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By Edward Lee

HELL’S whinge IN HEAT...

Seething, slavering, and insane, it cringes, now not desirous to slip forth from the noxious, bloated stomach of its abyssal mom until eventually the main hideous sexual atrocities beckon it from Hell’s sizzling bowels: the dread monstrosity of unfathomable attractiveness and the main vile horror--revulsion and hope incarnated into one...

...PREGNANT TO BURSTING WITH ABOMINATIONS UNTOLD...

Atop the moon-drenched hillock sits the leaning manse, surrounded by means of historic graves wealthy with the bones of witches, and amid the dense cricket-choruses of those ghastly twilight deeps, it stalks, thrashes and prowls, its nipples gorged with evil, its loins a frenzy of Luciferic lust...

RITES OF REDNECK PASSAGE...

Behold Balls and Dicky (of THE BIGHEAD repute) as they embark on their first sociopathic epiphany teeming with down and soiled redneck whores, occult technology, corpse-sex, and scatological gross-out the likes of which might make the BTK Killer faint. those boys imagine they’re bad...but are they undesirable sufficient to face--

THE MINOTAURESS

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And give up with the ‘sir' and ‘general' bit, huh? My name's Jack. You gotta first identify in addition to Colonel? "  "Jill," she acknowledged. Wentz laughed. "No kidding? i admire it! Jack and Jill went up the hill... to fly to fuckin' Mars! "  Ashton spared a grin herself. "And conversing of Mars, sir er Jack... There it really is. "  Wentz's eyes glued to the port-side window. The pink sphere grew exponentially, from pea-size in house until eventually it took up Wentz's complete scope of imaginative and prescient. He pressed his arms again into the detents, then the OEV immediately started to maneuver right into a perihelion-descent orbit. «« »» Mars used to be in simple terms crimson in a telescope, because of refractive occulation from the small planet's diminutive surroundings and wind structures blowing dirt and sublimated vapors of frozen carbon dioxide. This shut, the outside of the marginally lopsided planet seemed extra just like the hue of lifeless brass. Like streaks of fats via steak, ribbons of extra frozen carbon dioxide seemed like canals choked with water. Wentz had his fingers again within the detents as he cruised the OEV easily over peaks, ridges, and crater edges. Wentz rode the planet's jagged floor like a surfer over waves. It used to be a great time. The OEV's process responses surprised him. He may do something. He might adjust trim by way of levels or 100 and 80 simply by a suggestion. He might flip to fly among crater peaks just by looking the window. And it occurred. Fuck, he idea. I could've ended the Gulf conflict in a single day with this factor. From the Air strength equipment at the back of them, anything started to beep. "Slow to a crawl," Ashton urged. "It's our SHF interception of the QSR4's gamma beacon. you recognize what line-of-sight potential. begin taking a look. " All Wentz observed was once an identical brass-colored floor. The beeping at the back of them started to bring up. "Can you think should you hadn't discovered concerning the virus? " he posed. "Thank God we did. "  "It's magnificent that you can determine all of it simply via intercepted radio waves. "  "Not fairly. it truly is simply digitalized facts in keeping with photochemical research, spectrography, chromatography. "  Wentz figured he may still stick to what he knew: flying. "How lengthy until we discover this factor and provides it the eighty-six? "  "Right about... " Ashton leaned ahead in her seat. "This might be it. we are sitting correct in the course of the Tharsus grid-plat. "  They either squinted throughout the prismoid home windows. "There it really is! " Ashton exclaimed. "See the treadmarks? fabulous of heart, one o'clock. "  "Uhhhh... yeah! acquired it! " Wentz slowed the OEV, then hovered. Treadmarks within the Martian dirt ended on the QRS4 sample-collector. The mechanical probe used to be in regards to the dimension of a golfing cart on tractor treads. Highgain antennae spired from its most sensible as a small radio dish spun lazily from front finish. "What's the safe-distance for the RDX cost? " Wentz requested. "A hundred ft? " "A hundred meters. "This is micro-gravity, be mindful? "  Wentz slowly subsidized up the OEV whereas Ashton held a transportable rangefinder to her eye, concentrating on the probe. "You're good," she stated. Wentz took his fingers out of the detents.

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