Its a MADMAX World

Post by **MaxG** » Fri Oct 25, 2002 1:14 am

I am ......

Post by **squeezer** » Fri Oct 25, 2002 1:55 am

*a thousand yards off from the Foxes Den*

As Squeezer prepares to drive off in his repaired Pursuit Special the sound of a man shreiking can be heard over the rumble and whine of the V-8 as it idles with the blower engaged. Shaking his head Squeezer wonders if Mitch will recover from the bleach burns on his head.

"Hope they don't blind him with that stuff." He muses. The Weiand begins to wind up in pitch as Squeezer pulls away headed out back towards the decommissioned underground silo he shares with the other remnants of the MFP and their families. He smiles to himself as he imagines the women's reaction to finding their lair is only a week on foot from a converted operational installation with lights, climate control and hot/cold running water.

Well, it was Mitch's idea to 'feel 'em out' with an offer of a couple cases of Bog Roll, Hair Products and Protective Fire Power. Mitch's plan to 'Charm the Sheila's' before revealing everything 'just to get to know 'em a bit' before inviting them back to the comfort and safety of The Silo was difficult to argue with though Squeezer suspects it might backfire.

Laughing openly he drops the transmission into overdrive and kills the Blower. The journey is only a couple days going around the Marauders. A nice shower and a decent meal will be welcome.

Post by **MaxG** » Fri Oct 25, 2002 2:04 am

LMFAO @ Squeezer!

MaxG heard the sound of the Pursuit Special going by and leaves the foxhole to track where it's headed......

Post by **Mitch** » Fri Oct 25, 2002 5:24 am

It was well worth the 'bleach burns', MaxG

Mitch

Post by **MaxG** » Fri Oct 25, 2002 5:34 am

I bet you say that to all the girls

That'll cost ya two rolls of TP and NOT the generic store crap ..... my precious bootay only touches Charmin

Post by **Mitch** » Fri Oct 25, 2002 5:49 am

For you, double ply... I gladly put out the good stuff for a girl who knows what MFP stands for. Now if you'll only untie me, I'll bust out with the cushy stuff.

You and Rio will fit right in @ Burning Man.

Mitch

Post by **Interdictor** » Fri Oct 25, 2002 8:42 am

Careful, Mitch. nobody said anything about WHICH head those bleach burns are on.

Post by **Neobrit** » Fri Oct 25, 2002 10:43 am

Sticking with the appocalypse scenario ,did you see in the news recently about the guys running their deisel cars on used cooking oil bought wholesale from resteraunts ?.It runs just as well as normal deisel and obviously costs a hell of a lot less .Some people have been prosecuted for it in the uk for evading fuel tax and some supermarkets have been running short ! So much for what happens if the fuel runs out you can just grow it now ,the down side being you would have to drive a motor that sounds like a tractor.Can`t imagine the humungous and his mates circling a farm and telling them to `just walk away` though

Post by **Mitch** » Fri Oct 25, 2002 3:12 pm

If you ever have a chance, speak to someone from Eastern Europe, especially Russia, about the ingenious improvisations that people had to make in order to have vehicles. Or anything technological, for that matter. I worked with a Russian in his thirties who told me how they had wood burning cars, propane, flexible fuel(runs on anything), etc. During WWII and postwar, wood and trash burning cars were common, if you could get a car at all. Standing in line for nylons and T.P. (see, MaxG!) is pretty much inconcievable to us capitalist Westerners.

As I posted before, look at Cuba and their fleet of '40's-'50's American classics kept running for three generations or more now. Gotta be some serious cannibalization and fabrication going on there. No Auto Zone on every corner...

Now Interdictor, we KNOW which head those bleach burns are on. Hair products do not affect hardened stainless steel...

Mitch

Post by **Rio Goose** » Fri Oct 25, 2002 6:03 pm

RIO AND MAX-G's STORY by Rio, Esquire

How high could the sun get without burning a hole in the sky?

Higher... and higher still. It's only noon.

Stooped over the cavernous engine bay of a tatty, beaten-in Silverado, a grey-suited girl turned her grease-smudged face towards the roll-back doors as the hot light of day crept into the darkness of the garage. The clear, cloudless wrath of a drought caused the heat to radiate with nuclear force, turning the pavements outside into half-cooked cake mix. Hell on tires.... hell on everything....

The girl narrowed her dark eyes, pushed back a strand of her dirty mohawk clinging to her forehead as she sized up the 3/4 ton truck. Like a burned-out prizefighter, the smashed grill grinned at her toothlessly, huge wads of long-dried mud clumped into the slats as a stark testament to one-too-many battles against terra firma. A low growl pulsed in the girl's throat. Idiot marauders.... think they're superior on two wheels.... The last encounter with them had caused the truck to cough up some in ternal organs.

This was the third water pump she'd replaced in two weeks. The heat.... the heat... it had to break soon....

"Or it'll break us," the mech grumbled, eyeballing the pump irritably. "You blasted things are worth four days of petrol."

"It's the heat, Rio." Gee had suddenly appeared, glancing over her shoulder. Covered head to foot in a mish-mash of leather and sand-colored camo, she shook her head, jiggled the binoculars in her hand. "And I have to go up on the ridge."

Rio cocked an eyebrow. "Bad?"

"I don't know yet." As was her way under stress, Gee tensiously pinched the bridge of her nose, squinted against the light until her eyes nearly disappeared. "Something's not right. I think we may have been followed."

The mech swore, dropped her wrenches in her toolbox with a loud metallic clatter. Unzipping the top of her boiler suit, she marched across the garage. "Let me get Brutus and I'll come with."

"Make sure you have his collar on tight this time. He's liable to take off after those scags if he gets a whiff."

Nodding, Rio trotted across the dusty yard of the compound towards the house. A few kissing noises brought a mammoth, brindled dog out from under the porch, his tail swinging like a pendulum.

"Wake up, Brutus," the girl cooed, tweaking his floppy ears and dodging a glubbering, drooly greeting. "Go to Gee. Go find her! Go find Gee!!"

He ambled off, nose to the ground. Soon a grossed-out "Yaaaagggg!!!" was heard from the confines of the garage. Rio returned to find the binocs covered in slobbery goo.

The tracker smiled balefully at the mech. "This is your fault." Then she laughed. It was wonderful to hear her laugh again. Since the vicious attack on their old compound two months ago and their forced evac, Gee'd hardly had any expression at all. Remembrance pulled at the corners of Rio's mouth. She touched her throat, unconsciously rubbed at the ugly thick scar running like jagged lightning across her windpipe. Survival was an empty never-ending maw of nothing....

"Don't think about it," Gee said quietly. "Don't go back. We survived. It's alright now."

"No....." Rio was grim, almost stoney. "It's not okay. They took everything from us." She turned her hard stare on her partner. "You lost Max. How can we forgive them?"

"I...." Gee bit her jaws together. After an interminable pause, she tugged on Rio's arm. "Let's go." To the dog, "Et tu, Brute?"

YOUR TURN, MAX G!!!