the saurian menace from helos v.

I was rather surprised when a courier showed up on my doorstep with a contract for a new assignment. I slipped him a five-spot and told him to scram, tearing open the envelope and chortling gleefully as I read exactly what I was requested to do. Apparently my exploits in the Pacific Northwest Eradication of Cabbage Patch Kids had found its way across the interdimensional grapevine, since I was being hired to exterminate a new scourge: The Singing Purple Dinosaurs of Helos V.

I hadn't actually done any contract work since the Muppets had hired me in '86 to clean up that Care Bear fiasco, so I was rather overjoyed at the prospects of getting back into the groove.

Now, everyone knows that saurians are partial to crumpets and marmalade, so when I cleaned out the stock at Jack's Food Emporium, even Ol' Jack himself came out to get the inside dirt on my latest assignment. The damn plush tyrannosaurs had been luring Helosian village children off with songs and hugs, and then had been holding an awful lot of barbecue sing-along parties, and the villagers were terrified by this crisi situation. Fortunately, I knew what to do.

Wishing me luck, Jack had helped me load up my purchases into the Urban Assault Vehicle, and even offered me 100 credits for a nice plush pelt. He was a decent kind of guy, so I told him that if a throw rug was what he wanted, it was on me, but he'd have to tan and dress it himself.

My next stop was Wally's Weapon-O-Rama, home of every tactical device a girl could dream of, and more! I knew that this job was going to take more than a few well-placed garrottes, so I made sure to stock up. Thank Goddess for the people at Centurion Millenium Latinum-Pressed Gold Visa, because until the bounty cleared, I was going to be seriously in the hole. No great worry though, as I always do my job, and I always do it well.

After packing and preparing all the necessary paperwork, I drove the UAV over to Inter-D Gateways (TM) to have my equipment shipped to Helos V. Damned monopoly they have to; I just wish I'd have gotten in on the ground floor when the dimensional-travel business first opened. Oh, well. That was the past, and blood was in my future.

I could tell you about the awful trip and the moderately lavish accommodations the Helosians had for me on the Inter-D Freighter, but that isn't really important. Just suffice it to say that spam is served interdimensionally, and the natives really know how to treat their saviour.

As I detailed my plans for the Helosian Governmental Yahoos, I couldn't help but grin as they heartily agreed to every demand and request I made. I would have the assistance of four strapping young native men -- I mean, someone has to dig the trenches and scrub the blood off of my sweat-soaked CombatTogs, and I don't think that that someone should necessarily be me.

I decided to start work that very evening, so I issued orders to my menials to dig several deep pits a couple hundred yards from the saurian menace's base camp. I'm not quite sure where the purple bastards came from, but I knew they weren't locals, as they had only been seen on Helos V in the past month or so. However, the damage they had done to the gene pool would wreak havoc for many generations to come. Fortunately, that wasn't really my concern, as I was hired to kill, not to breed.

As the boys toiled, I loaded my AK-47, grabbed a few grenades and my sniper gear, and went to spy on the dinobastards. They didn't look terribly intelligent, as they were all sitting around a large barbequepit, singing and chowing down on what appeared to be tiny drumsticks and thighs. The stench of crisped human flesh was nauseating, but I was able to stomach it and sneak around to see if I could find any living children. Unfortunately, the kiddie kennels were bare, but this meant the damnable purple slugs would be sated for a few days, and would most likely be easier to pick off, before they raided the villages for more children. Sighing, I returned to the males in my UAV and surveyed their work.

Simple pit traps probably wouldn't fool the older and wiser (sic) dinos, but I knew that the younger tyrannos wouldn't be able to resist the treats I had in store for them. We covered the holes with tarps and branches, and carefully placed a tray of crumpets and marmalade in the center of each, then the five of us retreated to the vehicle to watch the festivities begin, once the sing-along had ended.

Our wait was not long, for a mere ten minutes later, one of the bloated scum-suckers waddled out of the camp and practically leaped into the middle of the closest tarp, trying to get at the pastries it held. I only wish you could have seen the look on the dumb bastard's face when it plummeted straight down and landed with a dull thud. I grinned and set G'ila and Kom'o to watch the perimeter, as I got a bag of toys from my equipment and tramped on over to the hole.

"Will you be my friend?" croaked the dino, as I sneered down the hole at it, watching it pathetically lick the crumpets and jam from its fingers. It had yet to dawn on the bugger that he was looking Death in the face, but what do you expect from something with a brain that's roughly the size of a walnut?

"Yeah, sure. I love you, you love me," I replied snidely as I drew the harpoon gun from my pack and cocked it at the dino's left eye, firing quickly and smiling as I heard the solid thunk of metal embedding itself into the now-violated eye socket. I wish I had remembered to bring a Polaroid camera along, because the sight of the greenish ichor dripping down the bastard's chin was almost as sweet as seeing the look on a Care Bear's face after weed whacker evisceration.

"Ow!" it yelped, keeling over sideways as I yanked on the cord attached to the harpoon. I was extremely disappointed at this pitiful reaction, so I proceeded to pump a few rounds of ammo into his plump body, and sighed. I had hoped for much more gore and whining, but I guess I had overestimated my quarry.

There was no great sport in this assignment, and that saddened me. Remembering Jack's request, I motioned D'erac and Nil'a over to haul up the corpse and skin it. I then walked over to the UAV and dug out the rocket launcher, and strode back to the saurian camp.

All of them were still eating, so I screamed, "EAT THIS, YOU FAT FUCKERS!" at the top of my lungs and let off a few rockets into the center of the bonfire, wincing slightly as the camp erupted into a fiery conflagration on tyranno-gore. The few remaining survivors were summarily gunned down, and after making sure they were all dead, I ordered the men to pack up everything of mine and load it back into my UAV.

Needless to say, I got a very fat bonus, in addition to the more than healthy bounty I had been paid, paid off my creditors, and even managed to coerce Wally into giving me a refund on all of the unused equipment. I must say though, that had to be the most disappointing jobs I had ever done. It made me want to lie low for a while, so I headed over to Ol' Jack's to see what he'd done with the pelt I'd scored for him.

Jack was more than happy to see me, and proudly dragged me back to his office to see his new recliner, a nice plush purple job with a special rest for a drink and another one for a remote control or two. Ah, sheer heaven.

When he went back out to the store to deal with some unruly old ladies from the local horticultural society that were screaming bloody murder about a crumpet deficit in the baked goods aisle, I decided to take his Lazee-Boy for a test drive. I kicked back in the baby, put up my feet, opened a brewsky, and decided to channel surf, when what did I catch while flipping past PBS? The Barney & Friends show.

I gasped and sat bolt upright, spilling beer on my lap, and gasped again as the beer made its way into my britches. But that wasn't nearly as important as the menace on the TV. It made perfect sense though, the more I thought about it. This Barney must have slipped through on a Helos export shipment, and really now, could I blame him for making his way to Hollywood, where a singing dinosaur would be an instant star and would never want for innocent young children?

So, now I am waiting for the day I can bloodily take the bastard down, and finish my contract in as satisfying a manner possible. You see, an exterminator never quits, and until Barney is history, I will not rest. And, hey, now I have something to look forward to... once my vacation is over.

colour commentary.

This bad boy was intended to be my homage to the gritty crime detective type novels you always hear about. True pulp fiction. It falls far short of its lofty goals, but it does adequately illustrate my intense hatred from all things Barney.

This story is also copyrighted by me, 1993.