ZID VI CHAPTER SIETE : SUFFOCATE

[The Urbane Spaceman]

In our short time upon this tiny blue marble, lost in the infinity of space, we will make our mark here.

Long after our planet is consumed by Sol, our little yellow sun, when he becomes a red giant; our words will be written on the stars. You see, Sol will deplete his store of hydrogen into helium, through his continuous nuclear explosion of fusion, and then he will grow, and consume the innermost four planets in a fiery death. Nothing will remain of us when this happens. No love letters, no grave stones, nothing at all.

But,

We have made our mark upon the universe, and we have sent Voyager I onward, through the ionic field of our heliosphere, carrying a gold disc that says Hello, in many of our Human languages.


This tiny messenger will expend its nuclear batteries in 2025, when it will no longer be able to send back magnificent images and data to us ever again. And then, it will continue onward. With no more contact to us, it is a lonely traveler, onto far-off, unseen worlds to discover, all by its self.

We will raise a glass to our little friend, now, and here.

3.

2.

1.


Prosit!


Instead of suffocating in the vacuum of cold, dark space, we found a new black hole there, in the megalopolis that spread its black wings across the high desert valley. It was known as Fuckno, for a very good reason.

All sorts of fuckishness occurred there, back in the 1980’s. One might surmise that this has not stopped happening.

Fat Jerry slipped out a pack of fresh new razor blades, and he proceeded to make lines with a fresh blade.


Choppity chop chop, squeak, swipes, choppity chop chop, sweap, LINE.

Straw.

SHHHHHNUCK!

Here is a tune that sends joy above. (Please turn down your volume. This will be loud. No need to hurt your ears.) But it is a great tune for you. I will drink with you now in hearing this.

We will board a ship constructed of snow.


Indeed. Many folks lines up for a trip on this ski board. Or sky board. Onto the stars above. We would become our own explosion. We would become a giant red dwarf.


Well, I tell you mistah man, and you lovely ladies of the MDM, we had some new friends. It was all too apparent that there was a hunger for snow, and we had a blizzard going on.


Young women curled up next to Fat Jerry and gave him smooches, which is an odd but cute term in ‘Murricanese that means Kisses on the Cheeks.

The upper cheeks, that is.

And he replied with a swipe and a new line.

Jerry liked his smooches from them Betties.

Young dudes had to pay cash money. No smooches allowed.


That was how everyone started to have fun. The music turned on, and it was some sort of disco dance stuff. It was the ‘80’s, of course.

In order to correct this, that was when the punks showed up.


But in such elation from skiing in the desert, all were suddenly welcome. It was a weird experience. We were on ZID, then the snow fell, and then the jocks and punks became friends. BFF.



Yeah, this would not last long.


Tellesco answered the door and he talked with the band, and then, next thing you know, they left and went to go set up they gear on the deck, with access to that place from the garage bay.


That was when things really went to the stars.


I think this calls for a shot of 1761, ConMan style.



This is for the mighty P.




.

[oldsmartskunk]

Enough milking yer snake, ye sea slug. I demand wenches and booze!

[mistah willies]

Enough milking yer snake, ye sea slug. I demand wenches and booze!

This man speaks the TRVTH

Get on with it! Don't leave us high and DRY.

Damn.