Why not just wait until we know they're inside, drop in some high explosives and blow them all to bits? They're not human, they're aliens, predators who feed on humans and lay waste to the Earth's natural resources. And they always steal the hottest babes! What's a few hundred lives when we're potentially saving a city of 280,000? And yet we couldn't bring ourselves to go that route.
Besides, having been a warrior all my life I most feared not having a war to fight. Once a warrior, always a warrior and a warrior without a war only dies a slow and painful death. Even Donny, Steve and Wooley had begun to develop a taste for war. I could see it in them even if they didn't recognize it in themselves. For a warrior it's better to lose a war than not to fight a war. And to win a war in a single strategic battle would only mean we'd have to go looking for yet another war to fight. As much as I wanted to fly the Wackemall Inc. corporate jet over the top of their building and drop bombs down the exhaust ducts it wasn't going to happen.
Besides, we still didn't have the money to pay to get the plane out of the shop and the Federal Aviation Administration was holding the keys until a real certified pilot showed up to get them.
I decided it was time I took the Wackemall 750 for a ride. "Hey guys, what you say we close up shop early today and do some riding?"
"You riding the Veggiecycle?" Wooley asked.
"We all are," I answered, "We'll take turns."
"It's about time!" Donny shouted.
"Last one out locks the shop," Steve yelled.
Of course, being the oldest, fattest and slowest I got to lock up the shop and set the alarm but I didn't mind as it was a sunny day and we needed a break from filling orders and planning a war. We decided to head north across Caswell County, North Carolina just across the state line to nearby Virginia International Raceway. With a little luck there would be no one there and we could slip out onto the track and give the Wackemall 750 a serious test of its meddle.
Twentyeight minutes later I was parked just outside the gate at VIR as I waited for the rest of them to get there. "Are you flipping crazy?" I shouted at the Veggicycle. "Even when I took my hand off the throttle you kept getting faster. We just covered 42 miles of backroads in 28 minutes! Are you trying to kill me?"
"I thought you wanted to try me out," the Veggiecycle answered, "see what I could do?"
"Not at the expense of my life," I shouted.
"But I had it all under control," the motorcycle replied. "I knew when to brake and how much to lean into every corner. All you had to do was hang on. Besides, I could have gone faster but I didn't want to risk scoring my new rings and cylinders while still running break-in oil."
"You mean to tell me you can drive yourself?" I asked.
"Just stand me up, start me up and point me in the direction you want me to go. All you have to do is hang on."
The others got there about 15 minutes later expecting to find me splattered across the pavement somewhere. I warned them about the Veggiecycle and the four of us slipped inside the race track and took turns scaring the wits out of ourselves for about 2 hours until a rent-a-cop came driving by and chased us all away.
From there we made our way to the Hyco Lake Marina in nearby Leasburg, North Carolina. The burgers and micro-brewed beer are always good there and they actually love bikers. By not telling the Veggiecycle where we were going I convinced it to remain at or below the posted speed limit most of the time. Still, after having sat unused all these many years it was like a stallion that had just spent the winter locked in a barn dying to stretch its legs and run.
The Wackemall 750 caught the attention of most all of the bikers who were there. Most thought it an old Yamaha, others old British iron and still others believed it to be some new motorcycle they had never heard of. Of course what really got their attention was when it started reciting poetry while we were inside having dinner. "Hey Man," this one customer who might have already enjoyed too many micro-brews said to me, "Do you know your motorcycle is outside reciting poetry?"
"Happens all the time," I answered.
"It does?" the guy asked.
"Sure," Steve interjected. "All motorcycles recite poetry."
"Mine don't," the guy said.
"They do if they're tuned properly," Wooley added. "You better get your bike in the shop before it's too late."
"I'll ride it to Roxboro right now!" the guy declared.
"Oh no," Donny cautioned, "Don't ride it. You might ruin it beyond repair. Have it towed."
"Good idea," the guy said, "I'll put it on my AMA."
"That was just sad," Donny said as the guy walked to the pay phone.
"Yeah," I said, "Let's pay our bill and get out of here before he figures it out."
When we returned from our ride, Fred was waiting at the shop with a rather amazing announcement, "My buddies at the Agency just told me that Jeff Martin is attacking the Tall White Aliens."
"That makes no sense," Donny said. "Jeff is a paid mercenary, the lowest of the low. Who would be paying him?"
"Right," Fred agreed, "If the Agency won't fund us you know they're not going to hire the Stench. It just doesn't make sense. No way, no how."
"Yes it does," I replied. "Somehow Jeff has found out we're going after the Tall White Aliens and if there's anything he can't stand it's me winning. He plans to get rid of them and claim himself the champion before we can do the job."
"But there's no telling what the Stench might do," Fred added. "For all we know he might be planning to nuke Downtown Greensboro."
"Then we'll just have to make sure he doesn't," Donny replied.
Continue to Eddy Currents.
Besides, having been a warrior all my life I most feared not having a war to fight. Once a warrior, always a warrior and a warrior without a war only dies a slow and painful death. Even Donny, Steve and Wooley had begun to develop a taste for war. I could see it in them even if they didn't recognize it in themselves. For a warrior it's better to lose a war than not to fight a war. And to win a war in a single strategic battle would only mean we'd have to go looking for yet another war to fight. As much as I wanted to fly the Wackemall Inc. corporate jet over the top of their building and drop bombs down the exhaust ducts it wasn't going to happen.
Besides, we still didn't have the money to pay to get the plane out of the shop and the Federal Aviation Administration was holding the keys until a real certified pilot showed up to get them.
I decided it was time I took the Wackemall 750 for a ride. "Hey guys, what you say we close up shop early today and do some riding?"
"You riding the Veggiecycle?" Wooley asked.
"We all are," I answered, "We'll take turns."
"It's about time!" Donny shouted.
"Last one out locks the shop," Steve yelled.
Of course, being the oldest, fattest and slowest I got to lock up the shop and set the alarm but I didn't mind as it was a sunny day and we needed a break from filling orders and planning a war. We decided to head north across Caswell County, North Carolina just across the state line to nearby Virginia International Raceway. With a little luck there would be no one there and we could slip out onto the track and give the Wackemall 750 a serious test of its meddle.
Twentyeight minutes later I was parked just outside the gate at VIR as I waited for the rest of them to get there. "Are you flipping crazy?" I shouted at the Veggicycle. "Even when I took my hand off the throttle you kept getting faster. We just covered 42 miles of backroads in 28 minutes! Are you trying to kill me?"
"I thought you wanted to try me out," the Veggiecycle answered, "see what I could do?"
"Not at the expense of my life," I shouted.
"But I had it all under control," the motorcycle replied. "I knew when to brake and how much to lean into every corner. All you had to do was hang on. Besides, I could have gone faster but I didn't want to risk scoring my new rings and cylinders while still running break-in oil."
"You mean to tell me you can drive yourself?" I asked.
"Just stand me up, start me up and point me in the direction you want me to go. All you have to do is hang on."
The others got there about 15 minutes later expecting to find me splattered across the pavement somewhere. I warned them about the Veggiecycle and the four of us slipped inside the race track and took turns scaring the wits out of ourselves for about 2 hours until a rent-a-cop came driving by and chased us all away.
From there we made our way to the Hyco Lake Marina in nearby Leasburg, North Carolina. The burgers and micro-brewed beer are always good there and they actually love bikers. By not telling the Veggiecycle where we were going I convinced it to remain at or below the posted speed limit most of the time. Still, after having sat unused all these many years it was like a stallion that had just spent the winter locked in a barn dying to stretch its legs and run.
The Wackemall 750 caught the attention of most all of the bikers who were there. Most thought it an old Yamaha, others old British iron and still others believed it to be some new motorcycle they had never heard of. Of course what really got their attention was when it started reciting poetry while we were inside having dinner. "Hey Man," this one customer who might have already enjoyed too many micro-brews said to me, "Do you know your motorcycle is outside reciting poetry?"
"Happens all the time," I answered.
"It does?" the guy asked.
"Sure," Steve interjected. "All motorcycles recite poetry."
"Mine don't," the guy said.
"They do if they're tuned properly," Wooley added. "You better get your bike in the shop before it's too late."
"I'll ride it to Roxboro right now!" the guy declared.
"Oh no," Donny cautioned, "Don't ride it. You might ruin it beyond repair. Have it towed."
"Good idea," the guy said, "I'll put it on my AMA."
"That was just sad," Donny said as the guy walked to the pay phone.
"Yeah," I said, "Let's pay our bill and get out of here before he figures it out."
When we returned from our ride, Fred was waiting at the shop with a rather amazing announcement, "My buddies at the Agency just told me that Jeff Martin is attacking the Tall White Aliens."
"That makes no sense," Donny said. "Jeff is a paid mercenary, the lowest of the low. Who would be paying him?"
"Right," Fred agreed, "If the Agency won't fund us you know they're not going to hire the Stench. It just doesn't make sense. No way, no how."
"Yes it does," I replied. "Somehow Jeff has found out we're going after the Tall White Aliens and if there's anything he can't stand it's me winning. He plans to get rid of them and claim himself the champion before we can do the job."
"But there's no telling what the Stench might do," Fred added. "For all we know he might be planning to nuke Downtown Greensboro."
"Then we'll just have to make sure he doesn't," Donny replied.
Continue to Eddy Currents.
