by James Hunt
“Holy shit, did you see that? Those fuckers grew from the ground like fuckin' flowers or some shit!” I said quietly – and in an Australian accent – as to not disturb the creatures. “How peculiar, such a strange turn of events, perhaps we should attempt communicating with them.” I had suggested this without any actual intention of communication in my current state. My comrade, however, had developed different intentions.
“HEY! HEY LADY! HEY WHATS UP?” He said screaming at them interspersed between unreasonable laughter. I had not expected my ramblings to spark such a reaction from my well-intentioned friend, and it amused me greatly. I cursed him in between laughter for taking to strangers, asking him if he had a mother and warning him that we would be shot at.
“HEY LADY I'M NOT TRYING TO BE CREEPY! I JUST WANTED TO SAY HI! SORRY IF I SCARED YOU” Hysterical laughter from my friend and me. Walking next to apartments to which the flowers had retreated, a van pulled up right next to us. I was convinced we were being abducted but instead a young looking Mexican talking on a cell phone got out and began walking next to us. He looked over at us and we stared at him intently.
“Do you think he’s talking to us?” I inquired. At this Gary laughed and shrugged. He didn't seem to be able to tell either. “I mean it would make sense that he isn't, because he's talking on a phone, but I swear to god he said something to me!” I was talking loud enough for the confused cell phone Mexican to hear. He soon withdrew into an apartment as well.
Poor bastards, flowers and cell phones. They probably just shrugged us off as drunken locals who found themselves lost in an unfamiliar neighborhood with no direction. OH SHIT, the feelings of panic and despair made its way up my spine again as a few hooligans opened up their doors and were looking in our direction. They started yelling at us and moving toward us. They'll probably stab us with six syringes filled with air and melt our bodies down with hydrochloric acid and poor us into a creek. You anal douche cunts! They can't grasp the concept that the world would be a much better place if they would just ignore their violent impulses... or just kill themselves.
Chapter 4
Chased Through the
Ghetto of Hell and
Spilled Orange Juice
Such a Waste
Bad vibes in the buzzing air all around us when a few residents of the surrounding apartments came out to watch us go by – us chattering all the while with disgusting acidity. Then our bubble shielding us from existence shattered completely when they yelled in our direction.
“You guys better never come the fuck through here again!” one of them chanted in a horrible tone, sending a sick feeling to the base of my cerebellum. They continued to harass us by repeating the White Trash Commandments: Thou Shalt Exude Hostility At All Times To Establish Manliness. Thou Shalt Plead Ignorance In All Situations One Is Not Already Ignorant To. Thou Shalt Proclaim Thy Whiteness In All Aspects Of Life. Thou Shalt Live Thy Lives In Trashiness And Hopelessness.
“Good thing they told us to never come the fuck back here again,” Gary said to me. His cockiness was, as always, a huge relief to the situation and felt a sickness rise from the pit of me. It took the form of laughter – a great bellowing laughter that could easily be mistaken for impudence. This reaction was not welcome here. The White Trash Koran would not permit such joviality in a situation intended to be an intimidating one. And a White Trash Terrorist is easily set off by the defiance of non-republicans (hell, they would probably explode if they knew we were official, card-carrying non-partisans).
We stood and watched, downwind of the apartment parking lot in the middle of a lawn. Gary looked back at the thugs that were gathering around to watch us. There were perhaps five or six of them. I looked over at Gary for some sign of confidence that our current problem would not escalate into violence. All I found in that sunken face was a look of shear terror. He flipped his cigar behind him, spilled his orange juice, and took off running. This is it, old boy. Your time has come. I turned to face the nightmare that had sent the maddest, most fearless person I knew running for his pathetic life. The entire group of fuckers were in full-sprint after us. I was not in a good position, seeing as how Gary had a good twenty second head start – and as any Zombie Apocalypse survivalist knows, you don't have to be the fastest to survive, you just have to eat dicks and bathe in marinara sauce. No... that's not right, is it?... I bolted. I felt every bit of energy channel directly to my legs. We're givin' it all she's got Cap'n. Scotty, you bastard.
“WHAT THE FUCK, SHIT SHIT SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK!”
I looked over my shoulder at the bastards, they appeared to be an arms-length behind me. I didn't understand why they didn't just reach out and grab me, or unzip their pants to fuck me from there. Then up ahead, a bright orange, construction-style fence. Gary jumped over it with an ease that frightened me to the core. I would not be able to make it. The fence looked twenty feet tall. Once he got over it, landing square on his back, he jumped to his feet and merged with the surrounding darkness. That was the last I saw of the mad-man named Gary. I threw my cigar and orange juice over my shoulder and prepared myself for a good old-fashioned fence hopping, a skill that would later come in handy as an apprenticed landfill metal scrapper. I reached above my head for the top of the fence but it was only up to my chest. My momentum carried myself over the top mostly, only a small fraction was any real effort of my conscious being. This whole process seemed to take an hour, an awkward and painful hour – but then it was over as if I'd blacked out and appeared on the other side. Strange happenings on this mystical night in Wunderland. I slammed hard on my back – if I'd any air, t'would have been knocked out of me. I had made it over – good news – but my sunglasses were thrown to the ground – terrible news – this night was taking more from me than I was prepared to lose. Also, my tape recorder was still in my back pocket and as it was crushed under me, it started blaring wildly.
Words cannot express how haunting this was... but here's an honest attempt: the dreary and depressing ramblings of a fiend mad on Dextromethorphan and vodka, all the while tripping over my head. The damn thing screamed, my recorded thoughts echoing off the angry trees, filling the cool night air with scratching, twitching, pulsating, fornicating, transmorphic energy. Am I imagining this? Will the voices in my head ever stop to let me explain to the authorities how the gangsters raped and pillaged me while I danced around my occipital lobe like the Mexicant Hat Dance? The entire world had gone mad with me in that instant – even the trees tried to strangle me and would have had I not been such a cunning philanthropist. Everything was hunting for me, trying to kill me. My sunglasses, my tape recorder, my cigar and my orange juice were all KIA. I wonder how my pursuers felt about the drivel coming from the tape recorder – a hysteric person expressing that special brand of insanity found only in a bottle of cough syrup.
I ran behind a nearby house and hid next to a rabbit cage in the backyard. I was ecstatic with adrenaline – it was like having your balls chopped off and replaced with rocket ships. My eyes shifty, like a crack-head looking for a fix in an alley behind No. 1 Chinese. I laughed uncontrollably. What do I report to Mr. President exactly? Then the thought that I might be malnourished after my jog. I pulled out my Butterfingers I had been saving, opened it and munched on it, like a carrot. I was assessing the situation at hand, without result. My thoughts were crisscrossing and rearranging themselves. I was in serious need of a defrag. Acid is the devil in any situation that requires an actual plan or concentration on a task, there is pure madness in every direction. Not to mention a survival situation. An open mind does not help you find food – understanding and tolerance is no good with a gun pressed to the back of your throat – connectivity to the universe is the least of your worries when a mustachioed pedophile is raping your underage mangina.
Then I remembered about Gary, and I had not seen a hostile creature in quite some time, so I walked around until I found road. I was aware in this time how much I took for granted in my everyday life, like solid ob
jects that didn't crawl and swirl. I searched for signs of intelligent life in the form of Gary in the cracks in the asphalt – Nicholas-Cage-from-National-Treasure-2 style. No inscriptions were to be found. I was too entertained by floppy mailboxes and hungry garage doors to realize I could use the cellular device in my pocket to help myself out of this situation. How long has it been? I pulled it out to find the battery had fallen out from my meeting with the ground. In a sudden panic I shoved the battery into place and turned on the phone. The graphic upon start up was amazing. I forgot what I was doing, who or what I was, and just stared at my background image for an indeterminable amount of time. Who designed this? How much was he paid? Does his wife give him the hole on the regular? Just marvelous work. I looked up to find myself walking down an unknown road. I called Zach. Daniel answered. Great. I don't need condescended right now, I'm on my last leg here. Thanks again, god.
“Man, you will not believe the shit that just went down!!” I said in Lebanese.
“Dude, Gary just called us. He was crying. About how someone or something got you and killed you!!!” His tone had a hint of concern in it – placating me. He is such a dick.
“Oh, thank god, I thought he was murdered,” I said, “Where is he right now?”
“Who the fuck are you guys talking about? Who tried to kill you? I don't know where Gary is, Dane just left to get him! You guys are fucked up.”
“Great, thanks, just what I needed to hear. Well, do you think you could have him get me, I'm fucking delusional in the middle of a goddamn residential area, not good to be around the locals like this plus I think they do nuclear testing here, I've got boils on my tongue,” I said. I hung up on Daniel and phoned Gary. Apparently I was not grasping the situation at all – Gary thought my death was involved and here I was having a laugh about the whole ordeal. And fucking David wasn't helping matters – I can't take anything seriously that's dripping in sarcasm and lacking in wit.
“PFNOAPSOLON?” Gary screamed. He was obviously in the middle of some sort of fit. I wondered briefly if he was unhappy with his middle-class upbringing and was taking it out on me.
“Dude, where are you? I thought those fuckers got you!” I yelled. A dog somewhere barked. I barked back – or at least I thought to, not sure if it ever manifested itself.
“Fuck dude, I totally thought they had you! I told everyone you were dead!” he explained to me. He really was crazy on drugs to care that much about me – I'd never seen this side of him. He was probably placating me too. Jew.
“Ha! I know I was just talking to them but my phone melted. Where the hell are you, you crazy son of a bitch?”
“Fuck man, I don't fucking know, Dane is coming soon to pick me up, where are you?”
The trip was getting to a peak of sorts. In my mind his voice echoed out of my phone and around my head into my other ear. What in god's holy Swiss cheese is going on here?
“Man, I don't have the slightest clue, but I am really fucked up right now!”
goddamn hallucinations. Stop plaguing me right now! A shadow across the road from me started moving along at the same pace that I was. What are you trying to tell me lord? What do you want from me this time? I am but a humble servant, and you know very well that I'm better than all the other servants, don't let me die.
“Me too! I'm fuckin' freaking the hell out!” he said so loud that again I heard him from the opposite side of my head. Acid, you demon, stop fucking me right now!
“Oh shit, here's Dane.”
I noticed a car up ahead pulling to the side of the road where the shadow was. The disgruntled figure had a very familiar shape to it – was it the incarnation of my future self being kidnapped by the Nazi's? Holy fuck-bread, could it be that I miraculously popped out on the same street as my partner in this sick game? I ran over to investigate. It was Gary, drenched in sweat and covered in dirt. He looked like an aborted idea.
“WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK?” was all we could say. Gary got into the passenger seat of Dane's car and I literally dove into the back. I rolled around, twisting into the contents of the back seat, making all kinds of guttural and disturbed noises, attempting to release the inner tension. Dane was drunk, and found it all very amusing – the cocky piece of shit. He asked for details while Gary tried to explain to the best of his abilities, which were sub-par. I just kept twitching and screeching like a cornered fruit bat with rabies in the back seat. I was making it even more difficult for Gary to collect himself, and he was breathing more intensely by the second. The ride back to the apartment is a blur of seat belts and me trying to mentally exit out of a pop-up notification to download the upgraded version of my appreciation for life.
We burst into the apartment and immediately began spewing stories of what had taken place. My story may have involved a little more blood and abandoned fetuses than Gary's version. Everyone looked confused and unconvinced that what we were saying was true. I'm sure those urinary fools never believed us – not that I blame them though. There's no telling what can happen in a person's mind when under the influence of the mysterious drug. What is a person to do when a mental patient stumbles into their living room demanding sneakers and whiskey? After all, it isn't our place to condemn the righteous and serve the over-privileged.
I couldn't imagine the night getting anymore absurd. That was really my most pretentious thought of the night.
Chapter 5
In Need of Belts,
Sunglasses, and
Sanity
Loud noise. Fire in everyone’s eyes. The entire apartment complex was about to erupt in a shower of electrical storms and colorful explosions. Gary had been sweating so profusely that he was dripping and had to put a towel over his head to keep from flooding the apartment. Constant incomprehensible babbling from every corner of the room. Was it raining outside? I asked myself. Probably not, just another hallucination, best to ignore it. Gary was recounting our narrow escape with such a vigor that I had never before witnessed, all the while with that damn towel on his head. He told me to leave the room – that I was the source of his intensity. He said he couldn't handle my high-pitched verbal spasms and loud moans. Everyone looked at him incredulously, as I was sitting calmly, though still very much amused, at the table.
I was having a chill conversation with Daniel and Dane about the cosmos or some such nonsense that appeals to stoners. Zach was putting his moves on Beth – which, on acid, were creepier than usual. Gary went to his room to calm down, feeling the weird vibes we were sending his way. We were sure he had finally snapped and lost all control over his mental faculties. He returned ten seconds later without the towel – the epitome of calm. He joined in the dialog as if nothing nothing unusual had happened.
The conversation twisted and warped all around, in the average LSD fashion – which is a funny concept, as anyone who knows the effects knows there is no “average” LSD fashion. Every breath is a chance of mental breakdown. Every thought could turn you into a homicidal maniac. Or a god. I couldn't think about these things though, all I could think about was my poor tape recorder and how I wouldn't be able to make a permanent record of this orchestration of a conversation. It will forever be lost in time, along with the countless brain cells, liver regenerative abilities, and virginities of my generation. We all mourn the loss of these properties in the morning, but put our necks right back under the guillotine upon the first sign of boredom.
Looking at Gary, smiling at some joke being tossed around the table, I realized once again how complex of a friendship we had. Like some cliched television show, we both shared the same love – besides intoxication. Kristal. In fact, the only reason I was sitting in this apartment with these terrible people – undercover as a terrible person – was because of her. I was going to get her back, marry her, and live a life far away from this decadent place and treat her as only a goddess deserved. When Gary caught my look I felt his brain waves, his intentions, and they felt the same as mine. But there was a bitter taste in it – defeat i
n his eyes, a sad self-fulfilling loneliness, a self loathing, a self destruction. I couldn't feel it, I could see it, but I was numb to its implications. I didn't care how he felt. All that mattered was my paradise with my love.
Beth pulled Zach and me aside into the bathroom for what appeared to be a serious talk. She is somewhat average in height, a tad overweight, especially in the mid-section. Blue eyes, a betraying appearance of innocence in her soft, fleshy face. Blonde. I can't emphasize that detail enough. Blonde as fuck. I was not shocked at all to find out what she wanted wasn't serious at all. She whipped out a bottle of generic caffeine pills from nowhere. What the fuck was this girl on? I wondered. It turned out she was fighting a terrible caffeine addiction to sustain her other drug habits without sleep or the proper vitamin B's.
“Do you think we'll die if we take these?” she asked with such concern it was almost sweet.
“No, I highly doubt that!” I couldn't believe this was happening. Why are we in the bathroom with this fiend? I wonder if she has nice small nipples, or if they're those puffy huge ones. What a terrible thought... of course she has small ones – sick! She suggested that we each take a handful, I agreed wondering what would come of it. She took about seven or eight pills and swallowed them junky style. Zach looked at me for reassurance. I poured out two pills and swallowed them, careful to hide the actual amount from Beth. Zach did the same. We assured her we had taken the same dosage and we wouldn't die. Certain that Beth would die, we exited the bathroom.
“Who wants to go to WallyWhirled?” she asked the room.
“That’s not a good idea at all, don't go to fucking WallyWhirled,” Daniel snapped.
He wasn't into adventuring and exploration when it came to hallucinogens. He was the type of tripper who preferred to sit around and chill – letting his thought process lead him into some sort of “higher knowledge,” as he would say. He is one of the believers who fear and respect psychedelics to the point where they think it makes them better people. One of Leary's many disciples, trudging about the drug world with neurotic self-righteousness. He had invested his philosophy in an acid religion. Just because it is founded on a truth, religion is religion. A cult of people suffering from similar mental handicaps. In the real world preposterousness isn't a very desirable trait in a human being, and Daniel never received the memo. Just another failed human being, unable to face the reality that failure is a part of life, and it's nobody's fault but his – not some psychedelic deity. My favorite people in the world are as mad as they come, but they all know the score – that we're all doomed because we're all fucked up, not because some god failed to set us free.
