ZID VI CHAPTER SEIS: LIVE IN INTERESTING TIMES

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Now listen, there is never a harsh upon nay of you soggy bastards who cares enough to read these damned true words. Most sincerely: thank you for your interest and your esteemed and mighty patience.


In-fucking-deed.




We sat at that table with burly men looking down over our shoulders, to see what we would do.

These big dumb bastards had been ripping lines of cheap pink hearts, and they were amped up. It was their new guests who brought the party.

Of course, this party was about to become truly live.

Folks evaded police and would soon arrive, although some were pulled over along their way to this place in the sticks.

The thing about punk back then: you never gave up important information to those who would thwart the good times of others.

Well, until shit happened. Shit always happened. Usually, shit can’t be helped when a party get over run by punk rockers.

It is par for the course, it is the shoals and the sirens for a course, and it is the high score and the failing grade for a course.


Here is a tune to illustrate this, before we continue. I will fix up a Martini form Bombay and Martini & Rossi vermouth while I crank this up. Then we will drink together.






3.

2.

1.


DRINK!


MmmmmmmDmmmm



Fat Jerry looked down at the image of a horse with a docked tail and a little man astride the beast.
He picked the frame up and removed the razor blade and straw from its dusty surface. He swung it over and wiped it clean on the arm of the nearest jock standing close.


Pink powder flew all over the his clothes and all of those bastards shouted.


“What the fuck?!”

“That was our party! Waaah!”

HEY! YOU OWE ME FOR THAT SHIT!”



Jerry stood up and he smacked his palms together. You should have seen how he looked. Even I got the willies, and it takes a lot to do that.


His eyes glared, and his little baby teeth appeared to grow longer, like fangs. Maybe that was just all of the ZID I was still on.


Everyone shut the hell up as he looked into each face. He had something to say. This is what he said,

“Now you listen here, you damned fuckers. I will NOT allow my shit to be contaminated! Fuck that weak-ass bullshit. Pink hearts?! What are you, a bunch of girlie men?!”


He slammed his fists down on the table and this knocked over the centerpiece of wilted flowers. Even the lit candle tipped over, spilling melted perfumed candle wax where it fell and rolled.

Well, folks shut the hell up. It appeared that he was in command. That easy, huh? Hey, you weren’t there.

He eyed everyone around the table and reached inside his leather. Some of those kids backed away and I swear, two ran and hid.


He pulled out a big chunk of snow, like a snowball in a thick plastic bag. He let it drop to the table and it made a loud knock sound, like a brick would do.


More folks stepped back. What the hell was this? Who was this guy? Were they in danger?


Jerry sat back down and he conducted like a maestro. He looked around while he rubbed his big meaty hands together.

He said, “Cash money. Whip it to rip it.”


Huh.


That is true swagger.





.

[oldsmartskunk]

You must've created dragon balls. You know how to milk a story! Ye scurvy bilge rat!

[mistah willies]

Zackly! What the hell. I think it's taken him weeks to get to the fucking point.

He's a serial killer. Bastard


.

[booznik]

Zackly! What the hell. I think it's taken him weeks to get to the fucking point.

He's a serial killer. Bastard


.

Maybe it's just me, but I'm starting to get the impression that this ZID dude might have, on at least one occasion, consumed illegal drugs.