Saturday, February 1, 2014

Hunted for innocence: Strange tales from the great South (Part 1)



We had managed to convince my new friends mother to give us her credit card and keys to a brand new Winnebago Luxury model , for a full expenses paid plus salary excursion into the heart and soul of the American nightmare. Alabama through to the south, and then a psychotic all-holds-barred free wheel through some of the most barren and boring landscapes known to the modern homo-sapien, a land where even the most degenerately twisted minds couldnt conjure up a reason for staying more than 2 hours, let alone our 2 day high speed pursuit of the setting sun.  We were locked into something we would wish we werent, but our excitement for escapsim of the current situation marred our current levels of common sense, so we took it in our stride and agreed to all conditions imposed. Flights were booked, and we left San Diego the next day with the hordes of routine driven robots on their way to Houston for some kind of convention where they are told what to do and when to do it, all under the illusion of a 'fun' time.

What i hadnt considered was the fact that Mardi Gras was due to kick-off in strict accordance with our arrival in New Orleans, and this would mark the beginning of our descent into times of savagery and violence, times that would be set with overtones of extreme manipulation and a desire to rid ourselves of ourselves, which wouldnt have been possible without the help of ridiculous per-diems and massive quantities of cheap and nasty alcohol.

Of course, our rules for the journey were too strict, and we decided via a vote of no-confidence that these be sent to the bottom of the trash bin, only for use in times of extreme desperation and self-loathing. 

Im not sure on the current census figures of those that have experienced Birmingham, Alabama, but it is a dreary and sad little city which experiences its share of natural disasters and horrible weather, and about 50% of its population would not rate above an IQ score of 10. We were lucky to get out of there with our wits intact after a horrible hour spent debating with the Large vehicle storage yard owners that we had rights to the large Winnebago Luxury model sitting in the corner. My foreign accent didnt help, and my friend Bear had little in the way of a good looking demeanour about him; unshaven, shirtless and eyes blood shot red from a serious vacuum injection of California's best hydro.
We had agreed that our best bet to remain morally sound was to pick up hitchhiking travellers, with the rules of engagement being no arguments taken and no destination as important as our own. I knew somewhere down the line there would be trouble, but with the current issue of finding our way out of the god-foresaken state being priority numero uno, we had more pressing matters at hand. Such things could wait till we were dealing with them in-situ. I hadnt had any whiskey yet, and cigarettes were hard to find on Motorway B20, so i had to settle for a small order of a healthy smoothie option. Healthy being the operative word, and most likely the last time i would see those 2 syllables for the next few days. 

I forgot to mention (forgot? i think i was just wrapped up in the moment) there was a 3rd passenger on this mission, and it was most defintaly a mission: a surgical strike into the psychotic depths of the American Nightmare, to source a sentiment from the most ignorant and justifiably savage of all American people. Stephen wasnt equiped to take on anything this twisted, and it showed in his under-confidence and lack of suitable clothing for the mission. Me and Bear both knew that he wouldnt survive till the end. But we needed a scapegoat we could use under the guise of a martyr, so we ignored his pathetic attempts to stop for water and passed him the bottle of whiskey instead.

It was, after all, our trip, and Aggresive manoeuvres and unjustified liberties would be the norm. God knew we werent here to sweep the locals off their feet, but he probably let it all float under the table as he knew it wasnt going to last long. We wouldnt survive to claim any fame for it, so he would let the madmen finish themselves.

No comments:

Post a Comment