Another Fucking Friday Night.
We were watching youtube comps of weird shit and getting drunker and drunker. Mattheu clicked on a video that showed a live video of a billionaire on a rocketship all shiny and metallic launching off into pristene outerspace. It got quiet and we eyed each other on our piss stained couch and Charlie said, ‘That makes me so angry. It makes me puke.”
“Prove it,” said Darla. She handed Charlie a tall shiny bottle of hard liquor. It looked just like that spaceship! Charlie said “OK,” and downed the bottle in one takeoff thrust. Then he kneeled on the ground and mumbled, “it was for science,” and started puking. But then something magical happened!
Charlie puked SO HARD that his head thrust back and his body started flying all around the room, like an inflated balloon when you let go of it. Charlie bounced off this wall and that, then he flew out the window, smashing the glass everywhere (it got stuck in Darla’s fishnets!) and Charlie ended up two blocks over blacked out next to the vacant lot.
We didn’t know it, but we were on our way. Jenkins, our nerdy friend, snapped his suspenders after we picked up Charlie’s limp lifeless body and said, “This gives me an idea!”
A week from that night, we had a full crate of those shiny bottles and we put Charlie in a nice clean jump suit and helmet. We had our very own rocket program, and were set on making it to the stars!
“But I thought you believed the earth is flat!” Said Darla.
“That’s just what I wanted you to believe,” said Charlie. Then he got all charming, and he reminded us of the nice clean billionaire when he said, “here’s looking at you kid,” to Darla. She swooned and we felt very industrious as Charlie kicked back all 12 bottles of hard liquor in the case we bought.
“Oh fuck me,” said Charlie, with a look on his green face like seeing the face of God. “Now I’ve done it. I am really gonna blow. Uggghh. Count me down.”
We obliged our resident corporate overlord. 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-
It’s three years later now, and Charlie is the king of Mars. The entire planet earth is covered in his puke. But he tooks us with him, because we are his original gangster crew. He wouldn’t leave us in that filth. Darla is the Queen of Mars, and she wears 1950s sci fi outfits and traipses around serving bubbling potions and we watch youtube clips on a big screen in the palace. And we owe it all to disdain. We owe everything to vomit and disdain.
The Haunted Typewriter 