Neanderpundit

I told you folks a while back that Og and I write a bit differently.
Now you can see it for yourselves with a random chapter, which was stripped from my mind.

I was lying on the bed, staring over at a ceiling beam in the future bathroom when I first noticed that something was amiss.
Sure, I had been swilling down near fatal amounts of Jose Cuervo’s finest for the better part of the past three hours, while working on my new children’s self help book titled, “Theatrical Porn for the Little One’s”, as well as practicing my new self-taught immolation techniques.
However, never in my wildest dreams could I have foreseen what was coming down the pike at me this night.

It was a miserably hot evening. The ceiling fan in the bedroom was trying to keep up, though it was having little success. Sweat was seeping from my pores as the oldest cat, Sidney, jumped across my midsection on his way out the door to grab a smoke. We had a standing rule about cats and cigars inside the house.
The other cats were sitting quietly in the corner, playing cards, doing tequila shooters, and talking trash about the latest reality TV shows. Bueller, our retarded cat, was sitting over in the corner, reading the fishing report.
As Sid hit the back door, he looked over his shoulder towards the other cats and stated without the least bit of hesitation,
“If that fucking squirrel is out here tonight, all drunk and talking shit like he was the other day, I’m gonna fuck him up, bad.”
The other cats quietly nodded their approval. They knew not to cross Sid. They also knew that squirrel had crossed the line the other day.

It wasn’t a threat, it was just Sidney. He was a tough old Navy cat that refused to take shit off anybody. Just ask the three legged, and now blind pit-bull down the street who has to collect food stamps instead of making money at the dogfights.
After an 11-year stint in the Navy, Sidney became a self-employed, and much sought after pirate, raiding towns, and calling the Caribbean his home for years.
Sidney only came to me after a jealous husband put a bullet in his back after catching Sid with his wife. Under the new Bush plan, his health insurance no longer covered any wounds caused by jealous husbands. It was just another thing that left him bitter and broken.

When the door slammed behind Sidney, I smiled inwardly at his doggedness, then grabbed the can of gasoline next to the nightstand. As I began pouring it over myself and nervously flicking at my Zippo, a strange humming noise began to reverberate through the house. I stopped flicking the lighter, and tried to isolate the sound in my drunken stupor.
I suddenly became nervous. I’d heard this sound before.

The cats who were playing cards earlier were now obviously in tune to the sound, and alert as well. I looked down and saw that two of them already had their guns drawn, and safeties off, scanning the area for any imminent danger.
Real cats never take unnecessary chances, and every single one of the cats in my house that night was packing heat of some sort. Guns, knives, rocket launchers, espresso machines… you name it, those boys had it under their jackets.
After all, these just weren’t any house cats, these were al Cata.

The throbbing vibrations continued for a few more seconds, and then suddenly stopped.
I heard a voice in the background.
It was Kelly, from down in the fallout shelter. She had been in there for four days straight now, trying to cure a vagrant Mexican farm worker who had Tourette’s, mixed with a touch of leprosy.
“Honey!!!” She called out.
“What did you do with my new cattle prod? I can‘t find it anywhere, and I think I‘ve finally figured out how to cure this guy.”

That was my girl. Always looking for ways to improve the lives of those less fortunate than herself. It’s no wonder we fell for each other so hard. She was like an angel, lifting spirits wherever she went.
“It’s next to the blowtorch, and behind the gimp suit babe.” I called back to her.
“Thanks sweetie, found it!“ She replied.
It’s like I’ve always said time and again, “There’s no substitute for a hot woman who looks good in a gimp suit, carrying a blowtorch, and a cattle prod.”
I called back to my lover. “Babe, did you hear that noise?”
She didn’t answer, and now I could hear nothing but maddening screams from our shelter. She was busy curing that poor man. That’s okay, I thought to myself, I’ll check with her at dinner.
Suddenly, the vibrations came back.
This time louder, and more intense. The lights went dim, and then I felt myself being lifted from the bed by unseen arms. I blacked out.

What seemed like hours later, I came to and tried to pry my eyes open. After several minutes of struggling, I managed get them open and began to take stock of my surroundings.
What kind of place was this? I thought to myself, as my eyes scanned the desk in front of me.
From what I could see, my vision still blurry, I was seated in front of a desk, behind which a hideously looking creature sat.
He seemed to be going over a chart, and every so often he’d look up at me and kind of, grimace, with a farting sound.
“Who the fuck are you and where in the hell am I?” I asked, not really expecting much in the way of a reply.
The creature took notice and pushed one of a series of buttons arrayed on his desk.
“How do you feel about four weeks paid vacation a year?” He asked.
“What?” I stammered back. “Is this some sort of fucking job interview or something? Where’s Kelly?”
He looked back up at me at the sound of Kelly’s name.
“We did not come for her, we came for you.”
“What do you want with me?”
He didn’t answer, but asked another question.
“What will you do with the power we bestow upon you?”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What power?”

A cup of black coffee, built just the way I like suddenly appeared before me. I struggled to make my arms move and unsteadily grabbed at the cup, spilling some of the contents on the desk.
It tasted perfect.
I didn’t know who these guys were, or what they were up to, but I knew now, they could make a damn fine cup of Joe.

The coffee helped, and after a few minutes, I became more aware of my surroundings. I was in what looked to be a type of room. It had walls of some type, but I could see clear through them. I wasn’t pinned, or strapped down in any way.
As I moved to get up, a electric jolt went through my body, forcing me back in my seat.
A woman appeared from nowhere. She was naked from the waist up and looked at me with disdain. For some strange reason, I could have sworn she was Jodi Foster.
“Out of all the humans on Earth, this is the best you can get as my mate?” She hissed at the creature behind the desk.
Jodi shook her head slowly and turned back to me. “What’s your name skeezick?”
“Dick”, I answered, still recovering from the shock.
“Big Dick?” She asked, “of Big Dick’s Place?”
She turned back to the creature. “That’s just fucking great dipshit.”
She was livid.
“Not only is this NOT the big dick I requested, he’s nothing more than a shitty little writer who runs a crappy website.
“Wow, that fucking hurt.” I said.
“Shut the fuck up, Needledick. This doesn’t concern you.” She growled over her shoulder, then turned back to the creature.
“Vaporize this worthless fuck, and then get me the cock I was asking for.”
“Vaporize?” I asked out loud. “That seems a little harsh considering I wasn’t the one who fucked up.”
“Wax this douche bag, and then let me know when you get the cock.” She demanded as she stormed out of the room.

Now, I had been in a few rather nasty predicaments before, but this one wasn’t looking very good from any angle.
The creature grunted, and then threw what I guessed to be my personnel file into a trash bin.
“Good bye”, he flatly stated, and then pulled what looked to be some sort of a weapon from his desk.
“Hold on there Sparky!” I exclaimed, trying to figure a way out of this mess.
“Do you know who I am?”
Yeah, it was the old “do you know who I am” speech. Quite possibly the lamest question on the planet, but fortunately, I didn’t think I was on the planet anymore.
“Yes,” came the monotone answer, “you are a shitty writer.”
“No, not just a shitty writer, but a world famous shitty writer. By the way, just exactly where are we right now?”
At that moment, a door burst open, and there stood William Shatner. He was dressed as if he had just stepped off the set of a 1968 spaghetti western.

“Dick… You‘re- here…”
Oh Christ, Shatner talked that way in real life as well, I thought to myself. Who else was I going to see, and then I began wondering, is this the tequila?
No, it couldn’t have been. Everything was much too clear, and far too real. Never the less, I saw this as an opportunity to escape this place, wherever it was.
Shatner spoke up, but not towards me.
“Don’t kill him just yet. Let’s probe this one and see if there’s any real difference between the hicks in the Southeast US and the rest of the states.”

“Probe what?” I asked, starting to wish I could click my heels together. Fuck, I could see an episode of Springer coming if this shit kept going the way is was.
“Bring out the probe!” Shatner commanded to no one in particular.
“What fucking probe?” I was starting to become unwound.
“Don’t worry.” Shatner leaned over to assure me, he then continued.
“It goes up your ass, investigates your prostate for any signs of the zodiac, and then sucks your brains out of your head. It’s perfectly painless, and a rather nice way to die.”
I saw the probe come down towards me from the ceiling. Shatner leaned again over to wish me luck.
“Good bye… it’s- been nice- knowing you- Dick…“ He stuttered in only a way Shatner could stutter.
As he bent up straight, I grabbed his collar and brought him back down to my level, his ass found itself in the air, all alone.
The probe struck home. It was time to leave.