This is your Mental Escape.
Do you have your bowl, your beverage, your towel handy?
Good.
Let’s dive into the rabbit hole. God Help You. God Help Us All.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
When you realize that there is no one left on this little blue marble to show you the way, then you must pick yourself up by the bootstraps and get the fuck back into what there is left.
Left alone, left behind, left in Fuckno, with no hope for Home.
What Do You Do?
Perhaps we are essentially all alone here on this tiny blue marble in the eternity of space, to be connected once again in the aftermath by the notes that we once played to each other when we were alive.
Your Clan may not be blood-related. Your Clan chust might be those whom you have met along your path, who will always be related to you in some way, from what you have done together, in whatever path you have chosen to follow together.
Hold these people close to you tightly, if you can expect the same from them, to you.
It will fucking matter.
You will see.
+++++++++++++++++++
I looked around at these three females in the light of the fresh spring day. This was my clan. They depended upon me to be the man of our tiny family.
We four of us, we were held by the tightest of bonds that can ever exist, and it is called Family.
One must always rise to the expectations of such a responsibility. My father had passed away three years ago, and on his deathbed, he made me promise such a thing.
I would not let him down.
I would not let them down.
I would not let myself down.
And, of course, I failed on all three counts.
Here we go, into the new chapter. Care to follow along?
Good. I knew I could count on you my friend.
PUNK
Evolution, or devolution, you decide. The air in the megalopolis of Fuckno, CaliFuckedMatilda was quite stale, even if the planet there began to bloom.
Every street erupted out of the grey paints of winter with the green promise of wondrous bougainvillea and unending sunshine. You could see it in the faces of those who stood, waiting for the next city bus, or paying their dues in the lines of the Department of Vehicle Motors and Burnt Offerings. D.V.M.-B.O.
It was all about smiles on these sun-shiny faces, everywhere you looked. Like it was the holiday season in the North East four months previous, with snowflakes dusting eyelashes.
There were only fake flakes in Fuckno.
Desert dust.
I had to declare the death of Matilda to the Fuckno DVMBO, and pay my own dues to the city of Clovis for their help in putting her fire out; cleaning up the street; and hauling her away to the nearest car-graveyard.
But I got to see her carcass one last time.
The car-graveyard clerk took my ticket, and he ushered me to her show.
Matilda.
There she sat; hollow-eyed in the cool breeze and warm sunshine. Nothing was left but a former hulk of a tiny yet powerful machine, once lovingly adorned with the blood, sweat and tears of someone who cared enough to raise her up out of the desert dust and offer her the promise of Home.
Upon her hood: a faint impression in the burnt smudging of her former desert dust-colored paint.
There were some odd designs scrawled across it, beneath the charred paint.
I recalled how Stacy had drawn her nails across Matilda’s hood and whispered something under her breath, that night at Fucky Chucky’s, before we sped off and raced.
What did it all mean?
Join me here tomorrow as we begin this new chapter.
LINKS
Portal Homage. Nice, if you have ever played Portal. Quite cool even if you have not.
For your Saturday viewing pleasure, here’s the first installment from Nuka Break: Fallout. It’s funny, and the hip to waist ratio on the nerdy ginger is something else (3:15, 7:35). The search for good Cola in the post-apocolyptic world is quite an interesting slant. Can hardly wait for the next installment.
Look here for some munchies: a link from Entropy_Happens. Potato chips are now a complete meal.
Here’s an easy way to lose some pounds. Visit Acapulco.
Cute funny.
Uuuuuurp.
Antidote: 50 hottest Beach Volleyball Pics Evah. Begin the lubeshow, mistah man.
A new mouse. Trap? No. Smart.
A new BTTF? That would be cool.
But it would only open a new jar of troubles, like an octopus.
Here’s some milk for your cereal.
Huh. Rage Comics.
Thank you for checking this out today.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
---willies out.
OK, One More For Ya.
Reading is cool.
.
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