The ZID Chapters, Part II

[The Urbane Spaceman]

It is very important to have a focal point in mind during one’s trip to the moon. This may take many calculations on a slide rule, but the best course of all is the ability to think on one’s feet when the need arises.

You ill be encountering strange creatures and dumb beasts. It’s best if you know how to navigate with your X on the chart as your focus, and your pure instinct as the oars in the water.

But, intelligence must be the captain at the wheel for the rudder.

Especially when the ocean rocks your boat, saturated with that curious ZID.


Baphomet welcomed us into his convenience store. He said, “Welcome into my convenience store! Please do not steal. I have a shotgun pointed at your balls, under this counter. Enjoy my fine wares!”


Well, that set the mood. I nodded at Joey, and he said, “Don’t get lost.”

Yes, we had come here for two cartons of cigarettes and nothing more. But, do you see, it didn’t quite go like that.



Pardon me, this memory calls for a drink to steady the nerves.


*sip*


Mmmmm.



So, you know that the effects of ZID come in waves. It is a disappointment when you begin to undrunk up the first time, but wait!

There will be another soon, and it will be even better, because you know what to expect now.


(And then there will be several more, and before you know it, the birds will start barking and the dogs will begin chirping as the sun peeks his mean eye over the Earth’s crust on the horizon…)


Well, the second wave flooded me like a tsunami when I walked into the candy aisle.

The colorful wrappers on those candies (that are designed to catch the eye of children) began to glow bright in my vision, under the flickering light from the fluorescent tubes overhead.

I was lost in those colors. I grabbed handfuls and threw them up in the air to watch them explode like fireworks.

Baphomet said, “HEY! What the hell you think you doing my friend! I veel shoot you!”


Joey stood at the counter and he turned around to look at me. He was closing the deal on the cigarettes, and then I was throwing shit everywhere. He almost soiled his trousers, he told me later. Then he began to laugh.


He fell to his knees and he completely lost his marbles.

Thus encouraged, I flung more candy. I watched the delightful explosions of color that flitted about like drunk butterflies. They were spelling words in their light-trails, but these were words written in a language with which I was not familiar.

Baphomet said, “Dude! My friend Dude! I am not of the joking! Zees is velly serious! Dude! I veel call zee police!”


That made Joey laugh so hard that he had to take a piss. He rolled around on the floor and unbuttoned his 501’s and sprayed his urine all about in laughing spurts.


Baphomet did not approve. He said, “Vat zee hell iz dis? One is throwing the products in ze air, and ze udder is spraying the air with his urine?! Stop zees madness!”


I stopped and saluted. At that moment, the glass doors swung open and new customers entered. Cnady and urine covered the floor. I stood there saluting while Joey finished his evacuation of his bladder and stuffed his man-junk back into this jeans.

He kept giggling as he got to his knees.

The new customers turned around and left.

Baphomet said, “See! You have cost me theez new bizness! You are making mess of my store!”


I stopped saluting and went to the counter, and dug out my money. I placed it on the counter and said, “Please do not shoot us. I think this amount should cover it.” It was my whole paycheck in greenbacks, minus the fifty I’d kicked in for the sheet of ZID back at the apartment.

Baphomet grabbed it and counted it, as I helped Joey to his feet. We headed for the door, and Joey said, “Wait! We came here for one thing!”

He staggered back to the counter and said, “Almost forgot these.” He grabbed them two cartons of cigarettes, but Baphomet put his hand down on them as well.

He said, “No, zat veel be extra.”


Joey took in a big breath, and then he roared. Joey fucking ROARED.

He said, “NO! These are MINE!”


Then he whipped them up and zipped them up inside his leather jacket.

He walked like a little lion man to them glass doors, paused, and looked into my eyes. He said, “Is he pointing his shotgun at my back?”

I said, “He is just standing there in shock.”

Joey said, “Then we should fucking bail, my friend.”

We ran like hell.

[booznik]

[oettinger]

Aha!

The stuff we are taking these days kicks in after 5 min, brutally, roally. Going beer and hooch shopping becomes quite the experience

[mistah willies]

Aha!

The stuff we are taking these days kicks in after 5 min, brutally, roally. Going beer and hooch shopping becomes quite the experience

You young folks and your bath salts! Why, back in my day---

Wait,


*shouts out window*

Hey, get off my lawn!"


*uses walker to get back to TRS980 and types on black screen with grey letters*

Where were we? Oh, yes, you young folks and your designer drugs. WHy, back in my day---

[booznik]

Aha!

The stuff we are taking these days kicks in after 5 min, brutally, roally. Going beer and hooch shopping becomes quite the experience

I didn't say that. Ref calls quote foul! Penalty! Five yards!

*uses walker to get back to TRS980 and types on black screen with grey letters*

TRS-80

Cassette tapes for storage... oh the Dark Ages.

DRINK!

[mistah willies]

Cassette tapes for storage... oh the Dark Ages.

DRINK!

We write our own code, use ? instead of question


Back in them daze, in the public library

[oettinger]

You young folks and your bath salts! Why, back in my day---

F**k you grandpa

This is the cool board, now leave and fu*king d**

[mistah willies]

Heheheeee!


ya bastard

[booznik]

Where were we? Oh, yes, you young folks and your designer drugs. WHy, back in my day---

[The Urbane Spaceman]

The assition of adrenaline will cause a rush so huge it might, indeed, be mistaken for that of cocaine. Except for one thing, which is this:

The rush from a couple of thick, long rips sill last about twenty minutes. The heart palpitations will last for the rest of the evening. The next line or two will make you feel excellent again, for another fifteen minutes.


Each time you approach the mountain it will become smaller and seem further away. You will be left with a hunger for more, and it is a hunger that cannot be satiated.


With ZID, on the other hand, you would wish that the rush of adrenaline would go away, but it can't and it won't. It's come to the party, and it won't go home even after you've extinguished all the lights and gone off to bed.


This talk calls for a drink. Maybe, a Martini?


Hold on

[oettinger]

Have you ever tried Herion Hero?

[Palinka (RIP)]

New Definitions: "Heroine Addict", n, A gentleman who finds himself consistently and compulsively attracted to ladies who save the lives of others.

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Gentlemen, my apologies for the spelling mistakes above. Hendrick's has a sort of effect on my keyboard. The keys begin to hop about from time to time all willy nilly, and there is no hope to chase them down if I want to get it all out, as it appears.

Now, to engage with you proper Drunkards:

Heroin, never. Crack? Only once, and it didn't take. Thank goodness. Meth? Well, I still have my teeth, let's put it that way.

Heroines? Oh my, yes indeed. The fairer gender, with their skin that is soft to the touch, their proclivity to adorn themselves with a soft kiss of perfume (just enough to engage you and draw you in closer) and their ability to beguile you with a a hidden look,

-an invitation to explore their deeper secrets, in the silky sheets of their


Ahem.


*adjusts tie*


Yes, let us continue.


Caveat: These ZID chapters in no way endorse nor are intended to contribute to the exploration of any drugs or than the legal ones. Here is simply a description, an exploration into the mind of a Punk during the era of Punkology, located in the high desert valley of a land far away and long ago.



Joey pulled me along as he sprinted. Such long strides for a man diminutive in stature, but a giant in heart and courage.


Again: the tide of traffic that blazed along in increasingly loud and more frequent blazes and trails of light blears,

well, they faced us anew. This, with our ongoing height of the ruch form adrenaline and peak of ZID.


I should tell you that this young man could do his math, and he was also very good at dancing. I was not, unfortunately. I faltered before the spectacle of the screaming, honking light-snakes that slithered past in opposite directions at great speed.


He grabbed my wrist and he began to hop form his left foot to his right, and back again.

He was counting the beat, the rhythm, and he was finding the temple signature. It really does come yo simple math, you know. But it takes a true artist to syncopate with style.


Good heavens, time for another Martini.

[booznik]

... a Punk during the era of Punkology...

Punkologically correct.

...screaming, honking light-snakes that slithered past in opposite directions at great speed.

I think it was manufactured locally. Finest quality. Superior workmanship. There is a maker's serial number: 99069-07X/B71. Interesting. Not fish. Snake scale.

Try Abdul Ben-Hassan. He make this screaming, honking light-snake.

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Ah. Very fine mix. Indeed, your friend "Urb" is going all Batty on you.

"The sights I've seen..."

Now, not to be replicative, and never to appear supplicative, here is the next part of the addictative of ZID.


The little lion man took a step back and inhaled deeply. He tightened his grasp on my wrist and dove right onto the dance floor. I skittered my boots like an ice cube sizzling upon a red hot skillet.


The nearest light-snake dissipated from view and we made it to the middle island just as the other light-snake approached form the other direction, on the other side.

He did not err.


He charged forth and I stumbled blindly along behind him, just as the approaching automobiles honked their horns and prepared to slam of their brakes and ignite a messy traffic accident.


We made it across, and no one got hurt.


Well, I tell you, my heart raced. Again, with the adrenaline.

What would calm the pulse rate?



You guessed correctly. Ethyl.

All we had were those cans of beer left in the bushes near the canal that fed the desert agri-land with cool mountain water from the nearby Sierras.


I grabbed them up looked at Joey. I said, "What the hell is going on with this stuff?"


He said, "Welcome to the wonderful world of ZID. We will be here for a while."


And then we drank.





You should know that I'd given the key to the store owner along with my cash money, unintended, of course.



But that is the next chapter:

ZID: B&E into your own home.





Now for another Martini.