Alex: They're going to get murdered. I know it. I know how these things, they're all going to be murdered and it will turn into a whodunnit? I don't trust that bastard Randy, he looks like he carries a few axes in his back pocket.

OOC: Erich, yet another fantastic piece by yourself. Found myself laughing at everything, stoked for the next part!

....continued.


erica's car.

for the sake of erica's feminine well being...whatever that is.i brave the maelstrom outside our room. the mescaline goggles prove to be a great hinderance to my voyage...and voyage it has become. erica's car looks to be about a mile away,and is stretching towards the distant horizon. erica's car is a '55 bel air...unlike most hess vehicles,it doesnt look like shit. there is a very good reason most of our vehicles are in sorta shabby condition...upkeep. you dont have to worry about keeping dirt of flat black,it just adds to the bad ass lools. and the duke? to remove all that lead paint and put new paint on would cost a fortune. besides,the lead paint probably helps shield sea life from the
duke's leaky reactors.plus a cruse ship would look silly painted black with flames.

i grit my teeth and start walking to the car.the rain drops are slowly eroding me,i can feel it.i still retain feeling in the tiny bits of me washing away.breath deep. you arent really melting and your body hasnt spread all over the parking lot. keep walking. "could you spare some cutter,me brother" shocks me back on to plane of existance where i am just really tripping hard and not melting. "can you spare some cutter,me brother?" i am asked again.

i swear i've heard that phrase somewhere...but i dont have time to search my inner file system,this cat wants an answer. i look at him very slowly and see a taller,thinner version of gimli from lord of the rings..he also doesnt have a beard,so i guess he doesnt look like gimli at all. i give him a fistful of cash from my pocket.probably 400 bucks...just like that reverend horton heat song...my good will is most likely offset when my paranoia takes over,emboldened by everything running through my system. i whip out my pistol and slowly back away from the guy. the paranoia assures me this the correct course of action. we dont want him.getting the idea to rob me for more cash.i tell him to have a good night and keep walking backwards to erica's car...while keeping the gun trained on him.

finally,erica's car.open the door,feel the interior light,grab bag of chinese food,ignore bill cosby...what the fuck?! bill cosby? the same mother fucker who was voted america's favorite tv dad? fuck all that noise. i'd want robert jebidiah freeman to be my tv dad. john witherspoon's voice makes anything funny. an audio book of mein kampf read by john witherspoon would be the funniest audio book ever. much better than whoever does the audio book of it now.

bill cosby cosby tells me in his bill cosby voice "now erich,you know waving guns at people is never the answer?" why cant i hallucinate a horny stephanie fierce? no,i end up with bill cosby giving me stupid advice.waving guns around is always the answer. it lets people know you mean business.

"fuck you,cosby.even though rudy grew up to be a stone cold fox.still,i stand by my fuck you,cosby" i tell cosby while shutting the car door.

"now now erich,you dont need the flibbidy foul language." says bill cos.....no,stephanie fierce?! who is now sitting here bill cosby was.in fact,she is wearing his sweater.and only his sweater! finally,drugs and alcohol making themselves useful. "why dont you come in here and..." she says while looking down at her,uh fierce zone. but alas,drugs are cruel as fuck...she still has bill cosby's voice!! my stephanie fierce crush has officially been cured

"nice try bill cosby,you'll never get my vital bodily fluids" i scream at bill cosby. the trauma of seeing a nearly naked stephanie fierce with a bill cosby voice snapped me to reality and i notice people are looking oddly at a man waving a gun and screaming at an empty car. looking as normal as i can,i slowly put the gun back in it's holster and walk back to our room.it is times like this i am glad i dont carry a real gun when doing hallucinogens. i use an airsoft p38.so i can still out an eye out if shit starts getting real.


back inside the room,erica is lying on the bed.she has changed from her wet clothes into a polka dot sundress. she perks up when she sees me. "ooh,gimme gimme" she says with two outstretched and grabby hands.grabbing an eggroll,she continues "ugh,you're all wet."

"you think? i swear someone said it was raining,and i quote,like a motherfucker." i say with a dry shirt covering my head,and completing my dry transformation." is your feminine well being still intact?"

she grins,"yup! yeast free since 93. " she sticks half an eggroll in her mouth and leans in close. i bite off the half that protrudes from her mouth."you know you love me and you'd do anything i ask." she follows up with a kiss.

"well,i am certainly not unfond of you,erica." giving her a taste of my award winning hank hill impression. and she is right. i do love her. erica and i spend a lot of time fucking other people,but we only love each other...and karoliena and nina fit in there somehow. it would take a scientist to explain it...and another scientist to understand it. so dont try. but we arent swingers. that shit is weird...like scientology weird.

"i am certainly not unfond of you,either." she quips,with her own...surprisingly good hank hill. "i picked up chinese food...you know how much i hate doing that."

for most of the population,throwing your body on a live grenade would be the ultimate sacrifice..for erica hess,its picking up chinese food. if you even suggest picking up chinese,be prepared to hear...and said with a bad attitude: first thing,erica is japanese,not chinese.not all asians come from the same place. erica has not lived in japan since she was 5. secondly,not all japanese girls are submissive and like tentacle porn.this is very important. third,fuck hello kitty. fourth, just because an asian is in a chinese take away place,it does not mean she FUCKING WORKS THERE!!

that is verbatum what she will say...and yes,she wil refer to herself in the third person. if life teaches us anything,its: dont piss into the wind. and never fuck with someone who refers to themselves in the third person. there is also something in there about leroy brown. fuck if i know what it is. now,erica's tirade about picking up chinese stems from what she mentions last. being mistook for an employee. i wasnt there that day,but from her own words...she was behind the counter rummaging through the condiments. they shorted her some duck sauce packets,and she was getting duck sauce come hell or high water....not that she actually uses duck sauce, she just likes having it handy. while she was back there,some guy asked her for a menu. and it was on like the proverbial donkey kong. erica's third point is bullshit too she loves hello kitty.hell,her car has a bumper sticker that reads "i brake for sanrio surprise!"...the exclaimation point is dotted with hello kitty's face too.

it was well past noon when my eyes opened. the unlubricated intercourse between them and the afternoon light was something i could have done without. i look around for erica,but she isnt to be found. she either left,or was a victim of an intricate plot by erwin rommell. being in the small window of daily sobriety,i can realize the absurdity of the rommell choice.....but still. i wouldnt put anything past the collective bastards of the world.

the case of the missing erica is soon solved. under my laudanum dropper is a note.

the note is written in pink,on hello kitty stationary,and it's scented! she will deny it to the end,but erica hess is one of the girliest girls you will ever meet.
ugh,i hate using a phone. fat paulie on goodfellas never used a phone,so why should i? most of the time i refuse to use one,but since it's erica asking....
the harlots are going to shoot their first music video soon.thus the unscheduled trip to see randy. randy is a real cool cat. he was a prolific b-film director in the 60's and 70's. dont be surprised if you never heard of him,his work is long out of print. i know the man personally and never seen more than a couple of rough cuts of his films. most were destroyed years ago due to being considered obscene. randy's work is best described as russ meyer meets hershel gordon lewis. from what i gather,it was gore and sexploitation at it's zenith. god damn whomever destroyed his films. damn them straight to a very unpleasant place.

i've known randy since i was a kid. he was a mentor and the uncle i never had. my parents,like me,were only children. anymore,he is the only family i have. my parents disowned me after my stint on big brother. their loss. my only regret about that show was not being more nude and lewd. tell me a nude man with a bikini drawn on him isnt funny.... fuck it,female nudity is passe. a dong on screen still gets a...rise ? out of people.

the motel phone rings. its a seedy sounding ring,it makes the whole thing seem so dirty. shit,i should have dropped some laudanum before this. i gingerly pick up the phone.

me: um...yeah?

voice on the phone: hi, erich?

me: no,but i i wish i was.

voice on phone: indeed. this is gladys lisman from studio60.

me: *accusingly* is that right?

voice:*sighs* yes mr hess,it is. i see you want 3,000 for a music video?

me: correct! not a less !

voice: sir,it's 2012. no major label video costs 3,000 dollars to make.

me: $3,000! it must be $3,000! dont go all cheap on
me,gladys. you want to be part of the problem or part if the solution?

voice: no,it's just three thousand-

me: problem? or solution?

voice: erich if-

me:problem? or solution,gladys?

voice:*sighs* solution.

me: wrong! be part of the problem,man. i am looking to fuck shit up out there. you should too,gladys. fuck
shit .up .

voice:*sighs* fine three grand it is. good luck. you cant even feed the crew on that.

me: what aint no country ever heard of.they speak english in what?

voice: goodbye,erich. *hangs up*

erich: english,motherfu-....oh.*hangs up*.

pleased with my ace haggling skills,i drop a few hits of acid. laudanum is nice,but its more of an evening drug. plus,its only about a twenty minute ride to randy's pad. the acid should kick in right as i walk through the door,thus providing stimulating conversation. i pack up all my shit from the motel and take it to my car's trunk. the instant i remove the key from the lock,it hits me...i got to poop. damn kfc! that colonel is no southern gentleman,giving your patrons the kfc poops isnt gentlemenly at all....back to the hotel...er motel.

jane rigglesby

a small car of some sort pulls up.other than it being blue,i cannot say what make it is. a fordillac sounds about right.i try not to make eye contact with her. so i sit in my car looking around aimlessly.i probably look like stevie wonder or something.

"dad asked me to pick your sorry ass up,get in!" jane finally says to me. she doesnt even have the common courtesy to get out and talk to me. she barely rolls the passenger side window down to speak with me.

i give my deceased car one last try. she was a worthy craft. hopefully,pirates do not plunder her while i am away. hopping out of the car,dukes of hazzard style,i make my way into jane's car. the car is a fucking mess inside. various cups and food wrappers litter the car. their bright logos make for great distraction. the burger king logos seem to pulsate and spin.soon the whole pile of car trash starts moving.i can feel the panic welling up inside me. i just know there are snakes slithering under the trash. snakes with knives in their teeth. pirate snakes in cahoots with the vultures...maybe even with gerry!

"uh,you ok? you are breathing really hard." janes voice wiggles into my ear. for once i am glad to hear it.it distracts me from the snakes in her car. all i can think of is when luke,han solo and the tart with the cinnamon buns on her head,were stuck in the trash compactor in that star wars film.

"yeah,l..i'm cool." i tell her.when i look at her,i can read her thoughts. it's an odd sensation being able to hear someone else's inner monologue......jesus christ,she thinks i am drug addict! she's worried i am going to mug her.... "you know,i have plenty of money...i have no need to mug you." i reassure her in my most gentle voice.

jane gives me a look like i just asked to fuck her in the ass. "what?!" she scowls," you need to lay off of that shit. for real. besides,mr got rocks,if you have money...why the hell am i picking you up?! call a fucking cab."

" you ever see "taxi driver"? those bastards are unstable at best." i tell her while looking out the window.

not to be defied by my ironclad logic, "hoof it to the bus,then." she continues with the same "did you just ask to fuck me in the ass ?!" scowl. like i said earlier,i know the woman hates me.

logically i answer with " uh,speed? i'll be damned if i am going to be stuck on some bus with a bomb strapped to it. "

jane just shakes her head and asks me not to speak to her for the rest of the trip.....as we pull into her,well her and randy's pad. it's the thought that counts,not the duration of non speaking. randy's pad is real stylish and rat packy. supposedly he ran with them a couple of times. i'd seriously doubt this story,even from randy himself. but look at that mustache he has.....clearly the man has done a lot right with his life. anybody else wearing a mustache like that would look like a dork.

jane opens the door ahead of me,announcing "that fucker,erich is here!" before heading off to her room. randy comes out to greet me,decked out in the height of fashion...the motherfucker is wearing a smoking jacket. and doesnt look like a dork. that rat pack story is looking pretty true right about now.

randy: hugging erich* erich! how's things?

erich:* returning the hug*doing grand,stan. doing just grand.

randy: jane still pissed at you?

erich: hell yeah. she needs to get over it.

randy: *skeptical look* it was an accident,right?

erich: well,yeah. but in the words of bob ross,it was a happy accident.

randy: you fucking horn dog. cmon starts heading towards the bar* we need to get a couple martinis in you.

erich: i cant complain about that plan.

randy and erich go to the upstairs bar. lots of teak wood and dark red paint adorn the room. it also has a great view of biscayne bay.

randy: *pouring two martinis* you know,i always hoped you two would have gotten together.

erich: *having great difficulty picking up his drink. he finally just bends his head down and slurps it out of the glass* it'd never have worked. her whole straight edge vegan thing...

randy: * laughs* it'd made for a good sit com. besides, once you met erica,you had eyes for nobody else.

erich: ah yes,erica....where is she?

randy: you just missed her. she left with some british girl. tina?

erich: damn. she was my ride.my car is...tired or something.

randy: they left to go pick up a car for the video.

erich: so,she convinced you to do the video?

randy: yeah. *refreshes both martinis* it's been years since i directed anything. the last thing i did was some por......no. THATS where i recognized erica's friend from! i knew i'd seen her before.

erich: she's erica's girl friend and bandmate.

randy:....if thats the company you keep,i am glad you didnt end up with jane,you filthy degenerate!

erich:* laughs * need i think back on you and will's new year's parties?

randy:*returns a laugh* i guess you did learn from the best,right?

randy and i shot the shit well into morning. we got out and tested randy's old film equipment. ancient and archaic 16mm monstrosities. made in times of yore,when 'lightweight" and "plastic" were just vague concepts. some of the stuff still had fake blood spattered on it,long dried and now a sorta rusty brown color. the lsd finally ebbed and i was back on the plane of what is accepted reality...and in bed. it was a helluva long day.

(still karoliena)

we dropped off the buick with erica and nina. i cant help but think," what the fuck? am i not in the harlots? why am i not in the video?". chloe also is a harlot,and not in the video...but come on,she is a drummer. they are made to be snubbed. look at the war bride's drummer. when has anyone heard rob speak? it's just the nature of the beast. sit upon the throne,hold your drum sticks and shut up. come to think of it,most bass players are also treated this way..except upright bass players. we are like co-frontmen..or front person in my case.last time i checked,i usually lack a penis attached to me.....well,at least on a permanent basis.

we ended up making the trip back to the duke in erich's cadillac. amazing. lsd can inspire your mind to connect everything in the universe...but fail to see the fuel gauge is empty . of course,i dont know if i would reccomend trying to drive on the stuff..well,at least not in the city. its quite the experience if you have enough open space.

we've been up in canada for a few days now. erich is doing some production work for the acts of hate guys. good guys,and a super talented bunch. it's a good laugh to watch them try to figure out what erich is asking of them. picture it,not only is erich off his ass on any number of substances,he also has ZERO idea of music terminology. hell,he just recently learned the names of the strings. seeing a room of puzzled musicans wondering what the hell," ok. lets add a bit more of that boom chuggada chuggada on the fat strings as the other guy comes in with a venetian cloud layer thing...no..no,a NEPTUNIAN cloud layered cold front! yes,yes......"means,is just comedy gold.

erich and i lock up the studio for the night.its a rather tiny sort of building,covered in graffiti. odd,i always assumed canadians were above stupid graffiti. dont get me wrong,i love street art. but i hate stupid ass "tags " that nobody can read....maybe i am getting old,or its in some weird canadian language. it certainly isnt french. i speak french.along with german,flemish,spainish and of course,english. a true woman of the world,or what?
erich and i are walking down the street. just sort of holding hands and letting our feet take us where they may. these kinds of moments are my favorites. for a short time,we can almost pretend to have the sort of relationship that most people have. i guess erich is thinkng the same thing,as he squeezes me closer. i smile with both the happiness of the moment and the thought of how lousy a girlfriend i'd be in the normal sense. temptation is made for indulging. its rude not to.

the moment is ruined by the sensation of searing pain to the back of my head coupled by the ground rushing up towards my face. this is followed by two more impacts to roughly the same area before i fade out.

back to erich.



sydney.

it was early as fuck when i pulled into the studio's parking lot.i wanted to go over some previous recording i had done with acts of hate. i hate critiquing people's work in front of them. who the fuck am i to suggest anybody do anything different? personally,i am petrified i am going to fail at this. if i fuck my own shit up,who cares? but if i fuck up someone else's album? i'm an asshole of major proportions,like steve jobs level asshole. people on the internet will make up jokes like they did with chuck norris,but instead of bad assery,the jokes will center on incompetence. well,better incompetence than impotence i always say.

i put the caddy into park and look up at the sky.if it rains,i will be a sad camper. not only does the car's top not work...it sorta fell off around medicine hat.oh well,time to start the day. a few bumps off the car key and i am ready to go.a few more and i can outproduce martin scorsese...or at least feel like i can. fuck it,i got time,lets make a couple of lines.i look around the car for any sort of portable flat surface..nothing.damn me for keeping such a clean car.i dump a bit on the dash and scarface it up.it's good shit,so the rush is near instant.when i look up from the dash,i notice a young and pretty girl watching me intently.

she's a cop,i just know it. not only did i just snort the shit in front of her....i got a brick in the glove box.i do the only thing i can..turn on that old hess charm and wave at her. she winks and waves back...this does not settle my nerves.at all....did she wink because the narco squad are on their way? she's going to testify and i will be locked away in a canadian prison to do slave labor in the maple syrup mines.i gather up my notes and walk calmly to the door of the studio.i can step inside,lock the door behind me and take ted as a hostage..people like ted,i may be able to use that as leverage for a plane trip to wherever the fuck country roman polanski stays.i go over the finer points of my criminal plan as i pass by the girl and enter the studio.

ted is nowhere to be seen,but some nasty sounds and smells are coming out of the bathroom. i give the bathroom door a good pounding and yell, "hey ted! it's me erich!". ted just sorta groans a response.i silently wait a few seconds until i can hear him pooing again.i now kick the door a few times,i do it hard enough to threaten to cave the door in. "ok ted,i am going to studio f,ok?" i yell at the door.

"just go you fucker! you keep making my butthole clinch! i will never get this thing out if you keep banging on the door!" ted's voice slithers out of the space between the door and the floor. ted loves me. satisfied,i whistle my way down the hall to studio f. with the distinct feeling,i am being followed. sure enough,the girl from outside is now inside and walking behind me.now i am really freaking out.i think i finally cracked. she hasnt said a word,yet she follows me...but i'll be damned if i am going to let the onset of skitzophrenia ruin my fun.i pick up the studio's garbage can.a small olive drab looking thing and chuck it over hand ala donkey kong at the bathroom door.before ted can start yelling,i pull the girl inside the studio and shut the door.

when bringing her into the studio,i touched her,so she must be real. then again,if i had a dime for each time i felt,saw or heard something that wasnt real..i'd be a millionaire.well,more of a millionaire."are you really erich hess?" she finally asks.she says it with the same sort of surprise you'd ask a person you'd suspect of being michael jackson.

i laugh,"did the snorting coke off the dashboard give me away?" rummaging around in my pockets until i find the little bag,i toss it to her. "feel free,little lady." she takes several bumps of her own.

"damn,that is some good stuff" she says as she wipes the unsnorted grains off her nose.

i flop down in a horribly dated office chair from the 1970's...damn things were ugly in the 70's. even the cadillac i have parked outside is ugly..at least compared to it's 1950's cousins.i spin around in the chair.it' feels like i am going 1000 miles an hour.finally i ask her. "so you havent busted me yet,so i guess you arent a cop. what do they call you,kitten?" and i extend my hand to her.

"sydney" she says,taking my hand. her hand is very soft.it's like holding a buttery bunny or something."i am a huge fan of yours."

"why?!" i ask. it always surprises me when people say this.not that i have some sort of "oh you love little old me" thing going on. it's there are so many other,better bands out there.the war bride entertains,but i wouldnt go much further than that.

she takes the engaging of conversation to mean she can stay. she leans against the mixing board,which makes several expensive sounding cracks. "oops!" she yelps and jumps off the board. "sorry!" she then just stands there. clearly afraid to touch anything else in the room.i dont blame her,i'm scared to touch most of the stuff in here. this place as the feel of being built by amish virgins channeling the spirit of ethan allen.

i put some elvis on the studio soundsystem. i cant work with the acts of hate tracks with her around. it'd violate the producer/artist vow of confidentiality.it's not that i dont want her around,it's just....i dont want her around. "so,miss sydney...what brings you out to this tiny studio at such an early hour?" i ask.i also take this time to take a few whiffs of a freshly splashed ether rag. i figured i'd do it first before offering it to her. these days you hand a girl a rag and ask them to inhale,they assume you are trying to kidnap them or something.i'm sure she answered but i was too busy enjoying the ether.

her voice fades back in "....so i got this tattoo." she then drops her skirt and pulls down the front of her underwear,revealing clockwork elvis! not only is it the first atomic war bride tattoo i have ever seen,it's really well done. i'd go as far as saying it looks better than the one on our album cover. it's so well done,i forget where it's placed on her body and go in for a closer look.

"you son of a bitch,you nearly-" ted says as he walks in the door."...oh,i'll come back when you are less busy!" ted turns about 45 shades of red and quickly leaves the room..sydney just laughs at ted and whisks her skirt back on.shit,anyone that remains calm when being caught naked from the waist down and with someone's head basically in the their crotch,deserves some of my time.

"wow.clockwork elvis. that is some old school shit.i didnt think anyone remembered..or bought that album."i say in amazement. clockwork elvis has long been out of print,i think only about 4,000 copies were ever made and they were only available through bee knee's industries mail order. i'm talking the early days of bobby cairo still running that label.

"are you kidding? i fucking lost my virginity to that album!it is just so.....mmmm good to fuck to." she says,becoming very animated.

"some people get all the luck,i lost my virignity to tom jones...well,physically to erica hess,but tom jones was playing in the background." i freshen the ether rag,and it hand it to her.

she takes a few deep breaths of it,before finally asking"...so,you wanna get out of here and have some fun?"

wow.the direct approach.personally,i was having fun just enjoying my ether and chatting with this fine lady. ah,the groupie. that unsung hero of the rocknroll world. i know some people dislike the whole groupie concept.some artists even go out of their way to mistreat them...just because someone is willing to do THAT thing. you know the thing,you saw it on the internetz on that site with everything in turkish that supposedly offered custom made snuff films....that doesnt mean you should take advantage of them. at the core of the matter,groupies are fans. fans that want to have sex with you,but fans all the same. you owe them the respect of treating them right.i've heard some right fucked up stories about things people have done to groupies.i dont have that sort of evil streak in me.

that wonderful time when you first wake up and it feels real early,but it's really about 3pm. reach slowly for that glass of bourbon.one can never be sure of morning depth perception when first waking up. ah,it's a good thing i took it slow. my body seems to have thing skewed about 4 inches to the right. the nightstand which held the glass is a study in hess-ology. it's covered with a lamp made from an old bong. a partially disassembled 357 revolver,a piece of chrome trim from a chev.....no,a ford,one large marijuana bud,and a 7" record. the morning eye opener does it's job.my eyes are now wide open and my mouth is now wet again and doesn't taste like....well, a gentleman never kisses and tells.

the bed and room for that matter,is home to me and me alone.i guess sydney must have split early this morning. i guess most people have better...or at least more productive things to do than sit around with me all day.hell,i have no choice. i put on yesterday's trousers and shirt. they still fresh..kinda. i think better of going out in semi smelly clothes and splash some unused bourbon on me. much better. now i smell the part of a rockstar at least.i leave the comfy captains quarters and walk out onto the deck. what a fucking mess.i really should clean this hell hole up.i have enough empty booze bottles i can probably reglass that big cathedral in france. the one the hunchback lived in...i wonder if he still lives up there? i should go check sometime.i think we'd really hit it off. if anything,we could totally piss on the people from atop the gargoyles. that'd be fun.in addition to the bottles, the pool has a liquid in it.i wouldnt call it water. i'd guess there is more algae than water in it...and couple of dead raccoon skeletons suspended in the muck.i'd wager the pool pumps stopped working circa 1968. there could be authentic hippie whiz in that water.i know there isnt authentic psychobilly whiz in that water. i do the normal thing and whiz off the rail into the ocean...speaking of which..time to dispose of last night's drinks.


i stagger over to the stern of the boat and unzip.doing the polite thing,i look before i pee. there could be somebody fishing in a small boat,and getting pissed on would totally ruin their day. not to mention ruin their luck. fishermen are a superstitious bunch. most people would be pissed if a seagull shit on them...a fisherman is no different,but it is seen as a sign of good luck. looking over the rail,i dispose of last night's drinks...dinner,breakfast and pretty much everything i have ever eaten...

on the dock,far below where i am standing,is sydney. naked,bloody,and very pale. i've heard the phrase, "head split open" before...but actually seeing it is another thing entirely.there is no doubt about her status. my body seems to think hurtling everything out of my stomach is the proper response to this situation.not 7 hours ago she was a woman in the prime of life and now she...is no more. after a few seconds that feel like weeks,i finally call 911. i have no idea what i said to the operator,i have no idea if i actually said anything.i must have passed out,because the next thing i know a cop was shaking me asking if i was ok.

getting back to my feet,i was not treated to this being all a bad dream. there are about 5 men standing over sydney,who now has a yellow tarp over her.some of the men are pointing up at the stern of the duke and me.
the cop who woke me looks exactly how you picture a cop looking.all he was missing was the silver aviator sunglasses. " so what happened here?" he asks..but not in the comforting sort of way,i'd speak to someone who just saw a friend being loaded into a body bag.no this is more of an...accusing tone. this is when i realize,i am fucked... the duke is loaded with all sorts of shenanigan supplies. drugs,guns,stolen road cones,large amounts of cash,bootleg dvds,you name it. and now half of toronto's finest are swarming my ship.

"so what happened here?" he asks again.there is no comfort to be found in this gent....especially when the only answer i can give is....

"i...i dont know. we were in bed last night. when i woke up....she was..." i finally tell him in a small,near inaudible voice.i trail off at the end,i just cant say the word "dead". he gives me a look that says he has heard this same story about a dozen times this week,and he didnt buy it then....he scribbles a little something in a notebook. whatever it is,i am sure it isnt good.before i know what is happening,i am in the back of the police car.we're heading for the police station to talk. i cycle from being scared shitless to being confident as i did nothing wrong,to being overwhelmed with near hysterical grief at having your friends head smashed open on a dock. inside the cop car,i am treated to the cop's partner filling him in on all the gruesome details of sydney's death.i know the bastards are doing it on purpose.

erica hess

erica's turn...

the smell of nail polish about gags me.i hate the shit,but i like having cute toes...oh the sacrifices we make,eh? i went with lime green. it matches nothing i am wearing,or plan to wear,and my hand nails are red...so unless it's christmas in october,no match there either. i wiggle my decked out toes with the self satisfaction that is only known by those with mismatched toenail polish.

i start picking up the much ignored laundry off my floor. seriously,my room looks like salvation army extremists bombed a goodwill. i end up buying loads of t shirts. i make it a point to buy shirts from every band we play with,and at every gig. i hope the karma will rub off and people will buy our merch. it hasnt worked yet. after a good hour of moving previously worn (and smelly?! do i REALLY smell like that?!) clothes,i can finally start to see my room's floor. ugh sea foam green carpet? thats not kitsch,or even shabby chic. thats ugly as shit. i dump all the clothes i picked up, back on the floor and spread them around. i put the non t shirt items in the 'to be washed" pile. this amounts to 6 undies,9 socks,2 trousers and a bra. while pushing the odiferious shirts to their respective corners...do i really smell that bad? i take a whiff of the shirt i am wearing,a rare twenty nine stitches shirt,and am relieved i dont smell bad at all. i guess those shirts are shirts from performances.wow! 35 odd post punk rock venue shirts are FOUL! i'll make chloe clean it later. fucking lazy ass drummer.

i plop back down on my bed and crack a book. i try to keep occupied. i hate being here one the duke alone..i always have. but since what happened with that poor girl? the ship just seems to have a very sinister vibe now. the book i am looking at is possibly my deepest secret. it's a non descript black pleather bound volume.a highschool yearbook from "anytown usa". i flip through the pages until i come to a cute and perky cheerleader,one "hitomi kobayashi". she was the sort of girl you just loved to hate.perfect ponytail in her immaculate black hair,annoyingly chipper,yet actually a stone cold cunt. she bypassed "bitch" years before that picture was taken.i'd give anything to know how many peoples yearbooks have words of hate written on the page of pointless worship i am looking at right now. mine has "have a great summer,bestie! amber."

yup,i was the teen dream. almost. i didnt make homecoming queen,but i was in the court. in punk rock land being an excheerleader is akin to clubbing baby seals to death with an amputee's false leg,whilst wearing a s.s. uniform, AND singing the praises of george w bush. but hey,who out there was born with green liberty spikes and their middle finger raised? not many i'd wager. am i embarrased of my past?.... i cant really say. one's past makes one's present,and i am pretty happy with my life. why dont i go by hitomi kobayashi ? the same reason why most people have no idea who jeffry hyman,john cummings,and douglas colvin were.there was a drummer in there too,but who gives a fuck about him? he was a drummer. erich and i sorta ripped off the ramones with the matching names. we did them one better and got matching first names too.

i put the book under my bed,after considering chucking it out the porthole. i have to really shove the book to get it to fit under my bed. i nearly jump out the aforementioned porthole when my bed starts vibrating. judging from the sound and oscillations coming from under my bed,i know exactly what it is. i reach down and rummage under my bed until i find the offending vibrator.giggling and planning to now put my alone time to good use,i withdraw the buzzing instrument from the darkness. my giggle turns to yelling "ew,ew,eeeeeew!". it's not one of mine,nor do i recognize it! i keep screaming and flail about my room,holding the mystery vibe at arm's length. i want to drop it,throw it out a window,anything. but my arm muscles wont listen. i escape my room and keep running up the stairs. maybe the open air of the lido deck will get my arm control neurons to fire and i can release this....this... thing. sunlight and freedom pour through a cracked door. i chuck norris kick the door open and fling the rubber dick,in one fluid motion. letting out an audible "whew !",i sit on a deck chair.

"a vibrator in my cheerios. nice." i hear chloe pastis say. she's neither mad or glad. she is just a girl holding a bowl of cereal,with a vibrator rattling all over. the fact the milk is turning frothy just adds to the humor. she winks and says, "i dont care. i like it like this. yummy,erica flavored cheerios.",then deepthroats the thing!

wincing,i inform her," ummm,chloe? that isnt mine. i dont know who's that is. " she starts spitting and sputtering and calling me every dirty name she can think of...she even makes up a few. she then chases me around with it,threatening to sodomize me.

ooc:thanks a mint! i only wish i was taking this in a definite direction...



mike nestor

back to erich

and with a grape flavored kiss,erica was gone. off to seek her fortune in the land of reality tv. i hop back in the cab and give the driver an address. he nods and says "right away!" it's halfway across london,so he is a happy camper. big fare,a big tip,and a passenger mere minutes away from enhanced reality. i hope he doesnt kill me.i am lax to take cabs in london due to their killing of eddie cochran. but elvis claims i wont die in a car wreck.so i should be safe. i doubt the king would lie. he's got an honest face.

i practically had to drag erica here. 99.99999% of the time,she doesnt give a fuck about what anyone thinks of her. but if something slides under her "i dont give a fuck" fence,it REALLY bothers her. culture uncut claiming she was selling out really rubbed her the wrong way.like that site ever has a grain of truth in anything. they love to sensationalize things. plus,if you are a punk band and you AREN'T living under a bridge and eating dogfood,someone is going to call you a sell out. this is the whole reason i got into psychobilly years ago. no goofy ass politics,just music....to an extent. mention tiger army ruling to any psychobilly fan and see how long it takes for them to knee you in the groin. i do,however agree with that action. tiger army sucks,but their female fans are usually very pretty...much like atomic war bride's. oh god...are we the modern version of tiger army?!

the waves of feel good vibes come over me and i know the money was well spent....even if london drug dealers overcharge and act like they are doing YOU a favor. you know what? fuck you. i am erich hess,i am doing you a favor by buying your shit.i've smoked resin with more quality and you call this acid?! bah, BALDERDASH!!

"you all right back there,fellow?",the cab driver asks. this is when i realize i just was screaming that last tirade out loud. quickly,i shift gears into being a manically perfect imitation of a sober person.

"never better,my good man. one too many drinks at the airport bar,and jetlag like a motherfucker. you know how jetlag is? it sneaks right up and bites you in the crotch,and shakes till you arent sure if you are a man or woman. all you know is that you like it. you like it and you want it to continue.but those god damn mother fuckers at the baggage claim wont let you. oh no.they wield their...their...their....power like they are tommy fucking tutone and i am jenny 8675309 jenny!"
the drug panic is in full swing,and i am gesturing like a madman,with the thought if i gesticulate enough,this man will assume i am just a passionate speaker. the panic really wells up when i lock eyes with this gentleman. he looks like that character,rat fink. you know the bad ass hot rod work of ed roth? he looks like that,only more dirty and ratlike.

next thing i know,i am on the side of the road. the cab is screeching away and i am alone.being in an unknown part of a city you barely know,while tripping on some MI6 level acid is.....scary. it's dark and the street seems to pulsate with each step i take. the pulsations are going to attract the attention of jack the ripper. i pick my way down the street,trying my damnedest to not make eye contact with anyone. which is pretty easy in london. you could drop dead in these streets and nobody would pay you mind. i sit on a bench and ravage my brain, trying to think of anyone i know in london. anyone at all to come get me.

i come up with nobody.i know nobody in london.i can only hope maybe someone will recognize me. after all,i am semi famous,am i not? who am i? i suddenly have the distinct feeling that my steps are in sync with a street vendor in bangladesh. he is selling used people magazines with little success. " give me one of those magazines,i need one...STAT! i gotta know about the latest diet sweeping hollywood!" i yell in vain. the street vendor in bangladesh's feet de-sync from mine and he cannot hear me. londoners in a 200 foot radius however,can.

all 40 pairs of eyes lock on to me.i can see a floating bar graph above me,it is displaying the types of drugs i have in my system. i try to swat it out of existence.i jump and swat,jump and swat. but it just hangs in midair,mocking me. the london people start using their cell phones...or mobiles as i hear them say here. i give a hearty growl and give them all the finger.making sure to wave it around so they all see. young people,old people,babies.i dont care,rude gestures for all.

to make a bad thing worse,london's fog rolls in.thick and famous. showing this panicked american just who is boss. yes,the fog is exacting revenge for every grizzled old soldier that said "we saved your butts in ww2." ....gee,thanks gramps. you shoulda known that 70 odd years later,i'd be here with a fragile grip on reality and scared shitless.i run through the fog towards a glowing light.it looks like neon,and neon says "everything is going to be ok. there is good stuff in here" and it's usually right. neon is cool as shit,but regulated to seedy ventures.i know i am heading towards a liquor store,gentlemen's club,tattoo shop or porn store. the door is open.so i give the fog and london a final growl and rude gesture before going inside.

inside is bright.it's like a gas station on fucking mercury or something. the florescent lights are burning my arm hair off.i can feel each follicle shrivel and die.
"erich hess? a voice says.
i look up and see a rather stern looking man.his tattoos seem to have a life of their own,and are squirming under his skin.i avoid thinking on the horror of this,and instead i focus on how he knows me.

"who told you?" i ask in my most non shit taking voice. i slip my hand in my back pocket,only to be greeted by my ass. damn,no knife. this might get hairy.the guy certainly doesnt look like he cant fight.

he laughs and leads me to a tiny room.i am about to jump out of my skin with fear.he is going to kill me and assume my identity...or carl sagen's. i am not sure how,but i know he is looking to take one of our identities. carl sagen for obvious reason. that man got more tail than tom jones.
"listen,you bastard! i got people who will look for me.i dont care if you skin me alive and wear my skin like a cardigan! people will know the truth! do you know the firing order of a 1966 vw beetle? of course you dont,because you arent erich hess!" i start screaming and hoppping up and down with my fists raised.

the guy just sorta laughs at me and opens the door. there is a small bed and a tv in there. oh shit! i just walked my ass into prison all on my own!

" i get off in 6 hours.sleep it off,mate." the guy says and leaves. he may have a good idea.sleeping this off might be for the best.i lie on the bed and pop some morphine pills and wash them down with a sip from my flask.the bed is comfy and if he does kill me,i want to be asleep when it happens. i watch the ceiling tiles form images and dissipate back to normal again and again until i fall asleep.my last thought is,i just gave erica about a year's supply of this shit along with all sorts of various pills and party favors. london's high drug prices may be justified.

The orgy of noise from a garbage truck wakes me up. I didn't think those vickers worked on news years day...alas,they do. The room I'm in is oddly familiar,as is the head of black hair beside me. Black hair?! What the fuck? I'm supposed to be looking at red hair. My booze beaten brain finally sputters to life,I guess the little elf in my head forgot to pimp the gas while turning the key. This is Janes room. This is nothing to worry about,I was pretty hammered last night,my fear of waking up dead was in high fear. Jane knows this and would've slept with me,in spite of hating me. My rustling around wakes Jane,who rolls over to face me.

Jane kisses my nose before saying,"Good morning,sleepy head!" with a very satisfied smile on her,admittedly pretty lips.

I pull back as politely as possible." ....um,excuse me. But what are you doing?!" I ask her in shock. Both at the kiss and her niceness.

Jane lets the covers fall slightly,revealing just enough of her shoulders so that I know she is topless. She then holds th blanket tightly and sits up." You don't remember?"? She ask with a very hurt look on her face. "Pity. Because you were amazing!" She says smiling at me.

Instant panic like I've never felt before bubbles up in my stomach. It's like I have to whiz,poop ,sneeze ,cum ,vomit ,and menstrate at the same time.pretty much if it can come out of a person,it's ready to go. Ada is going to fucking kill me....unless she never finds out. " we didnt....?" I ask in a small voice,already drawing up murder and body disposal plans. Randy wont miss Jane too much...will he?

"Oh yes we did. " Jane says with a giggle. " if I knew you were packing that,I'd have fucked you years ago!" She lays her head on my shoulder.

" oh no." I repeat over and over. This cannot be happening. I seriously did not even so much as lust after another girl after being with Ada. I'm not talking about after we officially started dating,she had me after that one drunken fling. But now....now I won't even be able to look her in the eye. She will know instantly.


Jane smirks and adds."I'm also pregnant.you knocked me up."

"What?! Cmon,I know that can not be!" I say skeptically. I may be wrong. There may have been some great advances in the field of baby making. There is a war going on.,if we kill ourselves here,we can't kill them over there.9/11 changed everything,right?

Jane smiles and pulls her tank top straps back onto her shoulders."oh man,I totally had you going!" She cackles,Throwing the covers off us to reveal we're both fully clothed.

"That's not funny " I say back with a scowl. ." I near messed your bed."

"Ew. There goes your pretend morning sex with me." Jane giggles and gets out of bed.," you want some breakie,erich?" Jane asks as she leaves the room.

"Nah. But thanks. I have a Long drive ahead of me." I tell her,struggling to pull my boots on.it seems I'm still a bit tipsy from last night.

"Good,because I wasn't making any. I have to be at work today,SHIT! Twenty minutes ago!" Jane yells from the other room. I hear various crashing sounds,several more swears and finally the Front door open and close.

I cant believe she did that. It was artfully executed,I have to give Jane that.l
Oddly after meeting Ada, Jane is far nicer to me. We had a great time out last night. Her friends stood her up,and randy didnt want her out alone,so....off we went . Randy left shortly after us for Spain. They are rereleasing some of his old films there,so the house is mine..at last for the next few minutes. I need to get on the road.

Out in the garage,is one of the numerous cars I have stashed around the country. You never know when you'll need to make a fast getaway.this particular one is an 80s mustang. Not old enough to be considered cool,yet too old to be considered good looking. The door creaks open and I am on my way.

Many many many hours later,Im in the middle of Alabama. Hank Williams country, we can certainly stop here. We have to my poor little mustang is out of gas. I get great gas mileage,as this mustang is the pretty rare turbo 4 cylinder model. I roll into a gas station and go inside to pay for the gas. I buy some pork rinds and dr pepper too.any southerner worth his salt likes dr pepper,if they don't...well I'm sure many places up north would be a happier place for them. Weirdos who use the word "pop" For soda.fucking weird bastards.

Back out in the car,I find a tin foil packet in my wallet.hmmm,my lucky day? Opening it up I find several bits of paper and very thin sliced peyote. I sit at a red light contemplating my find.,if I throw it out,that'd be wasteful. It's dangerous to keep in the car,what if I get pulled over? I can't sell it,that's trafficking...oh well,down the hatch it goes. I know I promised Ada,but in her own words,"some promises are easier than others." Giving up an open relationship was easy. I never miss the old life. But hallucinogens? That's another ball of wax. I love them. I understand her not wanting me to do it around her,and I won't. It's terribly unfair to abandon her like that. But here? Now? With a grin,I release the clutch and the car starts moving. Now I play the waiting game.