4pm on Friday afternoon. I hadn’t even finished my working day and I was already opening my first drink for the weekend. In fact I hadn’t even finished my last meeting for the day. The meeting started with a round of shots, then the beers and bitch-liquor was served and the meeting began. Welcome to corporate South Africa! May the weekend begin! Work hard, play harder, sleep when you’re DEAD!
So the weekend started well. Or at least, I thought it did. Drinks paid for by the MAN, then home to clean up a little, some more recreational substance abuse and off we go! I was taking my first shot on the pool table when things started to slow down. That feeling of the entire world shifting, just a tiny bit, into a slower gear. Focus here! The lights are not that pretty! Look at the ball, concentrate. 4 Shots later and I was clearly in the lead and all my mojo was gone. Nothing left. Just beer to keep my mouth damp and the satisfaction of knowing that I’m ok with losing. I enjoy losing. It’s good to lose. GODDAMIT! Bring back the mojo and beat this worthless bastard!
So the weekend started well. Or at least, I thought it did. Drinks paid for by the MAN, then home to clean up a little, some more recreational substance abuse and off we go! I was taking my first shot on the pool table when things started to slow down. That feeling of the entire world shifting, just a tiny bit, into a slower gear. Focus here! The lights are not that pretty! Look at the ball, concentrate. 4 Shots later and I was clearly in the lead and all my mojo was gone. Nothing left. Just beer to keep my mouth damp and the satisfaction of knowing that I’m ok with losing. I enjoy losing. It’s good to lose. GODDAMIT! Bring back the mojo and beat this worthless bastard!
That didn’t happen. I lost every game. But I didn’t pay for the BOOZE, so life was good. What next? We couldn’t spend the entire evening at a pool table. Pool is for getting the mood started, not for maintaining it. Maintenance requires NOISE! We need explosions and violence! Or maybe just somewhere to dance? Let’s work with that. Let’s dance the night away in the hopeless abandonment of chemically induced oblivion. And people! We need people! We went looking for crowds, and more chemicals.
The Fear hit me the moment I walked through the door. Was this place supposed to be so empty? Why was everyone staring? Had we stumbled into some sort of preternatural, redneck rompfest where all the men had perfect hair, high collars and testosterone poisoning, and all the women were, well… not there. Hmm… now the question of etiquette. Do we leave and risk insulting the squarebacks and rat bastards? Or do we stay and, potentially, get confused for possible prey. The Fear had me wondering. The Fear had me thinking about being lured into a quiet backroom to be beaten into submission and served on a platter to the wolves at the bar. Jesus, you better get me out of this!
None of that happened. We were just early. Timing was added to the list of things that we had managed to fuck up, then we got liquor, and sat down. We were, in fact, one with the hunters. We too were waiting for the prey to arrive, and when it did – by god – we were going to HUNT. That is, of course, assuming we where capable. We had the advantage of perfect clear thinking and superior wit. But the fantastic drugs that gave us these super-powers also made us completely incapable of demonstrating them. Kinda like a high powered genius coming straight from the dentist, with crippled lip-muscles. A drooling beast that communicates by grunts and howls and obscene gestures. Darwin would be proud.
Then they arrived. In small groups at first. Like bikini-clad debutantes dipping a toe into the water before committing to whole body wetness. But as the overall crowd got bigger, the arriving groups got bigger too. Now the numbers where UP! The game was ON! The brain/mouth filter, on the other hand, was not on at all. Not even a little bit. Neither where the nerves operating things like lips and tongues, which did actually counteract the first problem. It doesn’t matter if you are trying to seduce with profanity and insults when every syllable sounds like a twisted, paragraph-long, moan. But we will try and we will NEVER quit! Hell, if they get as twisted as us then we may even succeed. A sobering thought. In hindsight at least. At the time, thought was not an option. ACTION was needed!
And ACTION is what was attempted. After the first few failures, my hopes began to rise. Slowly. The odds would be turning in my favor soon. Eventually SHE will be seduced! But who is she? Have I seen her yet? I need to find this unlikely gem in our chosen den of iniquity and moral ambiguity. SOMEONE had to fall for this gibberish eventually. Then someone did. Well… not entirely. There wasn’t actually any talking, and thus, no gibberish. A solution had been found! Do not talk! Talking makes it obvious that there is either no grey matter inside your brain-case, or the grey matter that is there is so completely swamped in mind altering substances that you cannot possibly be a viable mate. So instead of talking/mumbling/groaning, just take action!
So action was taken. Slow steady action. Action that should have been avoided at all costs.
Being employed in a supervisory position has advantages. But one should not get that – um – close, to the minions. Even if SHE is belongs to a different group of minions and is not one of your own. Do not foul the waters at your place of work, you dirty, irresponsible bastard! Of course, these thoughts came much too late. Long after the introduction. Long after the advice from colleagues that said, “Yes, yes! This is a good idea!”. In fact, those wise and definitive thoughts only happened some time after it was established that there would be no sleep that night. None at all. Instead, the only thoughts that where loud enough to penetrate the Haze where simply: “Heh. Heh. Heh.”
Dirty, dirty bastard.
Being employed in a supervisory position has advantages. But one should not get that – um – close, to the minions. Even if SHE is belongs to a different group of minions and is not one of your own. Do not foul the waters at your place of work, you dirty, irresponsible bastard! Of course, these thoughts came much too late. Long after the introduction. Long after the advice from colleagues that said, “Yes, yes! This is a good idea!”. In fact, those wise and definitive thoughts only happened some time after it was established that there would be no sleep that night. None at all. Instead, the only thoughts that where loud enough to penetrate the Haze where simply: “Heh. Heh. Heh.”
Dirty, dirty bastard.
But enough of that. In the early hours of the morning, as the sun was starting to establish its presence for the day, sober thoughts started to make an appearance. Not in my mind, naturally, but her thoughts were sober enough to recognize that perhaps it was time to leave. All I knew was that she was probably right. So I stood in the driveway watching her leave, while starting to formulate a plan for the next phase. The proverbial “Part 2” (Part 4? 6? 42?).
The most obvious next step was sleep. I’d been awake far too long and was far too full of toxins to be able to function on a human level. Interaction with the general population was out of the question. The problem with that plan was the ominous shadow of a Busy Day Ahead. No time for sleep, you lazy freaks! Sleep is for the weak and the dead! The strong and twisted MUST carry on! The day had to be taken care of! But how? Was it possible? Could a strange beast move through the population without creating a stink of alienation? Would I be able to take care of business before the people around me sensed my not-belonging? I needed help.
Help is, of course, whatever you make of it. So time now to level out. Smoke something to counteract the bad vibes of animal instinct and last night’s mistakes, then… Do It! Blue team! Move out! Go! Go! Go! But after a shower. The animal instinct to react unconsciously to aggressive and unknown pheromones is one thing, but to actually smell bad would make fighting those instincts impossible. I had to at least try to fit in. Action plan: 1) level head = smoke. 2) Interaction with others = shower. 3) Conform = get dressed. 4) Begin. Drive. Go! Go! Go!
And so the drive began. Slowly at first. But not too slowly. I had places to be, dammit! But focus is important here too. I MUST get there, but I must get there Alive. So, slowly does it. Speed up gradually. Find that right balance between Time and Space. Get to the Destination. After many long lonely kilometers on the road and beautiful, breathtaking scenery that I didn’t give a crap about, I finally arrived. I didn’t have time for scenery! I had tar and tyres and mutant drivers to worry about!
Reaching my destination resulted in a kind of mixed lifting and sinking of my mood. There was the satisfaction of having Done it. I achieved the impossible (unlikely?). But I was done. The possibility of total collapse was starting to look more and more like a statistical inevitability. I just needed to hold on a little longer. Getting there wasn’t enough, I also had to get back. Again, I would need help. Again, help was available. This time in the form of seafood and beer. Seafood. A powerful craving for dead fish had come over me and it was time to Satisfy. It is, of course, possible that the craving was simply for food of any description, but I smelt seafood and I had to have it.
Business taken care of. Cravings satisfied. Mind altered. Time to return. And return I did. With a vengeance! Also with the sneaky rising waves of exhaustion and paranoia. A long, treacherous road kept me company while i swore at imagined insults from non-existent drivers and kept my third eye open for any sign of the pigs. The god damn pigs were everywhere I tell you! Everywhere! But they stayed away from me. Intentionally? Probably not. They probably just didn’t see what I thought was my flaming exhaust and smoke flying off of my screaming tyres.
But I did get Home. Alive and well. (Well? Maybe not) Then, time for the next round (How many rounds were there, again?). At least this one did not involve any public appearances. All it involved was collecting supplies and going to another house; another house full of people maybe, but still a Private Residence. A pseudo-Land Fortress if you will. A place where the Freaks can gather without fear of public outcry. And when the Freaks gather, we do it in style.
What happened next is open to debate. Or, more specifically, it has been debated. At length. I do NOT believe the accounts! I am a wholesome and naive Freak! I did not do those things! The Good Lord himself will back me up on this! I arrived to the scene of hopeless and depraved lunatics cooking meat on a fire and eating with their hands and, yes, drinking. These people had no sense of social obligation. They had no sense moderation or responsibility. They are My people and I love them, but in the name of all things holy, they are little more than animals.
I joined the feast. I let my hands and lips partake in the feeding frenzy and the abandon of all things Civil. I looked at the people around me, there was no shame. There was no pressure to join the masses in their mindless obedience and silent judgment. There was only place to grow and enjoy and become another Freak in Pursuit Of Happiness. The Universe had given me safe passage every step of the way to that place, and now I understood why. The stars had guided me home; to the Good People; to My People.
Sue and I would both love to hear your thoughts on this.... Leave us a comment or two in the box below! X
You worthless bastard! I'll cripple your ass for this!
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