Randal Telk and the 396 Steps to Sexual Bliss (7 page)

“
Yes?
We
’
ve met?
”

“
What?
Not likely.
”

“
I am Jesus of Nazareth.
I will not resist arrest, but you soldier, are on my shit list!
”

“
Christ, you are a nut case!
”
replied
Telkius
, backhanding the malcontent, delivering the first pimp slap in the Holy Land.
“
I hope they crucify you.
”

“
They probably will,
”
lamented Jesus.
“
You Romans have no sense of humor about religious freedom.
How about we make a deal?
I
’
ll lift the curse, and you let me ride away on my trusted camel, Hargundu?
”

“
Not good enough,
”
haggled
Telkius
, no rube to negotiating with locals.
“
I keep the camel.
You ride out on an ass.
What else do you have to offer?
”

“
You will surely burn in Hell,
”
threatened Jesus, brightening.
“
How about I give you my sister, Yolanda?
”

As if on cue, Yolanda entered the room.
Angels sang from above, birds tweeted, she had a halo glow about her.
Obviously Yolanda was pure, a virgin among camp sluts and followers.
Surely
Telkius
would not catch crabs this time.
And her feet, so large!
Firm, wide
-
toed, grape
-
squishing feet to die for.
Telkius
took the fair and limber Yolanda in his arms, drawing her sensuous feet to his lips, and chewing off a bunion.
Telkius
loved women with firm foundations.

“
One more thing,
”
insisted
Telkius
, turning to Jesus.
“
Can you get me out of my Legion enlistment contract, so me and Yolanda can go home to Ithaca, grow grapes, make sweet wine, and live happily ever after enjoying the
three-hundred-ninety-six
steps to sexual bliss?
”

“
Consider it done,
”
promised Jesus.
“
May God bless you, children.
What was that you were saying about
three-hundred-ninety-six
steps to sexual bliss?
”

* * * * *

“
Where
’
s your gear?
”
asked Sergeant Williams.

“
A camel stole it,
”
answered Private Telk meekly
, looking up from the palm tree he was leaning against
.
“
Big Al promised that camel was a highly trained Legion pack camel.
I think Big Al lied.
”

“
A camel?
I don
’
t believe a word you say!
What is your major malfunction?
”

“
It could have happened.
”

“
Shut up!
”

“
In fact, it did happen.
That camel
’
s name was Hargundu.
”

“
Jesus H. Christ, Legion recruitment standards have sunk to new lows!
”
complained Sergeant Williams bitterly.
Distant thunder cracked and rumbled as clouds formed on the horizon.
“
You will face disciplinary action when we get back to camp.
I hope Colonel Czerinski crucifies you!
”

Chapter 8

Disciplinary action for Private Telk would have to wait.
Legionnaires were ordered to hitch a ride on tanks speeding north back across the DMZ.
Telk and his comrades hung on for dear life as the column w
oun
d through the hills.
The dust was terrible.
Choking
l
egionnaires covered their faces with rags, but it did not help.
It was rumored the tank commander was a real go-getter,
t
hought he was another General Patton or something.
Private Telk longed for the comfort of their armored car, something he never thought possible.

“
Where are we going?
”
Telk asked impatiently.
“
Are we almost there yet?
”

“
Do you have a need to know?
”
asked Sergeant Williams,
glancing over the side as if
contemplating throwing Telk off the tank.
“
No!
So shut up!
”

“
I have to pee.
”

“
Piss off the tank!
”

“
It
’
s too bumpy.
I need both hands to hold on.
”

“
Tough shit!
”

“
You know, Sergeant Williams, you are really beginning to irritate me.
”

Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne had been listening.
The big spider seemed amused, having no problem holding on
to
the tank turret.
He leaned in to give Sergeant Williams some advise.
“
That Telk may have a screw lose, even by your human pestilence standards, but he
’
s a killer.
We need his kind along.
I would not ride him so hard if I was you.
”

Sergeant Williams let out a rebel yell, and pounded on the turret.
The column came to a halt.
Captain Patton opened the hatch
and demanded,
“
Well?
”

“
Private Telk needs a potty break,
”
explained Sergeant Williams, gesturing to Telk.

“
Is that so?
”
asked Captain Patton, now standing on the turret, sizing up Private Telk through reflective tear-drop sunglasses.
Telk just shrugged.

Patton unzipped his fly
and pissed
off the edge.
“
What are you waiting for?
Christmas?
We have terrorists to kill!
Piss away, gentlemen!
You won
’
t get another chance!
”

“
Thank you, sir,
”
said Private Telk, scowling at Williams.

“
God damn I love the Legion,
”
replied Patton.
“
If it
’
s alright with you men, can we kill some spider terrorists now?
”

“
Yes, sir!
”
chorused everyone, even Sergeant Williams.

Finishing his business, Private Telk returned to his seat and settled into the stifling heat of the tank as another fantasy overtook him...

* * * * *

American Tank Commander Randal Patton Telk surveyed the field, prime tank fighting country.
Commander Telk had already punched through the North Korean lines, approaching the capital city of Pyongyang.
His mission was simple:
arrest, pimp-slap, or kill Comrade Jong, the unanimously elected Eternal Dictator For Life of the Republic of North Korea.
Then serve an eviction notice on his Chinese protectors.
There would be no candy-ass United Nations holding the American
A
rmy back this time.

Ahead lay a clear path to victory.
Commander Telk
’
s tank led the way, splashing through the mud, scattering chickens and farm animals.
His satellite link rang, connecting directly with the Joint Chiefs.

“
Telk!,
”
shouted General Daly.
“
I saw that on video!
You deliberately ran over those poor chickens.
Stop and issue their peasant owners a receipt for one thousand dollars per chicken.
”

“
What?
”
asked Commander Telk incredulously.
“
Are you nuts?
”

“
General Services Administration calculates each chicken will lay dozens of eggs.
When those eggs hatch, the babies will grow up and lay more eggs.
You just single handedly wiped out countless generations of chickens and eggs.
”

“
Sir, we can
’
t stop!
”
argued Commander Telk.
“
There
’
s a war going on!
”

Thump, squish, splatter, eek!

“
Play that video over again,
”
demanded General Daly.
“
Did you just run over more chickens?
You
’
re a menace to the roadways, you know that
,
c
ommander?
”

“
It was a goat,
”
answered Commander Telk contritely.
“
How much do goats cost?
A lot, I suppose.
”

“
Thousands after you figure in the cost of goat milk, cheese, wool, meat, and loss of consortium!
”
fumed General Daly.
“
I am relieving you of command!
”

“
Go fuck yourself,
g
eneral,
”
replied Commander Telk, disconnecting satellite and video links to Washington
,
DC
“
I
’
m going to have Fat Boy Jong
’
s head on a pike, and no force on Earth can stop me!
”

As Commander Telk entered Pyongyang, an anti-tank missile struck, bouncing off the front slope of his tank.
The missile was fired from bunkers blocking the way.
Telk called for air support, but was denied.

“
Close air support in a heavily populated area goes against your rules of engagement,
”
insisted General Daly, back on the line.
Video was restored, too.
“
You are aware of your rules of engagement?
”

“
I swear
,
I
’
m going to pimp
-
slap the shit out of you
,
sir
,
when I get back home,
”
promised Commander Telk, crashing over the bunkers and ignoring incoming rounds.
The column raced down a wide empty boulevard to Jong
’
s Presidential Palace.
Without hesitation, Commander Telk drove his tank through the front door of the Palace, coming to rest in Dictator Jong
’
s living room.
Fat Boy had been watching Telk
’
s advancing tanks on Fox News, and now pointed to himself on TV.

“
American imperialist dog!
”
shouted Jong.
“
Look what you did to my imported Persian carpet!
Do
you
know how many missiles I had to sell
to
Iran to buy that carpet?
”

“
No,
”
answered Commander Telk, spitting brown chew on the carpet.
“
Do you?
”

“
Not exactly, but I bet it was a lot.
I
’
m sending your GSA a cleaning bill!
”