Joey stepped up. Total Dedication and Commitment.
TDC, baby.
We four bastards in Tellesco's Jeep had never encountered such a thing as ZID before, and back at the apartment, Little Lion Man Joey hadn't either,
...yet.
But first, this is about how we got back home from the crash in the Water Canal, in our new shoes.
Get yourself all set for this odd journey. Press play while you do so.
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We encountered many curves driving out of the confoundment of Clovis, CA., back to the upstairs apartment on Shields Avenue in Fuckno that night. Each occurrence of a sudden turn by our new ZID driver, Sean, would set our minds reeling, and feeling like we were spinning out of control, off into the ethereal. Somehow, Sean managed to hold on, and not fly off into the ethernet along with the rest of us, his passengers.
And, he was speed shifting that open-air Jeep bitch with the fat tires. The sound of her chunky treads reverberated into the night, into our ears, into our brains. Dude held onto sanity by using what he knew best; his own personal insanity. He was on the line, but not crossing over, because he was a long-time traveler on the edge of what is solid and what is fucked. This was only another mile or so down along that line, but to the left, not the right.
Those intersection lights simply messed with our eyes too much, so Sean opted for the side streets, and I was his co-pilot. Those intersection lights had peered into my eyes and spoke to me personally of relish and mustard and ketchup. Green light to amber, then to red. I did not need any condiments. I did not need a hotdog. I needed my pillow.
I have, and always will cherish my pillow time. But before we got home, I found that I could navigate. And Sean listened to me.
"There's the Crescent Moon Cul De Sac, avoid it. Try the next right, Ghostly Biker Asshole Lost In Clovis Fuckall Lane instead," I called out, amid the growing echoes of the roaring tire treads.
Everything was becoming quite a lot to handle, in all five senses. No one wanted anything to drink anymore, nor eat. The BBQ Corn Nuts that Bryan had lifted from the 7-11 were too weird to try to eat. They felt like glass needles in the mouth, and tasted like the color blue. Don't ask.
Tellesco's gummy bears were gay. No one wanted to even try to figure out that shit, and neither did he after a few. He remarked that they were, "making a goo in my mouth." Good luck with that, Tellesco. Welcome home there, and make home for the Angry Inch, your future.
Clovis was impregnated by Fuckno, so there was no longer a welcoming sign stating, "Welcome to Fuckno, An Excellent Place To Leave," or anything like that. This might have been a bit welcoming, that night.
Somehow, I knew where we were at each point, and Sean obeyed my direction with expert Speed Shifting Skillz. You see, I learned to trust my own instincts in such a condition, while I could not trust my own senses at all.
We screeched to a halt in front of the apartment complex, and realized that we needed to stop giggling and learn how to walk again, instead of just hold onto the Jeep.
Sometimes, you may need to grab some lawn grass with both hands and crawl across the ground so that you do not lose grip and fly off of the face of the Earth into the night sky.
The world turns very fast, you see. It's like a merry-go-round, and you could lose your grip if you lost your grip.
It was a long way back home, but we'd finally made it, curbside.
Now our trek was like Mecca, the last twenty yards on our knees.
From there on in, not-a-one of the neighbors would ever again ask to borrow a cup of sugar, nor a pinch of salt, or even answer the door from a knock by one of us.
It was only 8 PM, and we had a long night ahead of us.
Folks went back inside their apartments when we were going to ours that night. Hackey sacks hit the ground, frisbees were left hanging in the air, and dogs were told to shut up as they were led back inside, as we did the ultimate crawl of shame.
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We ended up in the apartment with grass-colored knees on our jeans, scuffed-the-fuck-up boot toes, and missing a Birkenstock sandal. Friggin Tellesco, all he needed was a flannel shirt, the Eyetalian Dyke.
Hell, we looked like we had been doing the work Tellesco probably did to earn his brownie points from Sean.
Joey was at his turntables again, but must have been waiting for us to return, because he came out of his newly-restored clothes-hamper of a bedroom, and immediately began to point and laugh.
"Where the fuck did you go, you ugly whores?"
We each grabbed us some ugly orange/brown shag carpeting and held on.
Bryan said, "We went to the moon. Now we are here."
Joey laughed his gawd damned-ass off. "You still on the moon, baby!"
I looked around to him, and found that I had to close one of my eyes with one of my palms. "Duuuude. Shut the fuck up for a second."
Joey stopped laughing and looked all serious.
"Oh. I see."
He came forward and knelt, and looked me in my one good eye.
"It's like that, is it?"
I stared him back in his blurry face and said,
"Fuck Yeah."
Joey went to the fridge.
"That's all I needed to know, bitches."
He took out the foil from the freezer.
Fucking Joey ripped off a square.
He put the rest back.
He popped a square, and stood over us all.
"Make room for me on the Moon, you fucking bastards. I'm on my way."
Joey stepped up, you see.
He went into the Hamper/ Skank Room and started to spin some trippy music for us.
Soon, he would be with us on the Moon.
It was a long night.
---willies out.
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