Transsexual Meth Addicts with Marshmallow Eyes by G. Arthur Brown

On the fifth afternoon on Mars X we were attacked by three transsexual meth addicts with marshmallow eyes.  This was my tenth encounter with these bizarre creatures.  Glegman, our science officer, had struggled to explain why they had marshmallows for eyes.  But we had come to accept that, though there was probably an interesting back story there to make some sense of it all, we would probably never know. It was more important to identify their weaknesses.  They averaged 6.75 feet in height, 200 pounds, with astonishing strength for long term drug abusers. The marshmallow eyes seemed to function like an insectoid composite eye, gathering a wide spectrum of input, but not particularly good with fine details, so we were fairly sure they could not read our names printed on the top left of our shirts, above the Space Force insignia.  I felt our anonymity would remain to our advantage in this skirmish.

Jackson’s head was wrenched from his shoulders before I could say, “Holy Hell, Sergeant Thomas K. Jackson, that big transsexual meth addict with marshmallow eyes is coming right for you, probably to rip off your relatively normal-sized head!”

Jackson was the last one with a functional lazerzap.  The rest of us, in the off hours, had jammed our barrels full of dirt as we made sketches in the topsoil.  “Art is for fags,” Jackson had said, and even at the time I knew he was making a wise decision in not using his weapon as a drawing stick. On the other hand Leon had done a rather good likeness of Pope Lexander the Fabulous, the first openly gay man in the papacy.  Everyone seemed to really enjoy gazing at this work of art, save Jackson, who merely shook his head at the image and polished his long, hard gun.

Now, Jackson’s headless corpse heaped itself conscientiously well clear of the action. Out of other options, this left only Jarro’s ass bees.  While shitting in the woods a few weeks prior, a strain of alien rape bees had decided to make a nest in his ass. Luckily, Jarro was psychic, using his uncanny telepathy to communicate with the tiny bugs.  He learned to unleash them at will. But they were generally horribly pissed off about the whole matter.

Pulling down his trousers, a line of ass bees fled the man’s rectum like they were sick of being cooped up in his fleshy shit tube.  The largest transsexual meth addict, whom I presumed to be their queen, swatted at the bees with both nail-polished man-hands and her horse tail, causing his/her DDD breasts to bounce about uncontrollably, crushing Leon’s skull. And I had just warned him about standing too close to trannies earlier in the day.

The skinniest of the transsexual meth addicts with marshmallow eyes, using his/her incredible erection, hoisted Jarro into the sky and catapulted him in a massive arc. The body landed with a crunch, bouncing limply before coming to rest.  I wanted to cry out, but my voice had left me.  Then his body exploded in a giant ball of flaming, sentient robotic dicks, capable of fucking anyone--male, female or tranny--to death in a matter of seconds.

“I’d just like to take this moment to say that I always knew space exploration was a bad idea.  I suspected that I would wind up dead at the hands of horrible creatures, the likes of which are never seen on a sane and rational planet like Earth.  If only I would have had one last chance to kiss my mother,” I didn’t have time to say before I was swallowed into the queen’s glistening anal gape.

He/she was fucked to death in a matter of seconds by the flying mechanical fire dicks as I suffocated, vindicating me once and for all.


Copyright 2013 G. Arthur Brown
Artwork Remedios Varo