BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.5 - DEAD

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.5 - DEAD

by Christine Butler

You sigh and look around at the people you have been living with for the past few Earth years. Even the ones that knew what you were accepted you, and for that you're grateful. Seeing Sally in Garlock's grasp is what tipped the scales though. There's no way you can leave her to that fate.

"Fine. I'll come with you, but you need to let Sally, and all these people, free." You tip your head back to indicate the humans you're now trying to protect. It is your deepest hope that your sacrifice will not be in vein.

Garlock laughs at you, spewing shit in streaming hot sprays as he does. "You think this is a negotiation? You think I'm here to leave anyone behind? You are being spared only to help with the brood you stuck the Queen's niece with. I've been ordered to bring back any of our kind, hybrids included. The rest..." Garlock motioned to indicate the humans lingering about on the fringes. "They've all seen too much. There won't be anything left of them in the end. You might get off easy though."

"Damn," you mumble under your breath. You know now that it's time to fight or die. You notice that Garlock's men now have the place completely surrounded and you don't stand a chance in hell of getting these people out of here unscathed. Sally's passed out, or maybe dead, and still in Garlock's grasp. It's time to just hang your hat and forget about the wasteland that is Earth. Maybe one day you will be able to come back and find out what happened to your... friends.

You hold your tentacles outward in a sign of submission, and hang your head low, utterly defeated. This is not the way you envisioned things going. Garlock whips out one of his enlarged main tentacles, and wraps it around you, so that you have been both immobilized and covered in a thick layer of the shitty mucus he produces. Your nasal openings burn with the fetid stench, as you are transported to the ship that will take you to your home world and the royal palace of your kind.

You awaken, after being put to sleep for the ride home, to find that Garlock's shit stench no longer permeates the air around you. Instead, you smell the fresh aroma of moon powdered tentacles. "I smell babies." The words leave your mouth before you can even take in your surroundings.

"Indeed you do." The Queen is looking down on you with a smug expression. "You thought you could have your way with my niece and not have to pay the price?" She throws her head back and cackles, which has more of a gargle sound to it, as the mucus membranes in her throat rattle about with the gesture. "Have you ever wondered where King Randalth or King Blagrath got off to?" she questions you.

Now that she mentions it, you had wondered why the hell there had been so many kings in your short life. There were always jokes that the Queen going through the birthing process of her younglings was the death of each of them, but everyone joked about that. It didn't make things true.

The gargle-cackle came again as the Queen continued. "Royal babies cannot survive without a proper feeding. We've managed to keep them sated for now, but they need their daddy to feed them."

You back away from the Queen until you come up against the back wall of the room. "No." You shake your head, and your tentacles start waving around erratically as the fear gets the better of you. "That can't be..."

"Oh, but it is." The queen says as she turns to leave the room. Before she goes, she pushes a button on the wall that releases a gas into the room. It makes you feel a little woozy, like your tentacles weigh you down and are too heavy for you to move again. "What... is.... hap...pen...ing?" Your words sound, to your own ears, as if they are being played in slow motion. The Queen is gone, but you swear you can still hear her cackle-gargle echoing in her wake. Then four panels in the wall slide open, and through them come your brood, and they look starved. You hope it's affection they're starving for, but when the first one bites down on your heavy tentacle, you know. All the stories were true. Royals feed on the flesh of their fathers. A scream escapes you, and then another, as your spawn tear into your flesh with their razor sharp teeth.

In all your dreams of glory and adventure, you never once thought it would end like this. You have been eaten to death by your own spawn.