Strips
Tall Tank Tales
Lost & Found
For Rachael
The most harcore chick to ever make love this grand.
Of all the useless crap, trinkets and random stuff Tank Girl and Booga found in their travels none of it rivals what they found today. Down to three packs of cigarettes and seven beers, times were tough and something needed to happen. And they were damn well gonna make something happen.
Hitting all their usual haunts, they were coming up empty. No one had smokes or booze. Almost no one. Floyd Higgins was good for nothing, except an intimate knowledge of "WHAT" could be found "WHERE". For instance, if one needed heavy gauge wire to repair the tread on a tank, Floyd was your man. This concept was inclusive of locating smokes and booze. The drawback was that he was belligerent, well armed, and painfully chatty. So if he wasn’t mean to you, he’d sure as hell talk your ear off or possibly shoot it off. It all depended on his mood.
Times were desperate, so Tanky and Booga went to Floyds Pump ’N Serve. The food was awful and he hadn’t had gasoline for sale in at least four years, but all they really craved was nicotine. They pulled up, loaded their weapons and wondered if Floyd would be in a chatty mood today.
"Hey you fat ol’ Bastard! How’s the world treating you?" Tanky said upon seeing Floyd.
"I’ve been better, ya crusty ol’ bitch," he said with a grin. "Still got that furry bastard with ya I see."
Booga smiled, wrapping his fingers around the handle of his knife. He was calm, but really had no time for anything besides his grill and his girl. Floyd just loved to push buttons, cause trouble and be a pain in the ass.
"If you would sell us some cigarettes, we’ll leave you alone to your masturbatory rituals," Booga retorted.
"I haven’t heard about any smokes for sale in weeks, but I could jerk off for ya. If ya’d like..."
"We’ll pass. Thanks all the same," Booga closed.
"Besides it’s so small we couldn’t all get a glimpse of yer little worm," Tanky added with a grin and a hand gesture.
"Well," Floyd said, "If that’s all ya wanted... Get the fuck out!"
She reached for the door when it jumped on her head, pulled at her hair and tore her scalp. Her scream may have been heard three miles down the road. With a broad stroke, Booga removed the problem - knocking it onto the counter that Floyd was leaning against as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Free from the assailant, Tanky drew her pistol and discovered she was pointing it at a small monkey.
"That’s one googley-eyed monkey you got there," she remarked a bit surprised.
"He showed up one day and just never left," Floyd explained, "The little fucker climbs all over the place. It’s downright entertaining on a dull day."
They laughed - Booga squeezed his knife once more - and they walked out into the dusty Pump ’N Serve parking lot. The old gas pumps looked like rusted relics, corroding and filthy from lack of use. Gas was another tough commodity, but Tanky had her ways - and guns. Tank Girl took one last look around, as if reminiscing about the last time they were able to buy smokes from Floyd, and noticed a box. It was near the tank. So near that she wondered how she had missed it before.
Approaching slowly, the box moved slightly. Almost the way it might if it were empty in a gentle breeze. It was stagnant and hot as fuck and that box was moving under its own power. She wondered if a snake or other rotten creature was lying in wait. Not wanting to be attacked by another creature, Tanky prodded the box with the barrel of her M-16. Booga noticed her cautious actions and watched intently... from a distance. He didn’t care for snakes or other creatures that hide in boxes.
She slipped the barrel under the flap of the box and gently raised it. It was dark inside the box and the sun’s bright light was not helping much. And then a small hand reached out and grabbed the end of the rifle. Tanky jerked and an arm emerged. She pulled more and suddenly a baby sprang out still holding the muzzle of the M-16.
"Look Honey, you caught a fetus," Booga mused.
"Caught it," she yacked, "I almost shot it."
She approached Booga with the infant clinging to her gun.
Booga plucked it off the gun by it’s other hand and announced to him, "We’re taking all your beer and cigarettes."
The child smacked Booga on the face and gurgled at him.
"OK, he’s a keeper," Tank Girl said in an uncharacteristically girly voice.
Booga smiled and called out to Floyd, "We’re taking your other monkey for a ride... OK?"
"Yeah, yeah," he yelled from the shade of his store, "that’s great."
Obviously he didn’t care, didn’t hear and probably didn’t know he had a child-in-a-box in front of his store in the first place. Booga and Tanky drove off with no cigarettes, no booze and a brand new son! They figured he was about a year old. Naked and smiling, their new son sat quite still and content inside the tank and didn’t make a peep. A strange sign to say the least, but the strangest changes were the ones that overcame our drunken nicotine junkies who routinely caused trouble without hesitation or knowledge.
"What’s your name?" Booga inquired of the infant.
"Who are you?" tried Tanky, leaning in toward him.
"Bah!" he screamed and hit her on the face.
"Fuck!" she squirmed, "What the hell was that for?"
"Bah!" he yelled again with a wicked grin.
"Maybe we should call him Gunther," Booga suggested, "Gun or Gunny for short."
"Hmmm... I kinda liked Milton," Tanky offered.
"How about Milton-Gunther," he replied diplomatically.
"How about you’re a knot-headed fuck brain?" she smiled.
Thus ending the name game. Unsure of the outcome, the infant became known as "hey you" or "you there" or "what are you doing? Stop it". These were fairly unusual names, but these two had never named a pet let alone a human. This was just one of the new phases they would endure as newfound parents... of sorts.
A week later...
Tank girl swung the tank’s top hatch open with a thud. She emerged wearing a helmet, a knife in her teeth, and a makeshift baby harness, for the infant, across her chest. He seemed thrilled to be carried around. Tanky took the knife from her mouth and deftly cut up an apple, which she shared with the infant. He refused to take the apple in his hand, forcing Tanky to place small chunks of apple into his mouth. It was Booga who discovered that the infant had a bullet’s shell casing in each hand and refused to let go even to have some apple.
"He’s definitely our kid, eh," Booga mused.
"Won’t know till we see him in battle," she smiled and winked at Booga.
A dusty cloud could be seen on the horizon. Marauders, they thought and took the tank off the road to lay low for the night. It was an odd feeling. No fights, no killing, no senseless violence and no beer. Their supply had run dry. The oddest part was the marauders would be perfect targets for all the above. Start a fight, kill them and take their beer and cigarettes. A standard plan for these two.
They even talked about it. Were they changing? Was it theinfant that caused their caution? Was this change good? Were they ready for this much change? Could they handle it? Should anyone be forced to answer this many questions?
"Bah!"
"Ow," Booga mumbled, "Ya just can’t get too close to that kid."
Tanky smiled and nodded... winking at the infant.
The sounds of the marauders drew closer.
"I can’t stand this," she said to Booga, "Lets go!"
He smiled racked his shotgun and took off out the hatch after his beloved warrior - after he wrapped a blanket around their infant.
Two Jeeps and a station wagon approached. The wild cries of drunken debauchery grew in volume. Just as the headlights were upon Tank Girl and Booga a loud explosion silenced the wild cries and the two Jeeps were each overturned.
"Land mines. Ya gotta love em!" Tanky whispered to Booga.
Under the cover of gunfire they approached the few survivors and fired off a few more shots that sent marauders running in all directions. They were a disorganized bunch, as are most marauders. Booga saw they had hit the jackpot. The station wagon was mostly unharmed and full of food. And yes, it also contained cigarettes and beer.
Loading up the tank was hard work. There were a lot of new rations to be loaded! Their son yelled with joy (Still just "Bah!") and smiled as they loaded the tank with boxes from the station wagon. Although loading the supplies was hard work each of them would catch the other looking at their new son.
Booga fondly fired up the grill and hoisted some steaks onto it. It was their first cookout as a family! Over a beer and a cigarette (something they had not enjoyed for quite a while) they realized that their son wouldn’t hinder their predisposition toward violence, depravity and chaotic morality. He simply gave them more reason to conquer the world in their own unique way.