BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.6 - 3:10 TO ZXUMA

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.6 - 3:10 TO ZXUMA

by Steven Novak

When Garlock grabs Sally, your muscles stiffen. Instinctively, your tentacles slither forward.

Garlock’s grip on her neck tightens. “No! Don’t you dare take another step! Not yet! Not until I’ve said what needs to be said!”

You stop moving. There’s no choice. Sally is dangling from his tentacle, limbs flailing, fingers scraping at the slimy appendage coiled around her neck. Garlock has the advantage.

 The corners of his lips curl upward, all fifteen eyes narrow. “You’re a worthless flick of sniz, Rachorin! Gallivanting from system to system, spreading the appendages of unsuspecting, innocent, foolish females! Filling them with your seed and leaving them to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives! You’re a menace! A cancer! A blight on the good name of our species!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about Garl…”

“No!” His tentacle pulls tighter around Sally’s neck. Her eyes bulge. She tries to scream, but she can hardly breathe. “This is not up for debate! You’re a fizzleburn! A calavot! A hidden grizzleglorp! A gleepeldeegleep of the highest order!”

Well, you certainly can’t argue any of that.

“It ends today Rachorin! I’m going kill you! I’m going to remove your organs and paint the hull of my ship with your blood! I’m going to smear your insides across the stars! Use your tentacles as a belt! Fashion your flesh into a vest and wear that pretty face of your as a hat!”

Garlock pulls sally close to his face, extends his tongue and licks her from neck to hair, coating her face in slime and smearing her tears. “Before I do any of that, I’m going to flay this tiresome girl! You will watch as the insides spill from her body and the life drains from her eyes! Her suffering shall be your suffering! She will die in the name of Scarletz Smigglezforth! And Rayden of planet Uropa! Misty Marcos of the Hightower Circle! And Princess Adelle! And Sanelle! The lovely Sanelle! My beautiful Sanelle!”

Sanelle?

Shit.

You remember Sanelle. How could you forget Sanelle? The things she did with those tentacles? The way she talked you into trying some backdoor games for the first time in your life? Until you met Sanelle you’d always assumed that particular hole was for removing stuff from your body.

You’d never been so wrong.

Sanelle was a half-pint stick of dynamite. Sanelle was a wildcat.

Garlock slimes forward, tentacles coiled, jittering. “Yes, that’s right! Now you see! Now you understand! Sanelle was my daughter! My beautiful little girl! A delicate flower! So innocent! So sweet! And you ruined her! Soiled her soul! Erased the proper young lady I raised and replaced her with nothing more than a harlot! You took advantage of her! Filled her womb with your little bastards!”

The statement is so absurd you almost chuckle. You didn’t take advantage of Sanelle. If anything she took advantage of you. Only one of you ended up with Galorian candles melting in your rectum while tied to the hood of your Malcordian Speeder, and it sure as hell wasn’t her.

Sanelle was a freak.

Garlock’s limbs continue to smear their way across the sand as he moves forward. Suddenly he’s screaming, spitting names you vaguely remember, sexual exploits you’d long forgotten, and the stolen virtue of his pervert daughter. At some point during his rant he stops paying attention to Sally. It’s a rookie mistake. His emotions have the better of him and Sally’s not as frail as she seems. She’s half your species, half-tough, and half a fighter. She’s a hard-nosed broad and she has more than the usual feminine weapons hidden beneath her dress.

You watch as a slimy appendage appears from just beneath the hem of her gown, then another. When a third tentacle emerges, it’s holding a shotgun. You’re not exactly sure where she was hiding that thing.

You aren’t sure you want to know.

The barrel of the weapon immediately goes to Garlock’s head. She pulls the trigger. Flesh and slime spray from the flashpoint, encased in a puff of smoke and spitting blood. Garlock yelps, headon fire, half his face opened up, three eyeballs airborne, two more swaying in the breeze. He topples sideways, knocks over a horse and smashes through the front door of Missy May’s Whore Emporium.

Sally’s hands go to her neck, bright red, struggling to catch her breath. She looks in your direction, tosses you the shotgun, nods, and growls, “Go git that bastard.”

You’re liking her more and more every day.

By the time you enter the Emporium, the place is a mess, floor sticky with slime and spattered with blood, half-naked humans hiding under tables and running into walls, penis’ flopping and boobs bouncing. The body of a portly, gray-haired cowboy flies past your head and through the window behind you. Garlock emerges from behind the bar, dripping blood, half his face missing, two more humans dangling from his tentacles.

“You’ve ruined everything Rachorin! Ruined it all!”

One of Missy May’s finest whores slams into your chest. She’s not the biggest girl, but she’s thrown with such force that she knocks you backward and into the wall. You can hear her spine snap.

Garlock is swinging wildly, throwing, and smashing, and screaming, aiming to anything. Aiming for everything. He shatters a mirror, reduces a section of the bar to splinters. “You bastard! Why her? Why did it have to be her?”

The enraged bounty hunter tosses a second cowboy your way. You reach for his boots, try your best to snag him with your tentacles, but he slips past, slams into a tabel and cracks his skull.

You have to move.

Suddenly you’re charging, sliming your way across the room, dodging bottles, and chairs, and human beings, firing rounds in Garlcok’s direction. The side of the bounty hunter opens wide. One of his tentacles explodes. Another tears free from his body and shoots across the room. A bottle hits you in the face. Broken glass tears open your arm. The airborne body of a particularly beefy whore momentarily knocks the wind out of you. Through it all you never stop shooting, reloading and shooting again. By the time you reach Garlock you’re out of ammo and the muzzle of your weapon is smoking. His body is a mess of shredded flesh and slime, peppered with shrapnel, wounds gushing, insides sprayed across the bar.

The mound of mauled meat that was once his face jerks. Sticky lips quiver. “Y-y-ou…”

You can barely hear him, voice so soft, words garbled and running together. “Y-yo-ou…go-gonn-gonna…ki…”

His face explodes.

A few feet behind you, Sally grins, pistol still smoking in her hand. “What exactly did you do to his daughter, Doc?”

God damn she’s sexy.

You wipe bits of Garlock’s brain from your face and smile back. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She lowers her gun, moves alongside you, wraps her arms and tentacles around your waist. “Yeah…I think I would.”

Two of her tentacles head south, managing to find an orifice that hasn’t been used since Sanelle and worming their way inside. Her head moves to yours, lips to your ear. “I think I’d like that very much.”

THE END

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.4 - TOO MUCH SASS FOR SARSAPARILLA

BLAZING SADDLES, SMOKING TENTACLES CH.4 - TOO MUCH SASS FOR SARSAPARILLA

by Ryan Hunter

You feel Sally’s chains dig into your shoulders as your true self begins to emerge. You’re shocked to discover how much you don’t want that to happen. It’s been too long since you were Rachorin, you want to continue thinking he no longer exists. You want to be Doc.

                “Sally,” you whisper, one last chance. “I know you think you know what you’re doing here, but…”

                “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” Sally whispers into your ear, licking your earlobe as she does.

                You don’t have to hear the popping of the chains to know that you are well and more beyond the point of return.

                Sally jumps as a broken link careens off of her cheek, leaving a small cut just below her eye. “What… what are…?”

                You stare down at her through Rachorin’s eyes, as you grow she seems to shrink. Your brow grows, expanding out and around, large green tentacles slither over your shoulders as your feet grow to a point. When the transformation is complete you look every inch a green cowboy with ten-gallon hat and green flowing duster made of tentacles.

                “I don’t… I didn’t…” Sally stammers.

                “Daddy never showed you his true form,” you say, already wondering why you’d been so concerned for this ridiculous, mousy thing only a moment ago. Of course you’re still going to be having your way with her shortly, but worrying about her seems quite a waste of time.

                “You can’t… he’s, he’s coming for you.”

                “So you said. Reckon we’d best be leaving then, huh?” A tentacle flashes and wraps around Sally’s waist. You pull her to you and tuck her under your massive arm before walking out of your office.

                “Hells bells,” a voice grumbles to your left.

                “Howdy Sheriff,” you mutter.

                “Doc,” the sheriff says.

                You turn slowly to face him. “Ain’t Doc no more.”

                “So I see.”

                “You planning on giving me trouble?”

                The Sheriff opens his mouth but before he can speak an explosion erupts to his right. Acting on its own, your tentacle flies out and bats at the bullet fired back Slack Harry sending it back the way it came. Slack Harry screams and drops to the ground.

                “That didn’t need to happen,” you say to the sheriff.  

                Without comment the sherrif turns toward his fallen friend and you take the opportunity to make your escape.

                Still carrying Sally under your arm you enter the saloon. Instantly the dancing and card playing stop and all eyes fall on you. “Out,” you say softly but you do not have to repeat yourself. The place empties.

                You drop Sally to the floor and walk behind the bar and smile at the setup. No one had ever heard of taps until good Ole’ Doc came to town and built them up a fine new saloon why, dang near over night. In fact, it had only taken him the press of a single button to extend the bridge of your space craft up out of the ground where you’d buried it and then convert it into the rootinest, tootinest saloon in five counties.

                Now you spin the taps 180 degrees, once again turning them into levers needed to run your ship. You reach behind yourself, knocking the bottles of whiskey to the floor until your hand falls on the dustiest gin bottle on the shelf, forgotten by all, just like it was supposed to be. You pull that and the entire saloon descends into the ground and your awaiting ship.

                “Will you please tell me what is happening?” Sally begs.

                “You say ‘HE’ is coming for me. Do you know who he is?”

                “What? I don’t know… he’s… he’s a lawman… from space.”

                “Close, he’s Garlock, he’s a bounty hunter. He’s been looking for me for a long while.”

                “Why would he be chasing an innocent man?”

                “I’m not a man, Darlin’. And I’m a country mile from innocent. Something you should keep in mind, Sheriff.”

                Sally gasps and turns her head. Unlike you, she hadn’t heard the sheriff enter just before you pulled the bridge into the ship although how she missed his clomping you have no idea. Already you’re forgetting the limitations of human ears.

                “Well, I do reckon that’s something worth tucking away in the old hat, Doc.”

                “Doc’s not here, there never was no Doc.”

                “You see, that’s just the thing, I believe there was.”

                “You are mistaken.”

                “I might just be. Seein’ as I’m in this situation with you though, mayhap you’ll clue me in on yer plan. I’m guessin’ you’d like to be puttin’ our fair town behind ya but seeing as your crew’s upp up to the ole’ mine I’m not sure how you’re planning on doing that.”

                “Ship doesn’t need a crew. All they were good for was cleaning up and the occasional cannon fodder. I’ve half a mind to just level the ole’ mine before I go so none of them will tell any tales.”

                “You’d do that to your own people?”

                “Do they look like my people? They’re a slave race from one of the moons of my planet. You’ve seen them, they’re not much good for anything other than target practice. Kind of like humans. Maybe I’ll take a few of your good town’s folk with me in exchange for my former slaves.”

                “Or maybe you stay and fight.”

                “Excuse me?”

                The sheriff takes a step toward you. “You say you ain’t Doc, that no part of him is still in you. I don’t believe that. What I do believe is that this bounty hunter you say’s coming for you ain’t gonna believe you took off right before he got here. I believe he’s going to level my town looking for you.”

                “You’ll be lucky if he’s satisfied with just the town.”

                “That’s what I figured. We’re gonna need some help on this.”

                You sigh and stare down at the sheriff. He’s sharp this one he connects dots all on his own. You hate to admit it but you have some respect for the insect.

                “Look, the only other Malarian on this dustball is laying dead in my office. If Miss Sally could have kept her shoes on her feet instead of jamming one into her old man’s eye, together we might, MIGHT, have stood a fighting chance. As it is, you’re welcome to join us, but that’s all the help I can offer you.”

                “I really hate to have to do this. I can’t tell you how much I do,” the sheriff says, pulling his piece.

                “Put that away, Sheriff,” you say.

                The sheriff fires and again your tentacle flashed, bating the slug back at him. He drops the revolver and backs away two steps, clutching at his shoulder. “That was what I thought,” he said through clenched teeth. “Right in the shoulder just like Slack Harry. You coulda just killed me there but yeh didn’t. You may say Doc ain’t in there no place, but I think he’s more a part o’ ya then you know.”

                You stare at the wounded man for a long time, wondering about your next move.

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.