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.

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.3 - STICK IT TO ME

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.3 - STICK IT TO ME

by Tomara Armstrong

The fact that you’ve never been able to hold your liquor or hide your admiration for curls and curves has compromised your human form, and you’re quickly turning into a writhing ball of amorous tentacles, allowing your chains to fall to the floor with ease.

Sally drops her stiletto in shock as a volcano of firewater erupts from the depths of your stomach, projecting the ball gag into her face, knocking her to the ground—unconscious, and covering her with sickness. You crawl across the floor, reaching for her, sliding your many arms over her sticky body, trying to remember the traditional dance of your species. It’s been a while, so you improvise.

What am I doing?

Sobriety smacks you in the face, and instantly you return to human form. You would be embarrassed if Sally wasn’t passed out. You’re about to pat her cheek to rouse her, when you remember that a few short moments ago, she had you tied, gagged, and was tormenting you. She even called you, Rachorin—a name few know or dare to whisper on your home planet.

You reach into your cupboard and pull out a glowing syringe. Hoping to immobilize Sally for questioning before the sheriff arrives, you stick her in the neck and plunge the contents into her bloodstream.

Her eyes pop open as you prop her up beside you on the floor. “What have you done?” she says, searching you with her eyes—the rest of her body frozen.

“I’m simply restraining you…the easy way.” You pull her toward you, wrapping your arms around her and kick at the chains that once held you captive.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” She coughs. Her face starts to turn an odd shade of purple and her eyes bulge. “It’s starting.”

“What?” you ask, as Sally begins to cough and gag, spitting foam and blood. The serum you administered was meant for your kind, you haven’t tested it on this type of hybrid, and it appears she is having some sort of adverse reaction. Her arms begin to flail, smacking you in the face. She falls on top of you, pinning you against the wall as she continues to spasm. She’s much heavier than you anticipated.

“Be still.” You try to wiggle toward the counter and feel for your medicine bag, but Sally makes it difficult as she continues to flop around on top of you. Grabbing the handle of your leather bag, you give it a good tug and pull it to the floor, spilling its contents in the puddle of sick.

“Come on, come on!” You attempt to fish for something to use, but everything slips and slides in the mess.

She’s bucking now, gurgling and hissing, and a strange smoke begins to rise from her head and chest. This is new—not something your species experiences, and while you’re fascinated with this discovery, Sally begins to make an even stranger noise.

Tickingard that beforenglder'nd. and organs, and releasing your stinking ash in the wind.pasm.g--anything e clicking a?

“Great,” you belch as Sally begins to pulse and glow, ticking.

Your ears pop.

Silence.

Time moves in slow-motion as you close your eyes and cover your head.

Millions of particles ignite and scream, evaporating the breath from your lungs and melting your eyeballs in their sockets. White light swallows you up, devouring your pseudo flesh and crumbling your alien organs, leaving the wind to disperse of your ashy remains as it pleases.