:: Porkchop Serum ::

:: Friday, January 30, 2004 ::

**************
a Glorious time
**************

:: sandy 6:03 PM [+] ::
...

you Better bring it.

Poetical poltergeist, concise and coldhearted

:: sandy 7:28 AM [+] ::
...

What will it bring to the brickskeller?
A pillar of beer yet most fear to open up their root cellar
but this is where turtles keep their shells and massive
swells of saltwater knit sweaters for precocious nephews

Mere columns of foam won't support the unwritten
tomes great nights pen yet when lager purports to weave
the bonds of men they are hollow and false,
trembling beneath amber falls that glow dim

:: sandy 12:58 AM [+] ::
...

Sandy sat uncomfortably, alone on a black bench seat with flexcuffs digging ever so slowly into his wrists. He was surely stuck for the time being, staring foreward through a dust encrusted windscreen, attempting to log every detail of the caravan's route while at the same time trying to ignore the bull-snorts from the serum-infused behemoths seated aft. Sandy also began to discretely probe into his seats vinyl crevasse for anything useful when a noise, that to him sounded defeaning, threw a relaxed heart off it's rhythm. The ceramic blade he slipped into his boot earlier has dropped inside and stuck into the heavy, steel shank soles with a thud that he was sure everyone heard. Sandy repositioned his foot to secure the serrated killing tool and froze, fearing the two gorrillas in the back seat had been alerted. One of them spoke:

"I fuckin haven't taken a shit in four days, man..."

Sandy bore an odd expression that combined muffled laughter and roiling nausea.

"Lazlo must have fucked you reeeeal good then, huh?", the other quickly retorted as if he'd been holding onto that gem all week for a chance to drop it on his colleague. Having realised the mistake of confiding in another his gastrointestinal dilemma, the constipated gargantuan appeared to shrink and turn away as if this exchange had driven him to contemplate the current state of his life. Unfortunately for the "jokester", the "immense fag" had other ideas entirely and unleashed a vicious retaliatory blow, catching the chuckling giant square in his solar plexus, doubling him over in his seat. The two fiercely beat on each other yet stopped as abruptly as they had started when a pair of mirrored eyes from the front affixed their obviously terrifying gaze upon them. Sandy sat slightly more comfortably now, buoyed in that despite the perfection of a serum that can make a man almost impossibly strong, mental retardation apparently was still governed by the great game of chance that is genetics.

In the distance, what appeared to be a large building complex begin to ascend out of the red desert. Straining to see more, Sandy caught a glimpse in the rear view mirror of the second SUV, trailing closely behind.

"Wonder how his making on back there." Sandy pondered

:: sandy 12:28 AM [+] ::
...

Sandy zoomed out his GPS unit fully, hoping that an estimated fifteen hour trek had miraculously shrunk in half and the little grey arrow would appear only minutes from it's destination. Three beeps later and a curse word uttered with a combination of anger and sadness indicated to Matt in the backseat that they were right where they should be, smack in the middle of the loneliest highway ever imagined.

"We need to pick it up, you fuckin monkey cunt!!" Matt slapped Sandy in the head repeatedly trying to raise his friend out of his driving coma. The driver, without uttering a sound delivered a moderately hard elbow to the ribs of his previously slumbering, currently manic co-pilot.

"I hope you sleepwalk into the desert tonight and make love to a cactus" Sandy quipped.

"Dude!" Matt answered as if shocked by the comment's immature and graphic senario. He disappeared into the backseat, rummaging underneath spare flak jackets and ammo belts, hunting for an Outkast cd best suited to contrast their long, arduous, and dispite an uneventful first four-hundred miles, an undeniably perilous journey.

"Hey, get up here." As Matt poked his head up, Sandy was already pointing out through the windshield at three distinct dust clouds off in the distance. They both stared, trying to discern which direction these unidentified disturbances were moving.

"They're headed towards the road. They're going to intercept us! FUCCCK!!!!" Matt belowed.

:: sandy 10:56 PM [+] ::
...