“How do we get inside the White House?” Vick asked.

“I’ve got a security clearance,” Weathers said. “We’ll drive up, and then knock on the front door. You boys will have to put-on uniforms. Gregson looks like a general, and you can be a corporal.”

Red lights in the cabin turned yellow. “We’re approaching the target area now. Get in.”

Gregson strapped-on his seatbelt, extra tight. Falling in a vehicle that weighed over a ton was not his idea of a soft landing.

“Okay—Green!”

The Cornel hit reverse and the Hummer entered free-fall. “Let’s hope I packed the chute right!”

“What?”

A black canopy expanded above them, and they floated toward the Washington Monument.

“We’re going to get impaled on that thing. Can’t you steer us in a different direction?”

“We go where the wind take us.” They nearly got draped on the enormous erection, but a breeze blew them, and they landed in the soft turf.

“Now—we just drive through the main gate. Show them my ID badge.” Weathers gave Gregson his White House Pass.

When they got to the front door, a black butler greeted them. “My name is Booker. His excellency—the President—is in his bed chamber right now. He’s entertaining cheerleaders from his alma mater.”

“They’re about to cut his manhood,” Vick said. “We’ve got to stop them! If the President loses his balls, the United States won’t be able to stand-up to its enemies.”

Gregson smashed through the bedroom doors with his shoulder. The president was being smothered by Kara and Kristina, while Sarah tested a pair of sewing scissors behind him.

Weathers pulled-out his handgun, and shot both Ks in the head. Momentarily, Sarah mesmerized the Cornel with her big knockers. He was hypnotized. Vick also was losing his mind. All of his blood left his big head and rushed to the small one.

Gregson spent years making himself invulnerable to feminine whiles. He pulled handcuffs from his pocket. “You’re under arrest,” he said.

“But I didn’t know they were underage!” The President shouted.

“Not you—the alien!”

“What? You mean I just had sex with aliens?”

“I’m afraid so. You used protection, right?”

The President drew a blank.

“Well—they live for thousands of years and copulate more than humans. Their technology can’t keep up with their diseases. Viruses keep mutating. You probably have an STD 1000 times more potent than syphilis.”

“How do I get treated for that?”

“I’m sure you can cook it up in a lab somewhere.”

“It’s dangerous to keep this one alive,” Cornel Weathers said.

“I know—but there’s more of them, and we need to know the extent of their plans. Vick—you’re half alien—read her mind.”

“Oww, ahhhh, yessss,” Vick said

“She’s mind F-ing him. This is useless.”

“Stay with it,” Gregson said.

“Okay—I can see their plans—I can read her thoughts. They want to breed with us. It’s the surest way to conquer the human species.”

“I’m okay with that,” Gregson said. “As long as I’m hooking up with a 10—who cares?”

“You would have sex with an alien, if she was a hottie? There’s no hope for the human race.”

“They know how to defeat us—that’s for sure. Any suburban male would gladly surrender to a woman with big knockers. It’s the soft power of seduction,” Gregson said.

“No—it’s hard.”

“Well—I’m going to put an end to it,” Cornel Weathers said. “With my gun.” He pulled it from his holster and shot her in the head. Now we have to spread the word—blondes with big knockers are not to be trusted.”

4 thoughts on “Chapter 8 Blondes with Big Knockers are not to be Trusted

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