Blame it on the Polka...
Held in her arms,his mum would dance around... one-two... round and round... four and three...the polka; that she did so well
Tears rolled from Eddie's cheeks soaking his green bib. The sound of Smetana's Polka Opus 7 swamped his ears, so loud it caused the surgical scaffolding which encased his skull to resonate. More tears scurried down his wretched face. His gaze was fixed, his eyelids glued open, staring at the screen before him. He watched the familiar figure of a man who brutally violates the body of a Volg invader. The pornographic video revealed the attacker thrusting his stiff member brutally in and out of every orifice of the screaming Volg.
The Volg victim was face down; nailed to a huge wooden plank. Every now and then the man thumped his chubby fist down on the Volg's back. With each thump and a slobbering sneer tightened his slack mouth.
Eddie had been witnessing this disgusting drama for 10 uninterrupted days with his, much loved Smetana Polka, pounding in his ears. His bodily functions were cared for by an elderly human technician who knew how to tweak and bruise a defenceless victim. Each day when he polished the plaque which read 'BLASPHEMER' above Eddie's head , he flicked some thick spit into Eddie's unblinking eyes.
Two weeks previously Eddie and his pals Joe and Dave had staggered out of the Panchos bar on Main Street. Elaborate plans of revenge on Volgs had been hatched indoors. News of the invasion by the Volg's was fresh in their young ears and flooded their minds. Later that same evening, fuelled by illegal substances provided by their flatmate Alan, their passion for rebellion redoubled. The invaders were to be resisited with force. Controlled by the Volgs, all of the nation's television stations were showing the art and culture of the Volgs. To Eddie this was unremitting propaganda.
The pals, the conspirators, rolled about in laughter at the strange alien culture. Of particular interest were the gods worshiped by the invaders: an image of a large monkey-like creature with the head of a stag beatle, a statue of a six-legged animal, and more significantly a representation of a Volg nailed to a large piece of wood; the victim of some cruel barbarism. This god was the one most venerated by all Volgs.
.When the little band of humans, Eddie, Dave and Joe captured their Volg they had not realised that the alley where they chose to abuse their victim was bristling with security cameras. The penetration by Eddie of this Volg in an appalling parody of some sacred life event of one of the invaders' gods was viewed by countless millions of Volgs and humans alike. To the invaders it justified the torture and mutilation of thousands of Britons.
Worse than having to watch the video endlessly, was the playing without interruption of Smetana. As his last teardrop trickled onto his chest , Eddie croaked..."Mummy, no more Smetana...no more Polka..."
Held in her arms,his mum would dance around... one-two... round and round... four and three...the polka; that she did so well
Tears rolled from Eddie's cheeks soaking his green bib. The sound of Smetana's Polka Opus 7 swamped his ears, so loud it caused the surgical scaffolding which encased his skull to resonate. More tears scurried down his wretched face. His gaze was fixed, his eyelids glued open, staring at the screen before him. He watched the familiar figure of a man who brutally violates the body of a Volg invader. The pornographic video revealed the attacker thrusting his stiff member brutally in and out of every orifice of the screaming Volg.
The Volg victim was face down; nailed to a huge wooden plank. Every now and then the man thumped his chubby fist down on the Volg's back. With each thump and a slobbering sneer tightened his slack mouth.
Eddie had been witnessing this disgusting drama for 10 uninterrupted days with his, much loved Smetana Polka, pounding in his ears. His bodily functions were cared for by an elderly human technician who knew how to tweak and bruise a defenceless victim. Each day when he polished the plaque which read 'BLASPHEMER' above Eddie's head , he flicked some thick spit into Eddie's unblinking eyes.
Two weeks previously Eddie and his pals Joe and Dave had staggered out of the Panchos bar on Main Street. Elaborate plans of revenge on Volgs had been hatched indoors. News of the invasion by the Volg's was fresh in their young ears and flooded their minds. Later that same evening, fuelled by illegal substances provided by their flatmate Alan, their passion for rebellion redoubled. The invaders were to be resisited with force. Controlled by the Volgs, all of the nation's television stations were showing the art and culture of the Volgs. To Eddie this was unremitting propaganda.
The pals, the conspirators, rolled about in laughter at the strange alien culture. Of particular interest were the gods worshiped by the invaders: an image of a large monkey-like creature with the head of a stag beatle, a statue of a six-legged animal, and more significantly a representation of a Volg nailed to a large piece of wood; the victim of some cruel barbarism. This god was the one most venerated by all Volgs.
.When the little band of humans, Eddie, Dave and Joe captured their Volg they had not realised that the alley where they chose to abuse their victim was bristling with security cameras. The penetration by Eddie of this Volg in an appalling parody of some sacred life event of one of the invaders' gods was viewed by countless millions of Volgs and humans alike. To the invaders it justified the torture and mutilation of thousands of Britons.
Worse than having to watch the video endlessly, was the playing without interruption of Smetana. As his last teardrop trickled onto his chest , Eddie croaked..."Mummy, no more Smetana...no more Polka..."