By Steve isaak
Jacqui the penguin nun waddled out of the address-crossed timespace portal.
Where the heck am I? This isn’t Disneyland –
She saw the eviscerated Sandwich aliens, their loins and bellies mutilated, peanut butter and jelly intestines everywhere.
Aghast, Jacqui dialed her cell phone. “Hello, police?”
Using his tweezers, Intergalactic Agent Harrison picked up the brown paper scrap reading “42”.
“Douglas, Adams,” he addressed the uniforms behind him. “Any idea what this number means?”
Douglas snickered. Someone’s stomach growled.
Harrison turned. I hate working with local cops –
He saw the kitchen knife, the murder weapon, in Adams’ hand.
“Adams, stop licking the evidence!”
Copyright ©2006, 2011 Steve Isaak. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce in any form, including electronic, without the author’s express permission.
This was originally published in my book Charge of the scarlet b-sides: microsex stories & poems.