Ramblings from a doomed generation.

By Thomas Locke

This is my first post to this site and this is the story of a friend of mine by the name of Tyler Smith certain names and dates have been changed so that I, I mean,so that Tyler and my, I mean his, friends won't get arrested by some neo Gustapo Gurrilla force led by the ringmasters of the massive left wing conspiracy, Justin Timberlake and Donald Trump. I welcome constructive critism I'm planning on turning this into a book so would appreciate feedback. A little for warning before reading this if you have virgin ears I'll stop you here. So without further adieu I give to you well I haven't thought of a title yet so screw it here's about half of the first chapter of my book.

Chapter 1: Semblance of sanity lost to a mixture of rum and coke.

Here I am, my first semester of college how did I get here or maybe the question that I should be asking myself is why? . . . for the life of me I can’t remember.

Bad scenes man going on three days now, no sleep and only vague recollections of the previous night’s events. The room in front of me is in total disarray, clues everywhere helping me to unravel a mystery that I don’t want solved. What had happened here? Holy god man a fucking roach look at the size of that fucker! I’ve got to get out of this apartment I believe I’ve completely warn out my welcome in fact I’m sure of it. Scaring the straights on what’s beginning to be a daily basis answering questions that no ones asked. And the worst part is, is that it’s beginning to be a whole lot more serious than that there ready to put me in a rubber room I can feel it. And this is where I’m left stuck between a rock and a pointed blade the fucker’s are closing in I thought. Every second I’m here the room gets a little bit smaller . . . starting to cut off my circulation now. But then it comes to me and I realize that their out there just waiting for me to stick my little peepers out that door so they can club me over the head and drag me to some god awful insane asylum. And just as I’m beginning to think that my delusions are getting on top of me there comes a nock at the door.

“Who the fuck is it,” I screamed into the darkness like a man in the midst of a 72 hour binger, which I in fact was.

An answer came after a long pause brought on by the shock of the lunatic screaming through the door at this poor hapless son of a bitch who had no Idea what he had just gotten himself into, “Uh, it’s your room mate,” the soft timid voice said under hushed breath.

“Who sent you, what the fuck do you want with me!” I answered.

Another short pause and then the reply of, “the music, can you turn the music down please.”

“Well since you said please I suppose I can accommodate you,” and with that I got up locked my door and cranked my sound system with heavy base up to full volume and then closed my eyes and passed out and with my last thoughts before being consumed by a drunken slumber I pondered the fact that my new roommate's and I were going to get along just fine.

Only halfway through the night and I’m already twisted, I’ve been ordering up overpriced double rum and cokes with pitchers of beer on the side for about three consecutive hours now. Some things gotta give . . . maybe my mind which is already stretched way past the breaking point.

And then a pause in the deafening silence from one of my associates by the name of Jacob Degains who’s dressed like the caricature of a cheap pimp from one of those late 70‘s police shows, his eyes were red from lack of sleep and the massive consumption of every conceivable fix that he’s managed to obtain through his vast underworld connections.

“Hay Tyler guess what I got,” my nonsensical friend mumbled under hushed breath. Oh fuck! I thought. What does this deranged bastard want with me now?

“What?” I muttered with slurred speech.

Even more quietly he answered, “Some paper, bet you haven‘t seen this in a while.”

I couldn’t help but thinking that the night was about to take a turn for the worst. But fuck it I’m here now and the only thing I can do is except my fate, head full of acid on an Easter Sunday . . . why not?

Now let me tell you a little something about the people whom I often consider to be my closest friends, the ordinary rules of right, wrong and sobriety don’t apply to these simple bastards and to me either for that matter. While most people, normal people, can drink a few beers and have a few laughs and then call it a night, these son’s of bitches have never quite been able to grasp the concept of moderation in fact to these people excess is the norm and moderation is a word to be belittled and ridiculed. The average night for us lasts from about five in the afternoon to well past sun up and that‘s only when alcohol is in play when we start up on the whole hallucinogenic, cocaine and zanni bar mixed bingers the nights can last for weeks at a time . . . and here I was stuck in the middle and apparently giving serious considerations to causing some real damage to my brain cells.

Forty-five minutes and counting won’t be long now. And with that thought the first flurry’s of the wave began to wash over me slowly at first and then with added rapidity. There would be no escaping it now just buckle in and prepare for take off I thought . . . it was going to be a bumpy ride.

I’ve lost all concept of time now and the line between what happened first and what will happen next is beginning to become very vague. I’ve now completely forgotten the events that have brought me to this most precarious of situations. Stranded here in the middle of a lake in a boat with no engine power. No clocks, phone, or radio to help me grasp out of the darkness to get a fix on the time and ultimately a fix on reality. Complete spatial, temporal, and intellectual paralysis a nice side effect not known to many outside of the acid culture. I am generally able to maintain a balance between this world and the one of my minds eye by grabbing onto something tangeable like the time of day. But no hope of that out here, I thought, stranded in the middle of nowhere surrounded by deep black water.

The sun was coming up now and it felt like a Tuesday we finally manage to get the engine started but only for sporatic increments at a time. The crippled engine finally manages to push us all the way back to shore like some kind of immense wounded beast limping back to the safety of its cave. And with that a plan began to form with in the recesses of a demented mind.

"Hay Jacob can you grab that rope?" I yelled over the roar of the engine.

"This one?" Jake asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"No no, not that one!" I yelled back at him. "The one hanging over the side you're really going to have to stretch for it."

And with that just as he was about to reach the rope I cut the engine and delivered a swift kick to his ass sending him flailing over the side.

"Help, help!" He screamed wildly, "I can't swim!"

"Well this would be a good time to learn don't you think?" I anwsered.

"You evil fucker!" he yelled.

I calmly answered in a condescending tone with a giant grin on my face, "Evil you say?" . . . "Well, I was going to help you out but now I'm not so sure maybe if you say please I might reconsider but then again I may not."

I knew he wasn't in any real danger Jake had grown up in Florida and definately knew how to swim but then out of the corner of my eye I saw it, it had no discernable shape at first and you could hardly make it out in the dim light of the rising sun but as it got closer there was no mistaking it as one of the biggest god damn gators I had ever seen and to make matters worse it was on a direct course for my now floundering friend Jake.

"Jake!" I yelled, "Get the fuck out of the water there's a huge gator heading right for you!"

"Nice try." he answered while turning around to face this monster of a gator.

"Swim you stupid fuck, swim before that gator takes a chomp out of your fat ass." I yelled.

He was in a fear induced shock by the time he reached the shore, and I couldn't stop laughing.

After the drugs and alchohol had finally left my system I genuinly felt bad for what I had done and I suppose that these feelings of regret which had been plaguing me for the past couple of sleepless days and nights were in fact my conscience . . . and here I thought that I had managed to kill that fucker long ago.

"Oh well, here's to you, you nagging little shit . . . I'll see you in hell yet."

Talkback: Post Reply | View replies (7)