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a.
"Oh, here's a good one," said Sliandra, consulting the manifest
further, "It's called 'Kiss My Whip'"
Again, the flight deck was rocked by laughter.
The holovid flickered to show the image of tall terran woman, dressed
in nothing but a maid's white serving apron and carrying a tray of
drinks, 's ankles were manacled together.
"Rrawor, pretty," murmured Sliandra.
The music was dreadful, a sort of pastiche of the Western Spiral Arm
pop music known as "Speed House" from the last five years; loud, brash
and in two-four time. Eventually Sliandra killed the music track while
leaving the dialogue track online and superimposed the music of a
gentler era over the images; quite nasty ones too but the use of camera
angles and the somewhat unconvincing screams of the victim making it
obvious to all but the most committed and uncritical sadomasochism fan
that this was not for real. By the time I nosed Catherine into the
shuttle bays we had awarded the prize for worst HV to a truly horrendous
piece of work which rejoiced in the title of "Mud Wrestlers of Lesbos."
Mind you, we had taken copies of a few of the choicer HV's. "J
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