Phucked Phreak Production Vol 19

eZine lover (@eZine)

Published in 

Phucked Phreak Production

 · 26 Apr 2019

  

 

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*  April 21              Phucked Phreak Productions                Vol 19  * 
*                           Proudly Presents....                           *  
*                                                                          *  
*          \  /  \                                                         * 
*            /  /  \ \/                                                    * 
*           \   \ / \\ .                                                   * 
*             \ \  /    \    ____________________________                  * 
*             \  /  \ |||||||          Bum Trip          |                 * 
*               \  \  |||||||____________________________|                 * 
*                 '   /                                                    * 
*                                                                          * 
*    WARNING:  The Attorney General has determined that these files may    * 
*              be as dangerous to your dogma as that cigarette is to your  * 
*              Health!                                                     * 
*__________________________________________________________________________* 

 

                          From Somewhere in the Universe, 
                                    Hungover, 
                                   A Bum Trip. 

                                       by 

                         J O H N   C O N S T A N T I N E 

 

        "Whoa! Man!  I just found out where it's at.  I just met 
the manager... at a drinking party... and that's all I remember.", 
 I tell myself as I stare down into someone else's toilet bowl.  I  
see myself, complete with bloodshot eyes and sallow face, reflected 
in the tranquil waters.  "Jesus! What a mess!  I gotta get home. 
where in the hell is home?  Where in the hell am I?  WHO in the hell 
am I?"  These are just a few of the cosmic brainteasers carousing 
through my pounding skull as I shoot a bloody stream of urine directly 
into my reflected right nostril.   

        After pulling up my trousers I dig through the back pocket, 
 pulling out some sort of ticket stub. 

LOTRNOC NOISSIM 
         
        MESSYS YTILAER:  htreE / nywreB / llI. 

        THGILF:  :-> DSL <-: 
                 :-> TOP <-: 

        So  here I am, hung-over, in this fucked up reality system 
I've never even heard of.  AHA!  A memory!  All I need to do is  
look up Earth in my handy guidebook to Reality.  Aw damnit-to-hell! 
  I never picked up a copy.  Though I'd never need it.  (Now I  
never leave home without it!) 

        Enlightenment strikes!  I left with a friend.  Maybe if I  
can find my way out of the bathroom he'll bum me a couple of  
aspirin and tell me what the story is.  Stumbling out of the john, a  
charmin streamer trailing behind me I yell, "JAY! JJJAAAAYY!" 

        Testicles curl up out of my scrotum and into my stomach as he 
pops around the corner.  "Be quiet!", he puts his finger to his lips,  
"you'll wake THEM up!" 
         
        "Who are they?  Let's go wake 'em up and get directions back to 
mission control." 

        "I'm K-K-coo-w-w-wit-wit-it-wit-d-d-em-dem.", (translated I'm 
 cool with them) he machine guns back to me. 

        "Where are they?  Let's go wake 'em." 

        "I don't know nothing.  They're at the party." 

        "What are we doin, Jay?  Why the fuck are we here?" 

        "I dunno.  i'm pretty sure my current jobs not it though.  I'm 
 cool with them.  I'm cool with them.  I'm cool with them." 

        I can see he's worthless, still more fucked up than I am.  So, 
 using acid logic, I deduce that I can get home merely by walking out 
the front door and into a friendly Reality transport vehicle.  Elementary, 
 my dear Watson.  Elementary! 

       "Ugh!  Acid logics not too efficient in "htraE / nywerB / llI." 
No wonder they outlawed the shit.  The same problem again.  "Where am I?" 
My personal genuis answers, "I'm wandering around in some street...."  A 
 tattered newspaper blows by.  Seeing this commonplace custodian of  
everyday Reality gives me courage.  Now... if only I could get Time going 
again, I could walk through Space and go pick it up.  My watch chimes the  
hour.  It reads xis o' kcolc in 0 dimensional lettering.  wow!  Good,  
time's moving.  I pick up the paper and wrap it around my waist. If any 
cops come they'll think I'm a bum, modern industrial age acid camo. 

        A jogger passes by me as I stagger down the street, "doog  
gninrom!".  I come to a panel of payphones.  Uh-oh.  Three BIG inner 
city black boys.  "enmig ruoy tellaw, etihw yob!" 

        "No problem.  I'm cool with you.  I'm cool with you", finally 
 I find a use for Jay's Magickal formula. 

        My memory returns, decaying in my french fried brain, as my 
tormentors depart. 

        "Hello, Jen?... Can you pick me up?.... No I'm at 3400 S. harlem." 

        Kaleidoscopic pigeons chirp the sacrament of Supreme Unction 
as I kick back and light up a fag, waiting for a ride back into  
R E A L I T Y. 

*************************************************************************** 

Spread this file around freely but please do not claim credit for 
it as it was written by me NOT you. 

*************************************************************************** 

call these bbs.... 

The Cage --- 708-945-3665  (ppp headquarters) 
Ripco    --- 708-528-5020 

**************************************************************************** 

John Constantine 
Peace \/ 

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