Have Ray Gun! Will Travel! Please Pay Me! (part 4)
The space police came to talk to me. They had heard that the famous Clint Corona was in town. I am now famous. After I accidentally atomized Kaz I had myself laundered. They knew that a freshly laundered man is dangerous, and so they have hired me to track down a dangerous fugitive. They believe he may be one of my archenemies.
You see, for some time now some maniac has been turning other people into radiant light. Most recently he was seen destroying my office. This troubles me. Of course, officers, I will find this dangerous lunatic. My office was my home. It was also home to radioactive cockroaches who violated my only pair of pants. This shall be avenged!
To assist my investigation I require space drugs. Thankfully, I have beaten up a dealer I found in the space police holding cell. He has told me where I might find space drugs. He said he was afraid of my ray gun. Smart men fear my ray gun. That bastard Dirk Gradient will learn why they fear my ray gun. My ray gun is fearsome.
The remaining Friendly Peanut croons in my pocket as I write this. I found another diner and was served another talking sandwich. It screamed when I killed it with a plastic spork. Then I seared its precious bread-flesh with my ray gun and ate it like a cave man, carving off haunches of unpronounceable alien meats. I no longer hunger.
...
I beat down the dealer I was recommended to. Then I stole his space drugs and gave him to the space police for dealing in space drugs. I am now a public hero. In only one day I have killed a talking sandwich, put a dangerous space drug dealer behind bars, and atomized a wanted space felon. It occurs to me how many words in our culture have "space" attached to them. I believe it is space madness. I shall have to see a space doctor about it.
I have veins full of space drugs now. I can hear atoms hum. I can hear neutrons whistle. I can hear that, somewhere far off in the universe, Dirk Gradient is violating some terrible rocket ship prostitute. *I* should be violating that prostitute, not Dirk Gradient, dammit! But I wouldn't have to if he hadn't stolen Cindy the Girl-Computer away from me. But this is not me, it is the drugs talking. The drugs help me focus my hate. I must focus my hate on the man the space police have asked me to find.
I start with all the lists of men reduced to radiant light on Antarus IV. Apparently conversion to radiant light is the third leading cause of death, behind asphyxiation on Friendly Peanuts, and flying Cannibal Rockets. Antarus IV is a sanity shocked hellhole. But I will follow this list of names. And I will find the culprit. And when I do, I shall discover whether or not my ray gun is still stuck on "Purify"!
I have a ray gun! I have travelled! And now...and now someone is paying me!
My head sings with space drugs. The surviving Friendly Peanut begins to plot with my pocket lint to take over Antarus IV. And soon I will steal back my rocket ship and mount Dirk Gradient's head on the hull!
You see, for some time now some maniac has been turning other people into radiant light. Most recently he was seen destroying my office. This troubles me. Of course, officers, I will find this dangerous lunatic. My office was my home. It was also home to radioactive cockroaches who violated my only pair of pants. This shall be avenged!
To assist my investigation I require space drugs. Thankfully, I have beaten up a dealer I found in the space police holding cell. He has told me where I might find space drugs. He said he was afraid of my ray gun. Smart men fear my ray gun. That bastard Dirk Gradient will learn why they fear my ray gun. My ray gun is fearsome.
The remaining Friendly Peanut croons in my pocket as I write this. I found another diner and was served another talking sandwich. It screamed when I killed it with a plastic spork. Then I seared its precious bread-flesh with my ray gun and ate it like a cave man, carving off haunches of unpronounceable alien meats. I no longer hunger.
...
I beat down the dealer I was recommended to. Then I stole his space drugs and gave him to the space police for dealing in space drugs. I am now a public hero. In only one day I have killed a talking sandwich, put a dangerous space drug dealer behind bars, and atomized a wanted space felon. It occurs to me how many words in our culture have "space" attached to them. I believe it is space madness. I shall have to see a space doctor about it.
I have veins full of space drugs now. I can hear atoms hum. I can hear neutrons whistle. I can hear that, somewhere far off in the universe, Dirk Gradient is violating some terrible rocket ship prostitute. *I* should be violating that prostitute, not Dirk Gradient, dammit! But I wouldn't have to if he hadn't stolen Cindy the Girl-Computer away from me. But this is not me, it is the drugs talking. The drugs help me focus my hate. I must focus my hate on the man the space police have asked me to find.
I start with all the lists of men reduced to radiant light on Antarus IV. Apparently conversion to radiant light is the third leading cause of death, behind asphyxiation on Friendly Peanuts, and flying Cannibal Rockets. Antarus IV is a sanity shocked hellhole. But I will follow this list of names. And I will find the culprit. And when I do, I shall discover whether or not my ray gun is still stuck on "Purify"!
I have a ray gun! I have travelled! And now...and now someone is paying me!
My head sings with space drugs. The surviving Friendly Peanut begins to plot with my pocket lint to take over Antarus IV. And soon I will steal back my rocket ship and mount Dirk Gradient's head on the hull!
posted by Derek the Bard at 6:23 p.m.
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