"I Don't Like Spam!"

Not too sure what the crosswires are between me and Hemisphere's blog, I attempted to post a "next", but repeatedly got a message saying I was just being redundant. Variations in text didn't change the message and refreshing the page didn't show my comment. Seeing the comments on the blog when I checked in today, I attempted to comment and therefore offer an explaination, this brought up a "server not found" at first, then the somehow reasuring message that I am now officially a spambot was sent my way. Had I known at the time that the comments were to be restored I would have continued while I was still struck by my muse, but for now I will accept my inordinate revocation of "next", take my ball, and go play elsewhere until once again I find the combination of free time to burn and inspiration.

No offence taken, I'll gladly let someone else take a stab at the next installation.
Haven't heard from Geisha or Tori, surely they have something to add.

Story Part VII

"Do exactly what I say and you won't get hurt, I got a use for you!"
Somehow Jhonny didn't find this all that reassuring at the moment. His thoughts again raced;"Man, ain't karma a bitch","I do have a gun, maybe I'll get an opportunity to use it on this guy before he's done with me", "Why are all the walls.........moving?", "Awwww......shit........the......acidiskickingin!".

Jhonny fought to keep his head as straight as possible amid the growing hallucinations, through the haze he was motioned to the still bleeding body of the clerk. "Grab his ankles and drag him to the cooler," said the now grinning barrel of the shotgun. Jhonny complied as best he could as his assailant followed him, now a hulking beast with a shotgun for a head. As he approached the silver door in the back he began to wonder if heaven was really full of angels.......little Angelinas surrounded him, chastising him for what he had become and he began to feel very sick.

"Put it over there", sang the shotgun monster in three part harmony. "Catsup, just, catsup", Jhonny repeated over the chorus of angels as he propped the body against the back wall of the cooler. A band of mariachis began to play in Jhonny's head and he swore he could hear the hee-haw of a donkey. He looked up and the grinning shotgun stuck its tongue out at him. This was just too much; he began to laugh.

"What the hell is your problem!?", screamed the shotgun. Suddenly it was right in his face, puckering up for a kiss. Without warning Jhonny's raging redneck homophobia began to kick in, overwhelming reason and what little rational thought he still posessed.

Suddenly Jhonny screamed, "I ain't no faggot!" and slapped the shotgun headed monster as hard as he could. He watched in disblief as the head flew off and hit the wall of the cooler.
BOOM! It went off as the body of the beast exploded covering him in blood. He moved closer, wondering what had happened, had it been in his mind? Nope, there it was, a shotgun next to a headless body.
"Serves ya right, knocked yer head clean off, faggot shotgun dude!" he shouted.

----Note: I had high hopes for this blog being only the strange things that I encountered in real life....... But what the heck, I like to write and I've been guzzling coffee, so here goes------

His mind somewhat eased by the smoke, he slumped back into the cushy seat of the caddie and turned on the radio. Jazz flowed forth from the tattered speakers, their cones shattered by the heavy metal that had not long ago comprised the bulk of his mobile listening.
He had played that music for her; despite his long held pride in his sound system, he had thought nothing of the damage done when she had cranked it into near oblivion as they rode together on long trips to nowhere.

She had been the love of his life, but now it had come to this.

Suddenly, lights appeared in his rearview mirror startling him from his reminescence. His heart shot into his throat: Was it the green Plymouth......or the cops?
As though sensing his panic, a scratching sound began to eminate from the box...... a maddening sound that quickly grew in volume and frequency.
The lights drew nearer accompanied by yet another sound, one that he knew all too well; the roar of a fully built musclecar. Once it had been sweet music in his ears, but now it filled him with terror. His mind raced and his mouth went dry as he sat bolt upright in the seat, both hands on the wheel now, knuckles whitening, holding the wheel in a death grip while fighting to keep the slow- steering caddie on the winding road as his speed built.
In his panic the lit cigarette dropped from his lips, unnoticed as the din of his own handiwork rang in his guilty ears drowning reason and sanity in an ocean of noise.......and yet some shred of unused conciousness picked out the distorted strains of Miles Davis amist the chaos in seemingly indifferent contrast to the drama unfolding as seconds passed like hours in his mind.