The fifth of January twenty twenty five, yet another not so cool southern Spanish siesta afternoon.
.
Sixteen years too late ghostly Tankman Johnson’s Phantom Echo Regiment of supercharged mother of pearl blue black Chieftains crewed by the sweet sexy Pretty Boys and Pretty Girls roar a symphony of tuned chrome trimmed engines and canon and machine gun fire across the shimmering dust fields of Almería, Sister Ray loud on the sound systems of each and every vehicle, deep into Al-Ándalus, and, ding dong, knock knock who’s there? Rescue The Transparent Princess, The Pretty Girl, with her oh so cute nineteen sixties style pageboy fringe and pony tail, from The Born Again Priest’s castle keep, The Stone Room. And all without suffering a single casualty, cuts and bruises, aches and pains apart, to the hoary hordes of mercenary priests and blind believers, martyrs of the Afterlife Paradise Enlightenment Salesmen.
“Help them all along on their way to where they want to go is what I say! Everyone Ok?! Cut! That’s a wrap! Shit, we’re all over exposed! Switch the time curves! Let’s get the hell outta here, kids!!”