Bat Country 6

After the red time-shift, I should have known the angel would show up. I was hearing glimmers of music and my pounding heart beats, the whole way across campus, but I was too preoccupied with feeding the hog and getting brewage. Pig-phouka Nosey hankers for B(-LT) sandwiches, and there ain’t no stoppin’ him. Nosey only has to point his nose or a trotter, and suddenly I feel like a side-kick to ‘pixie-kins’.

I still am not sure what happened before the last time I woke up, but then again that is the story of my life. Testy sport jocks should be added to the menu here. Fuckwits go tasty down the chowhole. I chose not to eat the yo boy white-caps because I’d be pissing pink pasties for days, and shitting stacks of Fakerrand bricks with bone shards.

As for the angel waitroid, whose sea-green soul wells brim over freckle-dusted cheekbones, and whose downy fresh hair rings with an ineffable glow; she will either get me my pitcher or start a kick-shitting hoe-down, glamour style. Again, I notice the burgundy stripe dyed into her bangs as an incandescent war-banner.

“Oh fucken muck-rucker,” I muttered trying to ignore the angel’s stare.

“Guano?” the angel asked. “Is that you?”

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2 Responses to “Bat Country 6”

  1. What incredible creative writing. Is that you writing Drogo? What a fine talent for a turn of a phrase and shifting consciousness. More more. Very hilarious as well…

    • Yes, thank you Seams Sunny! Actually this post is mine, but I take turns writing it with another author, every other post. He will do the next part… and we do not know what the other person will write!?!

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