THE WARRIORS

“Never trust eight wheels and a smile.” Maggie and her all-girl roller derby team rule the mean streets of Los Angeles in this satirical take-off of the 1979 classic cult movie The Warriors. When Sirius, leader of a rival team, is assassinated in Griffith Park, the Warriors get blamed, and Maggie must lead her roller-derby gang across Los Angeles through hostile roller derby gangs seeking revenge for the death of Sirius. Unknown to Maggie, the gangs are directed by Evil Mimes in the service of galactic aliens who want to flood the Earth with Global Warming.

Features FBI head J. Edgar Hoover, Amelia Earhart, Joseph Smith, Judge Joseph Crater, astronomer Richard Pierson, the incompetent German spies Huntz and Heinz, Muslim Cross-Dressers Union Local 36, return of the Mormon hit-men Orange and Lemon Jello, Big Cigar Bill, Korplash and Xplak, Spike and Bigtooth, kid Gary, Howard Hughes, and many others. Will marshmallows and the easily offended find safe spaces inside? Heyll NO! Political Correctness meets its match in this work of eccentric mania, with a poke in the eye to self-righteous SJWs.

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EXCERPT. . .

THE WARRIORS
by
Glenn Lazar Roberts
or
‘THE RADIATED LESBIAN NUN MEETS EVIL MIMES’

‘HOW THE HOLY POLKA & NON-PATRIARCHAL FAIR TRADE ASTRONOMY
SAVED MAGGIE FROM SIRIUS TIMES IN GRIFFITH PARK’
Book 3
ADVENTURES OF THE RADIATED LESBIAN NUN

      . . .
      Maggie took out a mascara pencil. Glancing in a tiny cracked mirror, she ran the pencil once over her eyes where her eyebrows used to be. Blinked to make sure her artificial eyelashes were still in place. She passed her steady sloe-eyed gaze over the Warriors. Then pulled on a helmet with a single stripe while the others strapped on elbow pads.
      “Is the Thunderbird popped?” Maggie asked.
      The Warriors nodded. “For the victory celebration.”
      “The Anthrax Pack is stupid. Let’s roll.”
      “Yeah!” Bursting with energy, the Warriors tore up the ground and the first five exploded onto the rink, Maggie not bothering with elbow pads or the mewling protests of the water-loving referees. Frantic not to be ignored, one referee blew a whistle just as Maggie and three other Warriors blew past the pivot line, Maiden Hell blasting from behind as Jammer.
      In seconds, the first lap was done. Shoulders collided. With Maggie body-slamming Anthrax skaters, the Warriors soon cleared a path for Maiden Hell—the Anthrax pivot Primal Fear slid into Maiden Hell, the pivot’s zombie makeup a perfect match for Maiden’s tattoo coffin. Maiden glanced at Maggie, who nodded. Maiden thrust an elbow into Primal’s neck and sent her tumbling under two Anthrax blockers, both of whom joined her face-down on the track, leaving teeth and gore.
Red-faced referees swooshed Maiden to the penalty box. Nite Shade took her place, and as no Lead Jammer was yet designated, Maggie seized the lead, bludgeoning the Anthrax Jammer with hips and shoulder till the Warriors’ own blockers owned the track.
      Point after point scored.
      The Anthrax Pack strove to reverse the inevitable by pitching over Pussy Kicker, jabbing her from behind, and tripping up Nite Shade—which only sent the Anthrax rollers to the Box and triggered the entry of Crybaby Baiter and Suki Vicious into the Jam.
       Nothing could stop the Warriors. Two minutes gone in seconds, Maggie rolled over the finish line, sealing the Jam and leading her Warriors to victory once again.
      Undefeated.
      Rolling to their bivouac—as Maggie insisted on calling it—they popped the bottles of Thunderbird wine and drenched their faces and necks in its life-giving essence.
      “Happy inoculation,” laughed Bloody Mary at the bruised and bleeding Anthrax bunch across the rink, where they sat, brooding. “You should know better than to challenge the Warriors.”
      “Go blind and skate in traffic,” came the reply.
      “That’s the only way you’ll ever win, crybabies,” yelled Crybaby Baiter, re-tying her fishnet hose to her blue flaps.
      Maiden laughed. “Never trust eight wheels and a smile.”
      . . .

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