Previously, NENSLO at Teleport - Portland's Public Access (503) 220-1016 wrote:

I keep getting requests to repost this. Here. Now leave me

alone.

N

'Bucker Pluggin'

"Bob" held the rifle, Lou the cast net and ropes, and Don the

basket of grub, flashgun, and tank of helium. Lou spoke to the man who

owned the golf cart:

"How much for the day?"

"A dollar. Goin 'bucker pluggin', be yuh?"

"Yes." Lou handed the man a dollar. "Going to see if we can earn

some Christmas money."

"Good day fer it. Sidewalk sale. Had any 'sperience 'buckerin'

in the mall?"

"'Bob' has, and we can all shoot. We'll be all right."

"Watch y'selves, then. Y'all looks kinder young fer 'buckerin'

lessen yuh was raised in the mall."

The boys laughed, loaded the cart, and shoved off. As the cart

buzzed lazily between the pillars of the parking garage they loaded up and

adjusted their flashguns.

"Well, this is it," said Don. He sat behind, ready to shoot or

run, gun in his hand.

"Bet I soaked my sheets dreaming about this hunt," rejoined "Bob."

He stood on his seat with the 30-30 rifle in the crotch of his arm. The

cast net lay folded on the floor where Lou had put it. "Here's the

delivery entrance now!"

"When'll we be in po'bucker territory?" asked Lou. He turned the

wheel and the cart rounded a corner in the doorless, empty hallway. White

fluorescent light glared down on them from an endless strip overhead. A

pair of red doors slowly grew larger far

down the hall.

"This mall's full of 'buckers from here to J. C. Penney's,"

replied "Bob." "We'll see them any minute now." The cart nosed through

the doors and into the echoey background roar of the mall.

"I've done a lot of pinksnuffing," said Don, "but this is new to

me. How do you know where to shoot?"

"Gotta put the bullet between their eyes," said "Bob." "You get so

you can tell their intelligence by how far apart their eyes are, and how

far from eyebrow to hairline."

"How do you know it's a 'bucker?" asked Don. He steered the

golfcart around a rack of novelty t-shirts. A startled teenage girl

dashed between the tables in front of Spencer Gifts and slipped behind a

rack of "over-the-hill" coffee mugs.

"You can tell it's a 'bucker by the size of their belly or butt -

that girl hadn't bloated out yet. If you watch, you can tell the

difference. Some 'buckers have rolls of flab that can't be contained by

normal clothing. Or they'll be too dirty, or too

clean, or something. Just listen for a shrill, repetitive cry. Quiet

now! When I point, guns ready, and steer over toward the Swiss Colony."

A piercing nasal cry caused them to wince and grab their ears.

Someone was shouting, "JASON! TIFFANY! GET OVER HERE! NOW! I SAID

NOW!"

"Right around the corner," whispered "Bob." "Easy now."

The cart buzzed quietly around the corner display window of cheap

engagement rings at Held's Jewelers. "Bob's" body stiffened. He peered

intently, then pointed. With a twist of the wheel Don swung them toward

Victoria's Secret. "Bob" stared at a huge female in purple stretchpants

and a dirty t-shirt reading "I'm not fat I'm fluffy." He hit the flashgun

and she froze, hypnotized. He raised the 30-30, took careful aim, and

squeezed. Flame darted, but the 'bucker did not move. With cat-like

quicknes s "Bob" laid down the rifle and picked up the net. Placing

between his teeth one of the lead weights that fringed the circular net,

he deftly spread its folds and gave it a skillful whirl. The big net

flared out like a giant umbrella. It fell over the huge body standing by

the table of red brassieres.

"Hold the cart back," said "Bob." "She'll begin thrashing in a few

seconds." Skillfully he wrapped the end of the rope around his left hand

and held the coil so he could play out slack.

Suddenly the huge humanoid lifted its belly, swung it down with

terrible force, and leaped into the air. It twisted and turned through a

planter of plastic ferns, flopping from one side to the other. It knocked

hunks of cedar bark onto the tile floor, a nd tumbled into the blue

concrete square of a small fountain. "Bob" played it carefully, giving the

monster all the rope it needed.

In a few minutes the flounderings lessened. Gradually the giant

relaxed, and lay still. "Bob" cautiously lit his pipe, then pulled in the

rope and gave the net a few jerks. There was no response.

"There she is, boys. Dead as a totem pole." "Bob" grinned at the

other boys.

"I thought you'd missed her," said Don. "How come she didn't

start floundering sooner?

"Always takes a few seconds for them to react to anything new,"

replied "Bob." "Gives you a chance to get the net over them. If you

don't wrap 'em in the net they can break a bone and that lowers the price.

Hand me the helium tank."

"Bob" took the tank, prodded the 'bucker a few times to make sure

she was dead, then stepped into the scattered pennies on the floor of the

pool.

"Come on, boys, help me pull these pants down." He grabbed the

elastic waistband, and when they had pulled the pants and a pair of huge

greyish undies out of the way he stuck the nozzle between two huge,

cratered buttocks. Giving the valve a twist, he listened to the hiss of

escaping gas. Slowly the huge abdomen began to swell, and the immense

bulk rose out of the water to drift like a ghastly balloon at the end of

the rope.

"There," said "Bob," panting, "she'll float now."

They tied the rope to a stanchion on the back of the cart so the

body would nod along behind, folded the net for the next attack, and moved

on.

All afternoon they worked. Thirteen were in tow when "Bob" said,

"Let's head back, boys. We've made a good day's haul."

Just then a fine 'bucker male in a brand new Harley Davidson

T-shirt and Montgomery Ward bluejeans stepped out of Sportscard Outlet

directly in front of the cart. "Bob" took careful aim, shot, then threw

the net. In a few seconds the 'bucker began to t witch and flail. It

toppled onto a folding table, sending a rain of basketball cards,

slammers, and hologram pogs over the boys. Then the bucker came up next

to the cart, lunged, and pushed the boys off into a rack of cheap plaid

"grunge" shirts from Indonesia. They peered out through the flimsy fake

flannel and watched the death struggle a yard away.

When all was quiet, "Bob" pulled in the slack, then grabbed the

helium tank from the cart.

"Well, we got 'im," grinned "Bob" as he filled the 'bucker's body

cavity with gas. "And we made ourselves some real money. Who wants a

cinnamon roll? I'm buying!"

The End