Big Fat Ostrich

Radiation Juan

Well it’s about time that Juan sends us something to post. We understand that he can barely write his name half the time, but seriously, the guy is on contract to us for something like, 20 posts at least! Anyway, here’s his 5th installment. That bastard:

Cielo de la Entrepierna

Every time his fist connected with my jaw I saw the same constellations. Through cosmic dust I imagined my tormentor to be some genius master of time and space, as if he could transport me to Cassiopeia at will. I heard his voice as I drifted past Orion.

“Where’s the fucking hash?”

Suddenly I was traveling at a billion miles a second and I was back on Earth, tied to a chair in my soiled Dockers. Yeah, bullshit they’re stain proof.

“Hash?  No comprende, amigo.”

“I’m not your amigo. Now where’s the hash?”

I wished I could tell him. I hadn’t had a hashball in months, since before that statewide bust. Pickings were slim.

“I don’t have any. You want maybe some weed instead?”

Bang. I was back in space, but I was soon brought back by the voice that, were my hands free, I’d strangle the neck that housed those vocal chords.

“If I wanted weed, I’d mow the lawn with your face. I want the hash. NOW!”

“That’s it”, I thought. The space travel was losing its edge and the fucker’s voice was grating on me.

“You really want it?” I said. “Fine. But I’m warning you. It’s in my pants.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised, you sick perv. I heard about you and Poco Colima. And the blue waffle. That’s how I picked up your trail.”

Fucking Poco Colima. They’ll fuck you and keep on fucking you long after you’ve gone.

He first cuffed my hands and then untied them from the chair, releasing my legs next.

“Stand up”, he leveled the revolver at me. I did as I was told.

“Good…now I’m going to…oh what the fuck…jesus!”

The stench hit me pretty good as well although I was almost used to it. I can’t describe it but it was still topped with Poco Colima. He dropped to the floor. I couldn’t help but laugh, vomiting as I did so.

I knelt down and unwittingly finished him off. The proximity of my crotch proving to be too much for his nervous system.

I got the keys, freed my hands and took the dude’s cash as well as his revolver.

As I pulled up my pants, I thanked god that I didn’t own a belt.

Radiation Juan

The Radiation Juan Chronicles will be featured whenever Juan gets off his drunken ass to actually send us something.  Join him on his dangerous and sometimes disturbing (but usually disgusting) journey.

Peyote and Pavement

I walked for longer than I expected to under the circumstances: uncountable miles from the closest bar, town, or hashball depot, with the sun searing my flesh which didn’t normally see any light brighter than a neon sign. I was thirsty too, yet the drip-drip coming from where my wisdom teeth had been somehow offered some sweet relief.

Looking back I could see the car in the distance. Barely a charcoal smudge against the beige plains. God knows how long I’d been out there, but the road was sloping up and I had a clear view from my vantage point. It didn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t my car.

I spun around lazily and started back up the road. I could begin to see the tell tale signs of an approaching town: a sign up ahead, the refuse collecting in the ditches. I’d been this way before. I was sure of that.

Read the prologue!