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Underground eXperts United File 490
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Underground eXperts United
Presents...
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[ Mendoza's Jelly Problems ] [ By Max West ]
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MENDOZA'S JELLY PROBLEMS
By Max West
"Everything was like, cool." Mendoza reassured himself, hauling his
custom, crack powered 1972 El Dorado, into the speeding traffic in front of
the Hollandia, free color T.V. Motel. He was oblivious to anything but the
mission and the huge Coke buzz lighting up the inside of his rubber skull.
He up ended the last three fingers of Bourbon he'd been working on,
tossed the empty pint then jammed his foot down hard on the gas. Uttering
inarticulate obscenities, while the happy sound of breaking glass faded in
the distance, Mendoza jockeyed into position between a cream colored New
Yorker and a Lincoln convertible with "Just Married" scrawled on the side.
"Fools.." He sneered at the young couple, who looked back smiling, as
he came along side them, laughing when he saw the worry at what they saw,
seep into their eyes, maybe even spoiling a beautiful day.
On the heavily modified dash, Mendoza glanced at his gauges. Optimal
operational levels, (OOL), were called for at all times: The modified
microprocessor/microwave oven (a), cooked the raw coke, then fed the Rock
(b), into the post-processor which automatically sent fumes (d), into a
collector (e), and on to the flexible pipe attached to the transmission
hump (f), placing it within easy reach, so that theoretically the driver
could keep both hands safely on the wheel. Special vents fed fumes into a
Methane type converter (g), where the fuel was produced.
"It's so beautiful...really beautiful," he chanted, gazing at some
road barricades topped with a giant flashing yellow arrow off to one side.
"So practical."
About a half a mile behind him, Mendoza caught sight of flashing red
and blue lights moving up on his tail-he must've been going too fast again.
"Oh man! I need these dudes like I need another ass hole!" He
bitched. "This could ruin my whole evening..." An amber warning light
winking among the Cadillac's Baroque instrumentation drew his attention,
which was a hard thing to do at the best of times. . .
"Shit! What we got now?, systems malfunction?! Damn! I gotta pull
the fuck over man!..." The only problem was that there wasn't any place to
stop; instead of an emergency lane on his side there was a high cement curb
and a chain link fence.
He'd been traveling at well over legal velocity in the fast lane of
the Interstate and though there were at least fifteen other vehicles going
almost as fast in the other three lanes blocking his path, Mendoza
considered this to be a minor consideration in the face of possible car
trouble. An irritating whine was coming out of his system's monitor
stressing the fact that he had to get over to an off ramp or something and
pronto! With macho force he yanked the wheel hard throwing his barge sized
automobile into a broadside skid dangerously rearing up on two tires before
plunging through the other motorists, heading for the right lane. The
terror of colliding metal and rupturing gas tanks his rude intrusion
caused, as he plowed to his destination. made little to no impression on
the frisky agent, he was in a speed driven state of satori, with just one
thought in mind: He just had to get over; and soon he was sitting at the
top of a handy ramp, motor idling, his mind like a cheap carnival ride
going round and round but never getting there.
Mendoza had installed so many dials and meters, which were required
for the constant monitoring of the car's complicated fuel system, he
couldn't remember what the amber light meant, but he was pretty sure that
the processor was low on Monkey Dust.
"Damn car was more of a crack hound than I am, man." He grumbled,
pulling the release under the dash and opening the door.
"If I didn't trust those fuckin' computers not to screw you around
baby, I'd let one of them do all this work, but I know you like the
personal touch..." he told her gently, running his bare palm along her
sleek flanks as he stumbled to the open trunk where he pulled out the five
pound bag of pure Bolivian walking powder. He stuck his head in and took a
few deep breaths to clear it.
"Don' wanna be messing around complicated machinery half drunk."
Pulling the smoking top off a large stainless steel funnel attached to the
manufacturing unit, he dumped half the bag into it, then slammed the lid.
Inside, he goosed the accelerator until he saw the amber idiot light
wink off. Down on the freeway above which Mendoza sat on the overpass,
experimentally smacking his lips, testing the mixture, the scene was total
destruction. He was completely insulated from the sounds of exploding gas
tanks, sirens, the cries of the helpless victims or the greasy stench of
burning human flesh. His concerns were with the mix: Maybe if he added some
Crystal Meth, a little PCP, Hell! A touch of Drain-O probably wouldn't hurt
either....The high sizzling in his head like the sound of bacon frying,
reminded him that he was supposed to be on a mission. Jamming the CD up a
notch so that the bass could rip his intestines out foot by foot, just the
way he liked it, he told the Green Queen: "Mama, it's time to go! "
M. eased the big car into the single line of rubber-neckers on the
other side of the overpass, skirting the chaotic multi-vehicle pile up.
Blazing flairs littering the ground turned the scene into a sort of blood
and chaos birthday cake.
"Shit! What a mess!" Mendoza commented, turning up his sound system
to blot out the screams and other noisy distractions.
"Those ass-holes need to go back to driving school..." He was waved on
past a big pile of burning bodies and twisted smoking metal with all the
rest by a young, green-faced, State Trooper who looked like he wanted to
heave. The ICI agent was glad to get by the smooth-cheeked cop-if the guy
had barfed on the side of his Caddy, well....He shrugged in the time honored
fashion of his countrymen.
Mendoza alone on the road under a medium drizzle and within five
miles of the City was already getting hard at the thought of all that X-gen
pussy he'd soon be perched up in the middle of, when his cell phone started
chirping.
"Goddamn! Now what?! Haven't I had enough interruptions for one day?"
He'd been spacing out on blond women with small mouths and big noses, tied
down to various style beds, but now that was all shot to hell!
"YEAH! What!" he spat into the mouthpiece,
"My, my..." Lewis, lofty and superior on the other end let his breath
out with a slight hiss. "Getting a bit testy these days aren't we?"
"What the fuck do you want now?" Mendoza wasn't giving anything away.
"For one thing I'd like you to report in more than once every other
month...and for another I need to know what you've found out about Audry;
Where is she?"
"I'm supposed to be on this Jelly detail, remember?" Mendoza,
deliberately sarcastic, could tell his tone got to Mr. Cool, and he liked
it just fine.
"Get your ass back to HQ now, damn you! Report in or I'll cut you off
cold turkey..." Threats like these impressed the wired Mexican like shit on
a pillow case.
"I got Jelly to fry, and I mean downtown man! Over and fuck you,
out!" He closed communication by tossing the phone through the window,
immediately forgetting the conversation.
In the next few minutes, two things did impress the irritable agent:
He was horny as hell and somewhere during his little talk with his boss
he'd made a wrong turn. He should have been to the City limits by now, but
instead he seemed to be heading further into the countryside. The landscape
he traveled was dark, damp and unfamiliar with only a distant radio tower,
it's red lights dimly winking, giving any hint that he was close to
civilization. He'd just started to curse Lewis and his untimely call when
his headlights picked out the curvaceous outline of a solitary hitchhiker.
He had time to take in the long black hair and the way her thin
cotton dress fluttered and blew around her legs as she held up a hand
lettered sign that he couldn't decide said, 'Scottsdale AZ.' or 'Fuck Me
Now!' Whatever it was, he was going to stop, and he did, tromping down on
the brakes with both feet. Backing up the thirty yards or so it'd taken him
to stop, he was mindful not to run over a cute family of Raccoons which had
mysteriously appeared, whiskers twitching. He heard the woman purr,
"Oooh, so sweet!" while the animals passed, and the sound of her
voice fanned his already molten Testosterone into fusion heat.
By the time the dark hared woman had thrown down her sign and crawled
into the passenger seat, he was so hot all he could do was gargle at her
through the blasting industrial waste sounds coming from the car's banks of
speakers.
"Back seat...." She took one glance at his unzipped jeans and the
member lurching from them like some new species of blind but rapacious
Galapagos lizard and complied without hesitation. Before their butts hit
the seat, they were locked in a frenzied tangle of arms, legs, mouths and
sex organs that would have made a spider shudder. Mendoza's near infamous
tongue was everywhere, slopping, dribbling long strings of saliva that
steamed as it escaped his wriggling lips; his clawed fingers ripping at her
clothes, his prehensile toes subduing hers. He heaved, sweated, and shot
the tube, surfing the breakers of lust lagoon. When he finally ran out of
things to do, he blew his rod yodeling to the unseen gods of pleasure and
pain.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when he realized he was no
longer lying on a woman, but floundering in translucent Jelly in which a
black cut-out bra was partially suspended, slowly sinking.
"Fuck!!!" he hollered, trying to extricate himself from the horrible
clinging stuff.
"Oh yeah, and so well too!" a sultry voice said from material the
color and consistency of Penn State one hundred weight oil. He saw a slight
ripple where the woman's head had been, followed seconds later by a ghastly
congealing motion rapidly reconstructing into the beautiful face of a big
nosed blond. Surprisingly he hadn't lost his erection during the abrupt
transition and now it responded to the gentle squeeze of encouragement
'she' gave it. Mendoza, a real trooper till the end, just shrugged and came
again.
"What the Hell!" He temporized, " Cum now, get horrified later...
Nobody in my family ever missed an ejaculation for whatever reason if they
could help it.."
They drove, not talking-the blond Hippy chick in the Dead Head dress
and Birkenstocks sat against the door nodding her head to the beat of the
Teeny Tiny drunks on Mendoza's CD player. He felt pretty good, and even
though that change thing was Goddamned strange, right now that Jelly looked
just like a seventeen year old White girl! and that couldn't be bad. She
aimed big blue innocent eyes at him, tuned in, and immediately Mendoza felt
his cock begging for more.
"Pull over in the bushes somewhere cool Papa.." she growled back in
her throat like the world's oldest and dirtiest whore.
He was still leery of the Jelly but truth to tell, he was finding
that as long as it stayed in human shape it wasn't that bad, the smell was
starting to turn him on and the stuff could seriously jam!, Like nothing
he'd ever seen, and that was saying a lot. Of course, after pulling over
to the side of the road every twenty minutes with scattered pole smoking
along the way they were getting pretty familiar, and being a Human male, he
was starting to want more out of her. He was thinking the unthinkable: What
would it be like to have sex when the Jelly was still 'Jelly' .
They were driving East, puffing on a joint when he finally asked.
"But what is it? I mean, can you like, have sex with humans when your
doing that Jelly scene? She'd changed again while he was watching the road
with crack blown eyeballs; the sleek redhead fiddling with his Gameboy
turned pale, sucking her breath in outrage. He saw reproach fighting with
prick-hunger in her perfect face.
"No!, Never!" she half choked.
"But baby, why not? Didn't we sorta, that first time...I mean..." his
voice trailed off-frankly, he was a little disappointed in her reaction.
"That was an accident; I lost control. It'd been so long..." He raised
a deliberately disbelieving eyebrow at her. "It's forbidden. That isn't why
we're supposed to be here!" She was full of conviction. Mendoza thought she
sounded like some sort of Commie.
"Yeah, but why? He insisted, "Forbidden fruit, man, like, it is
always sweeter..."
"You wouldn't understand," she cut in. "It's too complicated; Let's
just say the price is too high." Our South of the Border 007, was not used
to women, no matter how bizarre they may be, refusing him; She just wanted
to be talked into it, he concluded.
"But..." he started again.
"Look honey, I like you a lot, O.K.? but I don't want to talk about
it. How about one of those cigarettes..." she looked down, grabbing the
carton of Lucky Strikes on the console and he let it go for the time being.
They'd traveled for more than two hours without further conversation
after he'd tried to force the Jelly-sex issue again unsuccessfully a
hundred miles back. Mendoza, who had an inhaler full of Either up his nose,
saw the 'Welcome to Oklahoma', state boundary sign flash by in the fleeting
glare of his headlights. The Goth-punk gal beside him stared out the window
sullenly drinking beer, not looking at him, The occasional clink of her
nose ring against the rim of the can was about the only indication that she
was there at all. Suddenly, she slid next to him putting her wet tongue in
his ear, moving it around the way she knew he liked it. She used her best
seductress voice on him,
"Give it to me. In this car, right here, right NOW!" But Mendoza did
not give it to her right there, right now!. He pushed her back, glancing at
her out of the corner of his eye with a mixture of slyness and seeming
indifference.
"Can't now Babe; got work to do." He took another pull on the inhaler
while the atmosphere began to congeal. He could feel her frustration and
that was exactly where he was at. He'd already copped to the idea that the
Jelly needed sex more than he did, which was saying a lot. He didn't know
why, but it was true. He was going to hold out till he got what he wanted.
They traveled for ten more miles before she gargled,
"Goddamn it ! I gotta have SEX!!!" He was completely unperturbed,
reaching over to turn down the noise.
"We can do it all you like," he crooned, "...I theenk you know the
conditions..." When he took his eyes of the road to see if she was getting
the message, a Jamaican Island girl who'd replaced the punk, was solemnly
shaking her dread locks. "Damn!" Thought Mendoza. He'd almost caught the
change that time but that stuff was too fast.
"Yah, and fuck a bunch of dis shitty-shit, mon..." She turned the music
back up to loud, flashing him an unreadable alien expression, but the band,
Dwarfstar with it's sexually explicit lyrics was getting her worked up to
what Mendoza guessed was close to a fevered pitch. To it's credit she held
out for another ten minutes.
"Alright! You win, you cocksucker! I'll do it! Come on, NOW!" She
reached over with one bare foot to his side, pushing down on the brakes.
Taken off guard by the unexpected maneuver, M, just managed to wrestle the
El Dorado to a screeching halt, missing by mere centimeters, the cement
picnic table and benches at the roadside rest area Lady Luck had thrown in
their path.
He sprawled across the couch sized seat while she tore at his fly
with damp, red painted nails, prompting the low moan of delicious self
disgust curdling up from his writhing lips. When the warm sloppy Jelly
slumped over his inflated cock and began working there, he practically
whined.
"Be Jelly for me baby, C'mon and be sweet, sweet Jelly..."
He figured it was probably ruining their relationship, but he
couldn't help himself from talking her into doing it five or six more times
before he felt drained enough to sleep. M. puzzled briefly before crashing
about what secrets the Jelly was hiding-did it have to fuck humans to keep
it's shape or did it just assume the shape of whatever it fucked? And where
did it come from and what did it do in it's spare time?.....
Mendoza woke to the sound of children's voices. For a minute he
thought he was still in the dream, the one about the giant Jellyfish
seething out of his mother's douche bag and into his shorts, before he
realized he wasn't even in his fuckin' car! The damned thing wasn't even in
sight! He peered around slowly, feeling one of his, 'spells', (some called
them psychotic states), coming on, taking in a family of tourists who
must've showed up during the night; semi-animate turtles with a mandate to
piss. Then up at the chill gray sky filled with anemic, nearly transparent
clouds; A few Carbon Monoxide strangled Poplars hovering over the rough,
and somehow reminiscent of toilets, cement picnic table where he flopped,
completed the depressing scene. His Green Gal was gone! The Sonofabitchin'
kuntJelly was Goddamned gone too!
On one of the benches attached to the table, sat his canvas gym
bag-the emergency kit-a note stuck on top with a piece of Duct tape.
"I guess writing isn't one of their strong points." Mendoza reflected
sarcastically over the Jelly's chicken tracks. "What the Hell is this
shit?-"..I should keel you but I can't...(?)" he read, scratching his beard
stubble. What did this crap have to do with it stealing his car!?
"Fuck this." He unzipped the bag deliberately avoiding any thought of
this new Betrayal for the time being, secretly hoping she'd taken something
so he'd know what a cheap bitch she really was. Surprisingly everything he
could remember was in place. It looked like the Jelly-chick did have some
class after all. He made a fast inventory: 1/2 lb. Blow; Oz. Meth; Oz. H.;
Ether and a Pink five pack; nine grains of Morphine; Assorted quantities of
LSD, PCP, MDA, EXstacy and Thorazine. He pulled up a panel in the bottom
containing $2,500.00 in cash, fake passports, I.D.'s, driver's licences and
beef jerky sticks. In the zipper compartment he found his 9mm Glock, four
clips ammo., prophylactics, SK70 super lube---but his car!
"Goddamned son of a bitchen', whorekunt bitch!" he yelled into the
claustrophobic Oklahoma air.
"Hey!, Hey!, Hey!, Hey!, Watch yer language! We got kids over here!
What you think your doing, you WINO!, on that table? We need that table
more than you...." What Mendoza assumed was the male tourist had spoken--to
him. He heard the sound of a million Hornets, rising, angry and then the
yapping of dogs punctuating the smooth flow of the insect song. To the
rapidly Jonesing agent, all the yapping was coming from some bulky
multi-colored thing with fat white appendages jutting to the ground or from
the sleeves of it's garment. The irritating noises were coming out of a
hole in the creature's bulb on top of the blob of a body. Other, smaller
Bulb-Heads appeared by the big one and also made impolite suggestions his
way.
"Shit!" he told them. The big Bulb-head charged, a snarl on it's
protesting cavity. Mendoza grabbed his automatic, pumping three more holes
around that noisy one and it went away.
Soon, (and sooo predictably), the Bulb-family began to wail like
alley cats. He left them wailing, driving off in their station wagon,
heading East.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The glow of a Neon bar sign: "DEW DROP IN", causing the rain
dribbling on his dusty windshield to fraction into a hundred sickly pink
and green droplets, caught the bloodshot eye of the Mexican Man of La
Mancha. His thick and swollen tongue reminded him again that he needed a
drink. He glanced down at his feet where about twenty little empty
Finlandia Vodka bottles were rolling back and forth with the car's motion
and decided to pull over.....
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uXu #490 Underground eXperts United 1999 uXu #490
http://www.uXu.org/ - info@uxu.org
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