bong420tripper
Bluelighter
this is just a short story i had to throw together for a class of mine. it is probably pretty long when compared to what is normally posted here, ( it is about 12 full, typed pages ) but what the hell. hopefully some of you can make it all the way thru and let me know what you think. i know this isn't as "heavy" as it seems most everything in here, but hopefully that's ok!
thankest.
there isn't an official title to this yet, so i just called this thread ' a tale of two, ' despite the fact that i shall probably just title it "This was the place." while it is a tale of two, hopefully it portrays a bit more than that, while, at the same time, portraying much less. heh. :D
I guess you could say it was kind of a weird day outside. The sun wasn’t exactly out, but it was there, hidden beyond the clouds. It managed to create a gloomy, odd brightness. The light still managed to give you the impression you needed some sunglasses, yet the light wasn’t coming from any particular direction, as it typically does when the sun is out. Nevertheless, going outside on this particular day, whatever day it may have been, gave Rocky a headache. Despite his inter-cranial affliction, Rocky Bop wanted some eats. But where to go?
First off, Rocky figured he may as well go retrieve a friend, maybe even two, if he felt so inclined, to join him on his crusade for culinary consummation. So Rocky got his things together and hopped on the bus, to head across town. Rocky road the bus because large corporations had destroyed the rail cars of days past, which emitted nearly no pollution, and replaced them with big, smelly buses that didn’t ever run according to schedule and ruined the environment. Rocky, of course, didn’t give this much thought. Almost no one did.
The bus had a funny smell to it. Like old socks. Really old socks. The aroma was probably actually generated from the combination of bums, sick people, and lack of overall cleanliness on the bus. People didn’t really talk a lot on the bus. Everyone just sat in their seat and stared out the window or at their toes. Who would have thought feet were so interesting? I wonder what everyone thought about while they stared into oblivion. At least I know what Rocky was thinking about. Rocky was thinking about what he and his friend Bard were going to eat. Bard’s name used to be Brad, but, well, when Bard was Brad, he didn’t fare so well at learning to read and write. He had troubles with spelling. When he was first learning all this grammatical whatnot, he managed to spell his name “Bard” for about 6 months. Well, Bard stuck. Stuck like when you take a really long bath in a tub of cement.
Arriving at Bard’s house was always an interesting experience for someone. His family tended to hang out on their porch a lot. As much as they could, apparently. Mostly they just complained, smoked cigarettes, and drank diet soda. Diet soda is better for you, after all. When Rocky showed up, Bard’s dad was in rare form. The neighbor was washing his car, and well, Mr. Bard didn’t like that a whole lot, due to the seepage of water from his neighbor’s hose into his yard. “HIS water on MY lawn,” he kept saying. “Can you believe this guy?”
Thankfully, upon his arrival, Rocky learned that Bard was equally as famished as he. Bard seemed to think that he could eat an entire cow on this very day, if he could find a cow to eat in the city. To watch Bard eat was to believe Bard could eat that cow. With cow now having meandered its way into conversation, Bard remarked he wouldn’t mind eating some cow right now. Brisket sounded pretty good to him. Rocky, alternatively, was in the mood for some pizza. Some good, thick pizza slices. “What to do, what to do?” Bard wondered aloud. “If only we could combine our hungers into one super-food!” Well, the thought that conspired next was some odd mixture of utter stupidity and sheer genius. Then again, maybe it was neither of those.
“A brisket pizza!” Bard and Rocky simultaneously yelped. Nothing could possibly be better than the succulent meat from a cow’s chest combined with a staple from a place that wasn’t Italy, contrary to popular opinion, like pizza. The thought of a pizza with slices of tender brisket on top of the sauce, yet under the cheese immediately enticed both of them. Sure, perhaps this meal would offend a vegetarian, and even more so a vegan, but hell, these carnivores were now on a mission! Now, living in the heart of a city like the city that they lived in, which was the great, wonderful city where they lived, finding an anomalous slice of covered crust such as their goal required would be a journey to the 10th power.
Rocky and Bard decided that the best way to start their search would be to hitch the dirty, dirty bus downtown and start walking the streets, looking for their haven of a pizza-cow parlor. The filthy communicable disease on wheels was completely packed by the time they got downtown. It made one wonder how nightclubs could be fined thousands of dollars for being overcapacity, but something that was actually moving at a rapid rate of speed, with little children on board, could be stuffed like packing peanuts around a glass vase in a cardboard box without any qualms from the powers that be. At any rate, the disease on wheels drove on.
The famished friends got off the bus and immediately started to search for their slice of heaven, or cow, more realistically. Before they had walked even one block they had been targeted by three different homeless people, or maybe they were just poor, telling them extravagant stories about how they needed money for the bus. All they wanted was a spare dollar or two. Actually, even some spare change would satisfy them for now. Rocky and Bard both gave all their change away to some of these panhandlers. They wished the money was really going to be used for bus fare. Rocky even proclaimed, “If one of these guys would just tell me he needed money for alcohol, I’d give him 5 dollars. But instead, they have to make extravagant lies.” Bard concurred. Nevertheless, at the rate they were going, they weren’t going to have any money left for pizza by the time they found what they were looking for if this kept up. “Time to start turning these poor saps down,” Bard remarked.
Despite the heckling, Rocky and Bard’s journey continued. They walked down streets like Grand Avenue and President’s Last Name Street. Streets with the types of names you find in every city across the country that they were located in. The country with cities that have similar street names, that is. The tenacious twosome checked every eatery serving pizza or dead cows that they could find. They checked places like Luigi’s Italian Food, Guido’s Italian Food, and Giuseppe’s Italian Food. Places like Donatello’s Deep Dishes and Salvatore’s Slices. To the dismay of our crusading cohorts, these restaurants which were rip-offs of authentic Italian food, served nothing but pizza or pasta. If you were lucky, maybe they had both. Or even ravioli.
Being quite disgruntled now, the duo wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. Give in and eat something else? They’d already passed fifty-four Quicky Burgers at this point. The Quicky Burger served low quality food at a high rate of speed. Due to the lifestyle of the country where people moved fast, The Country Where This Story Took Place, the Quicky Burgers were wildly successful. Apparently modern humans weren’t so interested in their health at the moment. Well, most. Some had shown to be conscientious enough to sue the Quicky Burger for making them obese tubs of blubber. It is hard to imagine a sillier place. This was the place.
Soon enough Rocky and Bard’s search took them into a less than favorable part of town. Normally, the duo would know better, but today, apparently, they were thinking with their stomachs, not their brains. The racial segregation that seemed to be so popular in the country our story is told in made our Caucasian cohorts stick out like sore thumbs. They probably wouldn’t last very long.
Actually, they didn’t last very long. A tall, lanky man with grossly oversized jeans and plain white t-shirt approached them and asked, “Whut yo bisnez around here boiii?” Well, apparently our duo’s favorite color was yellow. Bard decided to try and answer but only was able to mutter, “Uhhh, just food, y’know, lookin’.” Rocky figured he’d be better off just not saying anything. He was of the belief that you do not add fuel to an already burning fire. The tall, lanky man was of the belief that he didn’t care what they had to say. “Empty yo pockets, lemme see whatchu got boiiiz,” he yelled. Not really even thinking about it, Rocky and Bard followed their orders and gave up the contents of their pockets. The thief was really only interested in their money, which he gladly took. Actually, most people were really only interested in money in those days.
Strapped for cash, Rocky and Bard were now in quite the predicament. Should they give up, go home, and eat there? Or should they continue on in the face of difficulty? Bard, being a lesser-willed type was ready to call it quits. “Let’s just go have my mom cook us up something,” he said. “To hell with that!” proclaimed Rocky. Rocky wasn’t about to give up yet. “We’re not crawling back home hungry and we’re not crawling back there asking for more money!”
I guess you could say Rocky took matters into his own hands at this point. He frantically began asking people on the streets something, taking care to make sure Bard couldn’t hear exactly what he was asking. After a few minutes, he said, “C’mon, follow me. We’ve got a little walk to take.” They flew down Sixth Street and went down Main. Then, presto, there they were. Bard finally realized what was up, and he rolled up his sleeves. “Time to donate some blood, eh,” he remarked, and in they went. This was the place.
Inside the building dedicated to stockpiling the vital life-juice, blood, Rocky and Bard, particularly Rocky encountered unexpected hardships. Apparently people who use narcotics don’t have such good blood. The lady in the white lab coat behind the counter explained that Rocky’s tainted life-juice was no good to her, or anyone else, for that matter. If a non-narcotics user were to be given Rocky’s blood, it seems, he would become what many refer to as “high.” You know, that or, “trolleyed,” “munted,” “spun,” “messed up,” “trashed,” hammered,” “annihilated,” “wrecked,” or, as General Pschorr Bop would have said, “F.U.B.A.R.”
Fortunately for the boys, Bard had some pretty rare blood. It might as well have been ketchup-based. Thanks to this blood, they probably had enough money to get around for a while, and perhaps even enough to share a meal, if they were to ever find their meal.
Locating this meal was only getting more difficult, too. The loss of blood was getting to Bard’s head. He hadn’t taken time to rest, drink some water, and nibble a cookie after donating his blood. The only thing on his mind was brisket pizza. As a result, Bard was becoming a bit incoherent and light-headed. He was talking like a drunken man and beginning to worry, or maybe it was annoy, Rocky. “Not only am I hungry and broke, but now I have to chauffeur around this drunken buffoon!” he thought to himself.
Now, at some point during a story, you probably begin to wonder more about the life and experiences of the characters you’re reading about. Where did they grow up? What is their family life like? Well, now would be a good time to shed wondrous illumination on questions of this kind. In a situation like Rocky and Bard were currently in, you’d expect most people to go with their better judgment and throw in the towel. However, Rocky, the man currently steering the ship that was perhaps going nowhere, didn’t exactly think like that. You see, Rocky didn’t come from a real tight-knit family. In fact, he didn’t really come from a family at all.
When Lucille Hacker and Rocky Bop’s father, General Pschorr Bop, were in their twenties, they did what a lot of twenty year-olds do. They humped like rabbits. Actually, maybe it was more like dolphins, seeing as dolphins are the only other animal known to engage in the procreation for pleasure program. In the midst of all this general gyrating, sweating, and screaming, the thought of a child being bore never crossed their minds. If it had, they would have probably fallen ill. That just isn’t very arousing to most people. So, as you can imagine, when Lucille became pregnant, no one was thrilled. General Bop took off. He never spoke to Lucille again. “What good is she now?” General Bop thought. “How dare she get pregnant!”
Left to her own devices, Lucille wasn’t necessarily the most determined individual you’d ever met. Couple that with the fact that she didn’t want the baby anymore than General Bop, and you can probably figure out the rest. She left poor, little Rocky on the doorstep of the nearest hospital named after a Saint. Surely a place with such a name would do the right thing with an abandoned infant. Moreover, it seemed every hospital around was named Saint Mary’s or Saint Luke’s. Strange as it may sound, there was even a Saint Cornbread Care Facility.
Rocky was indeed lucky enough to be taken in by hospital with the name of the hospital where he was dropped off. They weren’t necessarily the greatest to him, but they did what they could. Rocky was placed in a foster home for much of his life, until one day when he managed to escape from it. He lived by himself now, and at times, actually missed the friends he had in foster care. That was the place.
With all that being said, you should understand why Rocky was in no hurry to go home. He had not much of anything to go home to, and since Bard was essentially wasted, he figured he’d keep his journey moving. You could say Bard’s parents didn’t share that sentiment with Rocky. As has been mentioned, Bard’s parents loved to complain. They also loved to worry about their precious Bard. They protected him like an incestuous couple would guard their only “normal” child.
When Bard had been gone for an hour, they didn’t think much of it. When he’d been gone for two, they thought it was strange it was taking so long to eat. When three hours passed by, they became upset. After four hours, they started to fight amongst themselves over things they didn’t even disagree on. Bard’s dad commented on the dinner his wife had made. “These are some good noodles, honey,” he said. “How dare you talk about my noodles, you fast bastard!” screamed his wife. In case you were wondering the names of Bard’s parents, you are not going to find out what they are. They are being left out for no reason whatsoever. In the country that was the country where the story that is being told took place, many things happened for no reason whatsoever. These were things like brutal murders, rapes, procreation for pleasure programs, and, strange as it may sound, kindness. Kindness was perhaps the rarest of all activities occurring for no specific reason. People just didn’t have time for hogwash like that.
As time continued to pass, the more Bard’s parents continued to worry and fight and the more Bard, himself, began to “sober up.” The more Bard began to sober up, the more he began to realize what rare form his parents were probably in. Despite beginning to realize what a mess things would be for him when he arrived home, he figured he may as well stick it out now. Nothing was going to get any worse for Bard. His exact thought was, “If I’m already up to my ankles in crap, I may as well go waist deep too.” This sort of thinking wasn’t exactly Bard’s style, but this wasn’t exactly an average day for Bard.
Speaking of averages, or the law referring to them, things were about to work in the favor of our stumbling friends. Perhaps to even out the spell of bad luck inflicting their tailspin of a journey, Rocky and Bard found a credit card on the ground. This wasn’t a Harry’s Outlet Store credit card either. It was a gorgeous, shining credit card with no limit on it. It seemed to shimmer in the fading sunlight just before dusk. It was called “Debt Plus Spender’s Pal.” Now, not to be poor Samaritans or anything, but Rocky and Bard thought they would try and use this credit card, not return it to whomever it belonged. As things were nowadays, most credit card companies wouldn’t hold you responsible for charges put on your card after it has been stolen. And, after all, a credit card company could probably spare a few dollars, as it is.
Not feeling like going home, the two checked into a hotel room. They made sure to get a room with two beds. They could afford it now. Another interesting aspect of the society and marketplace of the country named The Country Where This Story Took Place was that virtually nobody would ever ask for any form of identification from someone attempting to use a credit card. They would, however, make sure to ask people well into their forties for an ID when attempting to buy alcohol. Apparently they weren’t so interested in protecting innocent people from theft. Nevertheless, the hotel room worked out great for Rocky and Bard. This was the place.
Soon enough morning came, the yellow sun rose, and Rocky and Bard’s journey continued. You would think it would have been logical to use the credit card they found on the ground to acquire some food, but for one reason or another, they didn’t. Maybe the friends were just too tired to think about food. Maybe they wanted to fast until they found the meal for which they searched, in an attempt to make it seem even better. People sometimes did silly things like that. In actuality, silly things like that didn’t exactly improve anything.
Whilst checking out of the hotel, Rocky made the decision to leave the credit card behind in the hotel room. He also made the decision to keep that information temporarily hidden from Bard. Bard soon enough found out and well, to put it lightly, Bard was not thrilled. His patience was wearing down and the effects of intense hunger had definitely set in. He was tired and irritable. All he really had to say about everything was, “My GOD you are an idiot sometimes, Rocky. Let’s just get moving so we can get this over with. GOD!” What Bard’s god had to do with this, no one knows but him.
The boys quietly resumed walking, now in a part of town neither of them was familiar with. They weren’t exactly sure if they had even ever been there before. They figured it was just another egg under a chicken at this point, or maybe they said it was just water under the bridge. Basically, they didn’t care where they were. They wanted food. As time ticked along, however, they did not necessarily still want the same food. While Rocky remained adamant in his search and desire for a brisket pizza, Bard’s motivation and willpower were beginning to dwindle. He would have settled for brisket the first chance he got. This rift and general loss of their sense of togetherness in their search took its toll on the duo’s camaraderie. Rocky became annoyed with Bard. Bard became annoyed with Rocky. “What the hell is his problem?” they silently asked themselves.
Another symptom of the land mass where Rocky and Bard resided was that most people couldn’t bare the thought of taking responsibility for their own actions, or perhaps more specifically to our story, the thought that they might actually be part of the problem. Instead of being upset with each other, Rocky and Bard could have probably resolved the situation easy enough if they’d tried a little harder. But, alas, they did not. The problem was bound to escalate. “So it goes,” their friend Kurtvee would have said.
As they continued to stroll boulevards and cruise avenues, some long and narrow, others sloping and curving past the horizon, the distance between them on the sidewalk on which they walked seemed greater than that to the other side of the street. A young man can only be put into so challenging a situation, essentially joined at the hip of another, for so long. It was probably time for the boys to part, in Bard’s mind. Rocky still had nowhere to go. In a perfect world Rocky would have liked to sit down and eventually eat the brisket pizza with Bard. Rocky knew that this wasn’t necessarily a perfect world, however.
As the two stumbled upon a street named Civil Rights Activist Boulevard, which seemed remarkable familiar to them, a glimmer of light was shone for one of the young men. A bright neon shine glistened in a shop window. The sign read, “King Slather’s BBQ.” As Rocky and Bard approached the restaurant, an odd, eerie silence filled the air. They were both a bit hesitant in regards to what was about to occur, despite the fact that they’d been waiting for something akin to it for so long. Bard looked over at Rocky, and with a bit of a sly grin said, “I think this is the end of the line for me. Time for that brisket.” Rocky nodded and Rocky smiled. As Rocky drifted down the street, Bard watched, quietly muttering “Good luck, Rock.”
You might say that Rocky didn’t fare as well as Bard, in the sense that he never found what it was he was truly searching for. There was no brisket pizza to be found in the city, perhaps anywhere. Eventually, Rocky lulled into a generic Italian eatery, and got some himself a few obscenely large slices of pizza. The man behind the counter spoke. “Rough day, eh?” he remarked. Rocky could say nothing more than, “I guess you could think of it that way. It depends how full you think that glass is.” Having had a rough life, Rocky always tried to look at the good side of things. As far as Rocky was concerned, the pizza he was eating was as good as things were going to get, and he was happy with that.
A lot of people could learn something from Rocky, many would have thought. Many of those who perhaps needed educating were from The Country Where This Story Took Place. You know; the country that has cities with similar street names. You see, people from this area had a lot of issues. They probably had a lot more than they should have, as well, especially when compared to other areas of similar stature. People here had to have total control. They had to have things just perfect to be content. People here also often failed to have the courage to take any responsibility for their own actions. Everything they did was apparently to make up for other people’s mistakes. They typically failed to acknowledge their own influence in those aforementioned mistakes.
The beauty of the relationship between Rocky and Bard was that they could gain contentment. While they may have become rather distressed, impatient, and upset at certain points, neither of them lost control. They understood the necessity for control of one’s self, as opposed to control of everyone else. Finding solace in situations where things didn’t work out exactly as they hoped for was perhaps one of their most admirable qualities. Young and unaware of it, Rocky and Bard led perhaps more admirable and respectable existences than the men who ruled The Country Where This Story Took Place.
The leaders of The Country Where This Story Took Place usually just bombed and destroyed anything they disagreed with. Most of the commoners of this country shared the mentality of those in control. They were egotistical and blind, completely unaware of the foolishness of their thoughts and actions. They weren’t able to be content, like Rocky and Bard. If they had only paid more attention in History class, perhaps the awful parallels between their behavior and the behavior of other powerful nations of days past would have been more apparent to them. Perhaps the rapid demise and end would have been clearer.
Eventually, the end would become clear to them. However, at this point, after they’d realized the errors of their ways, it was too late. Too late in the sense that it is too late when someone jumps off a cliff and realizes halfway down that their life isn’t, and soon to be wasn’t, so bad. Now that they understood you didn’t need to try to control everything until it was exactly as you saw fit, it was, quite ironically, much too late to just be content with the situation at hand. The egotists had gone too far. If only the masses of that place would have paid more attention to those like Rocky and Bard.
This was the place.
thankest.
there isn't an official title to this yet, so i just called this thread ' a tale of two, ' despite the fact that i shall probably just title it "This was the place." while it is a tale of two, hopefully it portrays a bit more than that, while, at the same time, portraying much less. heh. :D
I guess you could say it was kind of a weird day outside. The sun wasn’t exactly out, but it was there, hidden beyond the clouds. It managed to create a gloomy, odd brightness. The light still managed to give you the impression you needed some sunglasses, yet the light wasn’t coming from any particular direction, as it typically does when the sun is out. Nevertheless, going outside on this particular day, whatever day it may have been, gave Rocky a headache. Despite his inter-cranial affliction, Rocky Bop wanted some eats. But where to go?
First off, Rocky figured he may as well go retrieve a friend, maybe even two, if he felt so inclined, to join him on his crusade for culinary consummation. So Rocky got his things together and hopped on the bus, to head across town. Rocky road the bus because large corporations had destroyed the rail cars of days past, which emitted nearly no pollution, and replaced them with big, smelly buses that didn’t ever run according to schedule and ruined the environment. Rocky, of course, didn’t give this much thought. Almost no one did.
The bus had a funny smell to it. Like old socks. Really old socks. The aroma was probably actually generated from the combination of bums, sick people, and lack of overall cleanliness on the bus. People didn’t really talk a lot on the bus. Everyone just sat in their seat and stared out the window or at their toes. Who would have thought feet were so interesting? I wonder what everyone thought about while they stared into oblivion. At least I know what Rocky was thinking about. Rocky was thinking about what he and his friend Bard were going to eat. Bard’s name used to be Brad, but, well, when Bard was Brad, he didn’t fare so well at learning to read and write. He had troubles with spelling. When he was first learning all this grammatical whatnot, he managed to spell his name “Bard” for about 6 months. Well, Bard stuck. Stuck like when you take a really long bath in a tub of cement.
Arriving at Bard’s house was always an interesting experience for someone. His family tended to hang out on their porch a lot. As much as they could, apparently. Mostly they just complained, smoked cigarettes, and drank diet soda. Diet soda is better for you, after all. When Rocky showed up, Bard’s dad was in rare form. The neighbor was washing his car, and well, Mr. Bard didn’t like that a whole lot, due to the seepage of water from his neighbor’s hose into his yard. “HIS water on MY lawn,” he kept saying. “Can you believe this guy?”
Thankfully, upon his arrival, Rocky learned that Bard was equally as famished as he. Bard seemed to think that he could eat an entire cow on this very day, if he could find a cow to eat in the city. To watch Bard eat was to believe Bard could eat that cow. With cow now having meandered its way into conversation, Bard remarked he wouldn’t mind eating some cow right now. Brisket sounded pretty good to him. Rocky, alternatively, was in the mood for some pizza. Some good, thick pizza slices. “What to do, what to do?” Bard wondered aloud. “If only we could combine our hungers into one super-food!” Well, the thought that conspired next was some odd mixture of utter stupidity and sheer genius. Then again, maybe it was neither of those.
“A brisket pizza!” Bard and Rocky simultaneously yelped. Nothing could possibly be better than the succulent meat from a cow’s chest combined with a staple from a place that wasn’t Italy, contrary to popular opinion, like pizza. The thought of a pizza with slices of tender brisket on top of the sauce, yet under the cheese immediately enticed both of them. Sure, perhaps this meal would offend a vegetarian, and even more so a vegan, but hell, these carnivores were now on a mission! Now, living in the heart of a city like the city that they lived in, which was the great, wonderful city where they lived, finding an anomalous slice of covered crust such as their goal required would be a journey to the 10th power.
Rocky and Bard decided that the best way to start their search would be to hitch the dirty, dirty bus downtown and start walking the streets, looking for their haven of a pizza-cow parlor. The filthy communicable disease on wheels was completely packed by the time they got downtown. It made one wonder how nightclubs could be fined thousands of dollars for being overcapacity, but something that was actually moving at a rapid rate of speed, with little children on board, could be stuffed like packing peanuts around a glass vase in a cardboard box without any qualms from the powers that be. At any rate, the disease on wheels drove on.
The famished friends got off the bus and immediately started to search for their slice of heaven, or cow, more realistically. Before they had walked even one block they had been targeted by three different homeless people, or maybe they were just poor, telling them extravagant stories about how they needed money for the bus. All they wanted was a spare dollar or two. Actually, even some spare change would satisfy them for now. Rocky and Bard both gave all their change away to some of these panhandlers. They wished the money was really going to be used for bus fare. Rocky even proclaimed, “If one of these guys would just tell me he needed money for alcohol, I’d give him 5 dollars. But instead, they have to make extravagant lies.” Bard concurred. Nevertheless, at the rate they were going, they weren’t going to have any money left for pizza by the time they found what they were looking for if this kept up. “Time to start turning these poor saps down,” Bard remarked.
Despite the heckling, Rocky and Bard’s journey continued. They walked down streets like Grand Avenue and President’s Last Name Street. Streets with the types of names you find in every city across the country that they were located in. The country with cities that have similar street names, that is. The tenacious twosome checked every eatery serving pizza or dead cows that they could find. They checked places like Luigi’s Italian Food, Guido’s Italian Food, and Giuseppe’s Italian Food. Places like Donatello’s Deep Dishes and Salvatore’s Slices. To the dismay of our crusading cohorts, these restaurants which were rip-offs of authentic Italian food, served nothing but pizza or pasta. If you were lucky, maybe they had both. Or even ravioli.
Being quite disgruntled now, the duo wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. Give in and eat something else? They’d already passed fifty-four Quicky Burgers at this point. The Quicky Burger served low quality food at a high rate of speed. Due to the lifestyle of the country where people moved fast, The Country Where This Story Took Place, the Quicky Burgers were wildly successful. Apparently modern humans weren’t so interested in their health at the moment. Well, most. Some had shown to be conscientious enough to sue the Quicky Burger for making them obese tubs of blubber. It is hard to imagine a sillier place. This was the place.
Soon enough Rocky and Bard’s search took them into a less than favorable part of town. Normally, the duo would know better, but today, apparently, they were thinking with their stomachs, not their brains. The racial segregation that seemed to be so popular in the country our story is told in made our Caucasian cohorts stick out like sore thumbs. They probably wouldn’t last very long.
Actually, they didn’t last very long. A tall, lanky man with grossly oversized jeans and plain white t-shirt approached them and asked, “Whut yo bisnez around here boiii?” Well, apparently our duo’s favorite color was yellow. Bard decided to try and answer but only was able to mutter, “Uhhh, just food, y’know, lookin’.” Rocky figured he’d be better off just not saying anything. He was of the belief that you do not add fuel to an already burning fire. The tall, lanky man was of the belief that he didn’t care what they had to say. “Empty yo pockets, lemme see whatchu got boiiiz,” he yelled. Not really even thinking about it, Rocky and Bard followed their orders and gave up the contents of their pockets. The thief was really only interested in their money, which he gladly took. Actually, most people were really only interested in money in those days.
Strapped for cash, Rocky and Bard were now in quite the predicament. Should they give up, go home, and eat there? Or should they continue on in the face of difficulty? Bard, being a lesser-willed type was ready to call it quits. “Let’s just go have my mom cook us up something,” he said. “To hell with that!” proclaimed Rocky. Rocky wasn’t about to give up yet. “We’re not crawling back home hungry and we’re not crawling back there asking for more money!”
I guess you could say Rocky took matters into his own hands at this point. He frantically began asking people on the streets something, taking care to make sure Bard couldn’t hear exactly what he was asking. After a few minutes, he said, “C’mon, follow me. We’ve got a little walk to take.” They flew down Sixth Street and went down Main. Then, presto, there they were. Bard finally realized what was up, and he rolled up his sleeves. “Time to donate some blood, eh,” he remarked, and in they went. This was the place.
Inside the building dedicated to stockpiling the vital life-juice, blood, Rocky and Bard, particularly Rocky encountered unexpected hardships. Apparently people who use narcotics don’t have such good blood. The lady in the white lab coat behind the counter explained that Rocky’s tainted life-juice was no good to her, or anyone else, for that matter. If a non-narcotics user were to be given Rocky’s blood, it seems, he would become what many refer to as “high.” You know, that or, “trolleyed,” “munted,” “spun,” “messed up,” “trashed,” hammered,” “annihilated,” “wrecked,” or, as General Pschorr Bop would have said, “F.U.B.A.R.”
Fortunately for the boys, Bard had some pretty rare blood. It might as well have been ketchup-based. Thanks to this blood, they probably had enough money to get around for a while, and perhaps even enough to share a meal, if they were to ever find their meal.
Locating this meal was only getting more difficult, too. The loss of blood was getting to Bard’s head. He hadn’t taken time to rest, drink some water, and nibble a cookie after donating his blood. The only thing on his mind was brisket pizza. As a result, Bard was becoming a bit incoherent and light-headed. He was talking like a drunken man and beginning to worry, or maybe it was annoy, Rocky. “Not only am I hungry and broke, but now I have to chauffeur around this drunken buffoon!” he thought to himself.
Now, at some point during a story, you probably begin to wonder more about the life and experiences of the characters you’re reading about. Where did they grow up? What is their family life like? Well, now would be a good time to shed wondrous illumination on questions of this kind. In a situation like Rocky and Bard were currently in, you’d expect most people to go with their better judgment and throw in the towel. However, Rocky, the man currently steering the ship that was perhaps going nowhere, didn’t exactly think like that. You see, Rocky didn’t come from a real tight-knit family. In fact, he didn’t really come from a family at all.
When Lucille Hacker and Rocky Bop’s father, General Pschorr Bop, were in their twenties, they did what a lot of twenty year-olds do. They humped like rabbits. Actually, maybe it was more like dolphins, seeing as dolphins are the only other animal known to engage in the procreation for pleasure program. In the midst of all this general gyrating, sweating, and screaming, the thought of a child being bore never crossed their minds. If it had, they would have probably fallen ill. That just isn’t very arousing to most people. So, as you can imagine, when Lucille became pregnant, no one was thrilled. General Bop took off. He never spoke to Lucille again. “What good is she now?” General Bop thought. “How dare she get pregnant!”
Left to her own devices, Lucille wasn’t necessarily the most determined individual you’d ever met. Couple that with the fact that she didn’t want the baby anymore than General Bop, and you can probably figure out the rest. She left poor, little Rocky on the doorstep of the nearest hospital named after a Saint. Surely a place with such a name would do the right thing with an abandoned infant. Moreover, it seemed every hospital around was named Saint Mary’s or Saint Luke’s. Strange as it may sound, there was even a Saint Cornbread Care Facility.
Rocky was indeed lucky enough to be taken in by hospital with the name of the hospital where he was dropped off. They weren’t necessarily the greatest to him, but they did what they could. Rocky was placed in a foster home for much of his life, until one day when he managed to escape from it. He lived by himself now, and at times, actually missed the friends he had in foster care. That was the place.
With all that being said, you should understand why Rocky was in no hurry to go home. He had not much of anything to go home to, and since Bard was essentially wasted, he figured he’d keep his journey moving. You could say Bard’s parents didn’t share that sentiment with Rocky. As has been mentioned, Bard’s parents loved to complain. They also loved to worry about their precious Bard. They protected him like an incestuous couple would guard their only “normal” child.
When Bard had been gone for an hour, they didn’t think much of it. When he’d been gone for two, they thought it was strange it was taking so long to eat. When three hours passed by, they became upset. After four hours, they started to fight amongst themselves over things they didn’t even disagree on. Bard’s dad commented on the dinner his wife had made. “These are some good noodles, honey,” he said. “How dare you talk about my noodles, you fast bastard!” screamed his wife. In case you were wondering the names of Bard’s parents, you are not going to find out what they are. They are being left out for no reason whatsoever. In the country that was the country where the story that is being told took place, many things happened for no reason whatsoever. These were things like brutal murders, rapes, procreation for pleasure programs, and, strange as it may sound, kindness. Kindness was perhaps the rarest of all activities occurring for no specific reason. People just didn’t have time for hogwash like that.
As time continued to pass, the more Bard’s parents continued to worry and fight and the more Bard, himself, began to “sober up.” The more Bard began to sober up, the more he began to realize what rare form his parents were probably in. Despite beginning to realize what a mess things would be for him when he arrived home, he figured he may as well stick it out now. Nothing was going to get any worse for Bard. His exact thought was, “If I’m already up to my ankles in crap, I may as well go waist deep too.” This sort of thinking wasn’t exactly Bard’s style, but this wasn’t exactly an average day for Bard.
Speaking of averages, or the law referring to them, things were about to work in the favor of our stumbling friends. Perhaps to even out the spell of bad luck inflicting their tailspin of a journey, Rocky and Bard found a credit card on the ground. This wasn’t a Harry’s Outlet Store credit card either. It was a gorgeous, shining credit card with no limit on it. It seemed to shimmer in the fading sunlight just before dusk. It was called “Debt Plus Spender’s Pal.” Now, not to be poor Samaritans or anything, but Rocky and Bard thought they would try and use this credit card, not return it to whomever it belonged. As things were nowadays, most credit card companies wouldn’t hold you responsible for charges put on your card after it has been stolen. And, after all, a credit card company could probably spare a few dollars, as it is.
Not feeling like going home, the two checked into a hotel room. They made sure to get a room with two beds. They could afford it now. Another interesting aspect of the society and marketplace of the country named The Country Where This Story Took Place was that virtually nobody would ever ask for any form of identification from someone attempting to use a credit card. They would, however, make sure to ask people well into their forties for an ID when attempting to buy alcohol. Apparently they weren’t so interested in protecting innocent people from theft. Nevertheless, the hotel room worked out great for Rocky and Bard. This was the place.
Soon enough morning came, the yellow sun rose, and Rocky and Bard’s journey continued. You would think it would have been logical to use the credit card they found on the ground to acquire some food, but for one reason or another, they didn’t. Maybe the friends were just too tired to think about food. Maybe they wanted to fast until they found the meal for which they searched, in an attempt to make it seem even better. People sometimes did silly things like that. In actuality, silly things like that didn’t exactly improve anything.
Whilst checking out of the hotel, Rocky made the decision to leave the credit card behind in the hotel room. He also made the decision to keep that information temporarily hidden from Bard. Bard soon enough found out and well, to put it lightly, Bard was not thrilled. His patience was wearing down and the effects of intense hunger had definitely set in. He was tired and irritable. All he really had to say about everything was, “My GOD you are an idiot sometimes, Rocky. Let’s just get moving so we can get this over with. GOD!” What Bard’s god had to do with this, no one knows but him.
The boys quietly resumed walking, now in a part of town neither of them was familiar with. They weren’t exactly sure if they had even ever been there before. They figured it was just another egg under a chicken at this point, or maybe they said it was just water under the bridge. Basically, they didn’t care where they were. They wanted food. As time ticked along, however, they did not necessarily still want the same food. While Rocky remained adamant in his search and desire for a brisket pizza, Bard’s motivation and willpower were beginning to dwindle. He would have settled for brisket the first chance he got. This rift and general loss of their sense of togetherness in their search took its toll on the duo’s camaraderie. Rocky became annoyed with Bard. Bard became annoyed with Rocky. “What the hell is his problem?” they silently asked themselves.
Another symptom of the land mass where Rocky and Bard resided was that most people couldn’t bare the thought of taking responsibility for their own actions, or perhaps more specifically to our story, the thought that they might actually be part of the problem. Instead of being upset with each other, Rocky and Bard could have probably resolved the situation easy enough if they’d tried a little harder. But, alas, they did not. The problem was bound to escalate. “So it goes,” their friend Kurtvee would have said.
As they continued to stroll boulevards and cruise avenues, some long and narrow, others sloping and curving past the horizon, the distance between them on the sidewalk on which they walked seemed greater than that to the other side of the street. A young man can only be put into so challenging a situation, essentially joined at the hip of another, for so long. It was probably time for the boys to part, in Bard’s mind. Rocky still had nowhere to go. In a perfect world Rocky would have liked to sit down and eventually eat the brisket pizza with Bard. Rocky knew that this wasn’t necessarily a perfect world, however.
As the two stumbled upon a street named Civil Rights Activist Boulevard, which seemed remarkable familiar to them, a glimmer of light was shone for one of the young men. A bright neon shine glistened in a shop window. The sign read, “King Slather’s BBQ.” As Rocky and Bard approached the restaurant, an odd, eerie silence filled the air. They were both a bit hesitant in regards to what was about to occur, despite the fact that they’d been waiting for something akin to it for so long. Bard looked over at Rocky, and with a bit of a sly grin said, “I think this is the end of the line for me. Time for that brisket.” Rocky nodded and Rocky smiled. As Rocky drifted down the street, Bard watched, quietly muttering “Good luck, Rock.”
You might say that Rocky didn’t fare as well as Bard, in the sense that he never found what it was he was truly searching for. There was no brisket pizza to be found in the city, perhaps anywhere. Eventually, Rocky lulled into a generic Italian eatery, and got some himself a few obscenely large slices of pizza. The man behind the counter spoke. “Rough day, eh?” he remarked. Rocky could say nothing more than, “I guess you could think of it that way. It depends how full you think that glass is.” Having had a rough life, Rocky always tried to look at the good side of things. As far as Rocky was concerned, the pizza he was eating was as good as things were going to get, and he was happy with that.
A lot of people could learn something from Rocky, many would have thought. Many of those who perhaps needed educating were from The Country Where This Story Took Place. You know; the country that has cities with similar street names. You see, people from this area had a lot of issues. They probably had a lot more than they should have, as well, especially when compared to other areas of similar stature. People here had to have total control. They had to have things just perfect to be content. People here also often failed to have the courage to take any responsibility for their own actions. Everything they did was apparently to make up for other people’s mistakes. They typically failed to acknowledge their own influence in those aforementioned mistakes.
The beauty of the relationship between Rocky and Bard was that they could gain contentment. While they may have become rather distressed, impatient, and upset at certain points, neither of them lost control. They understood the necessity for control of one’s self, as opposed to control of everyone else. Finding solace in situations where things didn’t work out exactly as they hoped for was perhaps one of their most admirable qualities. Young and unaware of it, Rocky and Bard led perhaps more admirable and respectable existences than the men who ruled The Country Where This Story Took Place.
The leaders of The Country Where This Story Took Place usually just bombed and destroyed anything they disagreed with. Most of the commoners of this country shared the mentality of those in control. They were egotistical and blind, completely unaware of the foolishness of their thoughts and actions. They weren’t able to be content, like Rocky and Bard. If they had only paid more attention in History class, perhaps the awful parallels between their behavior and the behavior of other powerful nations of days past would have been more apparent to them. Perhaps the rapid demise and end would have been clearer.
Eventually, the end would become clear to them. However, at this point, after they’d realized the errors of their ways, it was too late. Too late in the sense that it is too late when someone jumps off a cliff and realizes halfway down that their life isn’t, and soon to be wasn’t, so bad. Now that they understood you didn’t need to try to control everything until it was exactly as you saw fit, it was, quite ironically, much too late to just be content with the situation at hand. The egotists had gone too far. If only the masses of that place would have paid more attention to those like Rocky and Bard.
This was the place.
