For Tellesco. I Got a Girl. By Tripping Daisy.
Tellesco drove away with his dead girlfriend.
He had a girl.
How cool was that for him?
And you thought he was in love with Sean.
Well, you would be correct on that point. But it was more like adoration. Nothing sexual. You see, he and Sean had connected in a way that many of us will never know.
When you have gone through some serious shit, and you don’t think that anyone else on this tiny blue marble has never been through it,
When you discover that you are not alone in the vast eternity of space, it kinda has an effect on you.
You become a soul mate, of sorts.
Enough said on that.
Myself, I had a blood brother and sister, and I was blood brother to the Sans Joking desert river valley due to the Figging Crash.
My two blood relatives sped to the closest Hostibal, which meant I was all alone out on the off-skirts of North Fuckno.
Except for the fat punk in his hearse, and a ghost cowboy, of which I had no clue.
I was heading towards mayhem and doom.
I found my mettle, and it was ugly.
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Fat Jerry was heading for a crash.
Black Keys. Stop Stop. This is loud, so turn down your volume, my friend. Or, do like I am, and turn it right the fuck up.
The rain strummed along on his windshield like a guitar out of tune. Fat Jerry gassed his carburetor again, and he smashed into the ass end of the car on the right.
It swerved and caught its traction again, and then its brake lights flashed bright.
Jerry punched his ass again and swung left.
The car spun around and hit some dirt. And then it flipped. The young man inside was not smart enough to have strapped in with his seatbelt, and so his head and upper half flung itself through the driver’s side window, and he felt the impact of the roof in the desert dunes, upon his top parts, as it rolled over and over again.
Dude would not be waking up ever again.
Always wear your seat belt.
Fat Jerry giggled like a creepy baby, and then he tickled the fun button below his steering wheel, and the nitrous oxide pulsed again into his engine.
His hearse jetted forward again towards the other car.
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Sean watched the headlights in front of him grow brighter. Behind them he saw a blue flame whipping wildly in the black hole of the night.
It entered the small slot between the pair of cars ahead, and then an explosion of blue gun fire caught the one on the left with shock and awe.
The driver swerved and spun around on the slick, crumbly tar. He disappeared from view.
He was the one who got away. He went back to the other purple robes and told his story.
The other car kept right on speeding towards Sean.
They would meet, shake hands, and go have a drink at The Dunes.
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I saw the one of the cars racing towards me spin around and then flip and tumble, and a new set of headlamps took its place.
I don’t know why, but I aimed the old ’57 towards the pair on the left. Fuck the new set of lights that had appeared.
That set of lights swerved into the other one, which swung off to the left when I slammed into its driver’s side.
T-boned that fucker.
We’d been playing chicken, but now it didn’t matter anymore.
Gone and out for the count.
Sorry about that.
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Sean smashed into the other car head on, and it flipped up and over his own ride. He kept steering even though his windshield was gone, baby, gone, and he had glass and blood in his mouth. He was chuggin on his new set of false teeth as he went into the desert dust for a nice, wet nap. His roof was caved in on his head, but he was slumped over as his car came to rest.
He had worn his seat belt.
Always wear your seat belt when you play chicken.
God Help You.
God Help Us All