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Friday, December 16, 2011

158 Baptism And Sacrifice

The Church. Under The Milkyway.

Cars began to follow us. Their drivers were folks waiting for us. Where we were heading, following Sean, a powerful Jeep awaited.

If only we could reach it. Yet, only two knew about this important escape vehicle.

We other two simply followed along in blind faith, and also with a considerable amount of adrenaline.

Somehow, the Gin was wearing off.


Those who had run out and gotten into in their sports cars followed many different vehicles, in groups. They would turn out to be young, rich fucks who had worn some of the purple robes inside the mansion.

When the fire alarms blared their trumpets, many of those young fucks had immediately left to their vehicles below, and driven off, either to follow cars, or to sit, to watch those who left the long lane, to await the intruders. Some would follow us. How would these know whom to follow?

We were oblivious.

We also did not know that the three upper floors were also almost completely empty when the baptism from the water tower occurred.

There were old rich fucks in purple robes by the pool, bent over a table, who somehow had a clue about the events that would be occurring.

Perhaps they foresaw that they did not have a chance in stopping it. Maybe they didn’t have a clue about what would be the mechanism of the Baptism.

Or maybe they were doing something else to try to fight it. You see, Sean and Tellesco had been left behind as a sacrifice.

So there we were, driving off in the expensive stolen cars as explosions erupted, and this made us stick out.

We were obvious.

One thing not one of us knew, neither we punk bastards, nor the purple robes following us, was that another one of "we the punks" was awaiting our exit on a nearby street. She kept herself hidden from any sort of overhead streetlight that might make her golden car glint and sparkle.

She figured we would be on foot. She knew that we might not consider running on the street to escape, but she hoped it would be so. Maybe we would escape by running on the streets before the emergency vehicles arrived.

Certainly, hidden as she was, she would not end up in trouble as she would have if she had remained there beside the landscapers' structure, instead of out on the side street where she now sat, waiting for us.

She figured that we would be heading toward the north, away from the emergency help on its way.

That chick could figure out odds.

She was correct. You know, it would have been a bad idea for us to run off on foot behind houses in the desert, up north of Fuckno, and try not get lost there nor awaken intruder alarms or dogs out back.

So when she saw four collector’s vehicles driving north instead of following all the other cars and limousines toward the blackened heart of Fuckno, she got a clue. When she saw other, newer, expensive cars turn their headlights on and go after us, her clue was verified.

She sat there, with her hand on the key in her ignition, as they passed, following the first four.

What the hell was she gonna do?

No, it was not, “What the hell was she gonna do.” I would never doubt her.

It was, “What the Hell was she gonna Do?”

When the last of the line of vehicles passed her, she had a grin on her face.

Gobless Katheena.

She watched a total of twelve cars pass her, but she knew that the four in front were separate from the eight that followed after.


Like disciples.

The moon went out.


Trent Reznor and Karen O. Immigrant song. Fuck yes.

Katheena’s Orion rumbled awake. Her beautiful car purred when she gunned the engine. She stopped at the intersection and looked south. There were red lights fading away, and beyond them, flashing ones growing larger and brighter. She pulled out and turned Orion to point north, to the stars beyond.

She put her petal to the mettle. Orion roared, and then his voice began to howl, and then he was shrieking like a chorus of demons, all eight of them.

His wheels abraded old crumbly tar until both tire and tar smoked, and then they dug in when they were all hot from punishing the tar.

She held on tight and straight to the steering wheel.

She knew she would have to.

Orion dug into the ground with both his talons and then he leaped forward. Chunks of tar flew up and out and skittered across the road into mailboxes, garden gnomes, and other weak shit.

Car and driver, wedded to each other, soared into the black hole that awaited them.


There were no streetlights now.

It felt like she was floating in space.

The tiny red lights up ahead stopped shrinking, and then they grew brighter.

Katheena flicked on her headlamps, and then she turned on the high beams.

Those little red lights were in both lanes. She caught up to them and smiled. She shifted from lane to lane, slowing down, and this calmed Orion’s fury. That was when a new sound entered her consciousness. Her roof began to vibrate.

What The Fuck?

The red lights just up ahead smeared into a watercolor blur…

She flicked on her windshield wipers. The rain pummeling the shit out of Fuckno from behind had caught up to them.

Now Katheena smiled big. She was going to take the rear couple out, both at the same time.


Oh, Sweet Nuthin’ by the Velvet Underground.

Sean led the way past those poor rich bastards pulling rugs and chairs and shit from atop their battered rich cars. The garage exploded behind us as we eased past the white Celica, and I smiled at the damage done to it.

Katheena beat the piss out of that plastic ride.

We waited for the polite, careful drivers as they turned south, each taking the time to look north beforehand to make sure that no one was coming down the old country

lane of Garland Avenue. Fuckers. Get the fuck out of the way.

I knew Sean would head in the opposite direction from them, and then we could escape.

Those other punk bastards had taken the three foremost vehicles, and left the tailgater for me. She was a Maserati Bora, and I thought she liked me.

We zoomed along heading to the northern, dark parts of Fuckno. The roads were quite narrow up there, if you recall, and the tar was especially crumbly. But we knew how to avoid the trouble of Fuckno.

We would head east to Clovis, or perhaps Sean had another idea?

None of us knew that Sean had parked Tellesco’s Ntieth version of a powerful Jeep behind some Joshua trees up in the dunes.

No fig trees for us this time.

Lights in the Maserati’s rearview mirror caught my attention. They kept adding in their number, and they were all behind me. Now, you know that I didn’t get clues all that often back then, but I wasn’t a complete dumbass.

My balls felt tingly, and my back shivered. My instinct was telling me something, and I listened to it. I pulled into the left, oncoming lane and punched the accelerator. Of course, nothing was oncoming down that lane, except a black hole.

I caught up to Sean who was traveling at a leisurely, legal speed, and leaned across the passenger seat to roll down the window.

He rolled down his window. “What!”

I pointed back behind us with my thumb like I was hitchhiking. “Lotta cars coming! Fast!”

His eyes got big, and then they crinkled into half-moon smiles. He shouted back, “We gone have us some fun!”

Then he jetted off.

I slowed to let Tellesco catch up. He smiled and waved at me through his rolled up window. I could see his mouth moving, “Why hi there, Mr. Will! How are you doing?”

I point at Sean up ahead. I jammed my finger in Sean’s direction over and over again. Tellesco looked forward again, and saw that his beloved Sean was leaving him in the dust. He looked back at me with sad eyes. Then he politely waved goodbye at me. He sped off after Sean.

Joey caught up to me, flashed his evil grin and nodded, and he was gone, baby, gone.

I rolled up the window and looked behind me. Those lights were coming fast.

Ya know, I had always wanted to find out what a Maserati Bora could do. Now was my chance.

That was when the rain began to fall.

Join me here next time, won’t you?


Here is the video from crimewriter95 that he constructed, and it is Quinton Tarantino's Pulp Fiction, but put together in chronological order.

Caveat, a smoke break if you decide to check it out. When you have watched Pulp Fiction from the 50:00 minute part to the 50:30 minutes part, pause it for a moment, and play the music video below it. Then come back baby. Added value. It’s loud. Turn your shit down.

Now that You Tube has allowed videos of unlimited length, (see the 50 hour Trolololo song below, play it, turn your volume all the way up, and then lock your computer and then leave for the day if you are quitting your job), well, we will hopefully see many more of these things. Well, not the Trolololololo thing… Maybe someone will put Memento in order?

Trololo 50 hours

Barefoot Bandit gets se7en years.

Army Pfc. Bradley Manning, Wikileaks dude, goes into court. You should follow this.

Japan’s almost but not quite Chernobyl nuclear disaster is now safe. Well, good. Thank you Japan.

Tea Bag Party’s head Mark Meckler arrested trying to bring a Glock and ammo onto a plane. What did you expect?

Antidote: 50 cool pics.

Some Chicago TDCers will be bumming. Sam Hurd faces 40 years for drug charges. Receive wide? Huh. Sorry, EH.

Before you leave here today, here’s a video for you to consider that may help you stick around longer so that you can continue to read the Mighty TDC and also get the willies on the weekends for some extra years.

Nope, not selling you anything. Just a cool 9 minute youtube vid from Dr. Mike Evans about something simple you can do to increase your life expectancy by a shitload. No pharma involved. Nice. A half hour a day of walking? Not all at once? Hah? Cool.

Hey, we here at TDC want you to keep on visiting TDC.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

OK, Not One More For You.

My response to not getting up off your ass a half hour a day…

The following is not for the faint of heart, nor for the weak of belly, and that’s cool. We have folks who take care of the worst things that can happen to we humans. First Responders, Doctors and Nurses, Autopsy Doctors, Crime Scene Investigators, Funeral Directors, and here, the Forensics Anthropologist, Doctor Murray Marks. Excellent work.

All of those folks described above do the work that remains hidden from our view. God Bless Them.

So here is the link that you will probably not want to click on if you are squeamish, but it is not exploitative, and it is important work. “The Body Farm” helps to discover and establish the time frame of human body decomposition, which is used to assist in investigations of when someone died, and perhaps of what.



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