Terminus Chapter 666 : Vituperitous

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

Terminus Chapter 666 : Vituperitous

Post by The Urbane Spaceman »

For those of you who want to know the ending, well, the butler did it.

For those few who have followed all this time, there is another version, and it is below form here. There is another reason that you have followed, and for that I thank you. This is not for any sort of recognition, fuck that. This is simply release form the torment of the demons I’ve created form my own sordid past.

Maybe I can finally get some rest. Most likely, it will be in the dirt nap. That’s fine with me. Don’t bury me with a snooze bar. Bury me with a booze bar.

Now fill your flask, your sippy cup, your chalice, your saucer or spoon or bowl, and also, your belly with booze. DRINK! always drink, tahoo.


There once was a biker named Brian
Who hailed form Bakersfield dirt.
He sold for La Fleur Du Mal,
Until she closed her down her up skirt.

He held himself bay
A day without pay
For all of his interests at heart.
Until it came clear,
This man without fear,
That he should take it apart.

Now here is the story of how it came down,
And one long lost soul ran amok.
A fine Drunkard Injun whose name is unspokun
Will speak of these things without talk.


Hey, the oral tradition simply means true stories. Nothing of the other things that the mouth is intended for, unless there’s a fine lass involved.

But this is about how the giant punk with the purple Mohawk brought me to his own nemesis. One owed the other money, remember? This was between Jerry and Brian.


Across the dark dunes we two sailed, beneath the ghostly moonlight. Away, away form the bastards, who searched for another good fight. We had in our midst a good bottle of mist that erased all the worries and care. The punktard and I, we came to ally, and that is worst I can bear.

The stairs make a creak when you go for a leak, as you step off each one to the loo. Your memories come back, and good sleep will you lack, until you’re awakened with BOO.

I killed the ghosts. Enough of this. I’m in me cups, and let’s go forth.

There was a shed of sorts, and a blazing pile of fig tree iron wood, with piles of Joshua tree wood nearby. It seemed familiar to me, in an odd sort of way.

The slope of the dirt, near the foot hills of the mountains to the east of Fuckno,

…well, they hold many secrets. You can’t find them simply by searching for them. You have to know where they are, where they have been all along. That speaks of things older than an old man such as the likes of me. Maybe you have to seek them, instead.

We looked down the slope of the low, tiny river canyon and Jerry said, “Hold up, Urb. Let me go talk to them.” Of course, I held back.

The giant punk rocker with the purple Mohawk hair jumbled down and slipped once, but he avoided getting hurt.

I saw him stalk over to the fire by the shed, and he said something to the people near the fire. I expected a series of gunshots. Instead, I saw glints form bottles raised high in the light of the blaze. They were raised at me.

What had I done? What had I got myself involved with? I was loyal to my friends of course, and I would never be an InfilTraitor of any sort. I would not be a narc.

But was this a way to escape back to my homeland?

Or was this a way to listen, and protect Joey and Sean?


I’ve said too much for tonight.


I need to get this done. Very soon. Enough with the poetry and diffuse obfuscation and …


Urb out.

Fucking drink. That’s what I’ll finish up doing now.


Post Reply