"The ability to say what you mean and mean what you say is a gift, not to be traded for anything." ---smcasey
Yes, there are certain things which must remain hidden from the dark of night, and discovered anew, when the day grows bright.
Fat Jerry entered the wine tomb with his shopping bags. Tellesco had brought in the makings of a huge breakfast feast, enough for thirty, and left the bags on the marble top island across from the cock-punch dining room table.
If you weren’t careful, that table could fuck you up, in more ways than one. Smack you in the balls, or shoot you up to the stars, or even bust your arms and ribs, if you were not careful.
Fat Jerry stopped. He’d heard a glass clink.
He looked around, and he began to smile.
It was a smile that had many sharp teeth.
“Let’s see, I’ll take this one, and this one, and this one here looks nice. This is French for Friendly Fires. Mmmmm. Paris.”
He swung around on his heel and closed the door behind him.
Soft juxtaposition of what is to follow.
The long, stately ranch up in the north and west of Fuckno burned with an intensity no firefighter there had ever before witnessed at all.
They figured that the home was configured with aged fig tree wood, and once that caught fire, the conflagration consumed the contents, and left nothing but dust, melted wine bottles, and the bones of Tommy Hewitt..
The gases from the combustion of the interior rose to amazing heights along with the furious heat, but you should know that not all gases are light. Some are heavy, even while they are hot, and they descend.
They can descend into a hidden cache of wine dug out of the desert hard pan, and they can kill with amazing speed.
The roof caved in, and with the sudden onrush of oxygen, a long tongue of flame roared down the hallways that were constructed like a maze. The hallways were now a hell hole.
The flames of this tongue devoured the carpeting and began to lick the walls. Temperatures rose to the heat of the Sun. Fission took place. Ions exploded.
Inside a secret compartment, an open book of hidden but not forgotten photographs began to curl up at the edges.
In these photos, the face of a small boy engaged in curious poses, and …activities… began to darken from the heat. The secret lair that held such ugliness became an oven, a crematorium.
The face of young, troubled Tellesco disappeared from the face of the planet, never to be seen again.
It would not end there.
Fat Jerry got away. He went in the other direction from us all…
He always did. He always would.
Purple mohawk, chrome shin guards, white Xs on his birdshot-face, and, of course, his leather. Always mind your leather.
Fat Jerry loaded up his hearse with treasures. He got in his vehicle, and he drove off as the whole world ignited. He went in the opposite direction from Joey and Nolei in Joey’s maroon granny car.
A young man hid in the wine cellar, a place where a certain young boy would often seek refuge. And yet, a place to hide can become a place of the worst of nightmares. Both of these two were caught in a hell of their own, each.
Both; until the end of their time.
Devils have their secret places. They propagate their hell unto others. If you are lucky, you can find an angel, and perhaps a savior.
Tommy found neither. But Tellesco found both. Sean, and oddly enough, Jerry.
When you first read here years ago about the way that Tellesco fawned over Sean, didn’t you think that it was some sort of crush or something? Well, now you might understand that Sean became a sort of substitute father figure to Tellesco, because Sean was quite a powerful personality.
At the time, I simply thought that Sean was using Tellesco for his wealth, his easy access to a swimming pool, a Jeep, and Figging.
I would turn out to be wrong. Sean had become friends with someone who had gone through some of the same fuckishness that he had, who told him what his own father had done to him, and Sean said “Fuck You” to that ugly shit. I guess, looking back, that this was why Sean didn’t give a damn about any of the things Tellesco’s parents held dear. One thing that they did not hold dear was their only son.
I had a lot of things wrong about all of my previous judgement, my prejudice.
Tellesco had found a savior. He had also found an angel. A Fallen One.
Fat Jerry knew his vehicle. This is quite important when you are fleeing carnage that you have caused. You need to know what your vehicle is capable of doing for you.
Let’s say that you have come to a party with the intention of making a busload of money from the selling of your illegal wares, and then you end up busting up a heavy dining room table upon some large men. And then, you pick those dudes up and chuck them through a sliding glass door, busting the glass with the first one.
Why stop there? Why not go out and fuck them up further, while they are down, to the tunes of a punk band you have invited to the party yourself?
Well, what’s a young devil to do next?
How about stealing some expensive old wine, and then, hey, just for the fuck of it, why not blow the place up?
Along your plan, you may discover a lamb for the slaughter.
You may decide to make a human sacrifice for your insane intentions. You may use some wine cork screws to prevent a cellar door (made of fig-tree iron-wood) from opening.
These are evil things.
You may drive away with a smile that has a hundred fangs.
Where do you go next?
You may head to your own secret refuge. Your secret cache.
This is what fat Jerry did.
Jerry died on Earth Day. No, not the Fat Jerry in the tale above. Jerry Lawson, who invented video game cartridges. May he be respectfully inserted into the Heaven Console. (Sorry about that Jerry, you were awesome.)
In honor of him, a Saturday toon for ya.
What do you see when you look back? Here are some rear view mirror pics.
Have some ice cream along the way. Interesting flavors.
Looking back to 1998, what made internet sites great? These things.
Cracked’s six creepy urban legends that happen to be true. Me likey.
List of films that fuck with your head.
March news stories that will leave you surprised.
The internets and their use of browsers.
Macs vs PCs. Who’s really winning or whining?
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
OK, One More For Ya.
NSFW. I Heart Chaos style.