Dr, Ginger Baker had shamelessly been stripped down to her bra and underpants — the ones I had given her from the Sears & Roebuck catalog.
“We’ve got to stop those repulsive giant buttocks creatures, Crash!” she cried out. “With them, Jablomey means to rule the world!”
Jablomey doubled over, laughing. “You expect me to take over the world with them? They’re the poorest excuse for scary monsters I’ve ever seen!”
“What do you expect from a busload of American tourists!” I said.
“American tourists?” he laughed. “I’m afraid it’s much worse than that — they’re from Los Angeles!”
As he ranted on, I couldn’t help but notice Ginger as she struggled. Her ample firm breasts strained at the ropes as she arched her back in defiance, twisting this way and that, causing the fabric of her flimsy Sears & Roebuck panties to stretch significantly. I suddenly felt I needed to take a good, long, slow look at her. I didn’t want to endanger her in any way. This was not a time to rush, and I forced myself for quite a while to watch her try to wriggle from the taut ropes that bound her. I kept telling myself, “Be careful! Take your time, Cory!”
Good Lord, could it be that a certain stirring in my loins seemed to perhaps be loosening my bonds? Yes! As I squirmed in my chair, my bonds were loosening!
“Crash, be careful!” Ginger screamed, as I sprang from the chair. My fist caught the madman square on the jaw, sending him staggering backward toward the pit. As he fell to the floor, he flashed the cold steel of a .45 automatic. I was on top of him — one hand at his throat, the other grappling for the gun. If one of us was going for a swim, it wasn’t going to be me. He wrestled his way toward the rope that held Ginger, determined to send her plunging to her fate.
The desert had made him agile and wiry. He landed a good kick to my ribs, sending us both sprawling while the gun spun wildly across the floor toward the pit. We both lunged for it, but I got there first and found myself clamoring to my feet with the gun aimed right between the Swami’s eyes.
“Don’t shoot!” he cried.
“If you’re looking for sympathy, Jablomey, you’ll find it in the dictionary between ‘shit’ and ‘syphilis!’ We’re going to get Doctor Baker down from there, then you’re going out that door with us!”
He laughed crazily. “Nobody’s going through that door,” he said.
“Glad you think so!”
“I’ve got the door mechanism rigged so the whole floor will open up. There’s enough of an ever-expanding radioactive spring under this floor to turn us all into permanent assholes.” He noticed my glance toward poor Ginger. “Including Doctor Baker! So, go right ahead, Cory — unless you’d rather me do it!” He carefully gestured toward the door.
“Get back, you crazy fool!” I shouted, cocking the automatic. “Don’t be ridiculous! After what you just said, what dim-witted, feebleminded, moronic idiot would ever want to walk through that door?”
There was a heavy noise from the door itself, as if it wanted to explode, as if somebody was trying to break it down.
“No! Stop!” I yelled. Jablomey twirled himself about, laughing even harder than before.
The door crashed into splinters. Colonel Saunders, his Thompson jammed against his thigh, straddled what was left of the frame, rubbing his shoulder. His men piled in behind him.
“We finally got those big-assed motherfuckers under control. A little air power was all we needed,” he said, spitting the last half inch of his live stogie to the floor. “Looks like you need some help in here. In the name of Nebraska, what the--!”
The floor began to shift and rumble, like someone was slowly pulling a carpet out from under us. The entire room started to cave toward the pit in the center, and we all braced ourselves, struggling against our grisly destiny. I watched in horror as several of the Colonel’s men were sucked screaming into the angry pit. As Jablomey’s eyes burned into mine, he clutched at passing furniture. Then he was gone, swallowed up by the steaming green slime.
More soldiers poured through what once was the door, sweeping Sanders along with them while his Thompson fired wildly into the air. The pit must have them, and it swished them around like a toilet at a Bavarian knockwurst bakeoff — faster and faster, widening its spinning quagmire every second.
“God help us!” Sanders cried out, as he went under for the last time.
As the slime kept rising, Ginger’s rope seemed to slowly lower her like a fishing worm. There was no time left. The building was coming down all around us. I hurled myself toward the pit, leaping the whirling abyss onto the rope that held her.
“Hold on, I’ll try to get you untied and see if we can climb up to the top!” I hollered, although our faces were inches apart. The rope began to stretch.
“It can’t hold the two of us, Crash!”
“Sure it can! don’t panic!”
Then the rope snapped, sending us both down into the oozing maelstrom.
It was a crisp sunny spring morning in the sleepy little California desert town of Vista Nada. Out on the front porch of our modest ranch-style house, my wife, Ginger, gave me the customary peck on the cheek — always the right one for luck.
“Have a wonderful day at the office, dear,” she smiled. “I’ll have dinner ready for you when you get back.”
I patted the kids on top of where their heads should have been. Soon it would be summer — time for vacation and Little League. Gee whiz, they were getting big now. It seemed like not that long ago that they were only twenty-five feet high at the most. I used to mark it on the kitchen door frame. Now, Bud and Kathy seemed almost as tall as their mother. I chuckled to myself. How quickly they grow up. It wouldn’t be long before Bud would be the big butt of the family, I guess.
“Good morning, Colonel,” I beamed, as Colonel Sanders wobbled down from his two-story colonial across the street to meet me at the curb. “Ready to take over the world today?”
“I’m game if you are, Doctor Cory. Looks like it’s going to be a pretty nice day. What say we walk to work?”
“Sounds great,” I replied, as we were joined by our fellow buttocks people. Conversation was light-hearted and cheerful that day. Life was good. We rocked slowly side to side as we marched along the street — like walking potatoes with no pants.
Attack of the Giant Buttocks People is written and illustrated by Lou Brooks, and was originally published in BLAB! No. 11, as well as on Lou's original blog on Drawger.com. © Lou Brooks. All rights reserved.