BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.3 - ALIENS IN BONDAGE

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.3 - ALIENS IN BONDAGE

by James McShane

Before you come to the realisation that you’re making this up as you go, you grab Sally’s arm roughly and drag her with you out of the attic. You have a semblance of a plan in your head, but it requires an element of luck. You hope that this is the one moment in this forsaken day that luck with fall your way.

And as it happens, it does – here comes the sheriff, and he’s brought a small posse with him. You love a good posse. You and Sally meet him at the back of the church.

“I’m going to need you to create a distraction, Sheriff,” you say hastily. “I have reason to believe that Sally here knows a good deal about what’s going down with our guest back at the town.”

“That’s why I came a-runnin’,” the sheriff says. “Our mutual friend is muttering this here lady’s name under his breath. I’m a-thinkin’ they know each other.”

This guy paid attention at sheriff school, you think. Nothing much is going to pass him by. Best make speed.

“I’ll bring her with me,” you say as you catch a couple of spare horses. “Any chance you can gain us some wriggle room?” You cock your head in the direction of Biff’s lynch mob. “They may impede our progress.” The sheriff nods his head eagerly.

“Me and the boys love us a good punch-up,” he says way too enthusiastically. “The letter of the law shall be applied this day.” He turns to his men. “Let’s go, boys. The doc and his ladyfriend need to solve themselves a mystery.”

“That’s not all they need to do,” a voice from the back says. “I think they mean to get down and dirty. I hear that Sally one has a liking for ropes and blindfolds.”

Your female companion gets a touch indignant. “Is that you, Slack Harry?” she cries out. “The last time I saw you, you were paying me very well for my services. You said I was the best Dom you ever had.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, stepping out from behind the sheriff. “And I have the bruises to show for it.”

You turn to Sally. “Now is not the time or place to discuss your peccadilloes. We have to go see that al…fellow back in my room.” You jump on the horse. Ride, Sally. Ride.”

You leave the sheriff, Slack Harry, and the rest of the posse to create a disturbance, enabling you and Sally to make it back to the wounded alien quickly and in one piece.  When you arrive on the scene, the patient is in full human form and appears to be sleeping rather than passed out. He appears healed. But you kind of knew that was going to happen.

“Do you recognise him?” you ask Sally.

She shrugs. “He looks a lot younger than he did when they took him away to hang him, but that’s my daddy.” You nod, because you knew this.  “Let him sleep a bit more,” she continues. “When he wakes, he will tell you everything you need to know.”

You go to a cupboard and take out a bottle of hooch. It’s all you can afford on your doctor’s salary. You’re not a big drinker but you keep it around – for medicinal purposes. You pour a couple of healthy measures for the two of you.

“Tell me about the ropes and blindfolds,” you say hesitantly. You swig back the full contents of your drink and then refill your glass.  Sally gets a twinkle in her eyes. You stare straight back at her. “I’m asking a serious question,” you say.

The man on the table moans in his sleep. You can see that already his form is beginning to change once more. You don’t have much time before the same thing starts to happen to you. Maybe to Sally, too, seeing that she’s progeny. You know what happens to your kind once you get, well, excited.

“A lot of my customers ask to be dominated,” Sally says. “I’m not just a songstress. I possess more than just a beautiful voice. I provide that which modern science and Christian faith does not and cannot provide.”

You knock back your second shot and pour yourself a third. Sally has yet to start her first. You are coming close to the point of no return, but you can’t contain your urges that much longer. Now you know why Sally contacted you. She knows your weakness. She inherited that knowledge from her father. But even so, you’re powerless to prevent what happens next.

“What do you provide then?” you ask in a hushed tone.

“Relief,” she whispers as she moves closer. “Solace. A place in which a person can become truly him- or herself. I provide to both male and female. Sometimes at once,” she adds winking at you. “I brought something with me.” She rummages through her bag and takes out a long black silk eye mask, a three foot length of chain, some rope, and a ball gag. It was a big bag, but you didn’t think it could carry all that. But then you realise, the material it’s made from isn’t from this planet. After your fourth shot (yes, you poured another drink as Sally emptied the contents of her bag), you’ve become slightly inebriated. Your excitement is reaching fever point; the point where your species begins to differ from humankind (aside from the odd flash of tentacle, that is). Sally knows this and you wonder why she’s acting against her nature. Surely she should be on the side of her family.

Her father opens his eyes and peers at his daughter. “Sally?” he mutters. “What is happening to you? Why are you here?”

Sally reaches into bag once more and takes out a two foot stiletto. Without engaging her father in any conversation, she plunges the dagger into his right eye. He stiffens, spasms, then falls still. He is as dead as he should have been when Sally obviously shot him earlier. By this stage you’re hoping for some more luck. You hope that the sheriff has finished off Biff and the gang, and is on his way back here now.

Sally moves swiftly. With a skill set that can only come from a true professional, she has you chained up, blindfolded, and gagged. She teases the point of her stiletto up and down your cheek. You are in danger, you know this, but you cannot help but be aroused.

“He is on his way for you now, Rachorin,” she says, using your given name. “I have you all wrapped up nice and neat. The only thing missing is a bow.”

It is then that your form begins to change.

You consider your options. 


A. You wait for the sheriff to come and save the day, allowing you ample time to question Sally about what the hell is going on.

B. You transform completely into your alien form, at which time anything could happen.

C. You manage to escape your bonds and change places with Sally. 

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.2 - SALOON SALLY SINGS

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.2 - SALOON SALLY SINGS

By Christine M. Butler

The stench of laser-burned flesh tickles your nose as you inform the Sheriff that you will get everything taken care of. You look down at the still-burned figure before you, and bow once more, assuring the Sheriff again that the alien will be all right until you can get back.

You step out into the late afternoon sun, feeling it bake your skin as you take in a few gulps of searing hot air. It is hot as a whorehouse on nickel night. Not exactly the refreshing feeling you’d hoped for, but better than smelling the remnants of laser-blasted tentacles. You take the folded up piece of paper out of your pocket, and notice the flourish of dainty script that could only have come from a woman’s hand.

Doc,

You are the first of your kind I’ve seen in some time. I wasn’t sure, at first, if I could trust you. Now, I’m running out of time. I need your help, before they find me, and before the towns folk here realize what I am. Please, you are my last hope.

Maggie has kindly given me a temporary sanctuary in the church attic, but I won’t be there long.

~Sally

You re-read the letter twice more, not quite sure what to make of it. There was a time “your kind” might have meant the skin you’d chosen to walk among the inhabitants of this planet. What they called “natives” were still unwelcome most places, but you’d managed to settle in just fine anyway. After your talk with the Sherriff, you’re not sure how many people you actually fooled with your disguise though. You find a small bit of peace in understanding that the big bub himself knows what you are, and he hasn’t run you out, or strung you up yet. It gives you hope. You take a moment to consider your options, but the conjured image of saloon songstress Sally puts your croaker thoughts to rest. There was always something captivating about her, even if you didn’t fall under the same spell everyone else seemed to when she cranked up her pipes.

You head to the church to go appease your own curiosity. Dust settles thick on your boots as you walk. Rain is long overdue in these parts, and doesn’t appear to be on the horizon in the near future. You watch as a horse out front of the Hotel Grand takes a piss in the road. It’s the first thing you notice as you amble back towards the church. As you get closer, Maggie, the preacher’s wife, is peeking out of the curtains of the little shack she shares with her husband. You tip your hat slightly, and she flutters away.

You don’t even hesitate as you approach the church, taking that first step up, heading to the door. That is when you realize your mistake. “Dad-blame it!” You curse under your breath. The paint on the steps is still wet, and now your boot print is there for all to see. You backtrack and walk around to the side of the church where the preacher’s door is. You jiggle the handle, and find it’s been locked. You are hot, tired, and just about to give up, turn around, and head back to the shop when the lock clicks over. The door cracks just enough for a set of bright green eyes to peek out.

“Ma’am.” You tilt your head in her direction, noting the trail of fiery red curls that that pop into view.

“Quick.” Sally throws the door open and reaches for your arm, dragging you inside before slamming the rickety wooden door shut again. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” She keeps walking, and you follow her. Sally reaches up to grasp the catch on the attic door, and pulls it down to reveal a makeshift set of stairs. As Sally ascends, you can’t help but notice and appreciate her curvy figure. When she sits on the floor at the top of the stairs to swing her legs up and over, you politely look away until she gives you the all clear. You proceed to follow her up into the small attic space where you must stay hunched over in order to avoid knocking your head on the rafters.

You take out the paper that the barman slipped you earlier. “Sally, I’m not sure…”

She cuts you off before you can finish your sentence. “Shh.” Her finger finds its way to hover over your lips as she speaks. “We don’t have time. I got word this morning. There are men coming to take me away, and I need your help to get out of here.”

“I’m not sure what I can do for you.” You tell her honestly.

“I’m not what I appear to be, and neither are you.” Her gritty accent is lost from her voice as she speaks. “My father is the same as you.” Your eyes widen just a bit as she continues her story. “He came to our town on a mission to blend, learn, and see if this place could work for his kind. I don’t think anyone ever thought of mixing with the humans here, but my father met my mom and he fell in love.”

Sally was looking off into the distance seeing another time and place unfold before her. You stand there, patiently waiting for her to finish. “She knew, of course. It’s hard to hide when your kind gets…” Sally bites her lip, and you can’t take your eyes off her mouth as she does. “Excited.” She finishes with a blush in her cheeks.

“Anyway, everything was fine for them. No one ever knew our two species could reproduce together, but apparently it works. I’m proof. The humans in our town never suspected. I grew up normal with no outward signs of tentacles.” Sally blushes again as she holds up her hands. “My fingers change if I’m angry, or I need the suction for things.” She demonstrates, and you are flabbergasted as her fingers turn to wavy tentacles before your very eyes. You know, now, that her story must be true. “I was set to marry Biff Jenkins not long ago, but there was an emergency. My mom’s Uncle Jeb, the town drunk, fell off his bar stool and knocked his head in pretty good. They went to get mom, since she has some knowledge of medicine. Well, she and dad were in an intimate position when Harvey Dingle, the deputy, burst in on them. Harvey saw what happens when your kind is excited, and he ran blabbing his mouth.”

Sally grabs your hand, pleading to you with her eyes. “They hanged my daddy. Hanging doesn’t kill your kind though, and he managed to escape while the town drank themselves stupid in celebration. I’m not sure what happened to momma, because I was forced to run too. Biff, my fiancé, has been trying to track me down ever since. I got wind that he caught my trail again, and he’s headed here now.”

You take everything in and let out a deep sigh. “You want me to get you out of town before he shows up?”

“Please!” The urgency in her tone makes her angelic voice crack. Sally grasps your hands in hers to add to her plea. Just as you are about to agree anyway, you hear several sets of hooves approaching outside at a fast pace. “Oh, no!” Sally yelps. It’s your turn to put a finger on her plump, rosy lips.

“Shh, I know just what to do, sweet Sally.”

You have a choice to make.

A)  You hide Sally and confront her alien-hating ex-fiancé, Biff Jenkins, and his posse. If you utilize your tentacles, you can fire more guns at once, and possibly take them all out in quick order.

B)   You sneak Sally around the back of the buildings while the raucous newcomers offer distraction for the Sheriff. You take her to see the wounded alien, thinking that maybe his group can offer her refuge, or possibly have information on Sally’s father. After all, there aren’t that many of their kind supposed to be settled in these parts.

C)     You realize this town just got too hot to handle and you bug out with the sexy songstress in your saddle as a consolation prize.

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH1. - BLARDETH BLEEPS

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH1. - BLARDETH BLEEPS
By Nandy Ekle

“You –“ You stop your reply suddenly, aware that your voice sounds too much like the high-pitched beeps of your species. Clearing your throat and hoping the sheriff didn’t notice, you restart. “You go on, Sheriff. I, um, I have some things I need to, um, gather up for this.” You find your gaze going toward the shape on the table, but try to make the sheriff think you’re looking at the cabinet next to it. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Well, hurry it up. I don’t wanna get in the middle a’ sumppin’ I don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout.”

“I will. Just go on and I’ll be right there.” You pick up a carpet bag and stuff a candlestick, an old shoe and a pillow inside.  The sheriff watches you grab another couple of random objects, scratches his balding pate, and walks out muttering under his breath.

“Galdern . . . sonsa’ . . . whatever.”

As soon as the sheriff is gone, you turn back to the body on the table. It moans again and the tentacle moves.

“Blardeth, is that you,” you ask.

“BBBEEEPPP . . .” he answers.

“It IS you! Waddya’ know!”

Blardeth opens his eyes and looks at you. “Claddeph,” he gasps.  His eyes are full of an emotion you take for love. “Your outfit is amazing.” He blinks and shakes his head. “But that’s not why I’m here. I had to come tell you . . .” He trails off.

“Easy now. Take it easy.”

His head shakes quickly. You hear the sloshing of brain water and thank our lucky stars everything is okay in Bardeth’s head.

“No. You don’t understand. You’re . . . Oh Minithetet! My arm is on fire!”

Blushing at his strong language, you gently take his tentacle in your had. It’s beginning to turn back into an arm to match the rest of the body, but there’s a deep black burn covering the flesh between the wrist and the elbow.

“Leave that alone. I’m not long for this world now anyway.”

“Aw, c’mon, Bardeth, old pal. I’m a DOCTOR here.” You smile proudly and point to the certificate on the wall. Your writing hand cramped for a week after copying the certificate design from the library book.

“No. Leave it. It’s my prize to take back home.” He yanks his arm away from you, grabs the front of your shirt and pulls you in close to his face. You can smell the sweet perfume of the sewer, the sexiest smell your species knows. You tell yourself you don’t have time for love right now. “You’re in danger, my old friend. I was comin’ here to tell you that when . . .” His face grows greener. “Listen. Do you hear that?” His green face looks toward the door and his four eyes (you can see the two natural eyes under his two human eyes) become as large as whisky shot glasses. “It’s too late! They’re here!” He turns his face from the door to you. Your human noses are nearly touching. Then his mouth opens as big as a cavern. “RUN!” And he collapses back onto the table.

Your human guts turn to ice cubes and your natural guts turn to embers. Then you hear it. The galloping of horses and the shouts of men—not ‘your people’ but human men. You look around the room for any kind of weapon and find nothing. You have a rifle in the back room, but there’s no time. The feet are scuffling around on the wooden sidewalk outside your door. You decide the only thing to do is unmask and defend yourself naturally. You drop the human skin and stand there as your true self.

Suddenly the door blasts open and a group of men stand there looking at you, sewer smelly tentacles and all. You open your moth to tell them who you really are but the explosion of the frontman’s rifle cuts through the air. Your head jerks back and you fall to the floor. As you lay there you see your human skin wadded up in a heap next to you. The blood running between you and the disguise is blue. Licking your lips you taste the sweetness of your interplanetary blood. Your eyes roll up to see an abstract shape of blue blood splattered on the wall behind you. You never knew you were such a good artist.

“We ain’t havin’ no more a’ your kind ‘round here,” a voice above you shouts. But there’s something else. You could swear you hear a few high-pitched beeps and clicks underneath that voice. But it doesn’t matter now. The men are disappearing; the room is going dark; the sounds are fading—all but the beeps you know you heard in the voice.

But even that is finally gone.

YOU DIED.

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH. 1 - LONG ARMS OF THE LAW

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.1 - LONG ARMS OF THE LAW

By Annie Evett

A tumble weed blows dramatically across the dusty main street of Mulder’s Lot. You grin at the cliched scene, taken directly out of the penny westerns stacked high in the tiny dusty room above the General Store you call both home and your control centre. You squint as grit blasts into your eyes, and untie the scarf which, until now, has sat fashionably round your neck. You’ve studied hard to fit into this town and although you’ve stayed longer than your posting normally allows, you find the inhabitants quaint and on occasions, interesting. 

Pulling your felt hat firmly over your ears, you adjust the tilt of it in the General Supply Store window and made your way to the Grand Hotel for your customary late afternoon drink in the saloon, away from the noisier public bar. On your way, you nod to the preacher who is busy painting the church steps and exchange pleasantries with his wife. She stutters a greeting, but never meets your eyes. You’ve managed to fool most of the townsfolk, but you suspect she can see past your elaborate disguises and harbours a suspicion that you are not all that you seem to be. It may of course be your initial choice of body type which makes her uncomfortable, but you decide to keep a closer eye on her, as it wouldn’t do to be discovered. 

The Grand Hotel glows with a friendly light in the fading afternoon sun. The sophisticated tinkling of the pianist’s tunes cuts through the suddenly still hot air. Crickets begin to sing alongside the musician.

Getting closer, you discover a crowd around the front entrance, all eyes entranced by the show taking place inside. As you push your way through the doors, you understand the silence, now mesmerised by the glamorous songstress slowly making her way down the staircase. Her song, simple and sweet, dripped of promise as she slithers around the room; lightly touching men’s hands or faces as she goes. She waves dramatically as she finishes her song and slips out through the swinging doors of the Saloon. You wonder if it is a good idea to drink there now. 

The pianist strikes a lively tune, the hypnotic effect the songstress has had on the town folk immediately dispells.  You nod to the barman, who fills a tumbler with a pale liquor and sends it down the wooden boards. He gestures toward the Saloon. “Doc, you’d best take your drink in there. You know some folk don’t like it when you drink here.” He slides a small folded note towards you and winks. You pocket it to read it later.

You hear galloping horses up the dusty main street with a sudden halt further down the street. You already know it’s outside our office ,and from the banging on the door, the visitor is keen to employer your services. You gulp down the fiery liquid and prepare yourself for what’s to come.  

Running feet down the street are followed by the doors of the hotel swinging open and the music stops dramatically. A bored group playing cards shift their eyes, hoping for new players, but upon seeing who it is, bury their faces behind their make-or-break, chance-driven selections from the grimy deck and try not to look up again.

The bucktoothed deputy’s eyes dart around the space and fix on you. “Doc, ya gotta come quick. We got ourselves and E - mergency"   

You push yourself away from the bar and follow him down the street towards your surgery which also doubles as the town’s pharmacy. Sheriff Rogers, red faced from the exertion of riding hard stares at you for a moment. 

“I know we don't always see eye to eye, Doc, you bein’, well, the way you are, but this here is one if your, 'erm, folk. You'd be the best to help them.”

You blush with both anger and embarrassment. You’d thought you'd managed to conceal yourself from the sheriff especially, and wonder again if it’s the body choice, or something else he means. 

Your eyes wander towards his horse and the shape covered in a blanket and tied to his pack horse. A green tentacle peeps from under the blanket. This leaves no doubt what he means with his comment on “your folk” and suddenly you have a greater level of respect for the peacemaker of the town. You nod, and between the sheriff, the bumbling efforts of the deputy, and yourself, you manage to drag the body into your office and up onto the table.

You look at the deputy and raise an eyebrow at the sheriff. He shrugs and taps his head. “Aint nothin' much up there, and we are gunna need the help.”

You stare at the sheriff. “What do you mean?”

The sheriff pulls the blanket away from the body, revealing a human form attached with a distinctly scaled tentacle, charred and battle torn.  “I don’t mind you folk mosying round the plains, but when you start to fight, it just gets dang messy.” He points to the prone figure. “And when you don’t change back properly, it just leaves questions, which I normally gotta clean up.”

You lean on the table, unable to fully comprehend how you’ve misread the sheriff.

“Now there are a few more up near the old gold mine hiding out, most likely beat up but not injured like this one. You gotta tell them to move on. It’ll come better from one of their own folk.”

The figure stirs and groans. Apart from some laser burns which you know will heal within a few hours, the alien is in good shape and will just need time to regenerate and reform into human shape. 

You have some choices to make?

Do You:

A: Remember the folded paper from the hotel and find that it’s a handwritten note from the songstress, desperate for your help, and leave the alien with the sheriff and find out what she may need?

B: Decide to wait with the groaning figure on your table and find out what they are doing on your part of the planet?

C: Go with the Sheriff to reason with the aliens in the gold mine?