ZID PART V CHAPTER 8 Moonlight Mêlée

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

Moderators: Artful Drunktective, mistah willies, NYDingbat, Judge, oettinger, Oggar, Badfellow, Mr Boozificator

Post Reply
User avatar
The Urbane Spaceman
Super Drunkard
Super Drunkard
Posts: 192
Joined: Sun Feb 02, 2014 5:18 pm

ZID PART V CHAPTER 8 Moonlight Mêlée

Post by The Urbane Spaceman »

Mêlée can be a French term for “Holy hot damn, what the fuck happened?!”

Indeed. But we knew what the fuck happened.

Let’s talk about this. It requires a shot of something with at least 47% ABV. Arm yourself, you weekend warrior you. We attack at the hour. Each and every hour. Fight them Drys to their dusty beds.


Here’s a tune to clarify your beverage; pour it into an isinglass. Motherless Child Blues, by the mysterious and exquisite Elvie Thomas. She thrums and picks her guitar, and she sings with heart. But truly, there are no actual photographs that exist of her, and nothing anywhere can be found to show who she was. This video to the song simply shows olde timey black folks. Nothing wrong with that, but Elvie remains a mystery to this day.

3.

2.

1.


BLÜCHER!

Well I tell you, some folks simply do not know how to handle themselves when encountering something new.


Certainly, we all like our pillow a certain way when we rest our weary heads from our travels and travails, we like our java done just right, (or tea, for you folks in the Isles of Great Blackout) and we like to know exactly what to expect when we crack open a bottle of some lovely nectar,

…but this time, some folks had simply not done this before. And no one told them how to handle it.



Yup. All manner of fuck occurred. We had folks watching us because they thought it was bunk, and others who wanted in, but I had not brought all of it with me. What I had taken along was all dispersed. Gone, baby gone.


We had others who nodded at us from across the room, when they got that familiar taste coming up form their spines, they backbones, and into their head, and into their neurons, and flooding back out into the body rush.


And the bright, flashing lights and the loud thrash form the punk band,

Well,

It became a bit much for the newbies to this ZID thing.

Folks cowered, others tried to console them, and then others began to freak right the fuck out.


Luckily, the band did not have any,

…yet.


But it was enough of a commotion that the narcs alerted the police outside that some bad shit was going on.


The mosh pit became the whole room.

Folks started throwing chairs and equipment and shit, and my boys, we looked at each other, in that moment of clarity you get just before you die.

Joey pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

Jerry nodded. He ran and grabbed ole Sean, who was also throwing chairs, and he knocked that big man down and dragged him back to us by his belts.

I pointed at the doors. Cops came running in and went straight for the mosh pit. Amazing thing to see, really. It takes a lot of guts to head directly into the fray and try to break it up. Respect is indicated here. A glass raised for the first responders, all of you.


*CHUG*


We four bastards walked over and out of them front doors while the mess grew louder inside.

People were screaming “Out! Out! Out!” but none of them went for the most obvious exit, like we did.

Nope.

They panicked.

Do Not Panic.

They smashed windows to try to climb out, and they ran up the stairs to the choir booth, that balcony thing, and they slinked into the basement and got trapped like rats in the hold of a drinking ship.

But we men stepped outside for a smoke.

And then we ran.

Jerry’s hearse was our vessel. It started right up. It would not fail us.

Where would we go? We might get followed. But we had to leave soon. Other police cars came zooming down to the Mêlée form all directions. We could see their lights under the silvery moon, all red and blue, flashing about.


What would we do?

We would have to figure it out.

Now time for a drink of dry vermouth, straight up. Don’t be hating on vermouth. I’ll say, “Shhh, honey, close your vermouth and let’s grab us some pillow time.”

But you know I’d be lying.

Fuck Monday. Let’s stay awake and DRINK!



.

Post Reply