Did they kill that stingray by the way? or is it roaming the ocean floor?
I still think Bindi should have her own show where she is followed around by Diane Sawyer (or maybe Barbara Walters) (or ooooo, Andersen Cooper and his porn-shot camera crew) and faces the stingray that killed her father.
Not to make the stingray feel all bad or anything about orphaning the poor girl... but to show him that a life of murder and crime doesn't get him anywhere. Sure, it might get Mr. Stingray on the news for awhile, but it doesn't get his kids any college tuition money, or stop his stingray wife from whoring around with the flounder. Bindi can help him get him back on a good path.
posted by gormley at 9:24 PM
6 Comments:
HA
Too funny.
"Yeah, Bitch! Who's the Hunter now?!"
Bindi had come this far. She wasn't turning back now.
Shell casings from her dual 9mm, semi automatic pistols rang like holiday bells as they scattered across the concrete floor.
Holiday bells... she was taken back to that wonderful, last holiday with her father, the Croc Hunter.
The stink of sulfur powder cleared her daydream, and she looked across the room. The Stingray's henchmen lay at her feet, bloodied and broken.
"Stingray, I'm here for you, goddamnit! Show yourself motherfucker!"
A dark shadow fell from the rafters of the warehouse. The inky, crimson blood drifted to meet the darkness, shimmered briefly and congealed into the sleek, slimy form of the Stingray.
"Hello, Bindi. My, haven't you ... matured." From the inky darkness of the Stingray's cloak rows of needle thin teeth smiled with sleazy joy at Bindi's smokin hot 20 year old frame: tawny and tan, trapped in a button-busting safari shirt and short-shorts. A pair of green floating orbs leered at her lovely, athletic legs.
"Fuck you, Stingray! YOU KILLED MY FATHER!"
Bindi unloaded a barrage of steel bullets, but they passed through the suddenly incorporeal Stingray, who dissipated in a puff of foul smoke.
The warehouse echoed with his mockery, "Foolish girly-girl. Do you think you can destroy me with your toy guns?"
Suddenly the creature’s voice was in her ear, a faint whisper, "Kiss me, my love.”
Bindi fell to the blood soaked concrete and wrestled the constrictive haze suffocating her. Her hand went into a leather pouch at her belt and pulled forth a jagged, worn Stingray barb.
She thrust the erect, curved, dripping, thick barb into the curly darkness and heard a blood curdling scream!
“AAAAAAHHHH! AAAHHH!!! AAAAHHH! SHIIITT! AAAAH!!!”
Bindi rolled into a standing, kung-fu crouch and faced the noxious, onyx gas. The Stingray's clawed hands attempted in vain to remove the barb which seemed to float, stuck in it's gaseous form.
Then the Stingray exploded.
It, like, totally exploded and splattered black goo all over the warehouse and all over Bindi’s laughing face.
Tik-Tik, the aboriginal shaman, had been right! She needed to kill the dread beast with the very barb that had killed her father.
Finally the deed was done and she could start her modeling career.
I am utterly confused. Am I on the very heavy medications? Or is Neil? I could swear it is me. But I mean...then I am presented with this. Please advise.
I really don't even think that small child is human. She looks like an elf or something.
Great work.
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