LOCO GRINGOS 8.5
There was scortched and smoking items, some items were on the floor-almost like the electrical panel blew and a shock wave erupted blowing into the shelves although Randy had no experience in electrical outside hooking up 12v and how hard was that for goodness sake? He didn’t know if that was possible, if there were safeties against that like if the transformer failed from lightning or something. Well, perhaps not. Like maybe the transformer was supposed to act as a cutoff switch and so the building didn’t need that level of protection. All the fires could have been sparks from transformers rather than the wires in structures blowing. You would think something awesome made the hole in the building, however. Could have been as simple as a contractor humping over the owner with substandard equipment or cheap illegal labor half-assing the job. Not that he was dissing on south of the border labor. They did come with nice looking seniorettas. Well, until they popped the first kid and then some peculiar genes invaded and made them dumpy and gross. Not that he’d seen much beauty radiating from any trailer parks, white gals doing nothing to keep Hostess Twinkie lard off their thighs. He had to have really blurry beer goggles for some of those. God, he hoped he didn’t embarrass himself and try to start humping a sack of grain or something. Must be that horniness he’d heard of in post-combat situations. Nay, he was okay. As long as that paper bag kept looking better than John.
He thought he heard some movement ahead and tightened his grip on the rifle. Finger out of the trigger guard. No unnecessary firing. He felt his bowels loosen. That wasn’t great. Still, he’d held it in until Mission Accomplished yesterday. Fuck it-he picked up his pace and scooted ahead at top speed. Only one way to turn, from hallway to a room on the left, he turned that way in anticipation. And looked at another fucking cat like the evil bitches John harbored. The cat growled, mouse entrails handing from its mouth, a kill in between its front paws. Fuck! Okay, that wasn’t doing his heart any good. He felt John come up to his back and place a hand on his shoulder, squeeze and tap, point to the right. Randy was guessing he was supposed to go right as John took left. Okay, he guessed they should have had some kind of agreed upon silent communication like GI Joe and shit. He wondered if his buddy was as keyed up as he was, or if he just naturally all cool and collected and only Randy was the one going around trying to groundhog a turd so as not to soil his only currently available whitey tighties. After yesterday, he should have anticipated the contingency pair of underwear. Of course, you start doing that and you carried the whole bomb shelter and the kitchen sink. Better to wash them out in the river and give one of those worthless Winnemuccaians the case of dysentery.
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