GAME: Hook my first line and sink her in to a paragraph!

[Fiberglass Cyborg]

Four Chungagralps were bad enough, but then three dozen more turned up and started ‘modifying’ the engine. I leapt from the cab, shock-prod in hand, and instantly sank knee-deep into the rich turquoise mud of the Gulaia Plains. After two floundering steps I was force to abandon the prod and cling for my life to one of the rig's eighteen massive balloon tires. It was taller and fatter than the average hipopotamus, so I was glad of the handholds the tread provided. With the sounds of gleeful destruction in my ears, I hauled myself inch by inch back up to hull level. I was too late. The Chungagralps now had the Hubert manifold apart, and had emptied the coolant tank into the systollic pistons. Their clever little tentacles had reshaped the bonnet into a funnel, into which they were pouring my valuable cargo. "Coffee!" they squealed. "Coffee-coffee-coffee-coffee-coffee!"

The dragon in Room 147 was getting on my nerves.

 

[AnRoinnUltra]

The dragon in Room 147 was getting on my nerves.
‘Leave it be’, said Jemima.
‘You would say that’, I replied, knowing full well that she had said that. She was one of a growing number of keep fit do-good fitness fanatics that ensured the dragon was bedded up with room service, satellite television and hot running water.
‘It’s a dragon, they need to get rid of a bit of energy before settling down for the night’, advised Jemima.
She’d only heard of Dragon Ball three weeks earlier and now she thinks she’s a Magicalizardantologist. Or so I thought about her thoughts. She certainly seemed cocky about her new found obsession. (Sorry, by the way, and if you don’t know, Dragon Ball involves about a dozen well healed but overweight ‘players’ running around the grounds of a four star hotel while being chased by a dragon. They reckon, and by 'they' I mean the idiots who pay for the privilege …they reckon the fear caused by possible incineration from dragons breath stimulates some or other glandular system to force the body to lose weight. The games run during daylight hours. And nobody ever gets hurt. Which makes me think the whole thing is a scam.)
I battered my bedpan against the block wall that separated our room from Room 147.
‘Come in’, roared the dragon from behind the wall.
‘I don’t want to visit you, I want you to put a sock in that gob of yours and settle down, it’s past midnight’, I roared back.
‘No problem’, roared the dragon.
Jemima rolled her eyes before speaking, ‘you see, behind all the fire and claws and scales and murderous rampages dragons are actually very civil.’
‘Harrumph’, I replied. It wasn’t my finest statement but I wanted the talking to go down a cul de sac so I could get some sleep.
I failed.
‘Anyways Bartholomew, that was a brick wall you were knocking on so there’s no way you’d have gone through it. Even if ya did want to visit the dragon. Surprised you didn’t realize that.’
I let out a second ‘harrumph.’ She was right again. Which was typical.

Obbelgong fluntnips are the very best fluntnips in town, but only you and me know that.

 

[Paul J. Menzies]

"Obbelgong fluntnips are the very best fluntnips in town, but only you and me know that. And you despite that thing you have about your bum. Everyone else is perrfectly happy with their fluntnip throat sprays and their faancy flavors... bubblerum beefsteak... peppermint cabbage... choc-o-late vin-da-looooo... Well lah-deee-freeakin-dahhhh. Let'em wallow in their blissful ignorance, I say. I've taken those trips. You too. And. We. Know. Better. No fluntnip spray hangover for us." Anna shook her head in agreement and threw the spray bottle on the couch. "But loose lips sink ships, right? We got a good thing going here. Let's not wreck it. Coz if I have to pay an ounce more for these illicit little babies, I gonna know why."

I checked my watch, turned, undid my belt, dropping my trousers. "All right. I've done the calculations, it's time. Are you ready?"

She nodded back, giving me her trademark sexy smile, and as she wiggled her tight jeans down her hips said, "I was born ready."

I bent over and reached back between my legs, and with the obbelgong pinched firmly between thumb and forefinger, inserted. Obbelgong was, of course, Andromedan for fast-acting suppository. I closed my eyes and waited. In just a few moments, we were going to be sunning ourselves under the purple skies of Hachla-Zartyka. And hope to Gawd we don't land in a crowded square like last time... Nearly ruined the holiday pulling my pants up that fast. But there really was no better way to flunt across the galaxy. And besides, it felt greaat.

Like chocolate and a baby's cheek, Jack and Diane were meant for each other, but it wasn't to be kartchitka.

 

[Fiberglass Cyborg]

Like chocolate and a baby's cheek, Jack and Diane were meant for each other, but it wasn't to be kartchitka. "But that's fine!" said the couples counsellor, waving her long green talons airily. "What you have together is far more precious."
"W-with respect, Baba-" Jack began, but Diane cut him off.
"Everyone knows that's how it's supposed to go!" she snapped. "Boy meets girl, their souls join in kartchitka and they live happily ever after. It's in all the stories. All the magazines. Sex ed class, even. What would an old witch like you know about love?"
"More than you'd think." The counsellor smiled. "Let me tell you a little secret. Kartchitka may be a union of souls, but it has nothing to do with love. Or even liking. You know Lady Goldenrod and the Mushroom Prince?"
"Of course!" said Jack. "Their kartchitka was so strong they could see and speak to each other even when Goldenrod was in the Mole King's dungeons and the Prince was on the Moon. It's the greatest love story of all time."
"They couldn't stand each other."
Diane dropped her purse. "You what?"
"Hated each other's guts." The counsellor sat back and spread her hands. "Had a nasty row right after the wedding, never patched it up. Kartchitka remained between them but it was a curse, not a blessing. Would you still prefer that to being a lovely young couple who are clearly dotty about each other?"

Four Therzingi were waiting in the lobby of my hotel, all wearing clumsily modified black suits and making a grisly attempt at a smile.

 

[Paul J. Menzies]

Four Therzingi were waiting in the lobby of my hotel, all wearing clumsily modified black suits and making a grisly attempt at a smile. Which was difficult to say the least when you had a mouth that looked like a toilet plunger. Their tailors had done well to accommodate the Therzinga's six legs; the problem was dealing with their huge abdomens. If only Churchill's tailor were alive today, I thought.

"Youuu are theee owner of this reeezzzort?" the Therzinga buzzed.

I nodded. "I trust the Sacred Vomit Convention is going well? The food is sufficiently... rotten?" As far as I knew, Chef hadn't been doing anything different.

"Yes, your cuizzzine eez pleazzzingly pootrid. That eez not the problemzz. Weezzz are heeerzzz about the lizzzard-tongue you have in Room One Zzzeventeenzzz. A dozzzen Therzingi have disappeared. Eet must go. We will be egzzzpecting a full reeefund AND payment of blood prizzze, of courzzze."

Refund. The only word more anathema to my ears was payment, and the Therzinga had dropped both abominations in the same sentence. "Dragon, you mean. Yes, well, I'm sure there must be some explanation as to their disappearance. Perhaps they're taking in the sights, or are basking their antennae on the beach?" Dammit. The dragon had wanted to extend his stay, we needed the trade, and who the hell said "No" to a dragon, anyway? Never worked on the wife. Nothing for it now other than to add the charges to the dragon's bill and pray to Saint George.

"Muzzzt we call the conzzztabulareee?"

"No, no, I will handle it. Personally." I personally looked around for a red-shirted bellhop I could personally send up to evict the dragon, but we had lost the last redshirt in the Torquay Triathlon fiasco. Who knew giant termites couldn't swim?

"Within theee hour, or we departzzz. Eez that underzzztood?" the Therzinga sneered through his toilet plunger proboscis.

I nodded as the four Therzingi bounded off to the dining room with their leaping gait. "Thinks he's bloody lord of the flies, he does," I murmured under my breath. I turned and eyed the office door that protected me from Sybil's wrathful gaze. Death by blazing barbeque or scathing ridicule?

I trudged to the stairs. Maybe the dragon could be reasoned with.


Elflord Lashburn Ranquor plucked the business card from the cyborg's metal fingers and read it aloud, "1-800-GOT-JUNK?"