Once upon a time long, long ago on some kind of freaked out island in the sky, in parallel universe number 372, there lived a young girl called Little Blue Riding Hood, for she wore a cloak soiled in the blue blood of countless slaughtered Zarophares. Little Blue Riding Hood lived among violet jazz musicians in flashy zoot suits, hiding from the communist-employed robot peace-keeping units, because she was an extreeeeeme rebel, and the government didn’t like it.

One day, however, Little Blue Riding Hood’s platoon commander said, “Oh no! Whatever shall we do!? The extreeeeeme rebel eastern front is in dire need of ammunition and mortar shells! …And butter!!”

”No butter!?” Little Blue Riding Hood cried, “There’s no time to lose! I’ll bring it to them!”

“I can’t let you go down there! Those robots will—“

“I said gimmie the butter, or I will kill you and eat your family!!”

And so, since the extreeeeeme rebel platoon commander didn’t want his family to be eaten again, he resigned to let Little Blue Riding Hood go on an emergency supply mission. Because she was an extreeeeeme rebel.

So, anyway, Little Blue Riding Hood was sent on an air mission (an extreeeeeme rebel air mission) to the eastern front, carrying a cargo of ammunition, mortar and Grade A sweet cream butter, certified by the High Counsil of Butter and I Can't Belive It's Not Butter Products circa 1972.

While flying over a living jungle, stirring restlessly in its sleep, Little Blue Riding Hood was very, very bored. She probably should have brought along a crew, or a magazine, or something.

Eventually, she gave to crawling into the cockpit and spoke with the piloing robot.

“Hi there, pilot robot!” she exclaimed cheerfully.

The droid remained silent.

Little Blue Riding Hood waited for a time, and soon grew annoyed.

“Hey, flybot!”

“…….I am extreeeeeme rebel automated pilot droid number 00482,” were it’s only electronic words.

Little Blue Riding Hood slumped back into the cargo hull. This was going to be a looooooong flight.

As the plane entered the war zone aerospace it was immediately plunged into an assault of enemy fire and a series of exciting dog fights with a squadron of flying monkeys so exciting, that if I were to describe them to you, you would surely sever your own arms off in excitement.

The plane and Little Blue Riding Hood both survived the battle, however, the plane soon afterwards took a cannon ball to the tail, and the wings both randomly and mysteriously exploding, and was somehow no longer able to remain airborne, and had to expel the cargo from its hull, Little Blue Riding Hood crouched atop as it slowly parachuted down, down, down to the ground.

From the touchdown point in a bright little clearing, it was not a long trek through the thickets to extreeeeeme rebel platoon leader’s base of operations. Carrying the massive crate of supplies overhead, Little Blue Riding Hood barged through the bamboo doorway, only to find the platoon leader stationed in bed, covers tightly knit over him.

Little Blue Riding Hood set down the crate and asked with some concern, “What’s the matter, extreeeeeme rebel platoon leader? Are you sick?”

“Cough, cough,” said the commander in a strangely rigid voice, “Yes I am sick cough, cough. “

Little Blue Riding Hood approached slowly with growing worry visible on her face, “Yeah, you’re right,” she placed a hand on his head, “My, what cold metallic skin you have!”

“Yes… The better to... deflect bullets on the field of battle with, my dear.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she assumed, only the next moment to notice something else that shocked her, “My! What glassy red eyes you have!”

“The better to… see you with… or something… my dear?”

“And my! What a low monthly car insurance payment you have!”

“Why, yes. The better to… to…”

“You’re a robot, aren’t you?” she stated obviously.

The imposter was silent, though but a moment later, after recovering to it’s senses, the automaton whipped the blanket from itself and stood before Little Blue Riding Hood in a sombrero and flowing leather poncho, colt pistol pointed square at the girl, “I am extreeeeeme rebel automated pilot droid number 00482, and I am here to kill you.”

“Gasp!” Little Blue Riding Hood gasped in redundant redundancy.

Though in one minute, the pilot-bot held Little Blue Riding Hood’s life firmly in its grip, the next, it was spouting something about 50 percent off sales at Macy’s, and the sweet, sweet deals only at Applebee’s, and then the next, it’s head quivered and shook violently, and then exploded.

As the robot’s lifeless metal hull collapsed to the ground, a man in suit and jet pack quickly descended to the ground, through a hole in the cieling that just happened to be there.

“Oh my God!” Little Blue Riding Hood cried, nearly at faint, “It’s extreeeeeme rebel billionaire Max Stone!!”

“That’s right, stupid! Stop telling me my name I know my name you’re boring me stop boring me!!” he cried with just the slightest hint of an awkward lisp.

“Wow! You saved me! How’d you blow up the robot’s head!?” Little Blue Riding Hood couldn’t help but ask.

“High octane telekinetic brain lasers! It’s the wave of the future, fool! Money,” extreeeeeme rebel billionaire Max Stone stated, tossing a wad of bills at the girl, “More money,” once again he threw currency at her.

And then there was silence, as the bills settled to the ground.

“Enough’a this! You’re boring me now! I’m going scuba diving with the Prime Minister of Mars! Later, losers!” he cried, laughing with his jet pack alight, blasting off into outer space.

“Money,” he said one last time, sending a shower of cash down on Little Blue Riding Hood, who lived, more or less, happily ever after. The End.