Thursday, October 29, 2009

C.S. Perry

One of the first friends of this blog was C.S. Perry of Rooked fame. He's been having some personal issues recently, and FLG wishes him the best. However, FLG misses the distinctive voice of Mr. Perry of late, and even though he doesn't write as well and isn't a fucking magic 8-ball juicer, FLG has decided to write some fan fiction in honor of Mr. Perry and Halloween.

The temperature is dropping and the Full Moon has arisen. The sweet air of summer has given over to the mucky scent of decay that comes with the Fall. I was on the porch after a long day of raking leaves enjoying a bourbon and a cigar when I heard a rustle in the woods. I feared that it was Virgil come to guide me over the river Acheron.

Most people don't contemplate the fate of their souls with respect to Ancient Greek mythology after a day of yard work, but I do. Anthropomorphic deities render me anxious and sometimes incontinent. That's just too much power of beings without proper control over their emotions. Why couldn't they have been stoics?

But I didn't have time to concern myself with the natives of Mt. Olympus. The rustling began again. I squinted and looked hard, hoping not to see anything. Then I remembered that I saw an odd paw print when I was raking. It was huge and deformed. Just thinking of it made me shudder. Was that what was rustling?

A light came on next door. Could that Korean have summoned one of his heathen demons to stalk and kill me? Wouldn't put it passed him. Did he conjure up Guan-Di? Bastard. I'm out of bean curd.

I took another sip of bourbon and savored the warmth traveling down my gut. It returned the trip as the slightest bit of additional courage in the face of whatever danger might be out there. The lingering taste of the liquor was a liquid memory that brought me back to the Derby.

In college, two friends and I took a road trip to the Kentucky Derby. The night before the big event we were at a bar where one of my friends met a Southern Belle. A real blue blood. She took a shine to my friend and they were attached like a buckle to a belt all night. He broke away for a moment to inform the other friend and I that she was a hemophiliac. (I told you she was a real blue blood.) It took five minutes to dissuade him of the notion that this meant she has both sex organs. The disappointment was evident on his face. He began to cause a scene and only agreed to leave if we agreed to help him find a hermaphroditic hooker. We tried to explain that this would be difficult in a town like Louisville, but he was determined. At damn near dawn he relented and paid for the services of a run-of-the-mill crack whore. We were so tired we missed the Derby, and hit a dog track on the way home instead.

The rustling in the woods was joined by a terrible growl, and then a bone-curdling howl. Fucking werewolves, I thought to myself, as I refilled my glass and puffed the cigar. No need to worry about werewolves. No need for silver bullets . I'll just tell it that it doesn't exist, and get back to worrying about important things, like Virgil coming for me.


The Maximum Leader said...

Well done.

C.S. Perry said...

"Like a buckle to a belt." I like that. And you're lucky that your Kentucky adventure was as harmless as it was. Here, on the Right Side of the Mason/Dixon Line, lycanthropy is still a serious problem; especially among the "Propertied Class."
Your friend may have escaped sexual embarrassment but he may also have escaped having his jugular vein torn out in the very height of passion. A truly lamentable occurrence, regardless of the social strata in which it might have transpired.
But then, I’m sure it’s difficult to work up a serious fear of a Romanian Gypsy curse while you’re plowing a $5 crack whore. Then again, maybe not, eh?
Still, this is an admirable piece and I think I speak for many when I say that you should endeavor to continue with this line of writing. It suits you well and you have a keen eye for monolithic paranoia. And that’s a quality I’ve always admired in a writer.

FLG said...

I'll leave this stuff to you. I'm far better suited to irrational irate rambling about economics and pirates.

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