Have you ever seen someone combust? Blow up? Explode in front of your eyes? I have. And I can tell you, it’s no picnic, man. Not unless your idea of a picnic is a lot of blood, guts and organs splattered over your shirt and boots. And it ain’t Pop Rocks and Coke that do it, I’ll tell ya. Not out here anyway. But that’s the way it is, man.

Lab rats – we’re fucking lab rats. Frozen – or whatever they did to keep us fresh, shipped out here and experimented on and scrutinised by these ugly sons of bitches with more condescending eyes than I’ve had quickies with Sally the town bike round the back of George’s Pharmacy.

They’re like spiders, man. Goddamn fucking spiders. I wish they were as easy to squash as spiders. But there ain’t gonna be no squashing coming from us, man. You’d need more than a size nine to get these boys to shut up.

And what is it with that sound they make? Jesus. I thought my Mary made the worst sound I ever heard when I tried to put a bullet through her brain. Barn door with a banjo? I couldn’t even hit Mary in the head with my 22-caliber from two metres away. You’d think a lame horse lying down in the hay would be an easy target, right? Not for this hombre. I was shaking like a dog shitting razor blades. But that sound. Jeez. I think we all turned mad the moment we heard that sound, man – all of us at the same time. Reduced to our knees, hands over our ears, curled up like foetuses, crying, pleading for it to stop. Maybe we did go mad. Or maybe we’re just used to it now. Weeks and weeks lying in this stinking bowel, listening to them shriek at each other, at us.

I did love that mare though, man. Fucking loved her. At least I had the human decency to try to put her out of her misery. These fuckers? These fuckers up here are all about inflicting pain and misery. And for what? Unless they’re cracking the code to cancer and shipping the cure back down to Earth in a neatly wrapped parcel with a bow on it and a little note that says ‘sorry for the inconvenience’, I’m not happy, man. I’m not happy at all.

It’ll be me in the next few days. Not many of us left now. A few days – that’s about as long as I have until my insides are turned out and I’m painting these jelly-like, dirty, luminous walls with my intestines. It’s like being in a womb, man. I’d take the iron bars again over this stinking, dripping hellhole any day of the week.

You’d have thought they could have left some of the nippers behind, right? I mean, how complicated is this experiment of theirs? I’m not sure anyone took a head count when we woke up, but through all the screams and cries, I don’t remember anyone wailing for their fellas, missus’ or young’uns; running around looking to see if they were in the crowd, no doubt actually hoping they wouldn’t be – hoping they were back home, waiting up – waiting for us to come back. I doubt it though, man. They took us all. I’m sure of it. They scooped us up from our sleepy little town, not even giving us a chance to pull our pants on. ‘Welcome to Armitage – Population 348’ Not anymore, man. Population fuck-all – a ghost town.

But I saw it, man. I saw Sammy Briggs explode before my eyes. They grabbed that poor fella, dragged him out the crowd, and through that fucked-up leathery hole that opens when they skid up to it. It’s like an asshole, man. They drag us through an asshole to meet our messy demise.

No one else saw Sammy Briggs explode. Just me. I snuck out that asshole right after them. Followed them down that stinking tube and watched them tinker with ol’ Briggsy like he was Play-Doh. They put him in a tube, man; a tube not much bigger than him. And they put all sorts of shit in that tube with Briggsy. They fucked him up real good. He was screaming, wailing, crying, shrieking, pissing, shitting, gargling, throwing, and then – pop! He exploded. Fucking exploded, man! Briggsy exploded right in front of my eyes. No more dancing on the tables in Russo’s till 8 o’clock in the morning for Briggsy.

I would have loved to see my own face when I spun round to get the fuck out of dodge, only to run straight into one of those slimy shit-kickers. Man, I thought that was it. I was sure that thing was gonna end me right there. Or squeeze me into that tube with ol’ Briggsy. Make me go ‘pop’ too. Nope. That bastard just grabbed me round the waist and dragged me back to our digs. He nearly sliced me in half with those pincers, man. I thought I’d be going back through that asshole door in two pieces.

But I saw something else as well, man. I didn’t just see Briggsy explode. I saw light, man. Not this fake light we’re festering in – not this murky, brown glow we’re cooking in. Real light, man. There’s a way out, I know it.

That’s it, man. That’s what I saw! It’s just come to me. Fuck! This ain’t no ship, or alien house. This thing’s fucking alive, man. We’re in one of them. A giant, bitch-mother-spider-queen-alien one of ‘em! It’s big, man – really big. And I was right, wasn’t I? Or damn close. This ain’t no womb. We’re not its babas, but we’re inside her, man. We’re right inside the belly of this fucking beast.

All these creepy spider sprogs, man. They’re skidding around in one of their own – going about their business like it’s the standard. How fucked up is that? What kind of deal have they got going on here? What’s wrong with a normal house? A chair to sit in out front while watching your crops grow and the sun set? That’s what I’m talking about. Fucking mummy’s boys in here, man. Weird shit, I’m telling you. I thought these guys were backwards, but this is something else. It’s all inside out, man. Everything’s inside out.

Whoa! What’s that? What the fuck? Who is that?

 Fuck you Stones. Fuck you! No, I ain’t talking to myself. Shit. I’m talking to my friend, motherfucker.

         Yeah, that’s right, Stonesy. You get. I’m talking over here. Fuck, man.

Sorry about that, man. Fucking Stonesy interrupting me. Hassle, man.

Where were we?

Yeah, that’s right. We’re on the move, man. This thing’s alive. I’m sure of it. It’s one big mother-spider-bitch and it’s alive. And, if it’s anything like its cretin spawn, it has gotta have some sort of mouth, or a real big asshole that leads to the outside, right? That must have been what I saw past that fucked-up torture chamber, man. Not just another pulsating corridor of slime and stink; an actual way out, man. Outside. There’s gotta be a way outside.

Shit! Here they come again. Right on time. It’s the end for another one of us. But not me, man. Not me. I’m getting outa here.

Fuck it, catch you later, man. Slim chance, may be. But what are they gonna do if they catch me on the lurch? It can’t be any worse than blowing me up from the inside, right?

Fuck it. Catch you later, man.