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They walk into a large room as the door automatically opens for them. Here they meet the sinister looking Brent Mirk. Brent wrings his hands, they are thickly coated with vasoline. Seated beside Mirk is Professer Dawson Wells, a famous space designer and the inventer of the cordless extintion cord. Brent scowls at the forms he holds in his hands. "You where all hoping for a nice mission on mars but instead its going to be a emerancy mission out to space station 23". | They walk into a large room as the door automatically opens for them. Here they meet the sinister looking Brent Mirk. Brent wrings his hands, they are thickly coated with vasoline. Seated beside Mirk is Professer Dawson Wells, a famous space designer and the inventer of the cordless extintion cord. Brent scowls at the forms he holds in his hands. "You where all hoping for a nice mission on mars but instead its going to be a emerancy mission out to space station 23". | ||
== Alive == | |||
Smiffden Orlots drove down the silent highway with his wife Clara. Country music twanged from the stock stereo. Clara lit up another ciggy , long happy drags , she seemed so content when she smoked , like an old indian stareing at the road through a white woman's eyes. As long you she smoked the world could burn away to nothing and she would just stare ahead in contentment. Smiff didn't know if he should love her or punch her. They were crossing the moaning desert , it took up a vast part of new Nevada. Smifiden used to read western gunboy novels that used this desert as a back drop , mostly because the indians belived it to be haunted by evil spirits. They had not seen another car on the road for six hours . | |||
We've heard country music for the last two hours , how about some classical for awhile?" , Clara asked. | |||
"Classical sucks" , Smiffden told her firmly , he then turned up the radio a couple nothces. | |||
"Oh , is that because classicists don't fuck cows?" , inquired Clara with a smirk.But Smiff couldn't hear her , he was Jammin to Davis Froth , a new ex model from calirfornea now turned country and western sensation. | |||
[[Category: Bibliography of Andrew McFing]] | [[Category: Bibliography of Andrew McFing]] | ||
Three men in blue teal outfits. They step threw high tech hallways past varyous high level personel. Video cameras track them as they approach a large metal slideing bolt of a door. Captain Taylor Hanneck, the leader of the first six month moon orbit on a solar powered ship no less. Taylor is a tall crew cut blonde with steel blue eyes. He makes loads of money and he wears expensive scents from all across the known universe. Beside him struts Tom Evans, almost as tall as Hannack. Tom was a real heart throb football hero in high school before he took a job with the space lab. Behind them is Paul Shrek a thin nervous looking man with receding black hair. Paul reeks of tobacco and his mind is a thousand worried elsewheres.
They walk into a large room as the door automatically opens for them. Here they meet the sinister looking Brent Mirk. Brent wrings his hands, they are thickly coated with vasoline. Seated beside Mirk is Professer Dawson Wells, a famous space designer and the inventer of the cordless extintion cord. Brent scowls at the forms he holds in his hands. "You where all hoping for a nice mission on mars but instead its going to be a emerancy mission out to space station 23".
Smiffden Orlots drove down the silent highway with his wife Clara. Country music twanged from the stock stereo. Clara lit up another ciggy , long happy drags , she seemed so content when she smoked , like an old indian stareing at the road through a white woman's eyes. As long you she smoked the world could burn away to nothing and she would just stare ahead in contentment. Smiff didn't know if he should love her or punch her. They were crossing the moaning desert , it took up a vast part of new Nevada. Smifiden used to read western gunboy novels that used this desert as a back drop , mostly because the indians belived it to be haunted by evil spirits. They had not seen another car on the road for six hours . We've heard country music for the last two hours , how about some classical for awhile?" , Clara asked. "Classical sucks" , Smiffden told her firmly , he then turned up the radio a couple nothces. "Oh , is that because classicists don't fuck cows?" , inquired Clara with a smirk.But Smiff couldn't hear her , he was Jammin to Davis Froth , a new ex model from calirfornea now turned country and western sensation.