Gobs of milky space-cum splattered the hood of his car, causing Paul Minisink to swerve into a tree. With an ear-crushing crash, the automobile scrunched like an accordion. In great pain, Paul pulled himself out of the wreckage and onto the grass a few feet away from the tree. His tongue wiggled a tooth that had become loose from the impact.
Paul thought that car might explode. That would be just great, he thought. A fiery ending to thousand-dollar investment: a blue 1989 Chevy Cavalier that, despite its age, was in great shape. But whatever, it was totaled anyway. Good thing he had reached his destination. He looked at the large road sign which read: Welcome to Pink Meat, New Jersey, Established 1788.
He looked up at the sky and winced, imagining more liquid scum would come falling down to finish the job. It had been a long time since Outer Space declared a rape-vendetta against him. It would not rest until it blew its load all over Paul and drowned him in the thick globs of space-sperm.
(to be continued..)