Saturday, November 5, 2011

TDC WEAW WEEKEND AT WILLIES PRAY FOR RAIN










Joey roared, Katheena winged, and I composed myself.


We were going to look for ole Glinty McFlintlock.


This would end badly.


I did not know who the fuck those old rich bastards were, flocking in their purple robes over by the pool, but I charged at them, and they flew off left and right. Those in front of my charge jumped back and they landed in the pool.


You might not know that a velvet robe, once it is soaked, weighs exactly 42 pounds of I Don’t Give A Shit, but they found out immediately.

They had trouble getting back up into the air.


Others went to help, and that is when we three punks went off to look for ole Ginty McFlintlock and, of course, Sean.


------------------------------------


We flew through the towel room and pushed them crooked vultures out of our way left and right, heading down the hallway where Minacca had run off minutes before, straggling her ripped-off garments over her bra and thong.


Crystal goblets of expensive wine and bone china plates of various tasty things shattered into clouds and mists of forgotten folklore.


We three punks were on a rampage.


There on the left was a familial area, which led off to the kitchen. You know to where I was leading my two friends.


Up.



There was a hallway beyond it that led to servants quarters, and a rear stairwell that held many surprises.



I was headed for Minacca’s room on the third floor.



The only thing that I had not considered was this: I was burning bridges. We would not be able to leave from where we had come. Once we found Sean we would have to make us a new exit.


Of course, that was the least of our worries at this point.


Katheena and Joey were simply happy to have me back among them, and leading them towards our original pursuit.



If only---



If only we had found Sean...



++++++++++++++++++++++



Cooks and waiters jumped out of the way as we charged through the galley, and they screamed. That is what folks do when they are concentrating on a task, whatever it may be, and they are loudly and rudely interrupted.


Our advantage was shock and fright.


We were Doc-booted punks dressed in black leather jackets, (one in a short black dress underneath hers) and we snarled with clenched teeth from our new found energy.


Some of those surprised kitchen staff grabbed large knives, as they felt the need to protect the house, to perhaps nab a reward or some shit for fighting off we invaders.


Once through the galley, we got to the hallway that led to the up-stairwell, the servants' quarters, and doors everywhere. I stopped to make sure that my two cohorts were in attendance.


They smashed into me and we fell to the floor.



“OWWW!”


“Fuuuuuuck Weeeee-ill!”



In the background, we heard these words, “They went through there!”




Then, as we jumped up, there was the awful sound of many footfalls echoing into this hallway.




At such a point, in such a situation, you have no time to think. You must rely upon your instincts.


The obvious instinct is to escape to where you were heading in the first place, and try to outrun your chasers.



But I had learned many things in trying to outrun some angry Messicans on my ten speed bike during the Trinity end-chapter.



I whispered to my friends, “Doors. Find ‘em and lock ‘em behind you. NOW!”





Joey opened a door that led down, and he grabbed me and Katheena to follow him. He had, indeed, found the wine cellar.

That would always be his nexus.



There, below, we looked around. Here was another one of those tombs that the rich bastards had dug out of the hard pan of the desert. We had no time to look around, but I could not help myself. There were rounds of Gruyere and other expensive cheeses. There were aisles of wine, as well.




What the hell? Was the whole high desert river valley of the Sans Joking River pock-marked with hidden treasure troves of expensive delicacies such as these?


I remembered Tommy Hewitt then and there. He had passed away in such a tomb.


Fuck that shit.







I grabbed my friends and glared into their eyes, from one to the other, left and right, right and wrong. They faltered from my rage. I pulled them close and muttered, “We will not end like this. We will head back up, and we will fucking dominate.”




I charged back up the stairs and erupted from the tomb into the hallway.







There were people in white chef coats and others wearing purple robes, all opening doors to the servants’ quarters and closets and shit.


We held the element of surprise, shock, and awe.


They all swung around to face us, with their knives and other accoutrement.



Feeling the adrenaline from panic along with the lovely, powerful charge of desert dust, I charged into them. They scattered into three dimensions: kitchen, hallway left, and long path to the servant’s exit/ entrance door on the right, which was armed with alarm. You needed to have a key or pass code to use the door.

Joey roared and leaped into the left side of the hallway to protect my back, and he grabbed them purple robes with his claws and flung those bastards to the floor.


He did not stop. He stood on their fallen bodies and looked for any one of them to raise a hand for a time-out. I think that he would have tore off one with his teeth if a single hand arose.


Katheena flew into the kitchen; landing near one of the knife blocks on the chopping table.


She stood and grinned at those scared, rich assholes. “Come get some of this you fuckers!”


She looked down at the knife block, and wrapped her hands around steely wood. She flashed those blades in the air, around and over her head, like a ninja chick or someshit. And then she charged at the cowering crowd.


Me? I dove to the floor, rolled, and then I jumped at them, Docs forward.



What the fuck was I doing?



I was joining in the fray, entering the melee, which is a French term that here describes, “Eat my heels, you bastards.” I landed on the chests of those who would do us harm.


I rolled back onto my front, and felt the come down begin again.


Fuck.



I shouted, “We gone! We out!”


Those two appeared in right in front of my face, and Joey said, “There’s no time to line! What do we do?”


I shrugged and looked down the hallway to the exit door. “We make it rain, and we bail.”


We stumbled over those who were getting back up as I led the way to the servant’s entrance, which exited on the farthest end of the courtyard from Katheena's ride.


We would have to run past them chauffeurs to get to Katheena’s escape vehicle, which she had named “Orion.”



You knew, back when I told you that Minacca’s mansion was built like a friggin hotel, well, there were fire alarms along the walls of the hallways.


They were everywhere, if you recall.


As we exited that fucked up place, I stopped at the last one on the way out. I broke the glass, reached in, and I pulled down the lever.


It began to rain. Pray for rain in the desert. It chust might come.





Inside.




Inside a lovely, old mansion that held all sorts of rich pigs, many who were up to no good.


We would find out many things, and you will as well, if you care to continue along this ugly path that will lead to redemption.



If you have been reading this far along, then I know something about you.



By now, you know many things about me.




Thank you for following me on this path.




Check this out, my friend:






Minacca was wrong.



We three punks were not the evil ones.




Nope.



But, why did she not have a clue, such a brainy chick?






We baptized that hell hole, that fuck of a place.








Except, we had left Sean behind.







FUCK.










----------------





God Help You.


God Help Us All.




---willies out.










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