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|Paranoia (standard:science fiction, 1159 words)|
|Author: Saxon Violence||Added: Dec 03 2012||Views/Reads: 3473/1000||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Stanley's Mouth gets him into trouble.|
Paranoia Erickson's was a combined Small Range and Gunstore. I was always a night person anyway. According to my father, I've been a night person since earliest infancy. So when Erick decided to keep the Gunstore open till 3:00 AM several nights a week, I was all in favor of it. I came strutting into the Gunstore. I wish that you would have known me back then. I was a sight. I always wore a black Stetson and black Cowboy Boots—spit-shined till they literally looked like opaque black glass. I always wore my mirrored shades too. I had mastered the art of looking all around them, to see where I was going. Then I found a pair at a spy boutique, calculated to mirror in low light, but still be light enough to see too. Of course I didn't wear them driving—but I always put them on before I left my Van. I used to play the clown—not a silly ass Gilligan—more like Coyote, The Trickster. White folks say that a clown or comedian can never be a leader—at least not a military type leader. The Indians would be absolutely astonished at that axiom. Be all that as it may. I rubbed the World the wrong way just being me. When they leant on me to try to get me to conform, I became even wilder... But sometimes I felt the need to pause momentarily before entering a place, and get my ass into character. Sidney was on duty that night. I wasn't sure that I liked Sidney. His hair was as long as mine, but he hadn't heard that the "wet-Head was dead". God knows how much Brilliantine that he put on his hair. He parted all neat and clean up front--like an extra in a 50's Western. Of course the long greasy locks just lay over his collar like so many greasy flaccid snakes in back. He chain-smoked unfiltered cigarettes—and he talked continually. Speed-Rap—what you get if you take a rather wordy, opinionated Dude and give him lots of White Crosses, Pink Ladies, Yeller Jackets, Codeine, and a few Reds occasionally... And I think Sidney held it all together with an occasional toke of ganja and/or a nice shot of Scotch... And the things he said, "After TEOTWAWKI y'all ain't gonna catch ole Sidney playin' the damn fool hero. If someone wants to ride on my coat-tails, its gonna be 'ass, grass, or as'--no free rides Bay-Bee!!!" "Sounds hardcore" I commented. "Darn straight Bro. Try one of these hot peppers,” He offered. “I'll warn you, they are hot." I asked him what they were called. When I don't hear something after 2 or 3 repetitions, I often let it ride. The pepper was about as long as a Jalapeno, a shade thinner, and smelled of vinegar. I like some Jalapeños. They aren't too hot for me—but some of them have a very bitter aftertaste, that I so don't groove on. I put the pepper in my mouth. I chewed it thoroughly. After I'd already swallowed it, the wave of heat hit me like a tidal wave. My mouth and throat felt as though I was gargling boiling hot pure grain Click here to read the rest of this story (96 more lines)
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