What follows is an illegal Zone-In (trademark pending) as Eli-X’s erogenous broadcast is activated by one of our nameless insider droids of cheap horror porn.

"MamaLada was a biped once, so her family memoires tell it.  There's two stories on how she got to be a jar of sentient mud," he says, in his trendy loft on the elegant colony offworld, in a silver wrap-robe, barely touching his earthfood, but puffing away on a virtual cigarette with the nervousness accorded such a famous entity.

"Would you like another Piña Colada with your rape fluid, darling, before I roll in your love bath of sexual shrapnel once more? Reminds me of MamaLada this cavern of sharp filth you got in your guts, darling. I would never have thought I could roll about in her love bath like this until the first time I manually switched off my child-sense-node and let her flow inside me like a living disease. She was living mud. When she entered me, slipped along my sexual circuitry like a Ninja, I would never have thought sex with MamaLada would work. It just, well, there were laws against that sort of thing back then.

"The other story involves...." hiss of static across the etherwaves. The newsreader comes on all hardcore fullviz a-fluster in the shrieking minds of his audience. Across the universe a concentric wave of subliminal death emanates from the trans-dimensional location of Eli-X’s fuck-hole-boudoir....

"It involves my introduction to planet-screwing. My MamaLada was a whore and then in some forsaken bar in the offworld outback some salesman tricked her body/mind out and updated her to this slimejar. She couldn’t get out cause the guy erased the redo codes. So here she is, after trickin for some seersucker suit for almost no credits, and he laces her with ezsnooze all mickey finn and she wakes up in a jar. She’s learned to live with it, and as long as somebody drops a feel-good in there and keeps her moist, then she can just about ride the feelgood and now we can afford a set of eyechips for her…"

"You sir," said the interviewer, "Can afford a million zillion eyechips!"

"Yeah, I know. I got me a corporation surrounding my pecker. My agent Marty Brainstem got a hold of Sid Pink and they spent a million zillion credits just microadjusting my pecker for broadband payperview thrill kill. I mean I got control of trillions of folks and they are at the end of the string and I’m a pullin.."

"But you are grateful to your fans, right?"

Eli said, cautiously, "Oh yea, Mary Brainstem says always remember the fans. He says I’m handlin the fame all galactic real well cause they put a sanity-groundplug in my mindfeel sos I won’t go all crazy shitferbrains."

"Oh. What about your Dad?"

"Well, I don’t know where he is. I killed him three times already a long time ago. He just keeps a poppin back, showin up askin for credits allatime."

Eli puffed on the virtual pink cigarette and his cheeks blew hot/cold. The psychopompic light vapours were real hot and sticky this night of cloves. Eli-x held his exhaling pose then sucked in another on his vp cig. He could feel the audience crawling all over his illustrious silhouette with their rank minds stinking of the cess pit and tongues cut off mid-cunnilingus.

"Records suggest he was a good man, your PapaSkoda.." blundered the interviewer, his grease paint dribbling down onto his StarchyWhite (tm) blouse of sauciness.

Eli-X went on the defensive, looking around into the depths of cyberspace fist-up, reconnecting with the horror ether, reading only vague static. He knew this was a set-up then. Knew they had finally cornered him. Saw the interviewer melt before him, looking just like all those genetic traces of PapaSkoda he had sniffed out in the past. all those killer clowns, an endless stream of genetic anger and retribution.

Papa Skoda, skin flailed off by vehemence towards his Porn Star son, was on top of the boy before he could do anything, a smog of parent stink fell off him like a dirty rag of nausea and completely covered the Eli-X undercircuit of escape, disabling our hero under his enormous power.

From inside PapaSkoda’s purple LycraVaz (tm) overall unsheathed something liquid the colour of marble cast in a boiling sunset, something that moved like a serpent of Hell around a virgin’s neck, something that throbbed and pulsated with a lasergun potency of exposed fishguts on a steel slab......

"Hey, boy! You wanna start star-fucking again? You owe me megacredits!"

"PapaSkoda! I done told you to get the starshit outta here, and never show your cyberface again!"

The boy shoved in the meta-jack in the back of his head and pulled a HoloSheath (tm) around him illuso-melt-like.

"You can’t hide from me boy! She-it!" he shouted looking around his son’s pad, awestruck by the wealth that swaddled the pervy old pad, "They treat you real good around here boy! You too good for your pappy now! Too good to stroke his old person. You punk-ass snob!"

A droid security unit came around the backside of the redneck, but Old Man X’s back-eyes were hooked up special already. He blasted the little thing into a pile a melto. Already, Eli-X had the cujones coming down to the planetoid through a full-tilt standard break-in alarm over the ether.

The old man began shoving gadgets and credits into his shit-sack, as he heavily breathed in a lung-tube from the excitement. Everything was screaming in the house—the toaster, the oven, the wall-melt, all yelling "INTRUDER!".

Eli-X rephased, his MamaLada reticulon foetus in tow. She clung to his groin like a suckling pig, mumbling and groaning out her fetid cry of motherlust. Suck suck suck that’s the vocab of her lips. Her little trotters scrambling in the air. Gave his evil grimacing gullet the shock of his life, bombarding him with Oedipal pornographer until the socio-chip, electrovibes of stimulated rancour coursing through his back bone hard drive until the ErotoGears (tm) locked and the PainTransistors (tm) in a rictus of disgust then

POP!

one less PapaSkoda. He pulled his simulacrum of the cock eating pout of his MamaLada and rammed the worthless bitch into a nearby wall. The Police arrived, fashionably late and escorted Eli-X to his next gig.