Daryl and his metal army were steadily approaching Pablo the Great’s territorial empire, gear in tow. The time arose to discuss the strategy for the impending invasion and subjugation of the locals. Daryl decided to send Shirley (his sexbot) and Rosita (the cannibal girl -who was/is (ha) over 18 years old with multiple valid ID’s) in under deep cover, as missionary environmental leftists, to gather information on the enemy, through whatever means necessary.
Rosita and Shirley ditched their environmental outfits, since they thought that would fail. Instead, they skanked their way past the guards, by posing as imperial sex workers, which were placed way above the trannies in that society. A trooper in a Jeep picked them up with his security detail, and brought them to Pablo the Great, at the university, which was overflowing with blood. Crappy half assed reggae was playing.
“I need to test your loyalty to the state. Do this coke and let me see a little girl on girl action, while you shake those rumps to some crappy tropical music, like Pitbull,” mandated the Cigar chomping NWO grease-ball. He still had the scar from the IED explosive device the pigeon had detonated in his face. And he was constantly applying petroleum jelly and aloe to it while sweating profusely. His teethe were still perfect though, since he was really Swiss and had the best dentists that were left over from the end times.
Rosita and Shirley had always been competing for Daryl, but the built up tension made for a hot sex scene. Meanwhile, Shirley was making a complete graphic layout of the entire complex with her internal scanner.
“Wait! Hold it. Right there…” as he spread some computer parts around the area as a backdrop. Pablo, taping everything, remarked, “I will call this one Bots ‘n Babes.”
Shirley had to sleep around even more, but eventually she was able to get a new battery charger from the evil government. She got stuff stuck in her hair and looked like an old bag of donuts afterwards, but at least she was loyal and headed back, with the graphic layout of the enemy HQ.
Meanwhile, Rosita was so happy that they had her native foods, such as flan, that she was in no great hurry to return to the metal encampment. She had gotten tired of bloodbog, and had decided she liked the big government and her new found Latin lovers. Daryl made a mental note to himself that Rosita was being very, very naughty, and that he would have to have a stern talking to her when he catches her later on. She will need discipline!
Back at the metal encampment they had a campfire going and were doing acoustic versions of death metal classics such as God of Emptiness.
“I want them all decimated, kill every one of them – slowly and painfully, if possible.” said the Ogre king.
“Wait!” Daryl exclaimed, “If we slay them all then there shall be no listeners left for our metal empire to reign over. I say we kill only those necessary for victory, and then convert or enslave the rest of them. It seemed to work well for the ‘Catholic Church’.
“Lets give them a choice,” inserted one of his band-mates. “Our pigeon is deceased, sadly. However, we can have the ravens of the undead drop pamphlets with our demo inside. And then they can decide, or should I say deicide, for themselves.”
“Hail Smidgey. He was a good and loyal pigeon,” Daryl commented with pride. “Yes, you have a good point. So that’s what we’ll do.”