In a, I don't even know what the japs even call it, it's like a robe, that reaches to her knees, her bare legs long and straight, a short keeping her face in shadow, coming up in guiches to touch her cheeks. She's looking at me. I smile and sort of wave all gentleman like and doff my fedora.
I turn to pull the tab of my one cup, 6.08652 ounces to freedom, as a grace note for a eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh from a talentless talent ruptures my ear drums. Guy Jean is already to his feet, Ben already gaping out in m'lady's direction, the danseuses snapshot in defense reflexes, cords of black strands of hair flying, uncouth flashes of porcelain thighs against a blue-ish canvas.
Holy shit. It's an octopus. The biggest fucking octopus I've ever seen outside of the ones I have seen in my Japanayse Anamays, and it has just breached the surface of the industrial-runoff water, sultry frothing white foam in its wake as if it wasn't already too fucking obvious what was going to happen.
Cocking, seriously?, a malignant eye at the heathen-girl, it reaches out, wrapping one long sucker studded tentacle around her neck as everyone watches, another around her waist, and begins to drag her into the depths, while the thunderous ovations of one of hand fapping punctuate the gaggles of eeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhs emanating from your desired audio device.
The girl, already half in the water, is trying to cry out, but the tentacle, flowing, rather smoothly I might add, barely allows her windway enough to breath and make an unholy cacophonous that sounds like a monkey being flayed by some Mongolian fuck from the Soviet Union that you met on the steppes of Manchuria after you've killed a bunch of animals at a zoo because you decided to go into a fucking well in order to find yourself, or some 1960s bullshit, and ended up getting stranded because the grrl from next doors didn't get any attention from mommy and daddy and ran away to become a sewing machine person of sorts, I don't even remember the rest of the god damn story,
She reaches out, a neotonic hand, a soft-knuckled child's hand with soft-knuckled child's hands, and I'm already there, saving m'lady this heathen from her uncouth ways and unloading a clip into this huge fucking octopus, and this jap has the nerve to clutch at my waist.
Oh god, god Please, get this fucking jap off of me. Her vice grips tightening as if in demonstration of her yamato damashii as if in tacit acknowledgement that among her last things would be her own vulgar face with a brigade of jap soldiers salarymen fapping on the coastline.
By the way, this fucking octopus, didn't even flinch at rounds that would normally stop a jap who had already summoned the of the emperor through their bowels hanging precariously from their yellow bellies. Some one ought to take the time to study the effects of radiation on these things.
The octops gazes at me, triumphant, while I can't keep my eye off this heathen's hand, because you never know when they'll pull a grenade from their sideways V. dentata.
From the sea, Bloat pulls up in a PT boat, offering me one of those giant ass crabs from Hokkaido. Maybe if I use the bofors mounted on the boat and-
"It's hungry, it'll go for the crab. Don't kill it Slothrop"
Who the fuck is Slothrop? And here this crab comes hurtling through the air, it's claw glowing with an awesome power. I drop my 1911, and catch the crab. Neat catch. Ok, I wave the crab at the octopus, a tentacle reaches out towards me, its corrugated milky white ooze that is definitely not foam engulfing my wrist. I throw the crab a few feet along the beach. and what do you know, the Octopus goes for it alright, dragging along the girl for a bit, then letting her go. I pick up the crab again, dangling it so the octopus can see, and dance the creature away, drool streaming from its beak, eyes held by the crab.
Clearly its not in good mental health, albeit I'm in no position to make that call. Say.. some one ought to study the effects of radiation on the nervous system, .
There is a mad exuberance, as with inanimate objects that fall off of tables when we are sensitive to noise and our clumsiness and don't want to fall, a sort of wham! I throw the crab like a god damn frisbee, and the octopus, like the jap it is, with a disregard for everything aside from its primal desires, with an eager splash and a gurgle, strikes out to sea, singing swiggity swooty.
M'lady lies on the beach, alongside a column of japs who have collapsed in fatigue having sowed their seed into fallow land,
I stand over her triumphantly.
Heavy breathing intensifies.