Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Full Moon Fiasco #48 Tuesday March 10th, 2009

It was just 19 hours till my flight would be landing in St Louis. I am pulling up to my house after a 9 hour drive from the west. I had enough time to pack some things, tidy up, and make a few calls. After smoking a joint and finishing off a bottle of mezcal, I stumbled into bed. Shoving aside the assortment of dirty clothing, firearms, and my typewriter that lay atop; I hunker down for a small amount of much needed rest. As per usual, I awoke with the very minimal amount of time needed to catch my flight. Where the fuck was my travel pack? Feeling a little groggy, and riffling through the pile I had created a few hours ago, I grabbed what was needed. On my way out the door I notice a bomb I had made. How have I neglected to shoot that? I said to myself. I quickly loaded my Smith & Wesson model 29 .44 Magnum. On my walk to set the blastpack down range I was thinking: what better way to get the body and spirit going in the morning, than shooting 12 lbs of explosives! I stepped back several paces, and took aim. Then came that all too familiar sequence of events. I pull the trigger, the hammer falls, the gun gives a nice hearty kick, the deafening bang of the bullet is dwarfed by the charge it hits. This is the kind of blast that thumps your chest and rattles your teeth. The ground shakes, and the trees bow to the shock wave. My heart racing and full of epinephrine; I jump in the land shark, and tear out of my driveway. In my rear view mirror a mushroom cloud of cinder, earth, and shrapnel still rain from the heavens. I make the Aspen airport in record time.

Arriving in St Louis on schedule, I had time to visit a local thrift store. I was told this was a good place to get bicycle. After some misdirection, I finally found the place recommended to me. I never get accustomed to the sheer size of shops in big cities. This was not your usual mom n pop, but an acre and a half of discarded americana. The place was buzzing with deal seekers, arguing couples, and people yelling on their cell phones. I promptly made a selection, and got out of there. After spending about 40 minutes wrestling my recent purchase into the back of my tiny, foreign rent-a-car, I was ready for a drink.

Time went by quickly once in the bar, and I had to hustle to make the ride. I maneuvered the little Japanese sardine tin with a finesse that was the stuff of legend. Weaving, cutting off, and infuriating every commuter in the city; I made it to Turtle Park in minutes. As I fished my bike out of the back seat, the car gave off an aroma of burnt rubber, shredded clutch, and e-brake carbon. I had just enough time to lock up the econobox, and put on an extra layer, because the ride was leaving as I pulled up. With a misaligned saddle, under inflated front tire, and squeaky chain I joined the rear of the pack. We immediately turned and navigated off the road on to a dimly lit asphalt path. With barely enough room to ride two abreast, we wind through the woods. Jesus I thought, I chose the wrong mix of drugs before this ride. Hallucinogenics and low light are not a good mix! Particularly when trying to guide a bicycle down a crowded narrow path. The drugs were definitely kicking in. I kept seeing piles of trash, huge ones! Was this a city dump we were riding through, or was my mind creating these images in lieu of blackness. The group came to a halt, was this a rest spot? I stumbled into the crowd only to realize that I was right in the middle of a fucking reptile zoo, and somebody was giving booze to these goddamn things. There were piles of trash everywhere, a devil troll seemed to be the ringleader. He had great massive horns, two mouths, and was speaking gibberish so loudly that I could hear nothing else. The bright full moon was blasting through the clouds with such fury, it gave me quite a shock. I think the sudden surplus of light was throwing me into another dimension. I quickly decided this was a bad scene, and made a dash with plans to spirit away on my trusty bike. Obviously one of the reptiles anticipated this move, and replaced my steed with one of his henchmen. I grabbed what appeared to be a femur bone and started swinging the bastard violently. A brutal battle ensued, it was everything I could muster, but I held the attack off in spades. I was completely wrecked, the cyclist group had totally fucking vanished, and I needed some sleep. The beasts were still making a hell of a noise, but I thought if I crouch quietly in this trash heap they will mind their own business. Even with 100 decibels worth of troll chatter in the background, I doze away instantly. It's amazing what kind of clarity a few hours of sleep can bring. I awakened to find my nightmare was no more than two dinosaur statues, a playground perhaps. A once carefully pruned evergreen bush was the henchmen that I so gallantly slayed, and now lay in scattered ruin. It was all so different in the daylight. How many had seen my breakdown? Did it all happen after they left me? Did my rampant scourge through the park go unnoticed? It occurred to me I should get out of there before some form of authority brought the hammer down for my sins. After wasting some time trying to find where I left my bike, I decided to hoof it back to my car. Oh well, paying 30 dollars for a 20 dollar bicycle, then losing it about two hours later will make for a good story I thought. As for the Fiasco ride, I'm at a loss as to where they ended up.... I had witnessed the start, I was sure of that much!

Till the next one you filthy animals!!! You dirty beasts!!!

Monday, February 16, 2009

Full Moon Fiasco #47 Monday February 9th, 2009

"You jackass bastard, are you still out here? You were supposed to be on a plane by now!!" These words came pulsating through my cranium at what seemed to be an ungodly hour of the morning. Holy hell I thought, what kind of pigfucker would be disturbing my frontyard slumber at such a moment. It was Oscar, my attorney of course. Once realizing who was barking these orders, the memory of the last 48 hours slowly came to focus. We had made a savage burn across the east coast, Punxsutawney PA had been our starting point. My reason for being there was a mass of hazy recollections. I had to be in San Francisco on the 10th, I was sure of that much. "Damn right" Oscar yelled, "and if you don't get in this limo right now your on your own!" I snatched up my gear, and scurried into the car waiting by the curb. As we pulled away I glanced over my shoulder to get one last look at where I'd spent the last few hours sleeping. Jesus I thought, I don't even know why I was in that yard. Who's yard was it? I decided to verbalize my concern, and screamed where the hell am I...What city is this? My attorney who was helping himself to the spirits that were onboard, did not respond. "St Louis" The man sitting next to me says. I suddenly realized there was a man to my left. Someone in the limo besides myself, the driver, and Oscar. The dark brooding hulk peered at Oscar, who after taking a sip of his recent concoction calmly said "don't worry, we're dropping him at the next corner. We are? I thought. I seem to remember something about a plane, and no airport in the world is on the next corner! My attorney made a quick hand gesture to the driver, and before I knew what happened I was standing on the curb waving my fist at a monolithic black slab of luxury that I was no longer a part of. There I was in a strange city, and no idea how to get to the goddamned airport! I did what any red blooded American would do in my situation, I asked the next passerby the way to the nearest bar.

After enjoying several hours of strong drink and light conversation, my concentration was derailed. A stir was taking place at the window, all the local drunks were pointing and buzzing about something outside. After closing my gigantic fucking tab, I made my way over to see for myself. Upon wiping away a couple layers of filth from the tarstained window, I caught a glimpse of what was happening. Jesus god almighty!! It looked like every fucking cyclist from the metro area was converging across the street! Continually, more and more were spilling into the mass from every direction. Not unlike flotsam and jetsam flowing into a storm drain after a gullywasher. Being the kind of individual that likes to prod the bee hive, I made my way into the mob. Quite drunk at this point mind you, I bushwhacked my way through several layers of enthusiasts. I made it to the eye of the storm and started interrogating a group that had perched themselves on what appeared to be a giant cement tortoise. Did you make this evil concrete beast? I said. No wait, that's not what I came to ask! Dammit I couldn't remember why I'd come over here. Before I could collect my thoughts, one of the scruffy youngsters started yelling out a tapestry of commands and street names I would never understand. All of a sudden everyone started scurrying around like someone yelled "FIRE"! Was there a fire? Had I missed something crucial while trying to decipher the aforementioned instructions. I was in a fucking frenzy, and these people were no help! I was lost in a storm of flashy metal, brightly colored bags, and a barrage of tire thrown gravel. Finally after blabbering nonsense to these poor bastards and getting knocked around by their hurried departure, my body succumbed to all the abuse of the past week. Total black out.

I was awakened by a gentle breeze on my face. Whats this? Oh shit! I'm on one of these goddamn contraptions! How'd this happen? What the fuck! My mind slowly gathered more information. Somehow I was riding a bicycle! In the same huddle from before it all went dark. Were these people in charge of keeping me upright? Was I doing it on my own? I couldn't tell! Better not ask questions I thought. I was on thin ice with this group already. Did these riders form a plan of some kind of retaliation for my behavior. Was I being coaxed to a hastily dug shallow grave? And if so, would they forward my belongings to the proper address? "We are here" someone shouted. Still on the defensive, I scanned the landscape for places they might stow a body. No... all clear I thought to myself. Just then I was pointed the way into our destination. Holy god! It was a nightclub! These are my kind of people! It wasn't a race we were on. They are just doing this to hang out! Wait... don't get to comfortable I thought, they may still be planning my demise. I noticed some of my motor skills were coming back, the exercise must have diluted the effects of massive drinking. Just as things were looking better, I noticed a goblin behind my booth trying to pass off a beer! Was this real, or did the faint image of buying mescaline from that dwarf a couple days ago have something to do with it? Nevertheless I'm not one to turn down a beer! Jesus, it was hot in here! Was it because I was dancing with too much gusto? Or maybe my circulatory system was taking revenge for my lack of respect. Holy Jesus look at that! Those two are on fire! Wait, did I say that out loud? Was I really seeing these things or just thinking them? Having real trouble keeping things together here! It's gotta be the mescaline! Hold it together I thought. After a seemingly nonstop assassination of my ear drums, and his turntable the DJ put on his last record. Some disfigured elves gave me a shot of rainbow, and congratulated me on my first ride. Shit, were they here from the beginning? I hadn't paid enough attention. Somehow by the grace of the great magnet I caught a redeye to Frisco, and all is well.

Till the next one you filthy animals!!! You dirty beasts!!!