DESERT SNOW EI8HT Can't Recall?

[The Urbane Spaceman]

I awoke the next night to hollering. The chicks were gone, and so were a lot of things.


Fat Jerry said, “I think I was drugged!”



Huh. That was no news to any of us, for any of us.




We had made the worst mistake that one can do in such a deep, dark world, we bastard brothers.




You see, we thought that everyone else was cool. We were wrong about that. We were asshole chumps.



I flung my door open, and this crunched many empty beer cans behind it, and my foot knocked over the remainder of the half-full one. That is abuse of alcohol. Never let a drop go to waste.



I ran out and toppled over Joey. We both landed, and he was underneath me, with a big, black dildo sticking out of his arse. I rose up and held him up like a torch over my head and screamed at him---




Sorry, bad joke. No, I ran into him because we both erupted form our rooms at the same time.



Jerry paced in the living room, and Sean kept opening the door to the fridge and closing it, rubbing his eyes, and opening it again.


Joey said, “Who is out here waking me form my peaceful slumber and crying like a little bitch?!”



Woah. I stood back. New man in command.

Jerry said, “My leather is gone!”





Sean said, “The beer is gone!”

Jerry said, “My car is gone!”




Sean said, “My bitch is gone!”

Jerry said, “My car is gone! My girl, too. My car is gone!”



It was time for evaluation and deep introspection, and many data analyses, and hand-written poems to our mothers, and



Wait, NO. It was time for thinking and retribution. It was time to behave like true Punk rockers.



Calls for a DRINK! if you have the thirst.




3…2…1… PROSIT!



We four men sat at the table again, feeling like shit, in all of the ways that one can feel that way. Hung over bad with each artery pulse, drug-comedown pounding its beat to each heart throb in our heads, and remorse to think that we deserved it for what we had done.



Joey and I missed work and were probably fired. Those other two bastards missed whatever the fuck it was that they did during the daylight hours of the less horrible people, and we were fools.


Jerry said, “Anyone got a damned cigarette?”




Huh. Might as well have a smoke.



I went back into my room and dug around for my leather. I found it. Underneath it was an armful of beers. Well. How about that? I didn’t even remember hoarding. You know, sometimes, even in a blackout, you are still good to yourself.



I put my leather on and strolled out of that stinky room like a king. I set them warm beers down with a loud CLUNK! and then sparked up a ciggie.



You should have seen their smiles. Yeah, life was good again.



Psssshhh.


Oh hell no, of course not. But it took the edge of reality off a bit.



Jerry chugged his warm can and puffed and sat back. He said, “I don’t even know her name.”

Sean said, “I know the name of my stealer. Monica.”



Joey said, “Got her last name? Maybe a phone number?”

Sean said, “I can’t recall.”





The little Lion man said, “Urb, we should check the freezer.”



Huh. Good idea. I got right up and went to it. Inside, I saw that the last, few remaining envelopes of ZID were gone, baby gone. I checked the fridge and saw that all of the beer was gone as well. Oh, and the food, too.




I checked the cupboards and saw that there was no food in those, either. Then I remembered that they actually never held any food at all. Just a dead cockroach, starved from the bare emptiness of our souls.


OK, that was pretty cheesy. Forgive me for that.





I sat back down and Joey just sat there, slowly shaking his head. He said, “I can’t believe I let assholes into my place.”


Jerry stood up and knocked his beer over. He said, “It’s not my fault! You guys fucked up my ride!” Then he dove at Sean and they wrestled and knocked over Sean’s beer as well.


I jumped up and screamed. I said, “STOP! You bastards! You wasted those beers!”


They did stop. They stepped back. I said, “I saved those for you! Now lick it up.”



And do you know what? They did. It was pretty gross. Cigarette ashes and everything. Their tongues met a couple times.




Rrrrrrgh. I have to stop kidding about like this.



So, no, they did not stop. They began to punch each other as they rolled around on the floor and Joey grabbed his beer and pulled the table back form them. Joey finished his beer and took a long drag from his ciggie.



Then he flicked it at them two big bastards, and it got crushed between their chests, against each other.



Yeah, that made them stop. They could have busted the fridge for chrissakes.



“AHHH!!” Jerry and Sean pushed each other away and slapped at their oily, smelly chests to put out the pain.




Joey said, “Don’t be breaking my house! You two fuckers are stoopid for letting pussy come between you.”



Jerry hauled his lard ass up and stumbled to the kitchen sink to flush water over his chest. Sean just stood there. He probably couldn’t tell which burn mark was the fresh one. You recall that he had been baptized with booze and fire by Jerry in his own bathtub, back when we busted into his shitty apartment.



He was looking down on his chest. He came into the light. He pointed. It was a series of numbers. Underneath it, it read, “Mons” It looked like it was written with soot, but it was mascarra. Maybe both.



Yeah, it was a phone number.


Mons?



Monster?



Or, Monica?



What?



Well of course, we called it. Monica answered.




I don’t know about you, but I appeared to have built up a thirst.


Care to join me?



Now it is your turn to count us down.









*Ah* (Burrrp) pardon me, please



Thank you. You seem to know how to go about this DRINKing thing. Well met, my friend. Let us return to the shituation at hand.



“Hello? This is Sean. I’m looking for Monica. Oh? Hi there Monica!”




Sean sat back down in the chair and a smile grew on his face. He brushed his scarred up, burnt chest with his dirty fingernails and played with his nipples. OK, jeez. Enough.



He sat there and smiled. He kept nodding. Jerry said, “Ask her where the fuck my car is” but Sean waved him away. He just kept nodding and smiling.




Then Sean hung up.


Yeah, we were all holding our breath.




Sean said, “Monica woke up and saw the naked chick stealing shit. She doesn’t know how to fight, but she made the effort to stop the girl.”

Jerry said, “She let my bitch steal my ride?”



Sean said, “That ain’t your girlfriend! That’s anyone’s lay.”

Jerry shook his head. “What happened to my car?!”





Sean said, “Shut the fuck up and let me finish here, you big baby. Fuck.”

Jerry shut up.



Sean continued. He said, “Monica stopped her from going through your pants on the floor. She told that chick that about the fucking fact that we saved her. We saved both of them. Monica still doesn’t know about her friends. She doesn’t know what happened to them. She had to hide her clothes. They smelled like a burnt house.”





We all nodded. The whole place there and then smelled like a burnt church. Of course, no one had taken a shower yet, form that bad night. It smelled like cigarettes and sex and spilled beer. Yeah, it was not a fancy hotel, or even a shitty motel. It smelled like Punk.



Jerry said, “Uh, Sean, what about my ride?”



That was the second time I ever heard Fat Jerry call this man by his real name.




Sean seemed to recognize this, because he didn’t tell the punk rocker to shut up. Instead, he said, “Monica took your keys and drove your vehicle.”



Jerry got up form his elbow on the kitchen counter and he looked like he was going to break things.




Sean said, “Calm the fuck down! She protected us! She took on for the team. She hid it. She has your keys you fat fuck!”


Jerry’s face frowned and he let out a big sigh. He looked like he was going to cry.





Sean said, “Jeez dude. Don’t get all weepy on us. It’s only a car. It’s a goddamned hearse, for crying out loud!”


Jerry said, “Oh! Thank goodness. Oh, Saint Bacchus!”







Joey said, “Uh, really? I mean, it’s cool and all. What the hell?”



Jerry said, “You don’t get it. It’s my ride. It’s where I sleep! It’s my fucking home!”






Ohhhh…



Huh.



Well, there you go.


(Rest Fat Jerry’s soul, for what happened to him later on. Hard times: they happen to us all…)


We hold true, for this true tale is not about what happens about you. This whole thing is about one single thing, which is this: This is about what you do in the face of adversity.





Especially, when your greatest enemy is you.





Oh yes. This is the best thing of all fight.




We did, you know, have many other enemies, and some of them were stealers, other than ourselves, form each other.



Someone had infiltrated. In-Fill-Traitor. Nekkid chick. What was she up to? Would she come back? With others?




Never forget, there were dropped hits under the fridge form the beginning of this whole sordid affair. Those there ZID. There was some seed for a new tree.


That was from where we will begin the next part.


Now DRINK! against the dying of the chirping dogs, and those ugly barking birds.




Bacchus help us all. Tahoo.


.

[oldsmartskunk]

Drunk,drugged and in deep shit. I miss that feeling. Living in chaos. Living for the moment. What a tale! Do you ever think of putting your old leather back on and doing something you may or may not regret? It was a hard life. Full of mess, joy, pleasure and mild poisonings.
Every time i read your stories i keep a bottle of strong liquor at hand's reach. And i indulge myself generously.

[oettinger]

The last couple of paragraphs are Twin Peaks-esque.

Hoarding when things get tight? Yeah did that, not MDM-like I have to admint but shit happenes.