddenly there went that long, skanky tongue again—flicking in & out. Nervously checking me out. Jeeze, how creepy. It turned me on to no end. This gotta be a dream I said to myself.

The fiendishly infernal Baron would seduce his prey—and stick his long snaky forked-tongue down deep into their brains, piercing the base of their skulls where the reptilian brain resided. Then the fiend would suck & slurp with his long rubbery icky serpent tongue—all the gooey soft succulent brains outta his screamy victims. Mostly chicks...goodlooking ones. But some guyz too...

All of this was running thru my over-sensitive hyperactive mind—kinda like a “sudden fiction” fantasy. It was the way I had of reducing the terror & horror of living in doomed Tokyo after Fukushima—trying to make a sudden short story now & then outta the whole thing. A sick satire, I know—but it got me through by day to day.

Then, there it was again—the kid’s slithery snaky tongue checking me out. But this time it kept slithering all the way down—down the inside of the kid’s trench coat & out between his legs. It was the biggest, most evil-looking tongue I’d ever seen. It crept down the edge of the sofa & onto the floor.

“The last mutant guy I had—was a studly albino Iguana kid,” I said to calm my nerves in the surreal situation I found myself in. Again the kid just shrugged—sipping his drink. It’s then I realized he wasn’t hearing anything I said—his ears were plugged with earplugs & he was listening to some weird dubstep music from London. It had lots of base—and he obviously liked it.

The kid spread his legs—and started unbuttoning his trench coat. It reminded me of a scene outta that campy, kitschy “Cobra Island” Grade-B trashy flick—with that exquisite Venezuelan bombshell Maria Montez. Worshipping this simply huge King Cobra monstrous Snake—and having all these naked screaming male lovers thrown into the flaming pit of this huge continually-erupting Volcano.

Suddenly I felt awfully denuded & nakedly vulnerable—like Sabu in “The Thief of Baghdad.” Having rubbed & masturbated the magic lamp—until finally it had a wet dream and began ejaculating the Evil Genie into existence. I had three wishes to save my fucking ass—my first one would be to get the fuck outta there.

The kid just smirked at me—I really can’t blame him. I was a real fruitcake—I seemed to live in a constant state of kitschy Grade-B movie horror & fake fantasy.

I kept trying to snap outta it—my eyes were bulging out. The kid let me see everything. Like he wasn’t wearing anything under his trench coat. Not even a pair of pants or shorts or even a jock. His military boots were knee-high—the trench coat went down to his ankles.

I sat there stoned & totally amazed—hypnotized by his young male Lizard beauty like a doomed bird by a snake inching closer & closer. He was covered with these shiny snake-scales that glowed iridescently in the Tokyo night. His muscular physique & flat stomach coiled & uncoiled like an adolescent Anaconda deep in some Amazonian humid swamp. His penis was this huge Gila monster. And it had beady eyes lookin' at me...

“You Fuckushima guyz are really something,” I said.

He must’ve read my lips—because he nodded & smiled. He was in his own world—higher than a kite. The trench coat was so filthy & rotten it virtually just rotted off him, shedding like some discarded, useless snakeskin on the floor.

The Snake Kid kept coiling & uncoiling—like some mutant kind of half-human half-lizard boa-constrictor. He’d completely distended into his Snake Kid alien avatar existence—lithely stretching himself & expanding his muscular body like the beautiful genetically-engineered serpent-wonder that he was. A huge thick Snake with two arms & two legs—and a manly Marine-style buzzcut that made him appear even more macho male & streamlined.

I’d heard it thru the Yakuza grapevine—the Jap Elite black budget Snake Shock Troops had been grown in underground vats secretly under the nukes. They were part of NWO hidden agenda for covert endgame times—and it wasn’t gonna be pretty.

The Snake Kid had been part of a cold-blooded, ruthless, alien-enhanced, back-engineered Klone Army from Hell—like Herr Doktor Pretorius announced in “The Bride of Frankenstein.” Except something went wrong…

The nefarious plan for world conquest—had been rudely detoured & sidetracked by the Fuckushima fiasco. Internecine warfare had broken out among the nasty NWO factions—things got down & dirty. HAARP & Earthquake weapons—had been turned around & used at their former allies, zeroing in on Japan. An Illuminati bitch fight was going on—between Big Oil, Big Nukes, Free Energy, Big Anglos & Asians, Big conflicting Spheres of Influence.

But all that came to an end—with the Fuckushima Fuck Up. The Jap Lizard Army rebelled—the Yakuza Faction got pissed off. Hidden agendas—fell apart. And now there were these young Lizard runaways & escapees—fleeing to Tokyo, Bangkok & Hong Kong. So much for the Old NWO—but what was next?

I didn’t know—and I didn't care. I didn’t wanna know anything. All I wanted to know was this kid—this cute Python Diva kid. This Snake Boy all erect like a Cobra & stretched out on my sofa giving me the eye. Oh baby—it was the Evil Eye that made me do him. And did I have the Snake blues bad a week later...when he said goodbye & left for his Bangkok rendezvous with his buddies.

Fukushima Mutant Bad Boyz

Dead Planet XCV

Fukushima Mutant Bad Boyz

The first thing that the Tokyo Red Light District queens noticed—was that the new Fukushima Freaks weren’t UGLY. In fact, many of the Mutant Bad Boyz were extremely handsome & seductive in new & strange ways.

This sudden realization was quite a pleasing & rather disturbingly unexpected erotic development—soon giving rise to a Kabukichō Rush Hour of the Godz to the crowded Shinjuku bars, taverns & whore-houses.

Not only that but there was a sudden Reverse Migration—wealthy Business Men, big time Banksters & tons of Tourists who’d fled Tokyo because of the Meltdown disaster began rushing back to the scene of the crime. It’s amazing how quickly the new Internet Gossip Mills, the various skanky FOX-TV News Reports & shameless Hollywood Confidential Scandal Sheets—picked up on the startling new Japanese Mutant Sex Rumors of Rampant Replicant Mutant Orgies taking place in the once doomed Tokyo metropolis.

A Reverse Migration of Big Business, Big Tourist Trade, Big Foreign Investment, Big Black Budget DARPA Funding Deals, Big Bad Bormann Berlin Bunker Bucks—to say nothing of Lucrative Argentine Ort Cloud Mob Communiqués & Martian Moon Gang Bang Offers of lucrative Shares in the well-heeled Asteroid Gold Racket Market picking up. All of these exciting Exopolitical Genetics developments happening—because the Newly Revealed Secret Stealth Sex Market coming outta the Fukushima Freaks Earthboy Closet!!!

Naturally I yawned & shrugged at it all—I’d been jaded a dozen lifetimes times over & over again this way. So that it was all just old business to me. As far as I was concerned—the so-called New World Order was no different than all the other Ratty Nerdy New World Orders that had come & gone since the Fall of Rome. It was all tres kitchsy Kabuki Killer Theater to me—this latest Jap Fag Noir episode. It wasn’t any different than the American Forties-Fifties Gangster Postwar Period with all those crummy Grade-B Noir butchy badguy flicks like “Outta the Past” (1947) or “Concrete Jungle” (1950) making me feel fag noir foolish & more decadent than I actually was back then. But that was back then & this was now.

The suppressed urges & greedy appetites of the Tacky NWO Elite Leisure Class—was no different than just another Titanic crammed with screamy rich folks going down, down, down. Call it ennui or weltschmertz or just plain boredom—whatever it was it would take more than a Mob of Mutant Kept Boy Fukushima freaks to get my Hopes up. My Post-Fukushima Hopes—and anything else that was otherwise on the same old boring event horizon. Like Tokyo back then was another fuckin limp wet noodle, you know what I mean? "Wake me up," I said to myself —"when it's over, will ya?"

The Kabukichō (歌舞伎町) entertainment and red-light district in Shinjuku, Tokyo—was the first spot to notice the strange influx & invasion of these young male Fukushima Mutant Freaks. Naturally or perhaps unnaturally—they’d probably gravitate here just as soon as anywhere. I was glad that Tokyo was Hip again—and back into illicit sex & male prostitute business once more. That'd be good news to any old queen—even a has-been old queen like me just back from a crummy soirée in the Clarence House back in London. Queer quantum jumping aint fun...especially if there's a lizard in your closet.

The Jacuzzi Tub Mob had quantum-jumped my skinny ass—back in time to post-Fuckushima after sending me on my mission to schmooze with a couple of Royal Reptile boyz. The Abdication had mysteriously fallen through at the last moment—the so-called "Operation Dandelion" (Philip K. Dick's Man in the High Castle) had been left in place because of the totally unexpected recent lucrative Fukushima Freak Mutant Mob Success Story. At least for now. Prince Harry just smirked when I said goodbye...

Things had worked out just fine for the Mob—the Yakuza Mob, the Royal Reptile Mob, the Beltway Mob, the Bankster Mob, The Black Budget Space Patrol Mob—and all the other various & sundry greedy Gringo Gangs up & down the Terra Feeding Chain waiting to colonize, terraform & rip-off the rest of the Sucker Solar System.

I just happened to be hanging out at the Zero Club the other night—one of the less conspicuous Kabukichō hole-in-the-wall Sake joints. Bored & really not hungry—I was thumbing thru their Sushi menu looking for something new. When in thru the door came this Octopus Kid—with 8 writhing tentacles growing outta his head & a slinky sluttish look in his eyes. Each twisty tentacle had dozens of drooling, quivering suckers—all nervously attuned telepathically to all the other ogling customers in the the joint.

The kid sat down next to me—and ordered a squid cocktail dish, the specialty of the house. The squids were all alive & squiggly—you’d dip them in this special teriyaki sauce & feel them squirm like earthworms all the way down your greedy gulping gullet. I smiled & ordered him a double bourbon. He'd need it just to do the squid cocktail right.

The Octopus Kid was cool—seductively icky & octopodal like most young teenage hustlers can be. He was simply oozing with young mutant male hormonal overindulgence. Obviously a messed-up, malignant Mutant Boy—probably the klone offspring of some fucked-up Fukushima Lab Genetic Experiment gone wrong. “How much wrong?” I pondered to myself. Thinking of all the exquisitely disgusting nightcrawler possibilities...

The Kid seemed to read my dirty mind—and smirked at me, playing hard to get. Homoerotically perverted psychic powers were the name of the game with this new species of Nexus sex-replicants. Japanese Mad Scientists were madder than most—they made the Herr Doktor Professor Pretorius types hanging around those sullen Count Frankenstein fetid Euro-Laboratories down in the basements of those dirty old dumpy castles back in the Thirties look like Amateur Two-Bit Las Vegas Used Car Salesmen on the lame hustle. Where did James Whale dig up that faggy Ernest Thesiger anyway—outta some dumpy Weimar cabaret Berlin bar?

By the time I got the Kid back to my place—I was already enthralled, enraptured & intertwined with his totally unique eight Tentacles of Suckered Sushi Sake Love wrapping & winding themselves around my neck & leg. I stood in front of my full-length bedroom mirror afterwards—gazing at the dozens of sucker-hickies criss-crossing my poor skinny pale naked body. I left a rather rude magnificent black & blue hickie of my own on his you know what—on his huge ugly mutant piece of primal octopus meat. My hickies felt like shameless subterranean tattoos—made by a strange boyish mermaid creature who was more octopus than man.

Admittedly I felt somewhat guilty and shameful—indulging my way for that first time of weird sexuality having Exo-Zoological Sex with a Mutant Kid that was more Octopus than Man. But I soon got over it—in fact, like many Tokyo denizens of the ongoing Fukushima Freak Show, I kinda liked it compared with the same old usual Naked Ape Bomba Jungle Boy Sex Routine. Those Jap mad scientists sure did dream up some nice Succulent Sushi Sex Toys to get it on with—the Zero menu had expanded muchly.

Yes, Japanese Exo-Zoophillia Sushi-Sex was a winner Zeitgeist Zinger ever since Fuckushima—Tokyo had become the raunchy radical Stem-Cell Sex Change Capital of the World. People were consulting their Crypto-Chromosomes & Dirty DNA Strands like Tea Leaves...with underground geneticists reading their fortunes. It was like going down esoteric Grocery Lists or Betting on the Vegas Slot Machines or playing the Horses. The once Esoteric Genome Project with its realm of computing wizards—was now on everybody’s Lips & down their Greedy Gullets.

The next time I walked into Zero the dumpy Shinjuku Sake Joint—their new Mutant Menu proudly displayed a whole new Repertoire of Reptilian Boy-Toys just in from Mexico. “Ever Experienced Iguana Love—Humping Away in a Jungle Hammock?” I’d noticed a homoerotic upsurge in Reptilian Raptor Ratboyz—moving in their Rough Trade Mob circles & taking over some of the Japanese Mutant Market profiteering slots.

There was a Big Squeeze going on now—probably the Yakuza Mob was behind it. Snakes, Crocodiles, Alligators, Iguanas, Lizards & Boa Constrictor Badboyz—were all popping up in the burgeoning Alt.Genetics Sex Industry Business in Tokyo it seemed. Reptile boyz, Lizard boyz & Snake boyz were definitely "in" after Fukushima—the same with Lizard Girls etc. This New Cross-Species Transmutation Market of Mutant Freaks—was fraught with many Future SF Fuck-Ups & depressing Dystopian Downers, I said to myself sipping my sake. Then the Octopus Boy walked into the Joint...and things started to look up.

Fukushima Freaks

Dead Planet XCIV

Fukushima Freaks

They were known as—the Obscene Boyz of the Mutant Night. They started showing up on the streets of Tokyo soon after the earthquake-nuke disaster—mostly in the Red Light District.

Something about the abnormal genetics effects due to the radiation exposure—accelerated the mutant effect. What showed up in Chernobyl took several years—mutating the vulnerable embryos into distorted young freaks. But something weird was happening at Fukushima.

The Plague of Mutants started happening overnight—pouring outta the doomed city. Alarming reports were concealed at first—the shame of such a Nuke Freak Problem was quickly concealed by TEMPCO and the compliant media. How could such a thing happen? Hiroshima & Nagasaki weren’t this bad?

Apparently TEMPCO was conducting secret DNA research in a secret lab beneath one of the reactors. It was obliterated by the nuclear detonation—caused by the deadly earthquake & tsunami in March. But by the fall there were already reports of strange mutant boyz & freak creatures haunting the suburbs of Tokyo. Who or what were these teenage creatures?

Apparently a consortium of Yakuza-Corporate nefarious interests financed by Elite’s own Japanese secret “black budget”—had been developing a klone army of neo-kamikaze advanced techno-genetic superboyz for purposes yet unknown...

The huge amounts of energy needed for such reverse-engineering experiments involving DNA-mutated freaks—resulted in chromosomal monstrosities that were highly advanced & greatly appreciated by the Mob & TPTB who had plans of their own for financing a born-again “Asian Cooperation Sphere” known as The New Rising Sun.

Already the Yakuza mobs had reaped nice rewards from its underground investments—the Japanese “Concrete Jungle” had rich investors from overseas in China, Korea & SE Asia more than willing to help finance klone hoodlum bodyguards & advanced android assassins to enforce their take on NWO corporate corruption.

The intake from klone brothel Red Light District businesses across the vast stretches of Asia and the Pacific was quite lucrative in itself—with drugs, prostitution, gambling & the usual Jap Mafia business specialties enhanced by genetic perversions catering to all the usual decadent Western tastes.

Mutant pimps & freaky male/female Mutant prostitutes had just begun entering the Market—when the Fukushima disaster struck revealing the Freak Economy. The Kabukichō (歌舞伎町) entertainment and red-light district in Shinjuku, Tokyo—was the first spot to notice the strange influx & invasion of the Fukushima freaks.

Soon followed by the Patpong District in Bangkok—with its main street & many bars of various kinds. Especially Soi Jaruwan—sometimes referred to as Patpong 3 but now best known as Android Size Queen Silom Soi 4. It has long catered to gay men—while nearby Soi Thaniya had expensive bars with Thai hostesses that catered almost exclusively to Japanese men. The market was already there—waiting for new kinky, shocking erotic innovations.

Mutant multilimbed male & female hostesses started showing up in Bangkok—soon after they started appearing in Tokyo. These creatures long prefigurerd in ancient mythology & cotemporary cinema animation—could dance with a dozen arms & legs.

Some had multiple heads—and other intriguing organ transplants specially grown in nutrient stemcell vats deep underground. Rumors of klone replicant army & space navy bases beneath Denver, Poughkeepsie & Topeka KS—buzzed the Facebook gossip lines & swamped the Beltway Bimbo Bubble-Head TV reports. What was up?

These bizarre Fukushima sex-creatures—seem to have broken outta the Underground Jap Freak Labs after the earthquake, tsunami & meltdown. Rumors quickly spread throughout Japan—that these virile Mutant Boyz had been grown for TEMPCO executive sex parties by the romantic seashore.

These Mutant Boyz had entertainment purposes—such as female orifices throbbing like mutant pussies growing outta their muscular physiques. The rich Elite were now being blackmailed—by the Yakuza mob demanding their own cut & action from wealthy Japanese businessmen. Tokyo despite being contaminated by radioactive air & water—was now being flooded with even more sex industry tourist trade wanting to enjoy the new exquisitely disgusting Mutant Boyz entertainment veue.

It was in this freakish Mutant Twilight—that I now prowled the Tokyo streets & dark alleys, preying on the latest young male hustler abnormalities to come my way. It was a nasty, lonely, dirty, perverted business—seeking out & taking advantage of young virgin Fukushima Freak hustlers & brainless well-endowed mutant male prostitutes. But somebody had to do it—and it might as well be me.

Lizard Planet

Dead Planet XCIII

Lizard Planet

"Klaatu barada nikto"
—The Day the Earth
Stood Still (1951)

"When I left earlier, I asked you to forgive me if I spoke bluntly. (Klaatu pauses, studying the faces) The Universe has grown smaller & smaller since the Fifties — and the threat of human aggression by you lordly unruly naked apes can no longer be tolerated.

There must be security for all—or no one is secure... This does not mean giving up any freedom—except the freedom to act irresponsibly. Eisenhower & your other presidents knew this when they made treaties with us—to help govern you humans governing yourselves."

"But now you’ve started causing trouble again—HAARP, earthquake weapons, weather control, Telsa technology, DNA population control, even quantum time travel. All these gifts we collaborated with you for the betterment of humanity—all of it’s been wasted. You’re a nasty warlike territorial species—your greedy Machiavellian leaders have trashed both you & your planet. And completely fucked up the exopolitics agenda here in our sector & queered your chances to join us in the Galactic Council.

We and all the other Ascending planets have long accepted this principle—our belief in raising your consciousness to the 4th dimension so you can join us in the full 10 dimensional universe. We have an organization for the mutual protection of all lower dimensional planets—and for the complete elimination of aggression. I’ve been sent back down here to your Planetary level again—because you’ve not passed the test to be any higher authority than where you are now. Of course, there is a Force that supports us—which now is descending on you."

"For our Galactic Mob Enforcement purposes—we’ve created a race of ruthless Yakuza Lizards (indicating the Lizard Gort). Their function is to neutralize problem planets—much like your screenwriters have done with your usual Monsters of the Id like Godzilla & King Kong. The Yakuza Lizards mission is to destroy you—in order to preserve the Intergalactic Peace. In matters of primitive aggressive planets such as this Island Earth—we’ve given the Lizards absolute power over you...

At the first sign of violence they act automatically against both aggressor & victim. And the penalty for provoking their action is too terrible to risk. The result is that we live in galactic peace—without playing dirty with clone armies, DNA back-engineering, manmade plagues or interplanetary space wars like your nefarious NWO mob. We’re secure in the knowledge that we are free from aggression and war—free to pursue more profitable enterprises like colonizing the Milky Way Galaxy which is immense & ancient & reaching outward."

"We do not pretend to have achieved perfection—we regret using our Lizard Enforcers to eradicate your somewhat perverted, exopolitical Existence. It’s not your fault that your genetics have been messed with—many alien races having used your various races for their old Cosmic Wars & Alien-nephilim-giants-demons-giants breeding purposes from Sirius all the way to Aldebaran, from your Lunar Death Star looming over you to your lost secret pyramids on Mars."

"But we gave you a chance—and it didn’t work. I come now here to give you the facts. It is no concern of ours now how you run your own planet—your dayz of threatening to extend your violence beyond this Earth of yours will not be permitted. You’ve already messed up the Zoid Zeit timelines—with your DARPA assassins & Illuminati intelligentsia. You will now be reduced to a Jurassic Fun Park once again—let the fun begin!!! BTW the Lizards love juicy tasty hominid T-bones & nice Big Mac loinchops.

Your choice was simple. You could have joined with us and lived in peace. Instead you pursued your nefarious irresponsible course—and now you must face obliteration. But it won’t be quick though. You’ll set an example for any future aggressive upstarts—as we film for the YouTube Galactic Masses the lovely bloody Lizard soap opera about to descend on your miserable disappointing little world now..."


And now a word from our Sponsors.....

Interview With A Lizard

Dead Planet XCII

Interview with a Lizard

“In the event that I am
reincarnated, I would like
to return as a deadly virus,
in order to contribute
something to solve
—Prince Philip

BBC: Charming, to say the least—
Exquisitely snarky to the very last…

Prince Philip: (Yawn)

BBC: Yes, my dears—
We’re lucky today to have with us
The esteemed Duke of Edinburgh.

So, you’ve done rather well, sir.
For a spoiled old gigolo Kept Man…

Prince Philip: (Hiss-s-s-s-s-s!!!)

BBC: Yes, a man of few words.
Our Duke of Edinburgh the Royal Lizard—
Slinky Reptoid Empire Elitist Dude…

But who is this Evil Prince—
Hissing such choice nasty little gems?

Prince of Edinburgh: Idiot.
Wait until I get you after this
Goddamn interview, you’ll see.

BBC: But Prince Philip —
Please don’t be distraught.
Like you’re invulnerable anyway, Phil…

Yes, my dear, like who’s gonna tell—
The husband of the Queen of the
British Empire—to shut-the-fuck-up?”

Prince of Edinburgh: Young man.
I’ll try to say it calmly & soothingly—
Although trying to reason with poor
Humans about things is rather useless.

BTW pour me another drink, will you?

BBC: Of course, sir. I consider
It an honor to pour a drink for the
True Power Behind the Throne.

Prince of Edinburgh: Well, well…
You’re certainly wrong, of course.
But flattery will get you everywhere.
You look plump & full of male hormones.

BBC: So what if you’re just an
old wise-ass Reptilian Elitist Lizard ?
A Big Loud Mouth, right, sir?

The Prince nods—
Trying not to shapeshift into his
Normal attack-mode Snake appearance.
The shock of Royal Reptoids on TV
Would be just too much—
At least now before the lovely
Apocalypse & the alien saucers would
Start landing at Buckingham Palace…

BB: Well, maybe the Prince is right,

Some Parliament members & Party
Hacks are saying these dayz, sir.
“Human beings are just a bunch
of useless breeders…with hungry
fucking mouths.” It does get rather
depressing, covering all the lame
bad news, lately, Prince Philip.

Prince of Edinburgh: That’s more
like it, he sayz. Being a Brit royal
parasite & freeloader—I can’t really
talk about all that bad news. We
NWO Globalists—we’ve gotta be
pretty smart dudes, don’t ya think,

huh? huh? Just look at
the world mess today.

The Prince has another drink—
And nods somewhat sleepily
with his droopy iguana eyes...

Recently Prince Philip was
on the Tube: To a student who had
been trekking in Papua New Guinea:

“So, you managed not to get eaten?”

(Prince of Edinburgh: I ate him instead.)

BBC: The Prince recent to

Elton John after hearing Elton
had sold his Gold Aston Martin:

“Oh, it’s you that owns that
ghastly car – we often see it
when driving to Windsor Castle.”

Prince of Edinburgh: I would’ve dined
on Elton John too, but, you know, those
gay lamb-chops & T-bone steaks can be
such tainted meat, my dear. If karma
makes me a virus again, well, that’s one
Group of lowlife I won’t have to infect.
They’re already quite contaminated.

Prince Philip raises his eyebrows—
looking at the TV screen as if to
perhaps say “Ah, Queens for a Day!!!”

BBC: You really do truly, Prince,
understand our British sense of dry
humor, don’t you, sir? And knowing
the Queen & the Clarence House Mob,
well, this is just what Lizards would
expect, a little wry humor?

Prince of Edinburgh: Well, of
course, we royal lizards aren’t—
just bags of old DNA & Reptile schemes…

Human fear & adrenalin hormones are
for us simply delectable hors d’oeuvres.
We lower fourth-dimensional Draco
Aristocrats—no matter how much
DNA static there is to deal with

We're ready for the Shit, I mean Shift.

BBC: You Lizards do breed well tho,

don’t you, Prince?

Prince of Edinburgh: Well, that’s
a serious concern, of course. You
humans do breed prolifically and
most of time without very much
consideration for the consequences,
especially the less educated ones.
30 or 40 years ago they discovered
that a quarter teaspoon of salt and
half a teaspoon of sugar in water
cured dysentery in Africa. They
predicted then there would be
massive tasteless population
growth and starvation within 20
to 30 years and they were right.
Dysentery killed a lot of children
and kept the population down, it
also culled out the weak. Now
there are too many people for
the food supply and genocide.
What fat gluttons we Reptiles
Became engorging ourselves with
Too much Big Mac meat & fatso
Fast food chicken, my dear,

The Prince just sits there—
hissing, glaring & staring at me.

”And vaccination,” he opines.
“It may have saved the lives
of many children who might
have died, but on the other
hand, it destroyed their immune
systems and these same children
as adults have cancer, lupus, MS,
ME, RA - a host of debilitation
and devastating illnesses. Besides
the vaccination programs are
virtually destroying the human
genome. Indiscriminate breeding
and the survival of the weak
ultimately destroys the animal
using it. As well as the consumer.

The Prince is getting ready to—
strangle me it seems.

Another example,” he said.
A small herd of reindeer gets
put on an island without any
natural predators. The herd
increases in size to over 2,000,
then they started dying off.
The reason - the weak animals
have bred and weakened the
genome for the whole herd.

The Prince is beginning to
look downright hostile & mean.

We might have overpopulation
now, he sayz. But within a few
generations, we will have more
cases of Fukushima radiation
mutants & deformed births in
Japan—just like we have with the
Russian Chernobyl nuke accident.
Plus lots more infertility, the usual
miscarriages, children dying in
infancy, weak human beings and
ultimately, dying out of humanity.
Where would that leave us Lizards?
We’d have to time-warp to some
other Host Planet—dimensionally
succulent with its own troublesome
perhaps rather exotic Menu…”

The disgruntled Prince gets up to leave.

BBC: It’s clear that we & Prince Philip
think a lot alike. That we think that
we're overpopulated and neglect to
see life as a gourmet gift. We should
all pitch in & join the Royal Reptile
Agenda to avoid the awful Fukushima
Mutant Meat Danger & the Gulf of
Mexico Shrimp Cocktail Contamination
Problem and do our part for this old
Lovely Lizard Planet of ours. That's
the best contribution we can give
to the Prince & his Reptoid Dynasty.
We won’t have a chance soon to
collaborate with such an interesting
Illuminati Mob to increase the breeder
population if we don’t wine & dine
Them properly like Reptoid Royalty.

Prince of Edinburgh: Thanks, but
please don’t get all sentimental on
me like you humans usually do all
the time. It makes me hungry…

BBC: Get real, folks. We’re just
being cowardly—about Prince
Philip & the Slither Queens. They’re
afraid of losing everything, they’re
obsessed with power, we need
to submit to the Lizard new world
order of reptilian greed & planning.
Let’s not try being "outcast" naked
Apes—with our so-called Monkey
Minds. The human media has been
injecting all this elitist bullshit—
brainwashing us everyday into
puffing us up, from all angles.

Prince of Edinburgh: Yes, maybe
you’ll taste better tomorrow…

BBC: Yes, folks, there's more than
enough money in the world to go
around—and plenty of hidden
black-ops stealth-tech to give
every one of us a long life
expectancy of 30 years average
and for many more years to come.

Prince of Edinburgh: “Yes,” the
Prince said, yawning, sipping his
gin. Just think of all the boredom
you’ll have to endure being without
us on this dumpy little planet
without us Lizards being around
like we’ve always been…

Strange Brother

Dead Planet XCI

Strange Brother

“as though infallible
eyes watched him”
—Blair Miles,
Strange Brother

I kept crawlin’ back to Harry—I couldn’t help it.

It was always happening that way—me swallowing my pride, him smirking at me.

Harry just yawned at me—like he’d been expecting it.

He knew, I knew—everybody fuckin’ knew it.

Yeah, I know—I'd get what I deserved…

That’s just the way it was…

I got it—too much of it.

Not enough of it…

That’s the thing about fallin’ in love with Snakes.

Guyz like Harry—guyz from long lines of proud snaky shapeshifting royalty.

It went back a long ways.


Jeez, they were so fuckin’ slinky—they’d been around forever. And I mean a long time, baby. For centuries. The way he just looked at me in bed—smoking his cigarette. A bored smirk on his face—then looking away from me. Closing his eyes—listening to his earphones.

God, it gave me the heebie-jeebies every time I was around him—feelin’ those ancient Jurassic vibes runnin’ up & down my simpering spine. The way he let the tainted absinthe smoke curl its way—oozing its way down thru his quivering obscene erect nostrils down along his chest further down there into his kinky ruby-red pubes.

Yeah, I knew... I knew too much back then—

Like how to crawl back to him again & again—like the way it happened every time I tried to run away from him—away from him & that same-old crummy Clarence House dump—only to end up comin’ back to him—crawling my way up the stairs & back to him...on my fuckin’ hands & knees to a guy who could care less—

Swallowing my pride like I always did again & again—crawlin’ my way back across that ratty old Persian carpet in the bedroom that had seen so much—knowing he knew me better than I knew myself—down there on my skinny, bruised knees with that same crummy abject fall from grace time & time again deja vu—coming back to him like some kinda fuckin' slave—begging for it, pleading for it again...

That’s the way it was—like I don’t know why it was—there were plenty of other guyz in London & Paris, lotsa goodlooking dummies back in barracks—but that’s what Harry did to me every time I ran away & had to come back again—

Acting like nothing happened, just shrugging, smirking, yawning at me—bored with me like he was with everybody else—how many other suckers crawled their way across that same ratty old Persian carpet to plead & cajole with him—with him just lying there, smoking a Zimbabwe juju, gazing up at the ceiling with those diamond-hard lizard eyes?

I didn’t just come back thru the door—I couldn’t help it, the door never was locked on me—it must’ve been telepathic or something—WTF I could never find out why it was that way or why I’d have these long memory-loss flashes comin’ back over me—for some goddamn reason he always knew I was comin’ back to him—almost like we were on the same wave-length or something...

I deserved what I got. Comin’ back to this same troublesome guy in Clarence House—this guy who the Jap mob sent for me to meet thru the quantum gate—the only thing being I ended up falling in love with him instead—probably something they didn’t expect—although there was a long history to love in the Japanese samurai tradition—like it was really nothing new, yawn, in fact it was pretty much old business.

I tried not to think too much about it—I thought it was just like he sorta felt sorry for a slob like me—just another stupid peon caught up in the same skanky exopolitics like he was—maybe so, but so what? Because he knew I wasn’t gonna be around very long—like I had a reason for being cross the new divide.

Surely I wasn’t like him & all those other skanky royal reptiles that lived there—snaking around Clarence Palace & behind the Throne like snakes—I was just some random shot in the dark he’d taken a liking to for some reason—I’d be here & gone tomorrow—that’s just the way it was—the way it’d been planned a long time ago?

I dunno—maybe I thought he had this thing for transitory fly-by-night one-night-stand human beings like me—whatever that means—I didn’t know why & didn’t wanna know why—like after awhile I just plain didn’t give a good goddamn anymore—

I didn’t wanna know anything anymore—I already knew too much—like ever since I’d met him, my life had been one long humid troublesome Night of the Iguana—tied-up in a crummy straitjacket in the Mexican jungle wilds—with lovely Ava Gardner to coo & calm me with low soothing lullabies & all that shit… The Mexican night was alive...

Then one night Harry was stretched in bed next to me—tired of me & too stoned to get it on again—with his bright orange-red hair all fuzzed-up like Dirty Harry, thinking about something on his mind—not being able to keep a secret any longer it seemed—finally with him leaning over to me & telling me something that made my blood run cold…

“Ya know, you’re a strange one,” he said outta the blue. There was this silence in the bedroom—so silent you could hear a pin drop—but instead there was just the rain outside—beating on the window there in the Clarence House—that old dump full of memories, regrets & secrets. The rain crawling thru the wainscoting—into the bedroom that night with us there in bed. “Did I ever tell you,” Harry said somewhat nonchalantly. “That you’re really my half-brother?”

Dirty Harry

Dead Planet XC

Dirty Harry

A San Francisco cop with little regard for rules (but who always gets results)—tries to track down a serial killer who snipes at random victims.

In this remake of the famous Clint Eastwood classic Dirty Harry (1971), San Francisco faces the terror of a new maniac known as The Snake—who snipes at innocent victims and demands ransom through notes left at the scene of the crime.

Inspector Harry Callahan, known as Dirty Harry by his peers through his reputation handling of homicidal cases, is played by young Prince Harry who’s assigned to the case along with his newest partner Inspector Lady Gaga to track down Snake and stop him. Using humiliation and cat and mouse type of games against Callahan, Snake is put to the test with the young cop with a dirty attitude.


Inspector 'Dirty' Harry Callahan is dirty. How dirty? He hasn’t taken a bath in 2 years—he’s dirtier than the sinister, distasteful Snake himself. Dirty Harry (Prince Harry) just has a down & out plain dirty attitude toward thugs & criminals...and himself. He’s just as bad & dirty as them—except he holds the Badge. And a big Magnum—down between his legs.

What’s soured Dirty Harry so badly? It’s the societal coddling of criminals—that’s led to the downfall of the criminal justice system. Dirty Harry has no patience for criminals and even less for revolving-door justice as well as politicians who wilt under the pressure of a deranged, aging baby boomer public & a bunch of naïve, unemployed gullible slobs.

Dirty Harry must break societal rules to stop the madman Snake—as well as the madman society that allows him to roam free. The debut of SFPD Inspector Harry Callahan by the goodlooking new young British star, Prince Harry, begins with a horrible sociopathic Snake strangulation of a young woman on a bus—and then trying to extort $100,000,000 from the City.


Harry is asked by his boss, Lt. Badass and the Mayor to put a stop to this scummy, low-life, no-good reptilian creep. While Harry & his new partner, Lady Gaga, investigate—yet another strangulation occurs, followed by the kidnapping/rape of a young BART commuter, and a subsequent attempt at extortion by the killer, who calls himself The Evil Beaver Snake. Harry volunteers to deliver the ransom but is nearly killed by the Snake.

Harry follows the Snake’s trail to the Castro District, where he discovers the hibernating Snake suspect—along with a viper’s nest full of young slithering Snakes recently hatched in the back of the Castro Theater. The Snake gang is rounded up & arrested and Harry gets the Snake’s location out of them.

Unbeknownst to Harry, the Mayor & the D.A. are all Snakes too—the so-called bleeding-heart legal system and judiciary is run by a nefarious Lizard Mob that operates in all the major metropolitan areas around the country. Especially the Beltway & the District of Columbia!! What a shocker!!!


Soon Dirty Harry is on the run in San Francisco—his very existence depends on his snaky superiors & his prospects look bleak. Even though his future looks like a miserable one—he still refuses to play by the rules. Dirty Harry wears a Kevlar jockstrap to protect himself from the famished Snakes—and he doesn't carry an arsenal of automatic weapons. All he needs is his .44 magnum you-know-what.

One shot doesn't seem like much, but it's enough when you rarely miss and a single shot can knock a Snake into the next millennium. Dirty Harry fondles himself—and ends up in Candlestick Park, the home of the San Francisco 49ers. The Snake is leading a rally of all the other SF Snakes.

Now is Dirty Harry’s chance—all the Snakes in one big moiling snaky stadium. Across the football field, Dirty Harry calmly takes aim and nails the Snake all with his magnum meat—standing there at the 50-yard line. The giant spluge shot lifts them all up and flips them into oblivion.

Dirty Harry and Lady Gaga—swoop away in their sleek Apache helicopter back to London for their lovely honeymoon!!! First a stop at Sally’s Tits—between the two rounded Clee Hills near Ludlow, Shrops.

And then Biggus Dingus, the well-endowed Cerne Giant carved into the quaint Dorset hillside. And then over Harry Potter Viaduct and Stars Wars Valley—to Scotland & Donkey’s Dong off the Welsh coast!!!

The first thing Lady Gaga made Dirty Harry do—was to take a much-needed bath in their bridal suite before consummating their marriage…

Then she got the next shot of his manly Magnum...

Murder, My Sweet

Dead Planet LXXXIX

Murder, My Sweet

“Soundless as—
shadows on the grass”
—Raymond Chandler,
Farewell, My Lovely

Everyday was murder—just getting outta bed.

Snake noir—was the name of the game.

It was even on the cover—of Time Magazine.

That’s what it was all about—after the Abdication.

Even tho it was invisible—most didn’t even have a clue.

Except me—and the Jap Yakuza gangster warlords.

Around Clarence House—it was business as usual. Harry the new King kept incognito—only the Queen, Prince Philip, the Prime Minister & some Parliament queens knew the awful truth.

Them & a couple of kept boyz like me. I stuck close to Harry—stayed away from the phone. I didn’t have anything to do with Tokyo—and the Yakuza mobsters. What more was there to say—other than sayonara? Plan Royal Thistle was go—now what was gonna happen?

I was supposed to quantum jump—back to Fukushima. And take care of some unfinished business back then in the future—but I wanted to linger, lounge & schmooze with Harry for awhile.

I think I was in love with him—I’d fallen for him really bad. I felt sorry for the kid—caught up in the shitty Zeitgeist the way he was.

I wanted to stick around awhile—I felt kinda guilty & blue about things. I hadn’t felt like that for a long time tho. I’d been pretty jaded lately—back there in the Tokyo Red Light District. I wasn’t in a hurry to get back—the news said the Fukushima quake had never happened. Operation Dandelion—had been nixed.

I felt all the pain & hurt inside me from back then—it didn’t matter somehow in this new crazy present. Why, I don’t know. Nothing made much sense to me anymore. Except Harry…

It’s like I’d always been a slave to somebody—The New York Times, a Jap Yakuza mafia stooge, a paycheck for the droid Red District hustlers. I just didn’t know it, that’s all…until now.

I kept finding myself hanging around Harry most of the time—even tho it always felt like I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Know what I mean? But then how could you—you’re in the future somewhere. Lost in a tangle of timelines…

Like I felt like this silent shadow—slithering in the grass. Harry was the other half of my so-called life—waiting for me to happen. Well, it happened—I was here. And he was now the new King—long live the Queen.

I kept finding myself diving into the quantum darkness around him—down I went into this bottomless pit. He was the kinda guy who kept making you fall down there deep—and there was no coming back.

A kind of free-fall motion sickness grabbed the pit of your stomach—it was like going down again with the Titanic. Like falling down an elevator shaft—all the way down to the Bargain Basement level. Except the only bargain down there was—Murder, My Sweet.

Around Harry there was always an air of shapeshifting...involving some kind of royal jewels theft, some kind of murder going on in the backroom, a fortune teller reading your palm & lying thru her teeth, plus a couple of other murders going on in the attic plus the usual deadbeats & same Night of the Living Dead characters hanging around the graveyard. Yeah, I was one of the living dead deadbeats…and I was a stiff one too.

Clarence House wasn’t that much—maybe a little smaller than Buckingham Palace, gray & drab like everything else in London during the winter, probably with some fewer windows than the towering Transamerica Building.

Harry was dressed to kill—he didn’t have anything on. Not that it mattered—nobody around the pool cared much. He didn’t, I didn’t, the cute bodyguard in the background didn’t.

Harry’s pubes were bright orange down there—the effect was to blind me & make me feel weak in the knees. His lapis lazuli eyes didn’t help matters. They looked too blue—blue as the pool. They were already bloodshot—Harry was smoking a big fat joint. Binga Zimbabwe. Big as a cigar…

What else can I say? He had a full set of curves as usual—nobody could improve on them. He had one of those so-so worldly-wise smirks—the kind of smirk he always had on his face. But his eyes had a cold look to them—as if they weren’t laughing at anything at all. The were deadly serious...

Harry sized me up again—probably wondering the same thing I was. Was I worth it—was I worth the trouble? He smiled sorta kinda but not much—yawning there in his chaise-lounge by the fetid pool. He gave me a hungry look—I could feel it slithering down there in my shorts.

“You’re a pretty goodlooking guy for your sort of racket,” he said cynically.

I shrugged. “It’s a crummy business.”

He yawned, uncrossing his legs carelessly.

“It’s a crummy business—but somebody’s gotta do it,” I said, looking at my watch.

Was Harry talking about sex—or the quantum jump business. He must’ve been curious—how coincidental me showing up. And all the dominos in a row—slithering their way to the Throne… Synchronicity & sex...hmmmm.

This other kid got outta the pool. He was a built hunk, young & muscular, dumb. With plenty of shoulders & shiny black pubes. One of Harry’s army friends from Afghanastan…or maybe the other side of the moon.

The young soldier had a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He was nude too—and carried himself with a kind of carelessness that was meant to be noticed.

“So nice of you to come over,” Harry said to me. “This is my ex-chauffeur, Maurice. Fix us a drink, won’t you, honey??

The guy pouted, putting on a robe. He headed back into the cabana—slithering his way like a snake. He still had a tan from the desert—so did Harry.

The young Prince was always polite—like most of the Lizards & aging reptoid queens in the Clarence House. That rambling mansion wreck behind us. Everything seemed like it was decaying in slow-motion—but held in suspension momentarily just to be admired by us. As if hoping for one last gasp—a little bit of life-giving artificial respiration from the handsome lifeguard. Sealing his lips to mine...just in the fuckin' nick of time…

A kitschy kind of nostalgia clinging to the old joint—like it had seen better dayz & better nightz. Like the aging British Empire with its glorious past. The bored Queen like some aging haughty Norma Desmond—rotting there in her dumpy Sunset Blvd mansion. Looking for a decent comeback—plus a handsome kept man like William Holden to rewrite the script one last time.

Meanwhile, old Clarence House loomed in its doomed present—moping around about its better dayz, better times. I got the feeling that it preferred those past classier denizens—compared to the likes of me.

But then who was I to say? Old Empires were like snakes—they shed their skins & Voila!!! They were reborn—they renewed themselves for the New Empire. A new set of nefarious offspring oozed from its loins—and pouty progeny stalked the world for more slaves & power. Yawn...

I watched Maurice disappear into the cabana—the things he probably knew about all the royal sluts.

“Nobody’s in my complete confidence, you know,” Harry said, as if he were reading my mind. Who knows—maybe he was. Reptoids were telepathic some said. A survival mechanism of the reptilian brainstem.

I shrugged, sitting down & sulking under a nearby ratty old umbrella over an ancient green glass table. Clarence House had lotsa old money in the rooms & corridors—plus antique junk stuffed away up there in the stuffy minds. Some of it living—most of it dead. Plus lotsa grief & royal secrets…

“Most of us kept guyz are just down & out ex-hustlers,” I said. “Ex-chauffeurs, ex-bodyguards, ex-lovers… I get fired all the time…”

“Not for incompetence, I’m sure,” Harry said.

I nodded. It was my turn to smirk. Harry’s look said many things—things had a way of wanting to be said. But he skipped it.

“Why don’t you slip into something a little more comfortable,” he said. “And take a skinny-dip in the pool? You might like Maurice. I did...”

Later upstairs, Harry fell softly into bed. I bent over his face—and began browsing on it. I worked his eyebrows, feeling him up.

When I got to his mouth—I had to pry it open with my tongue like a crowbar. He was passed out again. Either that or he was playing hard to get—like an innocent virgin instead of the royal slut he was.

I squeezed him good—just to make sure. Yeah, he was just faking it. And his tongue wasn’t some cute little darty garden-snake anymore either. It was more like a Rotor-Rooter Man down my throat—getting down to some serious business. Like sucking my guts out. Dirty business was the name of the game. It wasn’t pretty—getting the royal family jewels off & all that.

Afterwards, he yawned real hard. There’s nothing worse than spoiled royal pretty boyz. A half-sarcastic smile smeared on his face—he wore it most of the time. His eyes had already gone slit-eyed on me—vertically up & down like a snake. Ready to devour me…

I got outta there fast—before he could turn into a badboy boa constrictor all the way. I wasn’t ready for a long drawn-out death-squeeze right then—it was too early in the day.

Besides I had to save some for Lord Barebottom that night—a guy’s gotta make a living you know…

The Long Goodbye

Dead Planet LXXXVIII

The Long Goodbye

“There was something
about the guy that got
me”—Raymond Chandler,
The Long Goodbye

“But today the past is
dead, transformed into
a packet of well-worn
and thumbed glossy
images”—Fredric Jameson,
Archaeologies of the Future:
The Desire Called Utopia
And Other Science Fictions

The first time I laid eyes on Prince Harry he was drunk in a Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith outside the terrace of The Clarence House.

He was plastered to the hairline—but otherwise he looked like any other young guy in a dinner jacket who’d been having cocktails with the Queen.

A girl sat beside him—she was driving. His foot was dangling outside the door—just hanging there. He had a distant smile—and he wasn’t feeling any pain...

“Please, Harry,” she said. “Time to go home now.”

Harry shrugged—as if he weren’t going anywhere. I was visiting a friend—I stopped anyway. Even though it wasn’t any of my business. I stood there.

I raised my eyebrow—she looked at me. “Take him up there, won’t you?” she said.

“Man, this sucks,” I said to myself.

I got him outta the Rolls-Royce & up the stairs.

It’s not often one gets to help the third-in-succession to the Throne up some stairs, through the door & into his Clarence House bedroom.

I plopped him down in bed—no nonsense about it.

Harry was royally plastered.

“Well, that’s one way of doing it,” he sighed.

“Sure,” I said cynically. Wasting my time on a royal lush, it was still a waste of time though.

He was already half-asleep.

“You’re the most royal drunk I ever met,” I said.

I stood there, looking down at him. I couldn’t help myself—I leaned down & kissed him. I was a sucker for cute redheads.

I got a call the next day from his girlfriend. The chick driving the Rolls-Royce. Harry wanted to thank me.

He told me he had tendencies. He wanted to explain.

Then some. That’s how it all began…

“How come I’m here?” I asked, looking around.

He shrugged, “You tell me.”

“I got you up the stairs & into bed. That’s all,” I said.

He looked bored & still woozy from the night before.

I told him my name, that I’d been visiting a sugar-daddy, Lord Barebottom down the hallway.

“That old queen?” Harry said.

I shrugged, sipping the gin his girlfriend offered me.

A gin bottle, some melted ice in a bowl, an empty fizz water bottle were on a tray on the night-table by the bed.

“You can do better than that,” he said.

He pulled back the sheets & gave me a look. That’s how we ended up tricking in bed the first time.

Afterward, there was a knock on the door & in came guess who? That old lizard Prince Philip. He looked at me, then at Harry.

“Whoring around as usual, I see?” he said. Actually he kinda sorta hissed it…yeah, it was pretty scary...

“Scram, Jack,” the old lizard said.

I knew he was serious. Slither queens are mean. They hate humans. I got my pants on fast & was out the door.

I didn’t look back. That lizard thing was weird—Reptoid morphing always gave me the creeps.

Later Harry called me later on his cellphone.

“Okay, he’s gone now. C’mon over tonight, later?”

Most of royalty were Reptoids—I knew that already. The blue-blood breeding of the British Snake Mafia was no big deal to me. The Euro-jetsetters were all pretty much into the game. Same with the Jap Yakuza gang. There were 13 lizard mafias on the Forbidden Planet...

Harry wasn’t human like me—he was more like his brother. He got off on my normal naked ape sensuality. He was bored with the same old usual cold-blooded, bloodthirsty Night Crawlers.

I was kinda a Slither Queen myself though. I was kinda like Maria Montez—I was a Size Queen. The British Isles were like Cobra Island to me—I couldn’t get enough. It was just business though—I was just a cheap lowlife hustler.

It still bothered me though—but I had to leave it at that. There wasn’t anything I could do—except let it ride. It still bothered me some—but lizard love was dangerous that's all. Especially if they got carried away…

It’s disgusting I know—but what else is new? Knowing that we are all lizard android descendants down the line—I was just another half-breed lizard boy that's all. So what? All that trash DNA inside me—it only made me more who I was. De-evolution all the way back to the Jurassic...that was the name of the game.

All that Reptoid junk in my genes—I was just a snake distant cousin. Not as bad as Harry & William though—or the Queen I suppose. I wept about it sometimes—what a lousy exopolitical racket. It makes me wanna vomit—I probably will just thinking about it. Don’t rush me—gimme some time. After all, this is a skanky True Confession…it isn't pretty.

The slinky snake in Harry's reptile brain crawls down—down into Harry’s dark lizard-hood joint inside me. I’d be lying there in bed—feeling the dark lizard lord sliding in & out through my guts. I hated it so nice...

I’d have these disgusting nightmares—more nasty than anything imaginable. My own shameless Heart of Darkness—talk about juicy Congo wetdreams.

I felt skanky—like a snake. I was sweating—my hands got clammy. I could smell Harry’s anaconda bad breath—as he gnawed my neck & stuck his forked tongue way down my throat.

He did me slow & easy—there wasn’t any hurry. Rome didn’t fall in a day—the British Empire wasn’t going anywhere fast. It’s lucky I wasn’t a chick—the last thing I needed was that. Giving birth to a lizard about Night of the Iguana.

I yawned afterward—smoking a cigarette, gazing slit-eyed up at the ceiling. I had slug tracks on my lips—and tattoo hickies on my neck. Prince Harry was passed out again—the newlyweds were in Canada.