THE ZID CHAPTERS: V CH.1 REPLENISH

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Well hey there.

Welcome back here.

It’d be a good idea to refresh your glass for our next trip. It will be ugly, and there may be curious injuries. Do you have the guts to follow along here?

OK, well, good for you.

I kinda suspected that you had it in you.

Well met.

Let us imbibe together.


3.


2.


1.


*Chug*



(hiccup)


let us go now.



Yes, that fat fucker got baptized by the water from the toilet, and it served him well. He had baptized Sean with fire, and now the whole place was kinda messed up.


Busted out window, smashed bedroom furniture (but not the dresser: never break the dresser) and a gang of unruly punk bastards now polishing the neck of a bottle of 151.

But wait, this is not the end of a lurvely night out with the boys.


This was only the beginning of the fun that night.


We would climb a ladder in the wrong manner. We would descend into the pits of hell.



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We met at the table once again. Leather jackets, boots, and the last of the 151.

Except, you must witness this view:


Sean was bandaged up from little Dr. Joey,

and he wore only boots and soaked, singed gym shorts. His body hair had become ash, and that was smeared all over him. His hair was fucked up in like-wise manner, and he bled from dermal slices all over his front, back, and arms.

ZID released his pain and infested his brain.

We looked around the table at each other.


It was that Fat Jerry who was the worst for wear. He never had any reason to feel remorse, and the recent events did not make him change anything about that.


Hey, whenever you read or watch someone all of a sudden become a different person and then they start smelling the roses and such,


well,


that is complete bullshit.

That is Hollywood fucking with you.



True, we all want a happy ending, and that may happen, and sometimes does occur,


But never because of a change of heart.


Unless you are the Grinch.


We simply never met that green troll.


Joey said, “We have some things to work out before we drive off to that punk show.” He looked at Sean and then at Jerry.



The silence dripped from the air like a sweltering day in the south of Arse.


Sean grunted.

Jerry looked down at his thick fingers and then he pulled his hands up and clasped them behind his head, and he leaned back.


He said, “Dude. You have no idea about any shit at all.” He was looking directly into Sean’s eyes when he said that.



Sean grabbed the bottle with one hand and with his other one he flipped that table over onto Fat Jerry.


Plates of ashes flew all over the damned place, and Jerry’s chair went back and he smacked his head on the tiles.


Sean stood right up and then he grabbed that table and flipped it again, up and over Jerry. It completely flew against the wall and two of its legs punched holes in the wall and bent at odd angles. He pulled his shorts down and held his penis out. He was about to urinate on Jerry’s face.


Sean said, “You mother fucker, you have no idea about me at all.”


Well, I tell you mistah man; that got Jerry’s attention. He rubbed his eyes and got that cigarette ash in them. He held his hands out as his eyes began to burn from the lye and he said, “Wait!”


Jerry rolled over and he got up on his knees and he faced Sean. He said, “No more! I’m sorry!”


Sean stepped back and put his man junk away. He looked at Joey and then at me, and he was smiling.



Well, good for Sean.


Jerry said, “I just wanted to make sure that you were one of us!”

Sean shouted. He said, “I will never be one of YOU.”



Jerry rubbed his teary eyes and nodded. He said, “I gotta rinse this shit out now”

Sean grabbed Jerry’s arm and he as pulled that punk fucker up with his one hand he leaned back…

do ya ken,

he held that near-empty bottle with the other hand and put it to his mouth,

and he chugged. He left nothing for anyone else.



Asshole.



Jerry staggered to the kitchen sink and turned the faucet on and cupped his hands with water and such, and was going all-



he was whimpering-

-saying, “Oh man, oh fuck, this hurts” and stuff like that.



Me and Joey, well, we were still sitting there in our kitchen chairs, like we were waiting for the waiter to bring us a fresh table.


Sean said, “You two men, I’m gonna drive us in that bastard’s vehicle. And I will drive us back home again! Just get his keys and give them to me.”


Huh.


How about that.


Well, that was enough for us. Joey and I stood up and we dusted off our leather. Always mind your leather.

It can save you.

It can protect you.

It can be quite helpful.




Now it’s time for a martini. All of this talk from decades ago has made my eyes a bit dusty.



Prosit!




.

[oettinger]

Nice, an afternoon at the russian`s u got there!

[mistah willies]

Nice, an afternoon at the russian`s u got there!

Now threes' a takle


now there is a tale to trell

tell


Hey, Oett

you should tell more of this tale you hint at

its getting reealy hard ot type beaicse


it getting reaaly hard to write and type beacause that badfellow made me do five shots of giun

gin

[booznik]

...badfellow made me do five shots of giun
gin

"That badfellow made me do it" is my new excuse for everything. It will surely work.

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Ahhh…


Back from the barrr. Here be a tale for ya. There will be speeling mistakes here and there.


*Ahem*


Good heavings, it appears to have been ten whole days since the last post. My apeologies to you my fiend. Let us commence with a kiss form the lips of lovely Lady Ethyl.

Mwa-fucking-ha


Nelson’s Song by The Skatalites


So,


That Fat Jerry punk rinsed out his eyes, which was a good thing. No lye, that can cause blindness.

And it leaves you with puffy, closed red eyes. Well, besides the usual ones in the morning.

Not helpful just before you are going out on the town in the early veining.


Early Evaning.

Evan Williams?


Why thank you. I think I will.

*sip*


It was Joey who fished them keys out of Jerry’s pockets. Fish being the key word here, in Jerry’s pants. Yes, he was a monger of sorts, upon his own filth. But he was also quite apprehensive with the use of his automobile. He didn’t want to be apprehended by them police anymore. He’d had enough of them.




Man, I should put up a true image of him. He would not disagree with that. I’ll ask him. Let me grab my spade.



Jerry said, “Wha?! What the fuck?” And he swung his thick arms about in his blindness. Good thing that Joey was a foot shorter and knew how to bob and weave and duck.



Ya know, like a good pugilist. I think that Joey learned a thing or two form his own dad.


Dude could spar quite well. That’s how you grow up in th epriojectes.

In the projects. You become projectile.


Like vomit.


Wait.


This calls for another shot.

[The Urbane Spaceman]

...Man, I should put up a true image of him. He would not disagree with that. I’ll ask him. Let me grab my spade...

Indeed. In response to the query that reached my ears through side discussions:

"Yes, Virginia, these stories really are fucking true, my dear."


R.I.P Fat Jerry



The Punk Church









His band: Vicious Bunnies











The man, the myth, the legend







Raise a glass to a true punk rocker who was fond of wearing purple.




.

[mistah willies]

Wait, this shit really happened?

No way.

Nothing like that ever happens in real life

[booznik]

Wait, this shit really happened?

No way.

Nothing like that ever happens in real life

Urbie was born in a Hollywood film, and it still hasn't ended yet.

When it's over, I've gotten a tip that you should sit through the credits, because there's a secret bit of footage at the end.

[mistah willies]

hah?


Oh... ayuh