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John Stalvern waited. The lights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were demons in the base. He didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. His warnings to Cernel Joson were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
John was a space marine for fourteen years. When he was young he watched the spaceships and he said to dad "I want to be on the ships daddy."
Dad said "No! You will BE KILL BY DEMONS"
There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got oldered he stopped. But now in the space station base of the UAC he knew there were demons.
"This is Joson" the radio crackered. "You must fight the demons!"
So John gotted his palsma rifle and blew up the wall.
"HE GOING TO KILL US" said the demons
"I will shoot at him" said the cyberdemon and he fired the rocket missiles. John plasmaed at him and tried to blew him up. But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to kill.
"No! I must kill the demons" he shouted
The radio said "No, John. You are the demons"
And then John was a zombie.
The Proper Version
John Stalvern waited.
He was a space marine, one of Earth's finest. He'd been trained to give his all in service of his planet, to put his life on the line if necessary. He knew a dozen ways to kill a man with his bare hands, and twice as many ways to do it with a weapon. The concept of fear had been eradicated in him long ago by countless drills and exercises designed to burn away all that was weak and soft and human, leaving behind only a killing machine as sharp as a razor's blade.
The lights sparked fitfully once, twice, then went out, plunging the room into utter darkness.
Well. Almost eradicated.
He stifled the curses that struggled to leave his mouth; making too much noise in his situation would be like taping a neon sign on his back labeled Free Food. There were demons in the base - honest to God, motherfucking demons - and from what little he'd garnered on his short-range radio before it went dead, they weren't too friendly. The half-eaten corpses he'd found littered through the hallways only served to reinforce that image.
In a way, he supposed, he'd been expecting it for years. Not that there were going to be demons straight from Giger's worst nightmares rampant in the base, of course, but he'd known something was up the moment they'd started setting up the teleporter. His gut had warned him to be wary of the project, and it was no coincidence that he'd filed a transfer request for a planetside job less than a day after they announced a working prototype. Sure, a security job on Earth would pay less than duty in the UAC, but dead people had no use for money. He'd tried to warn his superior officers, but Colonel Joson had laughed off his misgivings and now the fucker was probably dead too.
Joson was a hard man, strict and fair but entirely too entrenched in his ways to believe a single grunt's superstitions. In a way, John supposed, Joson reminded him of his father. At least, before the man had taken a stray slug to the face when John was five. He'd survived through some sort of miracle, but the slug had nicked his brain and Steven Stalvern had never been quite the same man since.
"I wanna be on the ships, daddy," he'd said once, watching the gargantuan shuttles shriek through the air and escape the grasp of Earth's gravity. He'd been six then, still too young to realize that his father wasn't the man he'd grown up with for the first five years of his life. He remembered the sense of utter shock and fear he'd felt back then when his dad had whipped around, his eyes nearly bulging from his sockets. Fingers like claws had dug into his shoulders.
"No!" his father had shouted, his voice cracked with the beginnings of insanity. "You'll be killed by the demons!" Too frightened to do otherwise, John had believed him completely.
As he grew older and more experienced with the ways of the world, John had realized that his father was insane. His adoration had changed swiftly to fear, then disgust before finally settling on a sort of embarrassment. He supposed his insane father was part of the reason he'd applied to the space marines at the tender age of fourteen; a part of his mind had hoped to leave his father behind on Earth along with the painful memories of his childhood. Now he was in his late twenties, and for some reason his father's words came back unbidden.
He let a wry grin spread across his face. Crazy his old man might have been, but for once in his life he'd been right. There were demons in outer space.
John was abruptly jerked back to reality when his radio crackled loudly, the sound painfully loud in the silence. This time he did curse, quickly lowering the volume until only he could hear it. He'd thought his radio was dead, damn it!
"-is Joson," the radio said, the voice coming through it sounding oddly distorted, barely recognizable. It crackled unsteadily, and John could only make out bits of pieces of what it was saying. "You've got to-" Another bout of static. "Demons!"
"I can't hear you clearly, Joson," John said as loudly as he thought he could manage, then frowned as he shook the radio. It was dead again. After a moment he shrugged and put it out of his head; the radio had made too much noise and he had to move now unless he felt like being demon fodder sometime soon. He didn't have the time to ponder the mystery of a spontaneously dying radio, and Joson's orders had been clear enough. It was time to strike back.
Unslinging the plasma rifle strapped across his back, he held it in front of him and started walking cautiously through the halls, wishing with all his might that he had a pair of night-vision goggles. It was too dark to see anything, and the way the base's halls were built meant that sound conducted in strange ways.
Something growled beside him.
Conscious thought took a back seat in his mind as he spun, raised the rifle and fired in one smooth movement, throwing himself to the side at the same time. John's eyes widened as the burst of coruscating plasma lit up the dark hallway like the sun, and he realized he'd just fired at a wall. The cell impacted and blew the barrier apart, exposing the room beyond. John nearly gagged at the stench of rot and fetid decay.
His mind fell into an odd sense of detached calm as he catalogued the number of demons that were now concentrating solely on him. There were at least a dozen of the generic footsoldier types, a few spider-like monstrosities, and something huge lurking in the dimly lit shadows behind them. He looked out of the corner of his eye for his rifle, but it had been knocked away by the force of the explosion, coming to a rest in a corner five feet away.
One of the eyeless demons was the first to speak, its voice like the crunch of crushed glass. "Here to kill us, boy?" it asked, dark mirth evident in its words. It would have said more, but the huge thing in the shadows moved forward and grasped its head in one colossal hand, pulverizing it before it could do more than utter a startled yelp.
The demon was a strange amalgam of flesh and technology, with wires and blinking lights embedded throughout its gargantuan body. Even without what looked like a rocket launcher grafted to one arm, it would have presented an intimidating sight. When it spoke, its words were like a rockslide in progress. "No idle chatter. Die." It pointed the rocket launcher at John, fired, and as he dove to the side the marine only had time for a blurred recollection - when dodging explosives, move away from the wall - before the rocket screamed past him and slammed into the wall.
Then the plasma rifle was in his hands again and he fired blindly, scoring a line of white-hot plasma across the giant demon's chest. It snarled in pain and swatted at him, just barely missing and instead burying its massive fist into the wall behind him. John raised his rifle for another shot when an ominous groan sounded above him.
Already weakened by plasma fire and rocket explosions, the supporting walls collapsed entirely as the cyberdemon pulled its fist free, bringing the ceiling down in an avalanche of rubble and slabs of concrete. John was dimly aware of the demon's enraged howl as it was buried by the falling ceiling.
When the dust settled, John found himself somehow miraculously alive, though his lower body had been pinned by a piece of the wall he'd been standing in front of. He'd fared far better than the demons, who were all dead, judging from the blackish, acidic blood leaking from under the rubble.
He struggled for a while before giving up; the rock was too heavy to move all at once, and if he tried to move too much he risked bringing the whole thing down on his head. He took a moment to look around, squinting through the dim light. His plasma rifle was busted beyond repair, the delicate energy cells that powered it had been smashed. His radio had gone kaput for good, too; a large chunk of concrete falling squarely on it had seen to that.
Then, impossibly, Joson's voice came from the radio again. "Lying down on the job, John?" it asked, this time free of static. Now that he could hear it clearly, John thought to himself that it didn't really sound that much like Joson at all. It sounded... older, somehow. No, older was the wrong word. Ancient. The jovial, familiar tone of its voice was too cheerful to be anything but fake, and there was something lurking deep inside it that was far, far worse than Colonel Earl Joson could ever be.
"What are you?" he found himself asking, ignoring for the moment the impossibility of talking to a smashed radio. Somehow it didn't surprise him at all when it replied.
"My name isn't important, John." Its voice was full of ancient malice and glee, and mixed with a deep, raw hunger that grated at his mind. "What matters is that you're not killing any demons. They killed your father, you know. He knew they were out there and they killed him for it."
The shout tore itself from John's throat unbidden. "No!" It didn't enter his mind at all how that disembodied Voice would know about his dad. Suddenly he was six years old again, staring up at his insane father, seeing the stark terror in the older man's eyes and loving him despite it. He wanted to reassure his dad. "I'm gonna kill all the demons!"
"Oh?" Somehow John got the impression that the owner of that Voice was shaking its head sadly, mockingly. "No, John. You don't understand." It took a moment, letting him stew in the silence before slowly, lovingly, revealing the truth.
"You killed your father, John. You are the demon."
It was true, John realized. He'd killed his father without even laying a hand on him, running away to the stars. He'd left his dad alone with... them. He'd left and they'd come from the shadows, falling on his father and devouring him. He felt the pain of it tearing at his chest, the agony more real than imagined. Then he looked down and gasped; it wasn't guilt that was making him hurt. His flesh was actually rotting away, whole patches of it sloughing off to reveal the bone underneath.
Then the darkness, accompanied by the sound of low laughter, crept up on his senses and claimed him.
HM waited. The discolights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were Asian women in the neighbourhood. He didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. His warnings to Walt Kowalski were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
HM was an operator for fourteen years. When he was young he wore an East German uniform and he said to dad "I want to be an operator daddy."
Dad said "NEIN! You will EMIGRATE TO USA"
There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got oldered he stopped. But now in his neighbourhood he knew there were Asian women.
"This is Walt" the radio crackered. "You must be be racist against Asian women!"
So HM gotted his drop-leg holster and bumped into Asian women.
"I BAKED YOU LASAGNA" said the Asian women
"I will seduce him" said the hottest Asian woman and she bedded HM. HM spermaed at her and tried to pull out just in time. But then he failed and she became pregnant and he was not able to be racist and pop pills.
"No! I must be racist against Asian women" he shouted
The radio said "No, HM. You are the Asian women"
And then HM was fucked.
John Was Phone
John Stalvern waited. The TV in front of him blinked and sparked in the air. There was a honey coming to him. He didn't see her, but had expected her now for days. The warnings by friends were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway. John was a man now for fourteen years. When he was young he watched the honeyz and he said to dad "I want to chill wit the honeyz." Dad said "No! You will BE CALL BY FATHER"
There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got oldered he stopped. But now in the house he was sitting and making out wit his honey. The phone rigned and John picked it up.
"This is her father" the phone crackered. "WHAT ARE YOU DOIN WIT MY DAUGHTER!?"
So John gotted his caller ID and tried to find who he was but he was anonymous. "WHO IS THIS?" said John
"GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER" said the man on the phone and fired shouts into his cell phone. John wondaered at him and tried to find who he was. But then the phone hanged up and they were scared and John asked his honey about her dad.
"My dad is dead" she shouted. John asked "THEN WHO WAS PHONE?!"
The honey said "No, John. You are phone."
And then John was phone.
Shion Sonozaki waited. The cicadas around her cried and chirped out of the forest. There were demons in her bloodline. She didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. Her warnings to Mion were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
Shion was a Sonozaki for eighteen years. When she was young she watched the yakuza and she said to Oryou "I want to be head of the family granny."
Oryou said "No! You will BE POSSESS BY DEMONS"
There was a time when she believed her. Then as she got oldered she stopped. But now in the Watanagashi of the Hinamizawa she knew there were demons.
"This is for Satoshi" the demons crackered. "You must fight everyone!"
So Shion gotted her Tazer and zapped up the town.
"SHE GOING TO KILL US" said her friends
"I will beg at her" said Keiichi and he pleaded for Mion's safety promise. Shion hammered at him and tried to crucify him up. But then the police came and they were trapped and not able to kill.
"No! You must resist the demons" Keiichi shouted
Shion said "No, Keiichi. I am the demons."
And then Shion was a zombie.
Yoshida kachiro waited. Light of the above, air and caused him blink. American bases. He did not see it, but for years now it is expected. His warning is not listenend Minoru, it is too late now. Far too late now, in any case.
Kachiro in 14 years, Japanese soldiers. He saw a young, he was, he said, the United States Navy ships to Dad "AIUONTOTOUSAN the ship's ears."
Dad said, "No! You kill Americans."
He believed he had. Then he oldered as he stopped. But now, the base station knew he was an American.
"This is Sergeant sense" radio crackered. "Americans must fight!"
So his 99-type rifle and the largest kachiro gotted blow wall.
"He殺らUnited States," said the American people
"I shoot at him," he said fired a rocket missile amerikan. Kachiro rifleded blow in the past tense, and he tried to him up. But then the ceiling fell and was trapped in the killing.
"No! I am, to kill Americans," he cried.
According to the radio, "No, kachiro. You, the Americans"
Then kachiro the Alien.
Yoshida Kachiro waited. The lights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were Americans in the base. He didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. His warnings to Minoru were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
Kachiro was a Japanese Soldier for fourteen years. When he was young he watched the navy ships and he said to dad "I want to be on the ships oto-san."
Dad said "No! You will BE KILL BY AMERICANS"
There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got oldered he stopped. But now in the station base of the IJA he knew there were Americans.
"This is Sergeant Kaku" the radio crackered. "You must fight the Americans!"
So Kachiro gotted his Type 99 rifle and blew up the wall.
"HE GOING TO KILL US" said the Americans
"I will shoot at him" said the Amerikan and he fired the rocket missiles. Kachiro rifleded at him and tried to blew him up. But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to kill.
"No! I must kill the Americans" he shouted
The radio said "No, Kachiro. You are the Americans"
And then Kachiro was a gaijin.
Yoshida Kachiro sat waiting in the small ditch cloaked in the shade of his helmet as he hung his head low against his rifle. The damp canopy glistened in the light of the pulsing moon between the slow gliding clouds. The air was thick and humid and taunted the dry throats of Kawaguchi’s detachment of the 124th Infantry. A mere name that now represented the some six thousand men waiting impatiently through the bushes in foxholes and ditches just like the one Sergeant Kaku’s sat in. Yoshida tilted his heavy head an inch and peered through his personal shadow down the line at the Sergeant to see him leaning out trying to catch a ray of light on his map as he laid it out against the ditch’s wall in front of him. Between the cool breeze playing with the leaves, the passing clouds and the wet soil, Kaku was having a troubled time reading the dimly lit map. His compass had cracked a week ago on the march up to their current position and the web of fractures frustrated him further by distorting the image of his bearings. He wanted to see what the best approaches were and where the enemy’s known positions were one last time, despite already having a good idea from memory and the fact that he had no control where he squad was to attack the ridge. Between the two men sat a dozen others shifting about, humming, taking swigs from their canteens and waiting.
“Any time now Kachiro. Don’t fall asleep yet,” Minoru whispered as he checked his watch vainly in the darkness. “You can’t fight the gaijin in your sleep.” Kachiro simply raised his helmet and glanced back and forth quickly between Minoru’s eyes trying to look him in both at once before drooping back into his own chest. “Afraid? I know what’ll fire you up.” He added with a smirk. Minoru pulled out his canteen and shook it to find it still had about a quarter left and banged it against Kachiro’s hand. Accepting, he took the canteen into his shadow and tasted a drop before snapping his head away.
“What the hell? Sake? What if you get dehydrated?”
“I’ll risk it. Besides this is probably our last night.”
“I didn’t know you were so spiritual.”
“I’m not, I just want to die with a hearty smile on my face,” joked Minoru. Kachiro laughed for the first time in weeks and finished off Minoru’s drink.
“I’m not either, at least not really, but I guess it will lighten me up.”
“That’s the spirit,” Minoru added as he took his canteen back and threw back for a drink only to find a lone drop and disappointedly put the cap back on. He knew what Kachiro was troubled by and he shared the same fear but he put on a tough facade, even for himself. Bottling up every ounce of logic and suppressing it, popping his chest out and laughing at the idea of it. Death was close. It sat antsy and angry in the trenches up on the ridge, it crawled out of the mouths of everyone around them whenever they didn’t fill the air with pointless small talk, and pulsed through their veins ready to spill out on command. But it could never conquer Minoru because he ignored it. If you ignore it, it would go away and that’s the end of it, but Kachiro dwelled on it and let it stall every breath and dull every sight. It had happened to him before back on the landing craft. Gaudalcanal laid herself out across the horizon and a pack of flies buzzed over her unwashed greenery. One of them would certainly dive in to strafe the boats as they cruised up to the shore. Kachiro stood grasping the side rope tighter and tighter until he gave himself blisters; too busy in thought to conjure up the lyrics to the song his squad was singing.
Now they sat in the ditch, taking shelter under the same island’s greenery, ready to attack the flies’ nest, Lunga Point. The airfield. Or at least the ridgeline and its fortifications that stood between them and The Point. The airfield had been Japanese property but was attacked before it became operational, and now stood as the focal point of the entire island and the only reason Kachiro was there on that day.
His concentration was shook when the entire squad stood up and broke into laughter. Standing up, Kachiro could see across a small clearing of grass a pair of medics dragging a pale soldier out of a ditch as he threw up on his own khaki blouse.
“I think Naoki’s caught malaria!” one man shouted.
“Remember last week when he drank from the river?” asked Kachiro.
“Pretty smart,” Minoru noted.
Minoru simply sighed and tried to enjoy the amusement of his fellow soldiers as they cheered the now smiling Naoki while the medics took him off the line and out of the looming battle. When the squad sat back down, Minoru saw Kachiro hunkered down with his helmet against his rifle again. Minoru would normally ignore him but the more he thought about why he was being so solitary, the more he sympathised. Kachiro finally grasped onto a final idea and repeated it over and over in his mind to reassure himself. He would die, but it would be during an attack, in his country’s army, and it would be fitting. Even if there wasn’t any real reward, he’ll know he saved face until the end. On that note he raised his head and stared out into the array of trunks and vines beyond.
Kaku finally found all he wanted to see and was convinced his squad didn’t stand a chance in a frontal and overt charge. He brushed the gobs of clinging soil off the back of his map, folded it and awkwardly stuffed it into his inner-pocket. A familiar hand tapped him on the shoulder.
“Good and ready? We’ll start the chants soon,” whispered a tall and lanky officer as he knelt down at the side of the ditch by Kaku. Lieutenant Ishii had studied and practiced infantry tactics and undergone extensive political training but had never gotten the chance to test his knowledge in combat. He wanted to make sure everyone under his command knew exactly what they were doing, although there wasn’t going to be much complication in the coming attack.
“Ready to throw my men into the Ameri-“
“Don’t do this to me Kaku, not in front of the men.” Ishii spat between his teeth as hard as could while keeping his voice down.
“Good. You better get into the spirit of things soon or you’ll have a tough night.” The words struck Kaku’s heart and squeezed out of his back a sudden cold sweat. The stupid Lieutenant wasn’t as delusional as he thought, he knew well what was waiting for his men, and he without doubt knew how hopeless it would be. It didn’t make sense, the officer must’ve known something else, something Kaku didn’t, to be so certain of himself. He hoped he’d never have to fulfill the promises he made in the oath he soon forgot after delivering. One thing was for sure; he would follow his orders. That he promised to himself, and promises he made to himself were never broken.
Minoru pictured himself running up to the enemy lines and getting perforated by a twisted net of golden tracers; stepping on land-mines and having his legs torn from his pelvis; dropping into a trench and having a lumbering, invulnerable beast drive a bayonet into his heart; cowering in the very ditch he sat now and being beaten by his own disgusted comrades. A hundred haunting images scrolled over his eyes and tainted them a watery pink. His throat tightened and he swallowed a dry gulp, reaching for his canteen only to remember it was empty. He let the idea slip into his head and now he could not remove it. His stubborn and careless bravado could not help sooth the physical implications before him.
Hours past uneventful until finally the low clunking rumble of a Reisen bomber passed over high above the jungle and beyond the ridge towards the airfield where it filled the quiet night with a cacophony of bursting booms and hollow snaps that stung their way into the folds and fingers of the jungle floor. The Lieutenant stood up out of his hole and prepared the platoon.
“Fix bayonets!” At once everyone clicked their polished blades onto the ends of their Arisaka rifles and as the officers began to rattle their scabbards, the men viciously and rapidly slammed the quivering blades against their helmets in rhythm. The jungle filled with an engulfing metallic clatter that intoxicated the souls of every man in the bivouac.
“Americans!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
“Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah!” they chanted, the nonsensical sound becoming a percussive beat of its own.
“This is the night!”
“Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah!”
“We will shed blood!”
“Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah!”
“Banzai!” the entire company screamed in unison and held until their lungs shriveled and ached for air, their tongues out-shot like a thousand poised snakes ready to strike, their eyes squinted in rage and their nostrils flared passionately.
The lone bomber dropped a small flare over the airfield that fell far off on the horizon and only granted a slight glow that livened the contours of the trunks and branches above. But a second flare was soon shot up from the ridge as if to mock the pilot and, in a fit of blind adrenaline, a lone voice shouted the final and simple order that was repeated by every officer along the line.
Officers drew their shimmering sabres into the cool night air and swung them over head while enlisted men vaulted out of their trenches and holes and began to jog up to the tree line. Kachiro and Minoru advanced side by side, looking over to see one another both screaming as hard they could and their thoughts were neither judgmental nor humoured. Neither cared what so ever that the other was engaged in the chant as each were too captivated to see anything but a fellow comrade joining in the cry and all the glory within him. As the men began to spill into the grassy field at the base of the ridge, the flare was at the apex of its flight and the tall flowing grass was lit a bright blue, the roaring soldiers becoming crisp silhouettes.
The rolling ridge before Kachiro sat looming over the clearing and stood tall still before the tree line beyond, leaving only the canopies peeking over the crest. As the men crossed the field, the ridge lit up with a thunderous array of cracks and snaps from the machine guns and rifles hidden in the darkness. Their fiery barks spat finality into the chests of the young beasts as they cried for spilled blood but drew only their own. More men emerged behind but all across the field the scurrying silhouettes fell to the dark dirt and vanished below the dancing strands of grass. All around him his friends, his comrades, his unit, were being cut down by an unmatched volley of fire but all that filled his thoughts were his banded boots storming up the hill, his rifle turned spear tight in his hands and the small shadow of a trench ahead.
His scream, still echoing off the jagged topography was finally silenced by a single bullet from a single rifle from the trench he strove to reach. He felt the left of his chest pull in on itself and a burning flame consume his lung like the most powerful cramp he had every experienced. With a fumbling bent step, he tripped, fell forward, turned and landed on his back. The impact went unnoticed, as did the hard crash of his helmet against the back of his head. His rifle escaped him but his hands felt too stiff and cold to do anything but clutch at the small torn hole between his ribs. Gasping for air, he felt his lungs seize up and shudder and his throat began to dampen with a ferrous milk. He was going to die. He had tried to prepare for the very moment for years and now he was not ready. What would become of him? Was his life worth living? Worth remembering? Was this duty worth his death? Certainly this mere pile of dirt was not but was the grander, more abstract duty?
His country needed him and he gave everything for it, but was he given a proper chance to serve in his life? Were the officers giving him a chance to prove himself or were they just throwing him away, pouring him out like dirtied washing water? He wished he could do more. He could’ve taken out a machine gun nest, or helped a wounded comrade, or start a family, or lose his virginity, or have finished school. He could’ve lived, but now he would die for the Empire. He hoped desperately that that would be enough. He hoped desperately that he would be looked on kindly. He clung onto the idea as a life preserver for his soul to stay afloat in those ever deepening gulfs. His legacy would be this sacrifice. He knew they would realise that. If they didn’t and they cried for him, they would be in the wrong. The thousand racing images of wilting memory and unfulfilled dreams faded and left only that one calming idea. The passing gray over the navy blue blurred and streaked across his eyes and soon darkened. The screams of the wounded and the sharp popping of grenades faded into the misty void and Yoshida Kachiro weakly released his last breath, proud.
PEANUTS: Repercussions of Wishywashyness
Charlie Brown waited. The lights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were red haired girls in the base. He didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. His warnings to Snoopy were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
Charlie Brown was a blockhead for fourteen years. When he was young he watched the other kids and he said to dad
"I want to kick the football daddy."
Dad said "No! You will BE PWN BY LUCY"
There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got oldered he stopped. But now in the space station base of the UAC he knew there were red haired girls.
"This is Snopy" the radio crackered. "You must kiss the red haired girls!"
So Charlie Brown gotted his palsma rifle and blew up the wall.
"HE GOING TO KISS US" said the girls
"I will shoot at him" said Lucy and she fired the rocket missiles. Charlie Brown plasmaed at her and tried to blew her up. But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to kill.
"No! I must kiss the girls" he shouted
The radio said "No, Charlie Brown. You are the girls"
And then Charlie Brown was a football.