Voltaic Junkyard--Watching the Oldies

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--Watching the Oldies"
   
   Just with the black and white, Carter Era rabbit listeners, and you can still tune into the tube; plus, hook up a VCR and watch Captain Solo blast Greedo before he fired first; next, cowboy saunter out of the Galactic Cantina with a toss of some heavy metal, well--enough to pay off leaving a dead bounty hunter behind.
   Sheila whimpered at the thought of society, enforced without the Western aspects of cowboys, thinking STAR WARS a type of Space Western before the Space Samurai theme set in.  She'd been arrested for tagging a local park ranger after getting tongue-lashed by a lewd enforcement chick with a "I hug trees" badge; still, she didn't have to throw dead dogs into a furnace like they made some do in Arkansas after getting snookered into a state of probation; indeed, a shoot-out for survival in the Outer Rim seems not ridiculous, and that outer-space justice system seemed appropriate when people are pitching tents in America, and the water has morphed toxic in so many places.
   Sheila owned no firearm, going old school with the wandering monk weaponry tucked underneath her feminine frame, as if she was dainty, but Earth's energy, spawned on her own set of ideals, having her character alignment matched with a set of principles for all of her purposes, never magically shape-shifting though, but remaining cloaked in her own wardrobe of wondrous armor.
   She took a random muscle car out and bought some RANCH PRINGLES at a local gas station that had a Pac-Man video game in the corner; plus, a washroom that housed a crusty sofa.  Go figure.