Read Bill 4 - on the Planet of Tasteless Pleasure for Free Online

longings. (Irma wanted a new kitty-cat, and Bill wanted a bottle of Old Granbowb.)
    They walked in springtime freshness while lovebirds chirped amidst the olive branches and doves cooed softly and musically at their feet, occasionally squawking as they were stepped on.
    Since the doves looked terribly delicious, Bill would have blasted one for dinner, if he'd had a blaster on his belt. Instead, he made a grab for one, caught it around the neck and would have wrung that neck, but for Irma's horrified remonstrations.
    “But I'm hungry!” said Bill with no little amount of frustration. “What do you guys eat here!”
    “Why, ambrosia, of course!”
    Bill looked down at the thrashing dove, and then looked suspiciously at Irma. Memories of the terrible reconstituted food on that grand old lady of the space fleet, the FANNY HILL, bubbled loathsomely in Bill's memory. Here was fresh meat in his hand, as opposed to questionable victuals from Irma.
    “It's very good!” said Irma.
    “Hey, is that a rainbow over there?” said Bill, pointing.
    “Where?” Irma spun around and searched.
    With deft flicks of his wrists, Bill stuffed the dove down the front of his jumpsuit. Just in case ambrosia was anything akin to starship galley chow.
    “I don't see any rainbow,” said Irma, turning and looking at him, batting her pretty eyelashes with bemusement. “Where's the dove?”
    “Oh, he flew away.” Bill grabbed her hand. “But, dearest creature, let us not dwell on dreary doves but speak of other more tender things. Let's walk away further down there, all right?”
    “Down there” was a nice private little dip in the field, a gully where some gentle brook doubtlessly burbled merrily. Bill's intentions were, of course, entirely unchivalrous. They'd drink the jug of wine that dangled from the goat-skin that Irma had scrounged somewhere and he wouldn't hog it at all but would let Irma get just a wee bit tipsy. Then he'd suggest an innocent skinny-dip in the sparkling water. And then, when she got ahold of his manly physique and her feminine juices started mixing it up with the alcohol — whamo! — she'd be putty in his hands. What a way to go! What a snazzy plan!
    However, no sooner had they reached the edge of this delightful scene, (and there was indeed a most delightful burbling brook here, Bill saw with great interest) than a sudden sharp screeching tore through the enchantment, like a schoolteacher's claws on the 3-D board!
    “Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!” went the ghastly sound, somehow contriving to fill the entire universe with its gigantic gurgling. Somewhere buried in that terrible sound was pulsing music as well.
    “What the bowb is that?” said Bill.
    “Oh dear,” said Irma, looking up resignedly. “We have ventured too far out into the open. I forgot that Zeus desires to slake his lusts upon my maiden loins.”
    Zeus sure wasn't the only one, Bill thought, but what did that have to do with that noisome noise?
    He looked up, and was immediately stricken by quivering, shaking, quaking fear. Descending quickly from the sky, its black form obscuring the sun, was a monstrous bird shedding mites the size of grapefruit. Wrapped around its neck were gigantic speakers. The result was a frightening avian ghetto blaster mutation!
    And was that the Phigerinadon II national anthem it was playing? “In Awe We Kiss the Emperor's Big Toe. Pyakh.” No it wasn't. It was an archaeological treasure from the dawn of time sung by Elvis Pelvis.
    “Omigod!” cried Bill. “What is it?”
    “It's a Rocker!” cried Irma. “Oh, please, Bill — don't let it get me! Be my hero!”
    Bill's mighty sinews bunched, preparing for battle. His awesome fangs bared, his fists fisted, he took his stance against the creature, and looked up to snarl out his challenge.
    He saw the flash of scythelike talons, the gnash of the sharp, giant beak, the glint of murder in its huge black eyes —
    Bill immediately turned and ran for his