ENDING of the ZID CHAPTERS

Remember what happened last night? Good. Now tell the world.

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The Urbane Spaceman
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ENDING of the ZID CHAPTERS

Post by The Urbane Spaceman » Sun Jan 15, 2017 9:17 pm

This is the ending to these tales I’ve been telling you all these years, and this one is dedicated to Sir Patrick Tilbury.

It is proper to say thank you to those of you whom have read these TLDR things, Goblet you. Chalice. I am no one. I will continue to be No One.


Palinka enjoyed Placebo. I do as well. We two played the game of chess, all across this here FKR’s Modern Drunkard Magazine forum chat board. Search P’s posts. You can do it, if you’re not a damned spambot. No one likes those. Also, he was vehement against trolls. You know this. I would say B3 to you, Sir Tilbury, for your KP4.



Palinka was quite engaging (unless you caused him anger, but you always got what you deserved in his companionship) and that man always contributed enjoyment and nerdy things, Amen. He moderated this thing for many years, for our Mistah Man, Frank. That there is trust between the two.



This long tale was encouraged by him. This is his fault. You have him to blame. Drink well in heaven, my good man; you imp of devilish behaviour.




DRINK! to Palinka.


3…2…1…



Damn, I like me some draaaanking.



*ahem*



Just a bit more, then we will dig the dirt with shovels.



He was a true friend and he had many tales of his own to share with many of you, and he would always listen to your own. I found myself fortunate to hear many of his own. Each of them varied between great, ironic humor, horror, cooking a fine meal for his guests, tragedy (like the loss of his Lady),


…traveling to drink with many, many people across continents and countries (including attending Modern Drunkard Conferences) and about drinking.

You most certainly should have asked him questions for he had an amazing, encyclopedic memory of everything of which he spoke, but absolutely not like a know-it-all. He was a kind and gentle guide, if your keep your feet upon the stones that led to our perdition. Proper with that dude was to never interrupt nor derail the conversation with your own sudden memory of what you ate last night, until it was your turn. That is something that we need more of these days. Stay away from your texts and tweets while we watch the damned show!


You know, he was fond of hosting week-long parties in his own abode as a true Hobbit would, and he moderated this fine site on a daily basis like a mighty gate protector. You may have found yourself in his belly laughs, or facing his sharp point of view, sometimes throughout each session. But he never held animosity to anyone, unless you really fucked with his friends, which includes us at this mighty Boozetown.



He was the man who encouraged me to do this sort of writing, and he create this Urbane Spaceman avatar in order for me to do this without impunity. Nobody knows anything about me. Let’s keep it that way. Please speak kindly about me after I pass on. Don’t say bad things about me, and don’t say bad things about Palinka, ever.





Last words: P just wanted us to have fun. That is what we do. Thank you to our good friend Frank, for allowing this here bastard to get to know some other bastards. Just drinkin’


Rrrrrrrrgh.


*chug*


Damn.


All righty then.



Here we go.


1. When I got Joey involved with crack, I left him. I went back home. Somehow he escaped that. He got back into powder, and he ruled the Pleasure Boys. New Romantic style, in them 80’s and then he got himself a baddass old style Chevy. That is a tale that only he can tell. But he still lives, and he rubs supermodels for a living, in Hollywood to this day.


2. Fat Jerry died. I cannot say this, but Joey told me that it was a couple years after Jerry met a punk rock British girl after a gig who scrawled this note on his bathroom mirror after their sexcapade:
“Welcome to the Wonerdful World of AIDS”


3. Sean is incarcerated, to this day. He is inked all over, but he still is a mean, huge fighter.


4. We cannot speak of others who also died, or are otherwise unable or unwilling to speak for themselves. Some of these amazing people you will never know. Kaneetha U. C. Kahle. Bryan…


5. When next we meet, let’s go look for them.


6. Emeralda: fuck her. She broke Joey’s heart. Go to hell, bitch. I was the reason. I guess I can go to hell as well.



Here is the saddest part.



When folks came over, before them bastards busted in and juked Joey, (you know, the ones in the crossroads who then squatted in that broken apartment a couple buildings away, from whom we’d stolen their stuff after they’d stolen ours and we covered them with their own feces… blah blah blah) Vital Juice and Oettbarf, remember that part? Jeez, try to keep up. Two years ago in this tale. Dooood.


Well, I would take little snips from each pile on each mirror, as we all sat around on the table. I put each one into a used paper envelope, because I wanted to find out who was mixing their snow with bad things to snort. Always use B3. It’s a vitamin. Never use cleaning powder. Never use anything like Molly. Be good to your fellow and lady druggies.


I had these envelopes in me room for the exploration, after everyone else was gone.


OK, OK, I was saving it for later. You know, when everyone else was gone. We always got everyone else out. No crashing there. But, ZID would always be the savior. That is what these tales are about.


Joey always had plenty of darvocets and valium, but I liked to enjoy the crash.


It was when them gods started barking, and the birds started chirping.


I had a little bird visit my door.


It was my mother.


Yeah, no shit.


After the party ended and everyone was gone, Joey passed out with his percocets or Vicodin, I put my headphones on and rocked out to music.



Sunlight blasted in through the sliding glass door, and my headphones strangled my neck. I untangled the wires, threw the ear phones down and turned over, on the couch. The TV was turned low, but still on.


What had woken me up?


It was this:


URB!


I sat up, unsteady on the couch.


It sounded like my mother. Was I paranoid again? I usually checked behind the curtains to see if the cops were coming, after copious amounts of snow, and everyone would try to tell to chill out: I was acting weird.

Is it vindication when it becomes true? I think not. This time, it turned out to be true.


I heard it again and again.



URB! Where are you URB?”



It truly sounded like my mother.


Talk about a bad dream/hallucination/trip.


I staggered up and went to the door.


I looked through the peep hole and saw a small but powerful Injun walking around, hollering for me.




Yes, it was my mother.


I still did not believe this. I rubbed my blurry eyes and coughed, and she came closer. She heard me. So, I cracked the door open to say hello.

She said, “Excuse me, but have you seen my son Urb?”


I could not comprehend this.


I opened the door and her eyes got big. She said, “Urb! I have come here for you! I am taking you Home.”



We hugged and all that, and she said, “Let’s go now. Back to our Rez.”


I nodded. It was time. She brought my frozen mittens back to me, so to speak. I was going home.


I said, “I will shower first, and then I will collect my things. Please come back in twenty minutes. Is that OK with you? I will come back home with you. Thank you.”


She gave me another big hug and then she nodded. She said, “It’s about time.”



I said, “There only enough time, and never enough time, but it’s about friggin time.”

She said, “Don’t swear, son.” Then she walked off like a badass.



I collected only the things that I had not purchased from drug money. These were the things that I earned from the honest work that I had done. I left behind many CDs form them 80’s (which I would not ever buy again, because I had shitty taste in music but hey, it was them 80’s) as well as VHS movies and such, but I took these things:


I still wear my leather boots that I have re-soled many times, and, of course, my leather jacket. That had been re-stitched and re-lined, and it is my Leather.


Always mind your leather. It will save you. Indeed.


I also brought my keyboards, for I can rock. It would have been nice to let you hear my songs, but that won’t happen. This is the end. Sorry about that.


I went to say goodbye to Joey, but his door was locked, of course. So I wrote him a note.


It was this:

“Joseph.
I am going back to my Rez. I am done here. Don’t bother looking for me. No, I have not committed suicide. I am not in the canal. I am on my way back home. See you in a year or two. Thank you for the good times, and the bad ones. It makes us who we are. Sorry about the next things that will happen to you. It will make you stronger. If not, see you on the other side.

---Urb"



Yeah. Pretty fucked up.

But, he fucked me over, and it took years for us to become friends again.



Mom drove up to the curb with her friend, and I waved. I looked back over at the big X on the lawn, form a while ago.


I remembered crawling with Joey across that lawn, after we’d played a game of chess with shots of Gin while we waited for some ladies to come take us into the night on a date.


We ruined their car, and they brought us back, and one yellow line was from our vomit as we crawled back to the apartment after they tossed us out.



The other line on the X was form the stealers. Never steal. I will come looking for you.



X marks the spot.



Sans Joking apartment complex probably still exists, but Fuckno has moved even more northward, leaving a trail of despair and sludge in its wake. Say what you will about me, but never judge me. You had to be there.



My mom (yes, my mom brought me back home and Grounded me, boohoo) put us up in a motel for the night before leaving Fuckno. We would make the trip in five days, and I would have to go through the withdrawals. She had medicine, for she was a medicine woman for our tribe. Do ya ken, I did not get withdrawals, and I do not crave snow to this day. Although, I am shoveling it now, frequently, where I live on this day.


In the morning, Mom showered and her friend went out to get breakfast for us. I stared down at all of the small envelopes that contained snow. I thought, “Maybe a little bit to take the edge off?”


I pulled the biggest envelope open, and I was going to snort the hell out of that little bitch.


It would be fine, isn’t that right? I would take smaller steps down the stairs. Eventually, I would find myself home.


Hell…


I continue and then I would finally rock my snow to the road to perdition.


My hands curled into balls, like bollocks of a resolute man. I growled. I said this thing, which I always say, to this day, when I am about to do something that I do not want to do.


I growled this:


RRRRRGGGHHH



So, I left a bunch of really good tips for the cleaning maid, the housekeeping.


To this day, I wonder if she snorted them envelopes, or took them back to her man, or sold them, all of those different recipes for powdered snow, or else just threw them all away.


I hope that she snorted them, right then and there, before she cleaned up the motel room. She would have had a lovely day.


However, I kept some of the ZID for the Trip back Home, just in case.


Always mind your leather.


It can save you.


You know me, and I know you.




THE FUCKING END




En Memoriam to P. (Crank this bitch up.)


Goodbye, and see you the next time around on this tiny blue marble: lost and alone in the eternity of space, on the uncaring tip of a finger of our mighty galaxy, (number of galaxies is infinitesimal).



DRINK!



Always drink.



Tahoo.



.
Last edited by The Urbane Spaceman on Sun Jan 15, 2017 10:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Dear Booze
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Re: ENDING of the ZID CHAPTERS

Post by Dear Booze » Sun Jan 15, 2017 10:01 pm

Ever feel like you just lost a close friend? I hate to see this one end.
Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Give a drunk man tortilla chips, Velveeta and a hair dryer and he has nachos.

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Re: ENDING of the ZID CHAPTERS

Post by oettinger » Fri Jan 20, 2017 11:02 am

Dear Booze wrote:
Sun Jan 15, 2017 10:01 pm
Ever feel like you just lost a close friend? I hate to see this one end.
Feels strange, doesn`t it? Part I I think, Sun Apr 06, 2014 1:51 am.


Hey Urb, so how long have you lived in Fuckno aprox?
I do not remember posting that ^^^
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Re: ENDING of the ZID CHAPTERS

Post by mistah willies » Fri Jan 20, 2017 7:19 pm

This ending that he did was all talky talking. Yeah, Palinka, we get it already.

But, where is the coloring between the drawn lines of the image? Where is the flavor in the meat, instead of looking at a friggin menu with blurry images and grease stains?

I feel cheated.


Bastard.

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Re: ENDING of the ZID CHAPTERS

Post by oettinger » Sat Jan 21, 2017 8:33 am

mistah willies wrote:
Fri Jan 20, 2017 7:19 pm
This ending that he did was all talky talking. Yeah, Palinka, we get it already.

But, where is the coloring between the drawn lines of the image? Where is the flavor in the meat, instead of looking at a friggin menu with blurry images and grease stains?

I feel cheated.


Bastard.
One day, you Willies and the Urb will shake hands! Thurst me.
I do not remember posting that ^^^
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Re: ENDING of the ZID CHAPTERS

Post by mistah willies » Sat Apr 01, 2017 9:07 pm

How about a new thread for these. Maybe invite folks. Lots of smart people on this board...

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