ZID VI CHAPTER DIEZ: IN DIOS

[The Urbane Spaceman]

A house with ceilings that shrieked in pain and anger,

angry punks fighting metal heads with swinging lamps,

and there was an odd, rotting cabbage scent Moncapitan from liquid propane gas blowing into the house.


We damned punks and our newly-indoctrinated poseur and his new found flame stood near the bonfire safely back from the rear deck.

Until the flame connected to the low, heavy gas.

Here is a tune to illustrate this idea. It is kind of old, a few years back. But truly, a fast song with heavy beats, angry vocals, and speaking of things that matter quite a lot, even if sung in an odd register.



Badfellow says that this song from Primus would be even better. He actually is Mon Capitan, and word has it that he doesn't actually smell like rotting cabbage. But he is indeed, an explosion.





We had to go back inside to find Monica’s friends.

Oh man…



This is the end of this tale, and it makes me very nervous in my old age to tell this to you. I think this calls for a taste of black rum from a trusted source.

It is form this ink well, which I use to write these very bad things.

Care to join me in a chug?

3.


2.


1.


DRINK!




*ahem*


Joey and I looked at each other. Joey said to Monica, “Where are your friends?”

Sean stood next to her, and he said, “Where the hell is that fat bastard with his fucking hearse?”


Monica said, “They are probably inside, giving head to someone. That’s what they do when the snort cocaine.”

Joey said, “Jerry is in there, too. He might be with those girls for all I know.”



I said, “Rrrrrrgh. We need to get everyone out of there.”

I always made that rrrrgh sound when I faced something that I really did not want to do, but I would have to do it anyway. In spite of it. In spite of myself. It sucks to be this way. I am the cause of all my problems.



Joey shrugged and he said, “Let’s fucking do it. Time is wasting.”

I said, “Joseph, there is gas leaking in there.”


Monica’s face turned absolute white and she ran forward to the house. Sean grabbed her arm like he was on the front line and she slipped and fell to the ground. He reached down and picked her up.

He said, “No. You stay here. Me and my boys will do this shit.”



He set her down.


He looked at us and I said, “RRRRRRGH!”


It is the thing I say to build up courage, you see.

We ran to the house. It was because of the zid that we were on for the reason that we thought we we were invincible. It is a very idea, when you are on zid, to think this sort of thing.



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Inside, it appeared that there was no one there. The invisible, heavy gas inside crept and slunk out of all the smashed, open windows, the busted front door, and the demolished sliding glass door to the deck.



You understand this: It was slipping outside, creeping toward the bonfire. It covered the ground. It did not mix with the air in the broken house.


Until we scrambled inside. It was our black boots and our motion that mixed it.

It was our fault for what happened,

Or was it?

Maybe we had simply made the end occur faster.


Most of the hundreds of people were by the bonfire, but we did not know it folks were also outside on the front lawn, because we ran down the hallway that went down the long, stately ranch. We opened doors, and there, of course, was Jerry there on a mattress with a girl, next to the busted bed frame, in the rear of the house.



He jumped up and pulled his pants back on. He said, “I WILL KILL YOU!”


Joey said, “We get out now! This fucking place is doomed!”


Jerry saw the look in our eyes from the bonfire out back, through the busted out window, and he picked up the girl and threw her out through it, and she was naked.


I have never witnessed a large man slip through a small portal much like a wild raccoon can do.


He was gone as well.


That left Joey and me.


Well, we fucking went out there as well.


We saw all of those people standing around the bonfire and we ran to them.



Joey said, “GAS! GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!”

I said, “NO! DON’T RUN TO THE FUCKING HOUSE!”


The crowd scurried like ants, and dispersed, and mixed the low-lying gas with the air, and they went everywhere. Fig trees, some fell in the swimming pool, and some made it to the fucking deck.


Sean led the way. He ran directly to the left. He was friends with the poor bastard whose folks owned this property. He knew his way around.


It is a good idea to go lateral, when the trajectory of a crashing airplane, or an onslaught of blood-thirsty Mongols, or a ground cover of heavy, flammable gas howling form a busted gas line, charges toward you.

Especially when you are standing in front of a bonfire.



We passed by the long, white LPG tank that lied horizontal amidst some desert-hardy shrubs around it. However much gas it had held inside to begin with, we will never know. Suffice it to say that it was, “Precisely The Correct Amount.”



We found ourselves on the front of the house, and Jerry unlocked his door and jumped in and started the engine. Then he reached over and unlocked the passenger side door. Joey dove in and reached back and unlocked the rear side doors.


Monica said, “What about my friiieeennndss?!”

Sean said, “You mean that this naked chick ain’t one of them?”

Monica said, “I don’t know who she is!”

Naked Chick said, “Thank you for sav…”



But her crying tears were lost in the sound of the huge hearse squealing its tires on the hard pan in the desert road.

Jerry said, “Every bitch for himself. We gone.”


You know, I’ve always blamed it on the table. It was the table that held all of the drugs. It was that huge table that broke everyone’s legs, and busted men’s balls, and caused the destruction of a once-lovely home.



But I know it to be true, this: Everyone, each of us, is to be held to account for all of our decisions. We are the ones who put things on the table, and we choose partake from what is on the plate before us from the buffet of life’s offerings,



Even if the plate is a picture in a frame, and we snort illegal substances from the glass that covers it.



The small country road was a cluster-fuck. Jerry slammed on his breaks to avoid rear-ending the car directly ahead. Its driver was trying to escape without any lights on at all. Only the flash of the sudden brake lights alerted Jerry.



He swung to the right and we went into the figs. Jerry missed the first fig tree, but smashed against the next one in the orchard. It dented his rear left panel. He backed up, winding his steering wheel to disengage from the iron wood, and then he set her in park.


He climbed out to inspect his wheel and see if it was still drivable.


He looked back at the house.


He said, “You gotta see this.”


We looked out of the windows and saw the bonfire grow even larger.



And then…



The whole rear of the damned place flashed like a phoenix.


There would be no rebirth for that poor, rich man’s place.


The house exploded and Jerry hopped back inside the vehicle.


The house burst apart and there was a huge fireball that erupted into the night sky, like a comet searching for the sun. It was Sol, reborn into a giant red star. It consumed all of the memories, the images hung lovingly on its former walls, to be used as a snorting-surface, and it consumed the secret history of those who once resided inside that damned place.




Flaming shards of the building rose up into the night sky and it looked like a starburst from a fireworks display lit from angry demons, escaped from a hell-hole; a breach unto hell below.




We could hear the screams and shrieks of people near this conflagration. It still rings in my ears to this day.


The sound wave knocked the hearse to its side, but it settled back down and heaved on its old springs.


And then the chunks of glowing wood rained down, like hail from the devil’s shroud.


The roof clanged with a direct missile and the roof dented in.


Embers showered like fireflies falling to their death.


I snuck a peek up from my cowered position in the rear of the vehicle, the part where they slide in the casket, and Naked Chick, lying beside me, tried to pull me back down.


No, not to protect me, but because I was blocking her view.


That was when the LPG tank ignited.

It did not explode.


The line to it was breached, and it expelled its contents through the inlet.


It sounded like a rocket.

It must have been near empty.

It rumbled, it quivered, and then it rolled over form its perch upon its concrete pillow.

It side-winded and spun around; a truly marvelous site to behold.

And then it shot off into the figs beyond and landed and sat there, whistling a tune of scorching blue flame.




Well, there you have it. It was The Oett who enjoyed this and connected to it, and booznik who kept me involved with good humor, and that old smart skunk who prodded me for more,

...and the excellent writing of my good friend Dear Booze who inspired me to do my very best. We have history, that young man and me, in Fuckno.



This is the end of the ZID series.


I hope that you have enjoyed it, and I thank you for your patience as this has taken a lot of liquid nerve to delve into, in order to cleanse my palate.


Thank you, my dear friend Palinka, for creating this excellent opportunity to write about my demons without fear of retribution from the proper authorities. Your trust in allowing me to do this is equaled by no other I've ever known.

Thank you FKR, for inventing such a marvelous site as this, and let us all now raise our chalices in honor of such a mighty, intelligent man.


PROSIT!


Now it is time for another daring soul to don the Urbane Spaceman’s suit.



THE END



.

[oldsmartskunk]

Naked chicks,booze, drugs and explosions. Modern day classic. I mean there are lots of action movies that have less action than this tale. This is how life supposed to be! Thanks for a great tale. And great music that accompanied it! May lord bacchus bless your liver dear sir. Cheers!

[Dear Booze]

Much like some TV shows that I watched and loved for a long time, like Breaking Bad and The Sopranos, I hate to see this thing come to an end.

[mistah willies]

Man, there's no way that this could be the end.


That would be pretty weak.

[oettinger]

Man, there's no way that this could be the end.


That would be pretty weak.

Well, to put it this way: After that tale for months no one of us will touch the spaceman, cause every follow up will sound pretty weak, and people will blacken the spaceman of fraud on this one. Also there`s not much I can come up with that needs privacy haha. Well one time it did, but that was it...

SO FAR

I meant of course.

Cheers!