another paragraph

Dreelix Volvano walked into the room and was stunned at the sight: a six-foot Lurian beauty, with eleven eyes and gigantic pink buttocks. Dreelix asked her if she drank sherry; she responded with a bleeping mewling sound that cracked the crystal on the shelves and near popped the eardrums of everybody in the place. He swooned, he wished he crooned, he half-mooned the bartender, and started crying aloud, “Five hundred pence to the cavalier who bests me in a match of sabers!" He said this hoping to impress the Lurian, and hoped there weren’t any cavaliers in the bar (why would there be—it was the 23rd century, he thought). Saber-wielding was in fact not Dreelix’s forte; duck-snorting was actually more his thing, but he didn’t think Lurians went for that stuff. Unfortunately it was ‘Get in Free if you’re a Cavalier Night' at Pub Goulash, and Dreelix’s challenge was met by dozens of eager and upraised iron-clad truncheons.

(shades of hitchhiker?)

No comments: