Maniac's Montage

2 Sheriffs see red
head-lights burning bright ahead
to stop Flight 52 (haiku)

Flight-ladies served him
absinthes, a 'London Times,' and
gushing flirtation (haiku)

Airport now a news battle-ground:
Blue Boss Captains:
"The plane just vanished," stuttered one, before turning away, causing a great clash of ornate metals (given out for things like this: hit 7 out of 10 junkie-replica targets complete with needle-marks and dangerous Satanic tattoos. anyway, hits were made from a vast 25 feet away over highly uneven ground.)

(Authority Figure: speaking candidly with a friend; soak up their wisdom.): "Most importantly, for his future with this G.O.P. Ghost Squad: He didn't get all hippie and "ethical;" "Matter of fact, he asked me why we don't just cleanse America of all these crazy, evil, drooling, diseased, sissy, junky millions. He meant that we should completely, not just mostly, free America of "the junkies," "the pot-devils," "the E-hetero-converters!" I mean, do you want your son to invite Satan in as cannabis smoke and be turned over to these others, to lose an arm that way just after passing the bar{though a few special gems could turn that into an idealistic war wound- lost it inside an enemy tank after cutting the gunner's head off(no choice,) only to find there's a little kid shooting a 9mm from his crib... But even with that(let's do that,) young Master Moliere must be kept safe from all those E-freaks and you need to send to send his mom to the Bahamas, and then batter that sweetness and sensitivity and batter all the rest of that Artsyness and theatric Demonology right out of him.... or he'll end up practicing faggot Divorce and Child Custody Law in San Francisco wearing lip-stick and a black silk cocktail-dress to court going by the name of "Molly" followed by your surname and the press. So, we ought to talk some more to that kid. Of course, I had to tell him that in Congress right now, even though there's a lot of support for such a purification, we just don't have the votes right now."

"By the time we even established communication with this obscure country airport, the flight carrying the suspects including the murderously psychotic but also dangerously likeable former Harvard professor had gained the sky, and was way beyond our firing range. And then the Air Force went after them, and somehow managed to annihilate 2 of our own planes and four of our own airmen, and that's not even the worst of it. Some lunatic pilot strafed a local spiritual-commune, bio-genetics institute, and wolf-reserve, blew up gates and the security staff, and so countless radical new-agers(about half being medical doctors with valid prescription pads, good lawyers, who've turned away from Billy Graham and Jesus to drink the profoundly physically-regenerative and inspiringly psychedelic Iboga bark-tea due to which many of these geezers have strength and agility exceeding the local young men, and many have simply forgotten(or insanely now reject,) the Holy Trinity of Property, Hierarchy, and Goebbels(he taught us so very much.)
Getting to the details, the wolves also escaped their sanctuary and are wandering these local regions, and now wolves are invading the suburbs of Cleveland... there's even talk that some of these wolves have black magic, can walk like men, and shoot flaming-arrows with length and accuracy scarcely to be believed. Wives tales, probably. But Lt. Chuck Hutt and Congressman Jim Napoleon really are dead; that's fact, and a whole mess of witnesses say it was Werewolves shooting flaming arrows. Culture of lower-middle class poverty, you know. Poor devils, but we'll look into it. Now, we just want you to know that no policeman or (sneer) policewoman in this city of Megatropolis, Utah, will sleep more than 3 hours a day, take a coffee-break, take a vacation, go to red lobster, or participate in any recreational activities until law and order are re-restored in this great city of Megatropolis. We police have unanimously and enthusiastically decided on these brave sacrifices because we want to show you that Newsweek got it wrong last year, and that Richard Huntley II's city of Megatropolis is the strongest, most effective, and, yes, the most humane police department in this great United States."

As 'the monster' watched
his own-movie with wry cheer:
laughing, growling, then (haiku)

led off by a white-dress
under submissive-blue eyes,
sparkling at his touch (haiku)

locked in, they kissed and
stroked, but I the hostess
was suffering nympho-mania:
licking and suctioning his spear,
probing his rear hole with a finger, which he tolerated,

The monster, then, turned on his video-recorder and howled,
yet swept me gently in his arms
and told me secrets of the world,
and chanted poems from his monster-people....
and then proceeded to love me most sweetly
but also to utterly violate my derriere
like a Bull-physiqued Madman....

and what more: in our passion, from his fur, he sent little shocks of green-light, which entered my mind and soul, having such strange effects: some good, some bad. some of the meme-communications I could understand, and even the visions I could sometimes; others just seemed strange and confusing, and yet there were things you could sort of get down, and out of the barren desert and the hermit sages; There would rise a giant tentacle-armed cactii .... and then on the bases and the countless broad arms, great fulsome pink flowers blossomed in the time that a cigarette is smoked straight through, and sometimes far quicker. The flowers were simply a gift to my soul: at first, it was simply their colorful beauty and the sweet-smelling, sacred air that everywhere hung around us. But then I saw how these hermit-sages had become debauched and wretched in so many ways, that the land they worked was semi-arid, that enemy guides already looked on from craggy mountains to see if their weakened neighbors could be invaded or raided, or if they could still shoot their bows with magical accuracy and range, or if their swordsmanship could still match the day when the small meek monk battled the dreaded minor war-lord Gobktu to the latter's neat be-headment, which turned the tide of the battle for good. They knew a great church had once bestowed some golden-crosses, golden-goblets, and true silver silverware, etc.
But it was their cactus and they were being blessed by some great and powerful spirit. I couldn't get it all, but it still inspired me how even a diseased and struggling people in this barren desert land could be so blessed and raised to a position of such great strength. For the first time, I realized that there is much mystery in this world, maybe more than anyone will ever, ever come to understand. And that's when the wolf-man, that cultured enigma among werewolves, fell on me again: kissing my forehead, cooing to me in French, grabbing and toying with my pink genitalia. Then he slid down, taking just a minute to kiss my proud young tits, and then he took me, or began to take me. He was gentler this time and this pleased me, but for the next couple hours he just took me, worked my flower's depths with his tool, filled me with come, but he was far from done, like he was possessed by something. so he'd finger my butt-hole, or tongue-bathe all my lower orifices and sex parts, even my pee-hole. He'd also sing to me, and tried to teach me to live a better life, from his perspective. For all this time, first the drugs and then he had managed to make our bathroom stall into a much wider, dryer, ever-changing environment.

But now that magic passed, and we found ourselves in the airplane lavatory. He kissed me and held me briefly, then left. and I was still in shock really; My personality and even the depths my ass-hole had been savaged by The Monster. And yet part of me had really enjoyed it, felt truly grateful for what he'd taught and shown me. Besides, I was just a flight hostess; He was still a frequent first-class flyer, and he'd even heard rumors he owned part of the company. So, what was I going to do? approach the table where he played 5 card-stud(we are a most social, luxurious, and perhaps unusual air-fleet service.)
          Should I overthrow the table, and say, "You're a monster!??" That would set a comedy fire among these people. So, for now, I'm just going to go with it: I still have dreams from those green sparks, and they help me to think later, to see whole new avenues of life. They even seem to be making me smarter, prettier, even helped me to get a promotion last week. So I'm just quiet, taking some time to contemplate... but the question that always pops into my head is: Would he even want to sex me again(he has those supposedly casual hippie-harems in all his hidden mini-palaces? Omega-Chakra Women's Communes, etc.) And houndsome, strong, and simply magical as he is: Would I want him with all his love, nobility, and untold power, yet all his sexual and political deviancy, all his pacing, his(fur, even though it's so soft and his face so human and charming?)
I'd like to learn more about his world, his thoughts, and his powers: but is my beautiful white butt really a submission-toy, its hole a spearing target, a pleasure outlet for the wolf-man to use with manic-passion, or completely ignore based on his mercuriality, or maybe some supposedly pressing business, involving a blonde secretary, in the extensive and successful if highly eccentric micro-civilization, he'd quite inadvertently become the leader of(according to the green sparks.)
Well, I might question back a little, be only semi-submissive. But do I want him? (watery smack) yes! please! yes! (smack) yes! oh yes! (squirt)