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Paranoia (standard:science fiction, 1159 words)
Author: Saxon ViolenceAdded: Dec 03 2012Views/Reads: 3473/1000Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Stanley's Mouth gets him into trouble.


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

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 

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

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