"God, you're like colonial or something or wish you were. You wish you could buy niggers to beat and fuck whenever you fucking felt like. Not wish. Yo... do that. You buy some nigger slave, some Latina beauty, some fucking Swedish dish desperate enough to succumb to your greed and vanity and lust! Where! Is! She!" You'll never find out," yelled his mother. "And if you do, you'll regret it." She's right son," said his father quietly. "We'll cut you off completely." Why? Jealousy?" You might think. Things were going so easy, that they were averaging conquering a town per week. The rebel army was growing, now, into a respectable force. It wouldn't be long before Brad was going to be able to delegate the leadership of a second force to one of his lieutenants. When that happened, they could really start their geometric growth. The Glaxoi had never made any effort to win over the conquered humans—they never even thought of it. The only humans who willingly worked for the Glaxoi were either as. More

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