The Future
 

Without fuel they were nothing. They built a house of straw. The thundering machines sputtered and stopped. Their leaders talked and talked and talked. But nothing could stem the avalanche. Their world crumbled. The cities exploded. A whirlwind of looting, a firestorm of fear. Men began to feed on men.

On the roads it was a white line nightmare. Only those mobile enough to scavenge, brutal enough to pillage would survive. The gangs took over the highways, ready to wage war for a tank of juice. And in this maelstrom of decay, ordinary men were battered and smashed.

Except for Tabs. Armed with an AK-47, and a long nose full of silver. He lived in the best houses after the fall, drank the best champagne, and bought women for cans of soup.

No one could stop him, and he was a small timer! The really big operators, they took over whole towns, and you don't want to know what happened there. Tabs? he was happy living in his huge home, stockpiled like Omegaman, shooting at the occasional vagrant who strayed on to his property.

Life was hard, but good compared to working for some douchebag 5 days a week. Money was worthless, you either had something to trade, or you were something to trade.

Life was hard, but good.

The Porsche 911 had been heavily modified. As Pelican stock of parts had run out years ago, the only ones still on the road had chevy V8s fittted in them, and they ran a little rough on ethanol, the only fuel still available from the local farmers. When turning the key, hearing the awkard sound of the big block and the pitched whine of the compressor taking life in the 911s, Tabs remembered with a smile on his face the time where he could not even sit in the tight cockpit. The great famine and the daily road kill diet had given him his baby back. Hummm, squirrel ribs...time for one more day of food hunting.

Aurel

Tabs learned quickly that Squirrel ribs required a fine rub'n - a strong mix of herbs and spices that bring out the gaminess while masking the taste of asphalt and road oil.

The darkness always came too soon but the night offered its own rewards. New opportunities for food sources, deals to be made, contraband to be traded and black powder to be made.

The 911 always behaved better at night - the cool of the night. When the mosit air was most friendly.

Tabs felt the most safe when the car was at speed. 125..130, that`s when the turbo started to kick in in fourth gear...at those speeds, he knew the pirates would not even bother try stopping him. Indeed, they would not even realize someone had been driving the highway after he was far away. The lights of camp H-456 were visble far away in the desert, and Tabs realized how lucky he had been not to have any outstanding credit card debt at the time of the great collapse. When all the system went bankrupt and everyone lost their house, the banks and the Gubmit started opening forced labor concentration camps, a place where you would never want to end up...Savoring the smell of the cuban cigar and the gas fumes permating the leather seats, Tabs thanked himslef for one more day stolen to hell.

Aurel

On that dark desert highway, the cool wind ran through his hair. The warm smell of burning tires, rising up through the air. Up ahead in the distance, he saw shimmering light. Tabs head grew heavy and his sight grew dim. He had to stop for the night. There she stood in the doorway; CC rang that hellish bell. Tabs thought that 'This could be Heaven or this could be Hell' Then she lit up a candle and she showed him the way. There were voices down the corridor, he thought he heard them say...

how poetic

Welcome to the Hotel California, what a lovely place......what a lovely place......Theres plenty of room at the Hotel California....

What about the Road Warrior?

Outlander!?

Mad Maxx?

Tabs had heard of man, living where the mountains met the desert. This man, who went by various names, but was generally know simply as 'Wayne', was know to have the largest stock pile of Porche parts this side of the great river.

His last encounter with the local gangs had left several bullet holes in his headliner. Late one night, he set off to find Wayne. Cruising at 130mph, he deftly avoided the burned out hulks of trucks and cars that litered the roadway. His massive array of lights lit the night out nearly half a mile.

In the distance, he saw lights on the road. Burning tires. Some local punks looking for easy prey. They saw the light rapidly approaching and nevously fondled their weapons. Suddenly, bright head lights went out, but the sound, the scream of a flat six alive only got louder. "Run!!!!". It was too late. The scream of the engine was suddenly augmented with the with the snort of a pair of Dillion rotary cannons. An unholy spray of metal and pink mist danced in the pale light of the tire fires. The 911 smashed through the debris and howled off into the night. Tabs flicked the lights back on, and reached for the box on the passenger seat. He openned it, and carefully selected his favorite chocolate and popped it in his mouth.

Motoring down the highway, the unmistakeable "POP..KERRANG" rang out in the still of the desert night. Tabs knew right away it was the fan belt. Shaking off the last dregs of a cheap tequila high, He sprang into action. "Thank God for Mother" he thought, "always reminding Me to wear clean underwear and to protect my ever expanding buffet waistline with a belt AND suspenders." With that thought screaming through his "smart as a whip" noggin, he undid one suspender and in the greatest 'MacGyver" fashion, had the 911S roaring down the asphalt in seek of His real purpose...

The road was not kind - especially to a man without any trousers on. Years ago TABS had replaced the upholstery with a thick wool blanket. It was only 15 minutes in and the chaffing began. Subtle at first then the intensity built to a full fledged ripping at his lost pride.

He took both hands off his wheel to attend to his backside. This proved to be a costly mistake in attention. Any physical stimulation to his backside meant complete and uncontrolled flatulence combined with a loss of involuntary control of all lesser intestinal componants. Now exhaust from his 911 and himself was something to be dealt with. Just then the make-shift belt gave way and the engine whinned yet produced nothing. It was going to be a long walk to anywhere.

TABS packed

you guys are nuts


















keep up the good work.

what tabs really craved was a donut..not the jelly-filled variety..a simple, chocolate-iced treat..

Thank God Tabs is well armed with old, antique single action side arms from days long past.

Got ammo?

(Cue LaBamba singing in a high voice...)

In the year 2000....

Now about a half-mile from the car left forlornly along the side of the dark strip of asphalt, Tabby remembered that he only used one side of his suspenders, and that the other side lay on the floor behind the passenger seat.

Sizzling along at tripple-digit speeds was far more preferable to stumbling along in the dark night, worried about what dessert creatures were silently watching him, his bare backside looking tasty.

To press on, or to turn around and try to get just a few more miles out of the 911 with the remainder of his suspenders.....

Yup, turning around was the right choice. There's chocolate in the glove box! As the small crescent of the moon began to rise above the desolate horizon, tab's vision was greatly enhanced.

This increased visability turned out to be a double-edged sword, because

some body has been watching hte MadMAx movies all in one go??