*  *  *

Author's notes:

Well, here's the first revision of Part II--just some cosmetic stuff.  Just
finished watching the Thin Red Line, the movie that makes you want to lapse
into a coma but doesn't have the decency to put you to sleep.  Anyhoo, the
Badass figures he'll mellow out by churning out one of these motherfuckers
every day or two or three.  Maybe the Badass'll connect it to Dirty Pair,
otherwise the Man'll hafta change the subject line.  Got it?  Good.

Hell, this is just an exercise to see what sort of grittiness the
Reverend's mind can conjure up...

Shit, the Brother ain't even thought up a plot yet. ;>

For those of you with sensitivities about ethnic issues, sexuality, war,
peanut butter, potato bread and gun control, the Badass suggests you skip
to the next Pokemon fic...

Maybe The Badass'll keep up these little intros, too. ;)

Some credit where credit's due.  The Badass got the leech thing from Chung
Kuo.  There the Badass be--sitting there, reading this thing, thinking it's
the most hackneyed piece of work the Badass ever read while getting off on
the whole fuckin' wonderful premise--when all a sudden I run into this
brothel seen.  No one knows if Wingrove thought it up first or got it from
somewhere else, but let the Badass tell you something.  That whole leech
contraceptive thing is some wildly fucked up shit.  

	"Power, my people...where my Tech Twelve-Hunnas at?"

-The Big Badass Reverend Prez...slippin', slidin', jivin', Techin', and
doing all sorts of ill-shit...funkin' it up for 1999...

*  *  *

	"Oh, damn..." Sykes hands moved swiftly around the outside of the Sagskin
bitch's creamy orange thighes.  With each thrust he drew closer to
satisfaction. The Sagskin slinked her soft legs around Sykes's back as her
folds of skin jostled violently each timed Sykes dived into her warm bowl
of juicy love.  	
	"FUCK!" he cried out as his released filled the vacuous sac.  He fell into
the quaking waves of alien female flesh underneath him.  As Sykes withdrew,
he could feel the symbiont "leeches" working their way through the
Sagskin's cunt bag, gobbling the human cum as if it were nourishing necter.
 It wasn't a thought that turned a lot of people on; no wonder Sagskins
were for people with "special" tastes.  He rolled off the escort, breathing
heavily as if he had just completed the Erstwher Marathon or something.
The Sagskin just looked blankly at the ceiling, seemingly as inanimate as
any tool.

*  *  *

	"Man, I can't figure out how someone could do shit like that."
	Benson and Sandy stood outside Apartment 20332-C.  Sandy had on a pair of
shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.  Benson--a big, light-skinned black guy;
bigger, blacker, and much meanr than Sandy--had the decency to show up in
work cloths--a nice suit jacket, no tie, black pants and shoes.
	"Hey.  It's a free star nation, buddy."
	"Yeah, but geez!  I couldn't imagine havin'...well, you know."
	"What?"
	"C'mon, Sands.  Don't mess around.  You know what I'm talkin' about."
	"No, really.  Tell me."
	"Well, you know anything about Sagskins?"	
	"No, but I know somethin' about catfish."
	"What?"
	"Nevermind, go on."
	"Well, you know what one looks like?"
	"Yeah, like something out of some old folks porno," Sandy nodded.  His
watch was still broken, but fortunately someone had a good enough mind to
put a clock above every one of the apartment doors.  Every now and then,
he'd look up and down the corridor in front of Sykes' apartment, grumble
something, then look at the wall clock.  Yeah, he'd have to get that watch
fixed sooner or later.
	"Well," Benson, "You really don't know anything, do you?"
	"What the fuck did you think I said, Benson?"
	"Sorry, man.  All right, well, some guys go for that sort of shit.
They're all saggy and everything, five titties..."
	"I noticed."
	"...that hang at the knees..."
	"No shit?"
	"...and they got this funny cunt thing going on."
	"Funny what?"
	"They've got some funny little worm things in their cunts."
	"What the *fuck*?!"
	"You ain't kidding.  Shit, nigga. You really *don't* know a fucking thing
about this shit, do ya'?"
	"No, damn it!  What the hell do those worm things do?"
	"Contraceptive or something."
	"How the fuck you gonna knock up a Saggie?!  They ain't even human!"
	"Keep it down, man!"
	"Sorry, sorry." Sandy looked down the corridor again and then at the wall
clock.  He ignored his broken watch this time.  "Keep cool, bro'.  So, how
the fuck they get them in there?"
	"The leeches?"
	"What?"
	"The leeches.  That's what they call 'em."
	"Shit," Sandy breathed in sharply, "and people get off fucked up shit like
that?"
	"Hey, man.  Any spaceport in the vac."
	"I'd never do anything like that."
	"Yeah, I know.  You like those guinea bitches."  Benson almost regreted
saying so as Sandy cast him a fatal look.
	"Fuck you, man."
	"C'mon, Sands.  Relax.  I've rolled with ya'.  Every single time we go to
Naples, you get your olive oil on for the whole damned weekend.  When was
the last time you've had a wholesome woman of color?"
	"What?  Italians are colored, and at least I like 'em human."
	"They ain't colored, and what's that supposed to mean?"
	"Sicilians are."
	"What?"
	"Shit, man.  They darker than you are, you fuckin' poge."
	"What the fuck?!  I'm one-hundred percent Nubian prince, you short nigger."
	"The fuck you are.  You about ten times whiter than Bryant Gumble."
	"Fuck you, and what the fuck you mean I don't like them human."
	"Shit, you're always rolling with those Antarean bitches.  Green, oily
skin; blue hair.  You like fuckin' the interstellar trailer park trash."
	Benson's face turned beat red.  "The fuck I do.  You don't know what the
fuck you're talking about.  I just don't fuck greasers, all right?
Besides, they fuck everybody else.  Remember Carleone?"
	Sandy thought about saying something.  Carleone bought the farm five
months ago.  Probably smarter than the whole damn outfit put together, the
guy just got too fancy one day.  Good thing the fuck-up didn't leave a damn
thing to trace him back to the outfit.  Not even the orbital hospital he
was shored up in.
	"Well, he liked them all.  Our Nubian princesses, slopes, white, lats,
anything so long as its a human.  Fuckin' alien shit, though.  I don't get
it.  Why the fuck would anyone want to stick it to some fuckin' Sagskin."
	"I don't know, maybe for the same reason you like stuffing your ass with a
fat man's cucumber, bitch." Sandy wiped away a drip of sweat from his nose.
 Benson's eyes whipped around to size up the black-skinned Negro in front
of him.
	"Man, just back off."
	"All right, man.  Just don't fuckin' talk about my jones, man."
	"You insecure?"
	"What?"
	"You insecure about your sexuality?"
	"What, like I'm some fuckin' fairy?  Why don't *you* back off, paisan."
	"I'll back off when I fuckin' feel like backin' off.  Hey, if you like
dick, what the hell can I say?  It's a free star nation."
	"You said that, and I don't d-d-do dick, man."
	"D-d-don't...d-d-d-do d-d-d-dick?" Benson snickered has he stuttered
mockingly. "Huh?  I d-d-don't dig you."
	"Fuck off, bitch."
	"You fir--"
	Just then, the door slid open.  Standing in a white suit and wearing a
deep-navy, tieless shirt, Sykes looked as if he'd just one the ten billion
nuyen jackpot.  He stepped in between them and headed down the corridor.
	"Okay, kids," he called back. "You coming or what?"
	Sandy and Benson traded murderous looks just as the Sagskin sheepishly
made her way out of the room.  Their expressions turned to ones of amusing
mock disgust as they let go of the tension and picked up after Sykes.

-The Reverend Prez


*  *  *

+-----------------+-<The Badass Reverend of Funk Prez>---+
|    Presley H.   | Political Science / Computer Science |
|    Cannady II   | and Electrical Engineering Undergrad |
|<revprez@mit.edu>| at the Mass. Institute of Technology |
+-----------------+-<Anime Manga Development Group>------+
+     Author of Liars and Dreamers, a Robotech fanfic    +
+-------<http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/1731/index.html>-+
| MIDN 4/c A-2-2 SQD, MIT-Harvard-Tufts NROTC Battalion  |
|_|"The art of war is of vital importance to the state"|_|