StarBanker Review
Metropolis year 2000, above the ground gay ultra-liberal sons of merciless Reaganite fathers rule the underworld of publicly educated drones that toil till they drop. The gay son of a cross between Warren Buffet and Bill Gates one Mr. Joh Fredersen, spots a kewpie doll-faced self-appointed social worker and John the Baptist stand-in. She comes above ground with a hoard of unwashed truants to point out the gay knickered lads romping around with umpalumpa-hipped fag hags in fountained and peacock grazed gardens. One look at her our unfettered Fredersen’s son Freder Fredersen doubts his faggotry and falls for the fair, very fair…well white as a ghost Maria. The butlers of the garden quickly shoo them below and the now hetro wannabe Freder vows to scour the Earth for his new love.
Freder goes to daddy’s office to get some information about these wretched waifs and their big-eyed virginal piper. Things aren’t going so well at the office, it appears one of the non-union sweated labor passed out at the controls of the M-Machine, a vital high-tech machine that doesn’t have an auto-controller. The poor slob had to constantly adjust knobs to prevent a meltdown, though I didn’t think it a good idea to put a half-starved bone-tired illiterate in charge of preventing the city from succumbing to utility gridlock. Freder walks in just as his Dickensian father hands the gynandrous middle manager Dosaphat his pink slip. Freder’s homoradar alerts to Dosaphat’s smashingly gentile charm and firm buttocks. Freder prances after him as he leaves the office and performs an intervention before Dosaphat pulls the trigger of his handy .32 automatic. Freder gets his address in I guess to be the Moscow district, Block 99, House 7, 7th Floor, and sets up a rendezvous at his love shack. But Freder is on a mission, much easier now knowing that if he doesn’t find her he at least will get some loving that dare not speak its name.
Freder makes his way into the bowels of the city, down-down-down. Entering the sweat-shop underground he spots another handsome gent struggling to keep clock dial hands constantly moving chasing lights on the dial preventing, of course, some municipal disaster. Freder reaches this poor overworked blond a split-second before he collapses into his arms. Freder tells him to change clothes with him so that he can finish his 10-hour shift of shifting hour hands. Worker 11811 is given Dosaphat’s address by Freder and told to meet them both there later. Worker 11811 doesn’t make it halfway before finding some coin in Freder’s knickers and changes destination to the infamous Yoshiwari red-light district. Freder finds a note in Worker 11811’s burlap drawers saying there is to be a meeting among the workers after his shift.
Article comments