Irma knew it had all gone to SHIT.

AGAIN.

When a .50BMG round from

FUCKING NOWHERE

clipped her right shoulder and took her arm clean off.

The force was enough to pulverize part of her lung, but also to flip her up into the air.

As the overworked V6 blarted and blatted, and the big gun thundered, you could almost make out Irma's voice as the searing yellow shots picked her body apart.

"JAEZUS! FAWK! MOTHER- FUKKIN- GAWD-DAMN-SHEEYIT-EATIN-CUM-GARGLIN- RAWK -GRUK-BWAK-!"


Then two things went through her head.

"Fukkin' FOYNULLY."

And a searing hot bullet.

–

At exactly 045959, Irma bolted awake with an angry roar, swatting the three cellphones off her body in a rage before they could start buzzing.

She glared at… Everything and nothing, in an unhinged rage.

"FIFTY! SEVUN! FAWKIN! TOIMES! AN NOW! A FUKKIN! TRUK! THING! …. FFFFRRRRAAAAAAAAGH!!!!"

her hands clutched at her hips.

Found… Nothing.

Slowly, veeeeeeery slowly, her confusion overtook her unbridled rage.

Where were her leathers?

Where were Playtime and Reset Button?

What was this… Plaid thing?

Her coffee machine didn't burble with coffee.

She smelled the evil, rancid STANK of Mocha.

Fukkin CHAWKLIT in her MACHIIIIIIINE!

She PITCHED IT OUT HER WINDOW.

Along with her countertop.

Which she had torn free from the ratty kitchenette.

She screamed out the shattered window, indignant with rage, until a single small high velocity round smacked between her eyebrows, and vomited her brains across the back wall.

–

At 0500 exactly, Irma's alarms buzzed.

She catapulted awake with a loud HOOZYWuuuooohGAWD! and bucked, her body thrumming with the powerful buzz deep in her ass and snatch, taped over her nipples.

Not her usual alarms.

She gasped and moaned and writhed, bit a pillow she vaguely noticed wasn't her pillow, and squealed, rolled over and hunched her ass up into the empty air.

Slowly, it subsided, and she collapsed back onto satin bedsheets.

–

At somewhere around 1017, Irma slowly, groggily came awake.

She was still in her Head Down Ass Up pose.

But she could feel a little tingle on her tits, like someone had tugged away medical tape.

And there was a nice, hollow buzz in her ass and cunt.

They weren't there anymore, but they had been her favourite size.

FAWKIN' MAYASIV.

She let out a fluttery sigh, and just… Lingered.

She had glanced over, waaaaaay over across the pink silk sheets, to the table beside the bed.

Her glasses had been laid on the sheets at the perfect distance so she could make out the little folded card.

[You need to relax.]

She siiiìghed. Rolled over and flopped on the bed.

She ran a finger around her little heart-shaped tuft of hair. Treated and primped and groomed and silky soft and cherry red above her glossy rosy mound and light brown folds…. She'd forgotten how many yesterdays, but it WAS just yesterday.

Eight oh something in the evening, silky black stockings, shiny black heels, propped way up on her bathroom counter, carefully, carefully making sure it was just *perfect* for Ronaldo Cortina Del Humo to see when she slung her legs around his neck.

It was eleven at night, it was raining, she was Fukkin SOAKED, and Cortina Del Humo means Red Herring.

Fukkin' datin' soights is sheeit.

She stripped down, set her alarms, and went to bed crying, that final October 24th so many, many, many October 25ths ago.

Lots of people had seen it since then, on their final October 25ths.

She'd gotten good at making sure it was the last thing grinding against their nose.

She wandered out of the massive bedroom sometime in the early afternoon.

Chroist dis joint wuz troyin' tah make 'er feel classay.

She found a robe, gauze thin, pink, with fluffy pink trim. It was just a hair too long, until her feet slipped into the fluffy-topped high heel slippers, exactly the same height and slope as her Crazy Bitch boots.

Now it all fit perfect.

She balanced her glasses on her upturned nose, settled her two big front teeth into the little divot in her big bottom lip, and swished her way out, along the raised pathway just above the deep water under this special resort.

Two identical blonde maids were stationed where she stepped through the gauzy curtains to the walkway. Tiny french maid dresses, they blushed when they spilled from their tops every time they bowed.

They brushed and braided her brown hair, wove it into her usual long, thick braids.

She gently kissed each on the nose and started down the glossy white walkway over the deep water.

She heard them both draw the pistols from their inner thigh holsters, the faint click of metal and shimmer of lasers as they tried to pop her in the back of the head.

There was a PHT and a spatter of something wet across the still water, then two heavy splashes.

The walkway swayed just a little under her heels as the ravenous sharks shredded their meal, making the water churn behind her as she swished away.

She sat on a flat veranda on a lounge chaise, the parasol just fine enough to let the sun warm her naked skin.

A smart waiter with a fine black mustache shimmered over, said nothing.

She asked for her cawfee, then perhaps later, a long island iced tea.

The Waiter nodded, and shimmered off to the edge of the veranda. He slipped the paper with her order into a tube that *slurp*ed it away, then whipped the pistol out from under his arm towel.

Another PHT, another sprinkle, another splash, and the waves of the hungry sharks made her chaise gently sway. Very calming.

The waiter with the thick orange mustache that brought her coffee in the correct chipped diner mug wasn't very good. He tried to pull his gun right when she was taking the mug from his hands.

She nearly spilled a little when the PHT emptied his skull across the water. It was a little choppy, with the sharks swarming so close.

As the sun was setting, a curly redheaded maid swished up with three of her Long Island Iced Teas.
She gave them a cursory glance, pointed at the one on the left. The maid daintily picked it up and hucked the contents overboard one way, the glass the other.

Two sharks rose to the surface where the drink splashed in, thrashing as their skin melted, before more came and devoured them.

On the other side, the veranda rocked on the waves as a large bubble rose and burst from a sizable explosion underwater.

More floating sharks, more churning.

She glanced up at the maid, then raised her hand, waving a little at someone far away.

There was no pht for the redheaded maid. Irma would be fine here.

The maid handed her one glass, kept the other as she whiffed the round tray away like a frizbee. There was a boom and a gust of warm wind a little later.

She snuggled in beside Irma. They said nothing as they sipped their drinks and watched the sunset, Irma stroking the maid's hair while the maid kissed Irma's chest.

>>And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
>>And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"

When their drinks were done, Irma rested her hand on the Maid's head while that warm tongue explored Irma's snatch, tracing around the silky heart.

She smiles and wordlessly shakes her head. She didn't find a single stray hair.

They trade places, the maid watching the stars while Irma licks and kisses, nuzzling the skull shaped white tuft decorating the pretty maid's pussy.

>>And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful house"
>>And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful wife"

She's very good. She allows Irma to lick her through three orgasms, the fourth when she finally lets out a squeal and kicks her legs wide.

The razor wire in the hem of the maid's dress is so incredibly sharp, Irma doesn't notice at all.

She feels a little lightheaded as she keeps licking, hearing the splash of her body, the churn of the hungry sharks.

Eventually she stops licking.

The maid eventually gets up, looking up to the moon as she prepares to toss the hea-

PHT
spatter
SPLASH
sharks

>>same as it ever was
>>same as it ever was
>>same as it ever was
>>same as it ever was

At exactly 0500, Irma's alarm buzzed.

She catapulted awake with a loud HOOZYWUT! and flailed her arms blindly. Then she let out a loud, warbling moan as she let her alarm buzz a little more.

She heard the burble of her coffee machine, stretched and felt her Crazy Bitch leathers creak, caressed the grips of Playtime and Reset Button.

Irma got up and let her buzzing phones fall to the floor. Her floor, her crappy, familiar apartment.

>>And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack

As she stood, a carefully placed mirror on the floor catches her eye. Angled so she'd see her pearly-smooth cunt, with the redheaded maid's lipstick kiss across her slit.

She smiles, reaches for her glasses. There is a note.

[TIME TO GET BACK TO WORK]

Under the note is a single rose petal, with a white skull burned into it.

"Awww…"

She hums to herself, sips her tar-like black coffee, runs her gloved fingertips across the map.

Wait.

What's this inlet…?

She scribbles on a big notecard, strides to her window, holds it above her head with both hands.

[I NEED WATERFLOW AND PERCOLATION CHARTS FOR TARGET AREA]

She doesn't hear her window shatter or the PHT of the high velocity round that empties her skull across all the papers.

>>same as it ever was
>>same as it ever was
>>same as it ever was
>>same as it ever was

At exactly 0500, Irma's alarm buzzed.

She catapulted awake with a loud HOOZYWUT! and flailed her arms blindly. Then she let out a loud, warbling moan as she let her alarm buzz a little more.


She heard the burble of her coffee machine, stretched and felt her Crazy Bitch leathers creak, caressed the grips of Playtime and Reset Button.

Irma got up and let her buzzing phones fall to the floor. Her floor, her crappy, familiar apartment.

No kiss, no mirror, no petal, no notes. Just completely brain-free charts and the new ones she asked for.

She touches, runs her fingers along this chart and that, tracing lines and whorls and-

"Gawtcha."

She scribbles coordinates on the card this time, then weapon designations and needed release times. She holds it up-

PHT

Her brains across the charts.

>>same as it ever was
>>same as it ever was
>>same as it ever was
>>same as it ever was

At exactly 0500, the alarm in the plane sounded while the bomb bay doors opened.

Irma catapulted awake with a loud HOOZYWUT! and flailed blindly, windmilling her arms in empty space, dangling from the weapon release rack in the bomb bay.

A parachute is clipped to the rings of her body harness.

She's facing the exact bomb unit she designated on her card.

Stenciled on the side of the bomb is a message.

[Enjoy the head start]

With a loud clank, bomb and Crazy Bitch are both released.

One gives a faint whistle as it falls, the other bellowing FAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWK YOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUSE all the way down.

–

Crazy Bitch cackles as the dull KRUMP of that one extra bomb tells her all she needs to know, as suddenly that one last archway is clear, and those extra assets nowhere to be found.

She sprints across the last rooftop and leaps with confidence, no truck thing anywhere to be found, no thunderous cannonfire to rip her apart at the last second, this time!

She is CRAZY BITCH! She is DEATH ON THE WIND! She is UNSTOPPABLE! And as her heelspike makes that last glass barrier evaporate before her, sheeeeeeee…

Fuck.

>>same as it ever… Was.

At somewhere around 0700, Irma awoke to the smell of black tar coffee and the touch of gentle hands.

The redheaded maid has Irma's head in her lap. It still has all the rest of Irma attached.

The waiter with the thick orange mustache kisses her ankle, stroking her legs slung over his shoulders, starting to gently thrust into her ass now that she's awake.

He's Irma's favorite size, after all.

She mumbles softly, feeling the wind through the thin drapery walls. Reaches her right arm out. The waiter with the thin mustache guides her coffee mug into her fingers. She sips as the two blondes braid.

Best to admit it. She mumbles softly, sipping her coffee, letting that lubed, thick cock glide ever so lovingly in and out of her ass, letting her head pillow on the redhead's thighs.

"Oooooiiiii… Fergawt ta facktah in dat da tawget moight be awmd, an' da ruckus moight git 'is gawd up."

The five servants all tsk and oh and roll their eyes. Of course, how obvious, we'd all make that kind of mistake, their reactions pantomime.

She sips and finishes her coffee, rolls over while Orange Mustache gently thrusts. Thin Mustache is in her mouth as soon as her mouth is open, tongue curled invitingly.

His sudden moans and gasps and less-than-smooth-and-professional reactions actually startle the other four.

Irma sighs. Weren't her blowjob skills proven on her very first October 25th…?

She circles her tongue just so, hears him crying out, happily drinks her reward down.

Reminding them all lets her decide.

"I tink oi gawtsa go roight bayk ta proimayry mitchin' 'nallysis. T'ink we gawta kill mitchin' creep."

She sighs, and relaxes, lets herself go slack. Nods slightly, as a pillow quickly drops over her face and she's shot in the head from five guns simultaneously.

There's a long pause, and then the platform cracks open, dropping everyone and everything down to the churning mass of sharks.

>>same as it ever was

At exactly 0500, Irma's alarm buzzed.

She catapulted awake with a loud HOOZYWUT! and flailed her arms blindly. Then she let out a loud, warbling moan as she let her alarm buzz a little more.

All the primary information, reset to zero.

She glares at the target, his stupid beard, his stupid hat. Glares at all of his pictures.

Eliminate target or target's ability to act.

Glares at all his pictures, of him getting in and out of his stupid tanky armoured truck car thing.

Of him waving.

Of him greeting his wife.
Wives?
… Sequence of wives.
Rapid rollover.

Arriving in *their own private limo*

Irma flips through the photos. No.

The same private limo, delivering the latest in his long chain of pretty wife-of-the-week.

She flops back in her beanbag chair, flipping the whole cluster of photos into the air, and starts writing her new mission plan. What she needs. Who she needs.

Ridiculously simple.

>>And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile

The limo gently crunched to a stop in front of El General's mansion at 0700 sharp.

The shapely driver, squeezed into a uniform blessed by God himself on that figure, adjusted her cap in her swirling, curling locks, and strode back to open the passenger's door.

A tall red heel led first, boot crunching into the gravel.

Leather gloved fingers took the offered hand.

Up came a feminine figure. Wrapped in a heavy, ankle length red fur coat, a broad red hat, and a glimpse of giant round sunglasses, El General's guards were used to this kind of celebrity nonsense.

She leaned back inside, blowing a kiss to the occupant deep inside.

El General's intended wife-of-the-day, snipped to bits by Red's magic loop of razor wire.

She was supposed to be like the driver in the trunk.

Decapitated.

With an expression of abrupt surprise.

Not snipped up in countless parts and looking like she had the best fuck of her life.

And they were meant to arrive at 0600

But dat goil wuz kinkay az awl hayul an' we kin speyah sum toim ta make 'er smoyule.


She blows a kiss and wiggles her fingers at the dead head. "Now down't yew fawul apawt wddout me, sweeeeetie…!" she coos.

The head rolls off the seat when red closes the door and drives away to go shark fishing.

>>And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful wife!"

Irma swish-swishes up to the two guards. She's familiar with their faces, she's shown them her heart many times before.

She gives her big toothiest ditz grin, and spreads her coat open, wiggling her hips and wagging her chest, Crazy Bitch leathers creaking as she does her wiggle dance.

"Dondy Estey Elle Jenny Rally, boooys?" Irma gives them her best ditzo voice, making herself squeak and squeal… Just a smidgen more than normal.

They siiigh in aggravation, and just wave her through the security they died fifty eight times to protect, before.


She is Crazy Bitch, Mistress of all she surveys, she goes where she want, she does as she pleases.

She forgot restraints.

Elle Jenny Rally has plenty, to her relief. Not that he ever meant them for HIMSELF but he takes VERY little convincing.

She is Crazy Bitch, mistress of everything she sees, conqueror of anything she rides.

She never learned a lick of spanish, so everything he yells and babbles, she decides is just "hawduh, fayastuh, baybeee!"

A few hours in, she recognizes "Agh Wah" at least.

Gotta keep yer hawse watah'd ayaftuh awl.

He's really such a sweetie, so she puts her best effort on for him, bouncing and wriggling and grinding and moaning and squeezing and caressing and letting him lick his agh-wahs right off her chest when he's a good boy.

It's only when they hear the distant sounds of the planes overhead and perimeter targets going boom that she actually checks her watch.

She's actually run a couple hours over how long she needed to keep him neutralized. But he was such a good boy for her, how could she say no?

He does understand her pantomime. Big shocked look with hand over her mouth, then big pout as she taps her wrist and shakes her head.

Oh no! We're all out of time, I have to go now.

Elle Jenny Rally nods, and starts trying to get his arms unlocked.

Playtime popped in his mouth gets his attention.

Her tongue twirling, licking inside Reset Button's tubes, gets him panicking.

Irma's trigger fingers are quicker than him.

BLA-

>>Same as it ever was
>>Same as it ever was
>>Same as it ever was
>>Same as it ever was

At exactly 0800, Red and Irma awake with the exact kind of HOOZYWUT and flail before toppling back.

Their heads are on laps of the twin blond maids.

Their legs draped over the shoulders of the two waiters.

Irma sighs happily, and looks over at red through her owlish round glasses.

Red finally lifts her mop of red hair, so we can see her big square glasses, doofy bucktoothed grin, and freckled face.

Not another Irma, but from the same mold.

They sigh, lie back, hand in hand.

"Awktohbah twenny fifth?"
"Enh. Iyt's a livvin'."

>>Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
>>Letting the days go by, water flowing underground
>>Into the blue again, after the money's gone
>>Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground

Breaking news, this morning of October 25th, El General Hefe found dead of apparent sexual murder-suicide with his dominatrix girlfriend of unknown origins, leaving his dictatorship leaderless as allied forces moved in yesterday.

>>Same as it ever was, same as it ever was
>>Same as it ever was, same as it ever was
>>Same as it ever was, same as it ever was
>>Same as it ever was, same as it ever was

Shark populations reported up by 8%, oceanologists hope this trend continues. "Whatever they've found, they're eating well," the fish scientist said.