Welcome Home

"Oh fuck off mate!" Gordon scoffs at Parkers declaration.

"I'm serious man, I really think I'm falling for her." Parker says, somewhat quietly while staring at the wall.

"Just because the girl makes ya tingel a bit in your knickers don't mean it's love. You're just drunk, or tired, or stoned, or something, but you're not in fuckin' love." Gordon says.

"And what would you know about it, Gordon?! How the hell could you possibly know what I'm feeling?" Parker yells.

"I just fuckin' do! Now would you lower you're goddamn voice before someone busts in here thinkin' there's fuckin' spousal abuse or somethin' going on?" Gordon asks.

"Man, you don't know....you dunno..dunno..du..." Parker slurs, right before abruptly passing out.

"Fuckin' kids..." Gordon says quietly, and rolls over to pass out.

A few short hours later, Gordon awakes to the sound of someone pounding on the door.

"Waker wakey motherfuckers! Drop your cocks and grabs your socks!" a voice yells.

"Oh for fuck sakes..." Gordon mumbles, as he stumbles to the door. He opens it to find Jamie standing outside, dressed and ready to go with a smoke hanging loosely from his lips.

"Time to go kids, we got a long drive ahead if we wanna make it on time." Jamie says.

"In time for what, exactly?" Gordon asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Oh you'll see. You're about to see America at it's fuckin' finest." Jamie says, as he leaves the room.

"C'mon mate, time to go." Gordon says while shaking Parker.

"Lord?" parker asks, eyes half open.

"No, but you're close. We gotta go." Gordon says, as he staps away to grab his shoes. Parker slowly sits up, and the two get ready to take off.

Parker and Gordon get down the stairs in time to see Jamie and the rest of the group getting into the limo.

"Is it me, or is the sun abnormally bright today?" Parker says, sheilding his eyes from the late afternoon sun.

"You're just a bit hung over man. Don't worry, you'll get used to it." Joe says, patting Parker on the back. The group piles in, and the limo speeds off back onto the highway.

"So, where exactly is this thing at anyway?" Casey asks.

"Well, according to the Wiki, it's in the Black Rock Desert in northern Nevada." Mali answers, reading from her device.

"Yeah, we have awhile. Better make yourselves comfortable." Casey says, leaning her head against the window next to her.

"Well, I know what always makes me comfortable." Jamie says, as he pulls a fat joint from the inside pocket of his blazer.

"You just carry weed on you? And you never worry about getting caught?" Mali asks.

"Um, yeah, pretty much." Jamie answers as he lights it and takes a hit.

"Well, alright." Mali says, as she watches Jamie pass the joint to Casey.

"Might as well. We're gonna be in here a few hours anyway, might as well take our minds off of shit for while" Casey says, as she takes a hit from the joint.

The joint gets passed around to everyone in the back of the limo, except for Parker, who is fast asleep on the floor. As the joint keeps maing it's way around the limo, Jamie pulls a smoke from his cigarette case and lights it.

"Can I ask you something Jamie?" Joe asks.

"Um, I guess. What do you wanna know?" Jamie says leaning against a window with his legs proped up on the seat.

"When was the first time you knew you really made it?"

Jamie takes a long drag from his cigarette and thinks for a few seconds.

Well, one night, a few months ago, my best friend Mitch, my other good friend Kramer, and this guy I just met awhile back named Kaia are sitting around my house, and we're all fucked out of our minds on blow. We're all sitting around bullshitting, that kind of deal, when Kramer gets this idea. He convinces us to go up to the Hollywood sign, and says we're gonna mark our territory. We're all tweaking our balls off, so we're like, "why the fuck not?" It wasn't like we had anything better to do. So we load up into Kaias car, and head towards the sign. It's like, 3 in the morning on a Tuesday, so most of the people up that way are all asleep. We park in a secluded spot near a patch of woods, and sneak up to the sign. It was the first time I had seen the entire city since I had moved out west, and it was fucking gorgeous. I mean, ever since I was little, I had always dreamed of seeing it, and let me tell you, you have no fuckin' idea what the views like until you actually see it for yourself. Movies and T.V. don't do it justice man. So I'm standing there, admiring the view, when I hear what sounds like water pouring out onto the groud. I look over, and see Kramer, cock in hand, pissing over top of the fucking O. We all cracked up for like a fucking hour. Here I am, realizing my fucking boyhood dream, and one of my best friends is taking a piss in what I'm sure in his head was the entire city. After we calmed down from laughing, we all pulled out our boys, and drained all over Hollywood.

"I suppose that's the first time I realized that I had actually made it, as fucked up as that sounds." jamie says. He looks to the group, and sees that they have all passed out from the mixture of no sleep and killer weed.

"Fuckin' kids." Jamie says to himself, as he nods off.

A few hours later, the limo pulls to a stop. The driver steps out, and opens Jamies door.

"We're here sir." the driver says, as Jamie steps out.

"Hey, fuck-o's, up and at 'em." Jamie says into the limo. Everyone slowly files out of the limo, and admires the scenery. They notice a ton of people, dressed in the strangest costumes they had every seen. In the middles of it all, they saw a giant man made of wood, with flames pouring out of it.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Parker says quietly to himself.

Gordon steps to the front of the group, awestruck.

"God bless America."

Even Jesus Drinks

"Sinner mate?" Gordon laughed and Parker's face flushed, "You're calling the pot black a bit don't you think?"

"Jesus drank sometimes," Parker said a bit defensively.

"Yea, but he was drinking wine, not liquor."

"You boys should find some sleep," said Mali through a yawn.

"What about you, love? where are you going to go?"

"I'll be alright," she said and smiled at the pair, "I'll manage."

Mali left the pair outside of the door to her room and disappeared around a corner.

"So much for that chance I guess," Gordon said and took a better hold on Parker while he started to walk.

Ten minutes later, Parker having to stop several times to let waves of nausea pass, the pair fell into their respective beds. Gordon thought that he'd never been happier for the feel of a hotel bed beneath him. His eyes closed tightly, the chilly-but-warming comforter pulled up around himself, Gordon quickly began drifting off to sleep.

"Gordon," Parker moaned.

"Bloody hell,"

"Gordon can I tell you something?"

In the silence Gordon nearly fell asleep again, but Parker's voice came through the dark like a flashlight.

This one time, there was a rabbit who lived a calm life in his rabbit hole. The rabbit often took from the garden of the farmer nearby his home, but never taking more than he needed and thanking the farmer often in his heart for the food. It was something his mother and father had taught him. A way of life that had been passed down for too many seasons to count. Thank the farmer for his gifts and he will keep providing them. One day, however, the rabbit came to his mother and father's hole with a problem.

"Father," He said, "I have everything I could want to live from and I thank the farmer each day for what he gives. Yet I still am left with want. Why?"

The father thought for a long time, stroking his long gray ears with concentration. Finally he said, "Son, you are of the age where you must start a burrow of your own. These are things that the farmer knows of but cannot provide you with. You must find a mate on your own."

The rabbit was taken back that there was anything the farmer could not simply plant and provide, but was excited by the thought that starting tomorrow, he would have something to do for himself. That when he woke in the morning there would not simply be enough unless he went looking for it. He thanked his father, sent love to his mother and set off for the possibilities ahead.

"Do you get it?" Parker asked with a sigh.

"You are fucking drunk," Gordon said.

"No, do you get what I'm trying to tell you?"

Gordon groaned and rolled over in his bed.

"I'm trying to tell you that I think I might love Mali,"

Gordon froze.

Everyone's Got Someone

As the bulk of the group meandered off with Jamie, Joe and Casey made way with their nauseated bellies to the room nearest them. Joe pulled from his back pack a bag of chips which he offered Casey, she accepted gratefully.

"Thanks so much," she said, hastily speaking through the loud crunches emitting from her mouth. "I'm pretty sure I was just about to yack."

"Same boat here, love," he said, avoiding eye contact the best way he knew how; eyes darting around the room.

Casey finished eating and hurriedly made way to the bathroom to expel from her body the evening's build up of urine. No longer bloated and intensely relieved, she removed herself from the bathroom wearing only her boy shorts and a wife beater tank top. She looks to see Joe on the other side of the room sipping from a bottle of gin and as his gaze met hers he spit the dry poison all over the front of himself.

"You ain't ever seen a lady before, Mr. Joe?"

His face went pale, and he too made a trip to expel something, though slightly more vile than urine. He washed his hands and returned to the main room to find Casey there, beautiful as ever, sitting indian style on the bed smoking a cigarette. He joined her, lighting up as well, not averting his eyes from her chest. Inhaling, exhaling, her skin blemish free and soft as ever in the dim room.

"I'm really sorry about that," slurred Joe, trying his best to make light of the situation. "You just cought me off guard."

"Haha, it's cool man. Don't sweat it. You know, if I weren't so shitfaced right now I probably wouldn't be asking you this, but you have a thing for me don't you?"

Joe started coughing again and felt the chunks rising through his abdomen again, but he managed to repress the uprising vomit and replace it with words instead.

"Out of everybody here, you seem to be the only one here who is in any way grounded."

"How do you mean?"

"Well... we have Mali over here consulting her gadgets every chance she gets. Parker has his head shoved so far up Jesus' ass that he doesn't know which way is up, and I'm fucking tired of hearing about how great America is from Brit boy over there."

"Wow, tell me how you really feel."

"I don't hate them or anything, don't get me wrong. But you.... you. There aren't words. God, I probably sound like a fool right about now."

"And the truth comes out, eh?"

"I guess so. I mean, you're smart, stunning, and you have that rough and tough attitude about you that I find entirely irresistable."

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"Fucking do it. Kiss me."

Joe leaned in, gin still in hand, and kissed Casey probably the sloppiest drunken smooch known to man. Casey, taken aback, layed down with one arm above her head and the other wrapped around Joe pulling him down with her. Her free arm swayed a little too far and knocked over the gaudy lamp on the hotel nightstand. The both of them errupted in laughter, both at the deceased lamp and the situation. They continued their lip dance, slowly removing the garb from each others' backs and bottoms illuminated only by the glow of a bug zapper outside of the room.

Little did they know, though, that the door still remained cracked, welcoming unwanted visitors into the premises. While embarked in their drunken full body embrace, the door came slowly more ajar. Both looked, shocked, at the door to see Mali's face with the blue light cast over it.

"GET OUT!" Casey screamed, pulling the covers closer to her face.

Mali hurriedly shut the door, they didn't know whether to laugh or to stop.

The two intoxicated lovers looked each other dead in the eye, errupted in laughter, and continued their dance until dawn.

No, No, Notorious

Despite commanding shouts to push onward until daybreak, Erowid's "fucktwat" driver found around 3am that he could drive no further through the black, unlit expanse of northern Arizona. Disagreements, foamingly worded through hefty gulps of tanqueray, swarmed the anterior compartment of the limousine. Eventually, the sole voice of sobriety won out, and the troupe - plus the Hollywood bigshot and his weak-eyed driver - pulled into the poorly-lit lot of a lonely motel. The owner, a toothless veteran who appeared to have spent his golden years in the desert sands than in the comfort of his shanty, eyed them carefully - Casey especially - before agreeing to sell them three rooms for the night.

Upon unloading their belongings, Jamie suggested they continue the festivities in his room, much to the protest of his driver. Casey politely declined, citing the tumultuous nature of her liver after half a bottle of cranberry vodka, as did Joe, who simply said he was done for the night. Gordon, Mali, and Parker (who was innumerable sheets to the wind after discovering the divine benevolence of Jamie's platinum-plated beer bong) hastily agreed with a triumphant cheer, and the lot returned to Jamie's room to drink.

"You guys are all right," Jamie slurred, draping an arm around the shoulders of Gordon to his left and Mali to his right. Across the room, Jamie's driver was diligently following the stumbling Parker with the tiny metal trash can, convinced the boy would inevitably wreak havoc upon the stained, paisley carpet.

"Y'aint so rough yerself, mate," Gordon said through a grin. He and Mali toasted their new pal, after which Mali burst into a furious fit of giggles, spilling her vodka across the bed, which only caused her to laugh harder. Parker leapt toward the bed, nearly knocking his companions right off, and began slurping the liquid straight off the sheets.

"I think your little fundie-buddy has had enough," Jamie's driver commented, pursing his lips with disapproval.

"The hell he has!" Gordon and Jamie chimed in unison. Mali couldn't stand it and fell from her seated position, curling on the floor and cackling with drunken grandeur. Gordon passed Parker his own bottle, which Parker happily accepted with a goofy nod before downing with earnest. Gordon rose to his feet, steadied himself in preparation of spanning the three feet to the dresser, and fell on his face with his first step. Mali only laughed harder.

Jamie climbed to a wavering stand on the withered bed, the curls of his hair scraping the water-damaged ceiling. "I am king!" he shouted.

"You are king!" Parker agreed from somewhere on the floor.

"King!" Mali concurred.

"I am king!" Jamie shouted again. "I am the new British Empire, you skeeze-laden bitches, for the sun never sets on all I have created! I am the American dream, you cockthirsty gypsies, for I have made manifest all and more that as a child I could have ever conceived! I am the God to which the Church of Bohemians pray, you enthusiasts-of-ass-to-mouth, for I am He who is I Am! The Savior and the Lamb of the Hollywood fatherfuckers! Singlehandedly, I have saved the movie biz, the silver screen - because my other hand is busy playing with my gargantuan cock - but do I ask for thanks? No! Do I demand admittance to the Oscar after-party? No! Those cum-sampling fags could learn a thing or two from me, you know? I am excellence! I am success! Fetal-ticklers, I am everything you wish you were! I am king!"

"That's what you are, motherfucker," Gordon happily shouted.

"I... I am..." Jamie gulped loudly, the color draining from his face. "I'm going to puke!"

"Oh, no," his driver muttered.

In all his glory from his perch above the room, Jamie nodded and saluted his reflection in the wall-mounted mirror, then let loose the fury of all his innards, spraying the walls and the bed with a night's worth of drink. It wasn't long before his guests followed suit, forcing his driver to flee the room with a handkerchief pressed to his nose and mouth.

An hour later and with the rose-tinted hints of dawn appearing on the eastern horizon, Gordon and Mali slunk across the parking lot, cradling their stomachs and the barely-conscious Parker between them. 

"I think I drank too much," Mali lamented, wincing as she spoke.

"Don't say 'drink' or 'drank', please," Gordon muttered, wincing as well.

Mali nodded. "I can leave Parker with you, my room's just over there."

"None of that, now - I said I'd walk you to your door and I'd be remiss were I proven a liar," Gordon insisted.

They shuffled under the shared wake of their semi-conscious comrade, his feet dragging on the cracked pavement beneath them. After an eternity of arduous strides, they were greeted by a curious sight: the door of Mali and Casey's room was slightly ajar.

"Casey?" Mali whispered, concern thick in her voice. She shrugged Parker off her shoulder and Gordon caught him, holding him in a half-embrace while Parker dreamily gazed up at the early morning sky, drunk out of his poor, feeble mind. Mali breathed deeply and prepared herself, then gave the door a mighty shove.

The blue luminescence of a humming bug zapper flooded the dark hotel room, revealing a very startled - and very nude - Joe hastily climbing off Casey, slipping on a discarded bottle of gin and crashing to the floor as he did. Casey hurriedly gripped the comforter and pulled it to her chin before shouting "GET OUT!"

Mali immediately grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door shut. She turned and braced her back against it, her face red and her eyes wide. She exchanged a look of incredulous amusement with Gordon. Parker simply shook his head.

"Sinners," he half-huffed, half-slurred.

And then there was none

"Before we reach our destination, I've got to make a stop and pick up0 a fellow by the name of Shaky Joe. Don't worry, he's cool, I just have some merchandise I'd like to acquire."

The majority present understood the euphemism spoken by the famous mouth and did not speak up whether from acceptance or fear was to be seen.

The limo came to a halt in the middle of the Arizona Desert. The moment the door opened, the cool night air rushed in like a weary traveler, blanketing the unexpected crowd in chills. Jaime arrived back to the vehicle in short time, followed by a ragged fellow who, without a doubt had to be Shaky Joe. Mr Joe, Shaky to those who knew him well, wore the most interesting combination of Armani jacket, a blood stained shirt that barely fit with the words "Frankie Says Relax", corduroy pants with patches sewn espousing a number of beliefs including the phrase "Homophobia's for Faggots," and a pair of Converse sneakers. By far the most notable aspect of Shaky was his smell. It was as if he liquefied garbage, tossed in a three week old, sunbathed corpse and bathed in it. It took everything in their collective power not to vomit.

Thankfully, Mr. Erowid had a bag of samples, leftovers from a salesman that had tried to pitch some product placement for his next movie. Sensing his audience wasn't terribly thrilled with their new guest, he proceeded to douse Shaky Joe with several bottles of WHAT WHAT and in no time, Shaky Joe went from smelling rancid to that of a frat house.

Shaky Joe, on the other hand wasn't terribly thrilled.

"Get that commie stench off me. I like smelling natural."

"Yeah well natural for you is vomit inducing."

"So? Vomiting's good for the soul. Cleanses the palette, really purges yer shit out."

"Anyway, this is a gang I picked up. A bunch of college students in the middle of the desert, can you believe that? This is Joe, Mali, Casey, Gordon........and fuck what was your name? Toy the one who hasn't looked at either of us since getting in."

"It's Parker."

"Well there you go. Quite the judgmental one isn't he?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Gordon chimed in, satisfied at knowing he conversed with someone famous.

"I don't care about him, I want Joe. That's my fuckin' name you hear me, you haven't earned it. You get some wings then come fuckin' talk to me."

In an attempt to change the subject, Joe inquired about Shaky's attire, most noticeably his shirt and jacket.

"Well, I purchased this jacket because I know that anytime I could die and I'll be damned if I'm going out without looking nice. The shirt? Well, the bitch didn't even know what it meant, let's leave it at that. Whatever, you're all lost sheep anyway, just let ole Shaky be yer shepherd."

A short transaction later and Shaky sat across from the rest, situated like a composer to his orchestra.

"So Joe, these fellows have a rule, tell us a story."

"A story eh? Right right, let me tell you some facts about God, kids. Not a God, the God. The motherfuckin' almighty. See, like three hours ago, I'm talking to this angel, one of the fucking seraphim you know, the top breed and those fuckers r' chatty as hell. So we're talking and I ask him about why all these fucks think Gays are bad, gay this and gay that, abomination, sin against god, blah blah blah. So this angel tells me as we're riding the night sky for some melted candles and paperweights that God actually made a gay hole originally."

"No fuckin' way." Gordon burst out before covering his mouth.

"So I'm like what, to this horse faced winged slut and he goes yeah a gay hole. He put it right on the taint. Had a zipper n' everything. He said it was supposed to function for those who were genetically different, needed relief or were predisposed, like in jail, or off on a holy war or some shit. It was clean so no poop dick and when it expanded, the asshole closed, can you imagine? No one would say shit about Gays then, this place would be one giant fuck fest. I asked about the chicks and all the angel said was "scissor me timbers." I thought that was a little sexist but it turns out God likes dudes. They don't tell you that shit in Sunday school, but God was a fuckin' butt bunny. He'd have angels gang bangin him all the time, and there was the problem.

After adding the gay hole, no one got shit done. People, angels, God himself was fucking all the time. They couldn't stop it. The gay hole squeezed the juice out of every fucking being. Hell, the devil was getting pissed because nothing evil was happening, people were just fucking. For years the average day went:
wake up
fuck
eat
fuck
fuck
eat
fuck
sleep.

So the angel takes me to the local Discoteka and tells me that God had enough. His gay hole was sore and the choirs were drained. He looked down on his creation, saw that shit wasn't getting done so he took the gay hole away. The people were sad and returned to what they were doing before: working and dying. God was pissed even more at the angels for not saying shit, so he took their dicks away.

This angel's trying to feed me this line that he used to be hung like crazy, like pushes the peek the human body can take. I call his bluff and tell that fairy to drop his pants. Nothin', can you believe that, like a fuckin' Ken doll.

So basically angels ruined Gays and to earn the gay hole back, a million gay guys gotta fuck at once, so I'm spreadin' the word. It isn't Shaky Joe anymore, it's Reverend Haberdasher, now you kids tell all yer friends. Help earn yer Gay Hole.

Now that I've filled the kids with some knowledge, I've got a little somethin' else you might be interested in Mr. Erowid. I got PCP three hours ago from this guy who's heading up to Burning Man. If ya want some...."

"No thanks Reverend Haberdasher....wait did you say Burning Man? F'n A Cot, fuck Tempe, you kids want to go to Burning Man?"

"Damn right we would," Gordon's sentiments echoed in Mali and Casey's smile. Joe nodded approvingly and Parker sat aloof, unaware of what Burning Man was but kept to himself, resigned to the fact that his opinion didn't matter. Noticing Parker's face, Mali handed him her portable device with a wikipedia entry opened to the appropriate page.

Dropping the newly christened Revered off, Jaime felt the need to celebrate.

"Who wants drinks?"