?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Howard Hughes faces the orcs.

I have known since the conclusion of the New Reconsolidated March back in February that the horrors and tribulations of the winter would, in the fullness of time, require an epilogue, that this bit of work was not yet quite entirely done. There would be revision. I knew that. But then I allowed myself to become complacent, to be lulled and reassured by the silence from the west, and Maybe, thought I, the worst is over. Wrong. And yesterday — a proper shitstorm of a day — was the day I learned just how wrong I have been and that these marches have not yet passed and there are, truly, miles to go before I sleep. And I hope you will forgive me the necessarily cryptic nature of this paragraph, and maybe the next one, too. I am not at liberty, as they say.

So, today begins what I shall call the Mordorian Death March. But don't let the name fool you. It won't be any fun at all. The good news? Well, as it happens, that's also the bad news. The Mordorian Death March may only extend so far as the 23rd of May (though there's at least two months worth of walking to be done), and not likely a day longer. Which means, including today, I have only thirteen days to complete this stroll from the Mountains of Shadow north to Ered Lithui, passing the still black waters of the Sea of Núrnen and moving out across the plains of Nurn and Gorgoroth and the Plain of the Black Steed. See, that makes it sound not so very fucking bad, after all. Better than if I'd gone and used Dante for my metaphor. And in the end I will, I hope, have learned my lesson, so it will not be necessary for me to pass this way ever, ever again. There will be maggots and biting flies, thorns and stinging winds, the suspicious stares of orcs and always the stink of sulfur upon the scalding air, but I will tell myself that on the other side I shall at last be free and this pelican may be cut from about my aching neck (thank you, Josiah Kennedy). And at least I have learned that I do not look good going about wearing butchered pelicans.

---

But turn not pale, beloved snail, for even such awful days as these invariably yield grim moments of humour. Which is to say, I had a little too much in the way of alcoholic beverages late in the afternoon, wishing to dull the prickling sensation of imminent doom tumbling about inside my head. Spooky decided it would be best if we took a walk and got some fresh air and dinner, figuring it might do me some sort of good. But neither of us counted on the skinheads at L5P. Two of them, in fact, and really this is where the whole lamentably extended orc metaphor began. These two racist assholes and their white power T-shirts and tattoos and suspenders and this oily little weasel of a girl lurking in their sooty penumbrae. I remember she had a video camera, so perhaps all that follows will wind up on YouTube.

Anyway, they were just standing there, glaring, clearly appalled at all the unabashed diversity milling about, and I'm wondering what gawdsforsaken rock these two sorry sonsofbitches crawled out from under. I haven't seen skins in L5P in ages. And Spooky must have noted some warning glint in my drunken eyes, because she seized hold of my arm and with fierce (but futile) determination tried to steer me back towards Seminole Avenue. Too late. Of course, had I been sober, none of this would have happened. When I'm sober, I just grumble to myself and keep on moving, pretending I have some obligation to tolerate intolerance and stupidity and hatred. But I wasn't sober. I walked up to the skinheads and asked if they wanted to go bowling.

For a moment, they only stared silently back at me and Spooky. Indeed, this silence lasted just long enough that I began to suspect they were only clever illusions or waxworks or something of the sort. Finally, one of the ugly fuckers leaned towards me.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"Would you like to go bowling?" I asked again.

"What?" he asked again.

"B-o-w-l-i-n-g," I said, spelling the word, just in case he could, you know...spell. "Bowling."

"What?" asked the other skinhead, and by this time, of course, Spooky is freaking out, being somewhat sane and in possession of at least a dim sense of self-preservation, whispering for me to shut the hell up and come on.

But I'd started laughing, which actually seemed to confuse the skinheads even more than the whole bowling thing. And then, I swear to whatever vile beings keep watch over idiots like me, I asked the skinhead, "What country are you from?"

Skinhead: What? (this makes what #4)

Me ('cause the drunker I get, the better I quote Tarantino): "What ain't no country I know. Do they speak English in What?"

Skinhead: What? (#5, I shit you not)

And then, even as the next line in this surreal exchange was passing from my vocal chords to tongue to lips ("English, motherfucker. Can you speak it?"), Spooky grabbed me by one arm, sinking in her fingernails, and hauled me away towards the relative safety of the Corner Tavern, where we were headed before I decided to poke at the skinheads with a pointy stick. They just stood there and watched us go. When we reemerged after dinner, alas, the skinheads and the oily weasel girl were gone and in their stead there was only some skinny one-armed guy who kept telling me that I have "remarkable hair." No, I did not ask him to go bowling. But if you want to hear a really funny story, mostly free of orcs, have a look at this entry by tagplazen.

Thank you. I'll be here all week. Where the hell else am I gonna go?

Comments

( 36 comments — Have your say! )
Page 1 of 2
<<[1] [2] >>
charmingmonstrs
May. 11th, 2007 05:57 pm (UTC)
Camper Van!
You Rock.

Best of luck on the Mordorian Death March.
girfan
May. 11th, 2007 06:07 pm (UTC)
You just made me and J laugh out loud. J says "Does she want to sleep next to plastic?"
chris_walsh
May. 11th, 2007 06:11 pm (UTC)
Whether drunk or sober, you do indeed rock.

Confusion can hurt the stupid. Maybe you did good that way. (There's a bit cut out of the film The Fisher King where we see Robin Williams use a slingshot to anonymously thwap litterers and other annoying people from a distance, and he explains to a somewhat wide-eyed Jeff Bridges that "if you just annoy them enough on a regular basis, make them realize that there are people they can't stop or control, maybe they'll stop doing that and the Red Knight can't use them.")
stsisyphus
May. 11th, 2007 06:20 pm (UTC)
I have learned that I do not look good going about wearing butchered pelicans.

It's not so bad if you can train it not to peck at your breast in order to feed its young.

Spooky grabbed me by one arm, sinking in her fingernails, and hauled me away towards the relative safety of the Corner Tavern...

I've got this picture of Frodo dancing toward Minas Morgul while yelling, "Nyah-nyah can't have the ring, can't have it! Nyah! What? No, really! It'll be funny!"
dyfferent
May. 11th, 2007 06:42 pm (UTC)
Oh lord, I think I sprained something, between you and the skins and the fella with the cunt shirt.
cucumberseed
May. 11th, 2007 06:47 pm (UTC)
You totally win.
derekcfpegritz
May. 11th, 2007 06:59 pm (UTC)
Oh, man--that is a tale! I had a remarkably similar (well, to some degree) experience with skinheads in Pittsburgh: I was in Dee's on the South Side--a well-known punk/skinhead/biker hangout--and I was playing pool with a friend, when this big, bald, goofy-looking skinhead starts laughing drunkenly at my pathetic attempts at scratching on every shot. I finally turned to him and said, "Man, I suck at pool, obviously, You wanna go bowling?"

At which point the skinhead--and three of his skinhead friends--all said, "Hey, that's a great idea!" And we all went to Arsenal Lanes in Lawrencville and bowled and drank for, like, five hours straight.

Turned out they were anti-racist ska skinheads who kinda/sorta knew me from a number of oldskool ska shows I'd been to.

Strange, strange life.
greygirlbeast
May. 11th, 2007 07:54 pm (UTC)

Turned out they were anti-racist ska skinheads who kinda/sorta knew me from a number of oldskool ska shows I'd been to.

During the huge gay rights march in D.C. in April '93, I met a group of ant-racist skins, and they were actually very cool. These guys, though, they were the other sort.
(no subject) - derekcfpegritz - May. 11th, 2007 08:08 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - robyn_ma - May. 11th, 2007 10:48 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - greygirlbeast - May. 12th, 2007 12:05 am (UTC) - Expand
bluegargantua
May. 11th, 2007 07:01 pm (UTC)

I kinda wish they'd taken you up on the offer of bowling. I see this montage of the five of you going out, having a lot of fun bowling and learning valuable life lessons along the way.

Tom
alumiere
May. 11th, 2007 07:06 pm (UTC)
thank you :) - i now have camper van beethoven stuck in my head (in a good way), and a much brighter attitude about my friday thanks to this story and the one you linked

and for you, a copy of a post from a friend about her 8 year old son...

TRUE STORY

My son, myself, and my friend Bean were walking out of a mexican resturant a few months ago when we noticed a little mexican girl, about 3 or 4, staring at a loose balloon that she had apparently just lost hold of.

All three of us, being the valiant heroes we are, ran after it, leaping into the air until we recovered it. Mars then did the honors and ran it back to her. As we approached, Bean and I noticed the lack of pure, unadulterated gratitude, but we skipped over anyway, awaiting our kudos.

The parents laughed, a little uncomfortably, eying Mar's red mohawk with suspicion.

Dad: Actually, she let it go on purpose.

Me, getting it, kind of: Oh......

Mom: Yes, she was giving it to Jesus. (nervous laugh)

Mars: Oh! Mom, who's JESUS??!!

Me: *silence*

Mom and Dad: *horror and shock*

Bean: Jesus is her imaginary friend!


That was funny. You know, in the car after we left.

Silly Catholics.
z0mb1e
May. 11th, 2007 07:10 pm (UTC)
That's awesome.
awdrey_gore
May. 11th, 2007 07:25 pm (UTC)
I had my own Pulp Fiction moment reading your exchange with the Skinheads.

"Say what again. Say what again. I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker. Say what one more goddamn time."

But I think those lines only work when one is armed.

And why the hell is it that all Skinbyrds, or whatever the hell those nasty-haired girls call themselves, are always so rodent-like? It's so universal that one wonders if race hate and ferret-faces are genetically linked.
greygirlbeast
May. 11th, 2007 07:52 pm (UTC)

And why the hell is it that all Skinbyrds, or whatever the hell those nasty-haired girls call themselves, are always so rodent-like? It's so universal that one wonders if race hate and ferret-faces are genetically linked.

I think that's a question for the Magic 8-Ball!

(no subject) - stsisyphus - May. 11th, 2007 10:05 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - greygirlbeast - May. 11th, 2007 10:15 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - happyspector - May. 12th, 2007 09:21 pm (UTC) - Expand
cause_catyljan
May. 11th, 2007 07:32 pm (UTC)
You are an absolute genius. You're also a maniac. I cannot believe you actually asked them that...
greygirlbeast
May. 11th, 2007 07:51 pm (UTC)

I cannot believe you actually asked them that...

Today, in the cruel throes of sobriety, neither can I.
miintikwa
May. 11th, 2007 09:05 pm (UTC)
*applause*

I am sad. I was on a hunt today for your books, and the store did not have any in stock! I ordered the two they could get. :)
greygirlbeast
May. 11th, 2007 09:18 pm (UTC)

I am sad. I was on a hunt today for your books, and the store did not have any in stock! I ordered the two they could get. :)

Sorry. I know it's frustrating. More paperbacks are forthcoming, though. Low Red Moon will be out in August, Silk in December, Murder of Angels in April '08.
(no subject) - miintikwa - May. 11th, 2007 09:40 pm (UTC) - Expand
akaten
May. 11th, 2007 09:25 pm (UTC)
That story has firmly cemented one of my life goals, namely to buy you several rounds of drinks someday.

Now, I also hope that there's a particularly egregious example of stupidity nearby when I do, so that I get to sing backup on something like this. Asolutely, irrepressibly priceless. Go you.
greygirlbeast
May. 11th, 2007 09:37 pm (UTC)

That story has firmly cemented one of my life goals, namely to buy you several rounds of drinks someday.

I hardly ever turn down free booze.

Poppy Z. once described me as a "charming drunk." That was in 1995. Since then, I fear I have become a mouthy drunk.
unknownbinaries
May. 12th, 2007 12:26 am (UTC)
Oh damn. I wish I had been there to see that. With popcorn. And tickets to sell...

....And possibly a lead pipe. L5P brings out the violence in me, drunk or not.
greygirlbeast
May. 12th, 2007 12:46 am (UTC)

L5P brings out the violence in me, drunk or not.

I can understand that...
setsuled
May. 12th, 2007 12:45 am (UTC)
If anyone deserves super powers, it's you.
greygirlbeast
May. 12th, 2007 12:46 am (UTC)

If anyone deserves super powers, it's you.

Oh, indeed.
Page 1 of 2
<<[1] [2] >>
( 36 comments — Have your say! )