102619d

The other colony, overrun with the things, actually paid a bounty on the Tenerian giant slugs of 100 cr per eyestalk.

100719d

We call 'em rainbow slugs. Fried, they sure taste good goin' down, but when they come back up, oo-ee, that's a different story. And so please send a new ambassador ASAP. We promise to warn this one.

082619b

The giant slugs ate everything down to the high-tide line. The whales' plan had worked like a charm.

032018c

Slugworld(TM) is fine
until they unholster the radulas
you never saw
such a mess

061917

Catch a Slug!

Fillmore was stuck again, and the slug was due any minute. Stupid dog! Elle pulled on her boots and gloves and stepped off the curb, squelching into a good 10 cm of slime. Stepping carefully, she made her way out to where the beagle was completely plastered with mucus. Elle suppressed a shudder. How could this be better than diesel? (Whatever that was.) This was why she usually walked to school on the pedarch. She heard the slug's horn sound two short blasts. It was a block away.

"Come on, dummy," she said, reaching for Fillmore's collar. How could he hang his head and squirm away at the same time? The collar slipped out of her hand. Fillmore turned over to expose his belly. He knew she was angry. "It's ok," she shouted, "just come on!" Elle grabbed the collar again and dragged him to his feet. A loud "WHOOT!" blasted from the air horn on top of the slug's head. Fillmore gave a panicked lunge and Elle bellyflopped into the goop. The slug was braking, but sliding right for her, slime making a bow wave half a meter high at its front. She shut her eyes and mouth, curled into a ball. Imagine doing this for fun, like some gangbangers did.

She was airborne.

--

Somebody was washing her face. "Enough, already!" She put up her hands and pain shot through her left elbow. She screamed.

"Get that dog away from her," someone said.

Elle opened her eyes. She was lying on her back, ringed by strangers, thoroughly slimed. Fillmore was howling somewhere nearby. Her arm was broken. "Leggo my dog," she mumbled. A moment later Fill was nosing and licking her face. He bumped her left arm and her vision went out for a moment.

--

Or so it seemed, but when she opened her eyes again she was clean, in a hospital bed, and a cast covered most of her arm. Her mother stared at her from an armchair in front of the window. She took a deep breath.

Elle winced.

"What were you thinking, young lady?" Mother began. Ma probably meant well, but she didn't stop. Finally, Elle couldn't take any more.

"Ma! I wanted to get in the Rollers. It's part of the initiation. You know, slime rolling? Now I just have to get the tats." She pointed at her chest. "What do you think—a bug-eyed purple monster right here? It would match my thong beach suit."

As a way to shut her mother up this was spectacularly unsuccessful.

031017b

Doom Slug

They speak of a giant slug on St. Salver,

its eye stalks are like wrecking balls,

its trail of slime engulfs

whole herds of cattle,

those not picked clean of flesh

by its raspy tongue.

The giant slug of St. Salver,

nude and stupendous mollusk,

juggernauts gardens and forests alike.

consumes indiscriminately,

grows fat on its victims’ flesh.

In hushed whispers the tale is told,

a young lass lost in the high country,

the gargantuan invertebrate

ravening from the fog,

a scream piercing the night.

her lover waiting vainly,

till morning burned off the mist,

slippers embroidered with crimson roses,

a gift from her grandmother,

embedded in a gelatinous moraine.

her beau set out, torch-bearing,

determined to trap the creature,

burn it to the core;

his skeleton, found much later,

was pitted and brown, brittle.

To this day, the wilds of St. Salver

are home to fear, slime, and death,

and one thing more:

it lays gelatinous clusters

of basketball-sized eggs,

and these eggs hatch.

End of poem

011817b

After the change
those who were now slugs
quit their jobs in the salt mines
tried gardening, but were summarily fired
when they just couldn't resist sampling the merchandise
a few found success as xylophone players
some played practical jokes
on anyone named Shelley
many committed suicide
by beer