“Just do it,” Nike says, as terse as ever.
I chuckle as I twist the handle once more, causing the vice to crack her skull case in two. The pressure shoots a jet stream of goopy shit towards the sky. The crowd cheers.
I address the baying people, high on my own significant role in the uprising, “Let no man put asunder what we have done here today. For we are the new pan-” I am interrupted by the sound of a zip being undone loudly, I turn to have a look at the source of the sound.
Nike’s giant breasts deflate as several hundred Indonesian children pile out, all of them with soccer ball sized bellies and no shoes. Once they are gone it surprises me just how masculine Nike looks without her huge rack. Shoulders like two massive basketballs on a steel frame. On the steroids again no doubt.