In which Marilyn finds herself both outraged and distressed. Without the slightest hint of what might be coming or any suggestion of transition, she materializes seated on a bed in a less-than-luxury hotel room, next to a cyborg, drag-queen replicant of Jane Russell. The environment is, of course, total illusion, and she has no doubt that this is the work of the lizard thugees from Zeta Reticuli, but she also has no clue how to reverse the process and get the hell out of there. It wasn’t by any means the first time that she had been abducted by aliens, but the lizard thugees, who usually liked to gloat from behind the rectal probe, are refusing to show themselves, and that is much more disturbing.
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