Anyone up for "finish it tonight by midnight"?
If not, our dear friend Hossmartin takes the crown.
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Malevolent
2018 ***1/2 It's 1986 for some reason, and a team of paranormal investigators are making a big name for themselves all over Scotland. ...
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I’m sure none of you except for JPX knows that I’m a bit of a germ-a-phobic. It’s annoying, but manageable. Though, since I met JPX and list...
3 comments:
Here's the intro again:
The VW minibus barreled along the highway north of Flagstaff, Arizona, just east of the Grand Canyon. They had been on the road for about 4 hours and the hungry, thirsty passengers were starting to squabble. Charlie, the driver, shouted out when he caught sight of a sign for a pit stop near the Hopi Indian reservation along route 160. The weary passengers eagerly agreed to the stop. “Let’s be quick though, guys,” said Charlie. “We need to hit the road again as soon as possible.” He pulled into the parking lot of the small truck stop with a squeal of brakes. The three passengers got out into the scorching July sun and hurried toward the entrance of the small café. “What the hell’s a Navajo taco?” giggled Janie. “I don’t know and I don’t care,” replied Charlie. “I’m fucking starving!”
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Charlie asked the crusty truck stop guy point blankly. “What’s the deal with the Navajo taco?”
“It’ll make ya shit!” spat the toothless human behind the counter. He then cackled in the way you would expect someone who spent 50 years maintaining a filthy truck stop to cackle.
Brendan’s eyes lit up. He pushed Janie aside using his massive belly, leaned forward and whispered “Lots of beans then?”
“And then some.”
“Spicy?”
“Like a tit!”
“I’ll take 6 please.”
It was a long ride home for Janie.
Charlie, Janie and Nichole seated themselves and perused the menu. Under Navajo tacos read “WARNING: May cause intense, almighty life-altering hallucinations. Do not order if you are wigging out about anything, even slightly. I can’t stress this enough.”
Nichole and Janie ordered house salads and diet sprites. Charlie asked for a couple of extra minutes to make his decision and he gave it some thought. On the one hand it was a risky proposition and he would probably be better off ordering the Cherokee Chicken meal which came with the side of french fries. He enjoyed fries. Dump on a pile of salt and voila - pure bliss! On the other hand he had been craving Mexican food recently and once the idea was planted in his brain it was difficult to reject. As far as the "Wigging Out Warning" was concerned, his life was flowing smoothly at the moment. The solo acoustic gigs were being booked in bigger venues, the money was flowing and his friends and family were all just dandy. Better yet, he was on his way to the Grand Canyon for the first time with a sexy tight rope walker and her even sexier sister. Life was good. He shouted “fuck it!,”and ordered three Navajo tacos. They were thoroughly delicious and he ordered two more.
The next two hours were uneventful. They were making good time and grooving out to Depeche Mode's Violator. But at 6:40 PM Charlie was struck with a pang of despair. Did he leave the coffee machine on?
"My God these roads are endless. I need to pull over because the rainbows are piercing me." He pulled over.
"Are you Ok Charlie?"
"Navajo taco, did they see me?"
"Do who see you?"
"Nichole, look at me."
Her gaze terrified him. It wasn't Nichole. It was an elderly Navajo woman who could see through him. She was reading him, judging him. Her glowing eyes and steady moaning made it clear that she did not approve of his lifestyle.
He turned to Janie. "Janie. Can you help me?" Janie couldn't hear him. She was now a spiraling gray and green vortex of light and sound. "I... I can no longer..." Charlie was violently swept in and battered by noise and color for an undetermined amount of time. His deepest, purest, self defining memories were trampled by horses, trivialized and mocked. His entire life was reduced to nothing. He didn't exist. He never existed. And yet he felt extreme agony.
Charlie did not know what was happening to him but he realized that he was fighting for his life. If his concentration slipped for even a second he would be shredded into infinity. A sharp wind blew threw him and punctured his soul like a buzz saw. He screamed in defiance but the chaotic unknown was overwhelming. He felt his skin being peeled off by razors. He watched in horror as his childhood innocence was burned into insignificance. He felt the suffering of his family and everyone he ever cared about. He watched his future evaporate. Everything profoundly sucked and he was helpless to do anything about it.
Or was he?
Charlie concentrated. He clung to the only weapon at his disposal - his own thoughts.
(BUZZER: OUT OF TIME)
thanks guys! glad mr. ac and i didn't kill fif dead.
we are currently on martha's vineyard but i'll post the winner some time in the next 24 hours.
(fyi, i read mr. ac the three responses, including hossmartin's. mr. ac paused thoughtfully, then proclaimed, "they all win!" i told him i agreed but we needed to pick just one.)
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