Remember that the city-state enshrined in this telling was a last-ditch outpost on the sere waste of the Wisp Isthmus. Conjecture establishes that Astrid bint Wanda harbored a vestige of erased indigene biopolymer in her gizzard. One or another of the washed-up duchy-founders fucked the mother of the mother of the mother of Astrid’s mother’s mother in olden times. Mamasutrianism proceeded to fork matrilineal down her bloodline. The Rhipidistians were simple semen sacks elevated to lords and douches of the duchy as a sop to their base proclivities. It’s no wonder that Siddhartha Huff longed to transition out of his Rhip wrap.
Texas cologne messed with Astrid like firewater. The dosey doe that stunned the Gala socialites stalled Astrid in full-blown psychic orgasm. By design, the cologne induced pre-mortem euphoria before stopping the heart. The gasee — normally an organ donor — experienced impending oblivion as the happiest outcome imaginable from a whole series of possible happy outcomes.
Three weeks after the Gala saga, in Astrid’s belfry it was still a pie-in-the-sky rodeo; she had clocked her eight seconds astride a pedigreed Bramer bull and was spanking the bucking beast with her free hand. No amount of finger sniffing by bigwig toxicologists posturing over Astrid’s predicament could extricate her from her trance. There was little recourse but to administer the whiff de grace.
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved