Monday, February 24, 2014

loco gringos ch. 6


Chapter 6

“Is it me, or are we making enough noise to wake the dead?”

“Did I fart?”

“You’re huffing and puffing like an asthmatic, the wheezing almost drowning out the squeak of my half rusted chain, the buckets, despite three bungee cords, are hitting together, and no, I think it was me that farted as I stood up to pedal up the hill. For a back-up bike, you sure don’t take care of this fucker very well.”

“You could go back to your kids bike you stole from a sad little orphan, even now as we speak crying out her little eyes, her world turned upside down in a cruel and wonton manner, callous even by the lax standards we usually hold you accountable to. And for your information, that bike gaily festooned with Pee-Wee Herman baskets both two and fro to make your job of hauling far more enjoyable and feasible had the misfortune to be left out and must have gotten all three raindrops which constituted the last storm we had. It amazes me how easy shit rusts out here in the arid desert. But I guess ten inches a year isn’t arid compared to a lot of places. Like the Sahara perhaps. If you hadn’t been so all fired in a hurry to peel out before dawn, or what I assume is an approaching dawn as this lack of time pieces is a novelty I’m not enjoying, and denied me more coffee and I had been thinking more clearly, perhaps I would have thought to do a more thorough maintenance check list. What am I, a friggin aircraft pilot?”

“You ARE a moron, but I love you anyway. How much coffee do you drink a day, anyway? What are you going to do, hike down to Central America to continue your java juice addiction once you run out here?”

“I don’t drink all that much, I just make a production out of the four to six cups I do drink. Yes, I smoke a single butt a day. And I’m partial to sugar of the mass produced variety. But really, coffee is my main pleasure and vice in life. Don’t be a hater. And as soon as I get close to being out, I think I’ll just go Suicide By New World Order Soldier. I don’t want to walk that far south.”

“Is that like Suicide By Cop?”
“Right, but since I’m not sure what the new political order might be, I’m just proclaiming hence forth it to be a New World Order. Not the George Bush Rothschild variety where we all gaze into our TV’s for our daily retinal scan to make the attendance call and get our assignments and the location of our next Soylent Green ration, more like just the end of the old and the beginning of something radically different. Bush’s Order was just more centralization. New boss, same as the old boss. I’m assuming the struggle for power will commence immediately and any armed soldier will be the new cop on the block. I’ll just charge him with bayonet fixed. Go out in high style. You can tell your grandkids, who will be glowing in the dark from the west coast nuke plants that will be spewing spent fuel rod soon enough, what a cool cat I was.”

“You do have a bit of a fixation on that bayonet. I forgot all about the Gott-Damn nuclear fuel issue. Damn, Randy, I thought I was supposed to be the morose paranoid one. You really think we’ll get it here?”

“Hell if I know. I think I read that Russian targets fallout wouldn’t get this area, one of the few along with southern Oregon and far west Texas, but I can’t remember if I ever saw anything on power plant accidents. You ARE morose and paranoid. I don’t care if we get nuked. I’ll still die prior to cancer when my coffee runs out. You know, for quote Survivalists unquote we sure as crap didn’t really store all that much stuff.”

“How much more coffee do you think you need?”

“I’m talking about this here trip into town. Why the hell don’t we have more food already at home? Not like it costs that much. Well, HAD cost that much.”
“Recon, dude. Gotta see what’s going on in town anyway. Hey, we fucked up. We should be off the road, on foot, going alongside the rail or near the river. So now we’re just seeing what is happening. We’re just killing two birds with one stone. It is far from optimal, but hey, you just repelled a gang attack and I just hoofed it half way across this big ass county after my motor transport died. I think we should be congratulating ourselves. Even discounting our too small preps which we haven’t used yet, I think we are doing better than most schmucks out there who had no notion this crap could happen.”

“Am I smelling smoke?”

“No, that’s ozone from trying to think.”
“Seriously, I’m smelling smoke and not a lone fireplace smoke smell. Like a wildfire type of smoke. Like the fire engines are knocked out and already some dimrod has dropped his crack pipe and set the house on fire and then the sagebrush that grew too close to the crack house caught on fire and spread.”

“Well, let’s go take a look. It’s why we are here anyway. Shouldn’t we be seeing a glow if the fires too big?”
“Approaching dawn washing it out?”

“Fuck all if I know. Should we dismount and walk from here?”
“Sure, I’m going to run from the fire if there is one. How about we take the bikes so we can de-ass the area in a hurry if need be. That sounds like a much better plan.”
“I was thinking about you wheezing and dying from smoke. But that’s what I get for caring-sarcasm and hate.”

“I got something else for you. Its long, thick and hairy. Can you guess what it is?”
“You have a pony tail under your hat?”


Randy wasn’t so sure at all that this trip into town was so swell of an idea. His Spidey Sense was tingling. Not that his primordial lizard brain long suppressed by more advanced functions but retained for last ditch survival mode was all that fine tuned and accurate, and evidenced by the Day Of The Gang Bangers ( it was only yesterday, but Randy felt that once he returned to the homestead and counted his cans of coffee, even after trading some ammo to John for any he might have stashed himself, his days were indeed numbered and so he had better start writing down all of the pertinent details of his life for prosperity- and the one sure way to create excitement and anticipation to the future audiences tanning their rat pelts around a fire was to capitalize all major event days with snazzy titles ), because back then he really hadn’t gotten any warning on THAT one, thank you very much. Of course, it was when you thought you knew better than that scaly bug eyed reptilian warning system that things started biting you in the ass, hard, and with sharp teeth. As one wise man once commented, if you hear the voice, you had better listen to it. But here was one dude warning him and another dude called The Little Brain, the Head Muchacho in charge of all life decisions, who of course had absolute veto power over any rational musing or ancient built in warning systems and Randy had a feeling the quest for food and procreation was going to override the desire to stay alive.


So, while not exactly HATING John right now for dragging his sorry ass into town, he was having definite feeling of butt hurtedness. All the more since Randy was far more incapable of denying the Siren Call Of Female Nether Regions than John and so obviously John had used that against him, the vile fucker. Randy had little fear of dying, after nearing five decades of putting up with a biological container which while perfectly designed for species survival had its drawbacks for the individual wearer ( sure, it was a lot harder on females, their specialty designed systems employed to the task of popping our replicas and then being a definite hindrance afterwards. But even males had to shoulder the burden, what with life expectancies greatly reduced in the occurrence of providing for and protecting said fems while they were otherwise occupied in overpopulating the environment ) and really hadn’t been designed for optimal living past the age of grandparenthood ( evidenced by the third procreative cycle of fifteen years each, at about age 45 the usefulness of an individual in a family role of child rearing was greatly reduced- a grandparent teaches, a great-grandparent is just a useless eater ) and let you know about it each and every day by falling apart at such a rapid rate that it was shocking that anyone really had any desire to live to see cancer, heart attacks, boner pills and adult diapers. Really, playing golf wasn’t worth all THAT.


He wasn’t sure that since he was nearly optimal survival age that he should be running around following an erection, like he had as a teenager and twenty-something ( okay, who was he kidding? And into his thirties AND somewhat his forties ). Not that he had a choice, reference back to the Little Brain ( idly, he flashed back to Pinky And The Brain, two cartoon characters from the 90’s cable TV. The Brain was bent on world domination and his retarded cohort was Pinky. Their adventures never succeeded, of course. The Quest was the point. But the names themselves were a smidge odd. Since a Caucasian males reproductive member was often referred to as a “pinkie”, and its role and real title was The Little Brain as it did 99% of all thinking for said male, were those cartoon characters a subtle reference? The Brain, always reaching past what was attainable [ fat, retarded boys lusting after Playboy Bunny types, clearly even if they were far above pudgies pay grade ] and always doing stupid stuff. This was a definite worthy conversational point to bring up to John ). So, on the one hand he barely willingly went along with this suboptimal plan and on the other hand he was already feeling his lustful fantasies of repopulating the wastelands of the apocalypse create a surge of energy to be utilized in moving forward with all due haste and precision.


It was definitely starting to lighten on the horizon ( they were moving towards town away from the dawn, so you had to turn around to see anything, which made the earlier hypotheses of wildfires being washed out by the glow of a sunrise wildly inaccurate. Of course, he still smelled smoke and damned if he wasn’t going to worry about it ) and Randy was grateful for it. The next day was finally proven to start, they would be able to see something soon, the light would awaken him somewhat and sounds would be less likely to carry. There was starting to be a slight chance that he was on less of a suicide mission and more on a quest for female companionship. And food of course. You don’t woo the ladies after the collapse of western civilization with such inconsequentials as a quick wit, sterling personalities or even a ginormous Johnson. Oh, sure, Randy had all three and so adding a bit of life sustaining calories would just cinch the deal, but Randy was a swell guy and he wanted to help his Brother John out and leave him the uglier of any pair of females, which by his reckoning was really nice of him because NOBODY wanted to live off of sloppy seconds. Randy could be a real dick and start his own harem, which was how irresistible he knew he was with the gals. But he was willing, for the sake male comradeship and really let’s not beat around the bush too long here, for the sake of not pissing off an armed individual that knew where he slept. Feeling magnanimous after such a generous decision, Randy decided that he would now grandly proclaim his very own awesomeness to John as a way of reinitiating conversation.


“You know, Johnny Boy, it occurs to me that you are indeed blessed beyond the capacity of a single deity. Here we are, two swinging dinguses-well, I’m a swinging dingus and you are merely an embarrassing barely protruding nub that couldn’t swing if you pulled it mightily with tweezers and did jumping jacks at the same time- strolling down a deserted highway which by either divine intervention, an act of Mother Nature although I’m not sure her putrid influence passes beyond the atmosphere and she is strictly prohibited from the celestial realm by divine treaties in the nature of say the creation of the American Air Force after World War Two in which fixed wing aircraft were strictly prohibited from use to the Army which didn’t make a heck of a lot of sense because the Navy got all the planes their grubby little tax dollar spending fingers could get ahold of, but I imagine the Gods and their politics and compromises are indistinguishable from those of Washington DC, or just the pedestrian affairs of man and we are presented both with a few problems AND a set of golden opportunities. You being a lucky SOB because you get to do all this adventuring and swashbuckling with the greatest person of all time, namely me. I trust you feel blessed and will say a thank you to various and assorted gods you normally ignore, as the unsaveable ignorant savage barbarian that you are.”

“Well, you put it like that and I now realize I should stand humbled and gracious.”

“Indeed. Now, I realize that we have multiple problems before us. Namely, starving our scrawny asses off in about a year. Being far away from water. Not at present being both blessed and cursed with willing female companionship. And while I don’t wish to give these issues any less serious contemplation than they deserve, I would like to take a few moments to observe the many and myriad ways in which as of yesterday the world is a far, far, much better place. For one, we now pretty much have a license to kill any sniveling asswhore that crosses our path and pisses us off. Assuming they don’t have a lot of friends that can immediately come to their aid, obviously. And I can’t say for sure how long such liberty will be available to us, the tides of anarchy and monopoly of force being what they are. But if I’m going to die a miserable death in a year, grasping for caffeine like an emancipated toothless hag feebly parting her soiled and ripped blouse in a desperate attempt to sell her goods for cigarettes, pocket change and another rock of crack, I feel that the time in the interim is best spent in such sport as delivering vengeance upon the forces of evil. And those fuckers who made our lives miserable. I’d like to get laid a lot, too, but for the time being it will be nice to shoot at people who show hostile intent rather than continue our old practice of cowering hopelessly while the forces of law and order are summoned.”

“It will be nice not having to be stuck behind old bastards doing half the speed limit, or have young fuckers inches from your rear bumper as they attempt to convince you to travel twice the speed limit.”

“Do you think it would be okay to shoot anyone under a certain age, assuming for the sake of argument that they at one time were either tailgating you or trying to run over me on my moped?”
“I think that you are already in danger of running out of ammunition, long before the true forces of evil intent arrive to challenge our leadership and to steal all the food we have absconded with.”
“Okay, how’s this? I save the ammunition to combat the New World Order troops, but put some to the side so when I’m about out of coffee I can extract revenge for all the wrongs done upon our personages. Then, being out of ammunition, I can affix bayonet and charge gloriously into the blazing machineguns of Hiz Honor The Mayor.”
“I think all the machineguns are busy making meat paste out of Iraqi civilians, our boys in green having been deployed to the Sandbox.”
“That has got to suck giant cammo dildos, if they are going to be stuck over there. Can you imagine the college educated leaders in charge over there making any kind of intelligent decision?”
“What decision? They are quickly out of bottled water, MRE’s and 223. They don’t even have bayonets to go out in a shower of glory such as yourself.”

“Hey, the Fritz helmets make you look like a giant penis. You would only look ridiculous charging the crowds wearing one, and on a stubby carbine to boot. Perhaps the Squids have enough AvGas to get some of them out to sea and safely to a nuclear aircraft carrier. Assuming that this sucker wasn’t a solar flare that melted their shit into molten silicon goo. I know the Soviets stayed with vacuum tubes because of EMP from nukes, and we claimed it was because of our advanced capitalistic awesomeness we were more high-tech cat’s meow with chips. I wonder if the Soviets intentionally stayed primitive and we weren’t as EMP hardened as we claimed. Remember the folk tale about our million dollar R&D space pen verses the Soviet’s using a pencil?”
“I wonder if they had a pencil sharpener?”
“Don’t over-analyze folk tales. I mean, a fox and grapes? Right? Makes no sense. The tortoise and the hair makes some sense. You labor away slow and steady, total discipline, no break in the routine, and before you know it you have moved mountains. Some famous Euro-Trash writer dude only wrote something like 500 words a day before going to his day job and he churned out door stoppers. You go too fast trying to win the race and you burn out, over-do it. But the bitch with a million kids in a shoe? What the fuck was that all about? A giant shoe? Architecturally, it makes absolutely no sense at all. Wait. That was a nursery rhyme, not a fable. Now I’m all screwed up.”
“Would it be less weight carrying a pocket knife, or a sharpener? Would they let you carry a penknife? What if you cut an oxygen line or something?”
“You’re yanking my chain, aren’t you? Poking fun at my thought process.”
“I love you too, John.”

“Hey, lookee over yonder. A lot of smoke, blowing north. Must have been why there was no light showing our way from fires. Damn wind picked up as the sun rose, clearing away the stagnant layer.”
“I won’t get into the argument over the exact unit measurement of ‘yonder’. But I will comment that it seems like that is a “crapload” of smoke-crapload being a similar unit of weight to the length measurement of yonder. How flipping big was the fire, do you think? It wasn’t cold last night, so how many people could there have been trying to stay warm with flame? Even an out of control fire wouldn’t necessarily done in too big an area. No wind, you can outwalk a brush fire and make a break or smother flames or what not.”
“Hmmm. You want to look at that power pole over there.”
“Okay, it seems like a regular power pole.”
“Look at the transformer. Blown to fuck. Want to bet they ALL went at the same time and did a “Dresden” on the whole town?”

“I’ll be a shit the bed. This is not boding well, is it?”

“Ya think?”


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  1. More please.


  2. oh my, the voices in your head are really loud today,huh?

    take your meds. everything is OK. good night.


    1. I wrote this the last few weeks, so how can the voices be influencing me now, today? Please learn to think clearly.