The Unnamed adventures of Roger Weaver

The Unnamed adventures of Roger Weaver

Chapter 5

     The Story The Authors
Thusly braced with a healthy Kentucky glow the group began the arduous trek back up the cliff face utilizing the back stairs (cleverly concealed behind an enormous stack of old Tiger Beats in Davey Jones' spare storage shed)stopping periodically for more refreshment. By the time they had reached Old Boar's cave all were pretty looped.
"Ah do decleh tha theesh is the finesh time Ah's haid since las' Duhby Tahm." Old Boar stated before passing out.

When consciousness reclaimed Roger he found himself already far far away from the Old Boar's lair. He was also very very hungover. It felt like the inside of his skull had been lined with sandpaper and even the act of blinking(once he'd pried his eyelids free from the crust) was enough to cause the quivering jelly like mass of his brain tissue to chafe against it. His mouth tasted like he'd been licking the pot in which they make stamp glue and his entire left leg was asleep from where he'd lain strewn in the dust of the cavern floor. With as little effort as he could exert he tried to remember how he'd come to be here.
The Cat In the Hat pushing him to continue. Excited and slurred exhortations from the Things. Supplies. He needed supplies. Stumbling back to Davey Jones' Locker to scrounge. A return journey. More bourbon. The secret door. Sleep. Here.
He lifted his head slightly. The contents of his skull shifted against his eyballs with a resounding internal screech. The gun was still in place in his belt. His pantsleg was torn at the knee. He had managed to lose the other shoe. (or had he hurled it at Thing Two in a fit of drunken pique.) and beside him was a slightly battered Monkees lunchbox. Fumbling fingers worked it open. Contents: three stale Pilsbury space stix, a packet of Pop Rocks and a thermos.
From somewhere nearby familiar twin giggles arose only to trail off into groans. He twisted the lid of the thermos and with a prayer of thanks to the kindness within smacked his lips on a taste of Kentucky dog that bit him.

Hands trembling with a case of the dreaded hangovericum tremens, stomach churning with the whirly nose of the bourbon, and even the little interior voice of his conscience (which was then in the process of writing "I Will Never Drink Again" seventeen thousand times on the endless blackboard of Roger's guilt) had to admit that hair-o'-the-dawg was the only way — he brought the thermos to his lips — but stopped, suddenly remembering a song:

Oh —
I'm —
Picking out a thermos for you
Not an ordinary thermos for you
But the extra-best thermos
You can buy —
With vinyl!
And stripes!
And a cup built right in —
I'm picking out a thermos for yoooooouuuuu
And maybe a barometer too—

Coincidentally, however, his off-key rendition of the old standard was cut short at exactly the same point where Steve Martin's rendition of it was cut short in The Jerk — for it was at that moment that Anita stormed into the cave, tripped over the snoring, pungent heap comprised of the bodies of Boar, the Cat in the Hat (whose dreams, even, transpired solely in AABB rhyme schemes), and Things One and Two, and hurtled toward Roger. He caught her; he lost the bourbon in the process, it's true, but he did catch her; "Roger?" she gasped, astonished, catching her first whiff of the distillery he'd become; he watched the last of the spilled bourbon dribbling away into a crack in the cave floor; he sniffled; he tried to bring her face into focus through his hangover, but failed blearily, closed his eyes, and heaved a sigh.
"Hi Anita," he said, "How's New York?" the tone of his voice making no attempt to disguise the fact that her answer to his question would make not one whit of a difference to him...

But still, he tried to listen. She spoke of lost love; a transgression in New York, that started as a simple kiss, then turned passionate, heated, from like, to lust, to love! Was he hearing correctly? The marriage was off? She was leaving him, never to return? What a cruel day this had turned out to be. Where did that bourbon go? Maybe there was a small sip left on the cave floor. He searched . . . in vain. Samantha Hawn
"Anita, whatthefuck are you doing here?" groaned Roger. The simple act of saying this cause his hangover to plunge mutliple cold steel spikes through Roger's eyes with triplicate vigor. "I'm on a mission, baby. It's dangerous down here, even I don't know just how dangerous... Besides, I thought you said you hated me and never wanted to see me again, which is what got me into this mess in the first place... Who the hell are you working for, anyway? Which side?"
"That's you, Rog. Everything always has to come back to you. You probably think I followed you, don't you? It never entered your pea-brain that this might just go way beyond you — "
"You always did twist my words around, 'Nita..."
"Listen you little shit, while I was in New York I was attacked by vampires. By Liliputians. By Bactrian camels disguised as Dromedaries. By a universal preoccupation with masturbation so inspidid it threatened to take over the world, to corrupt the most chaste and charitable of conversations into a spider's-nest of latent desires and Freudian slips — you don't know the half of it! Got so I couldn't sleep at night..."
"Christ on a zweiback, Anita — you too?"
They eyed each other then, still suspiciously, but with, for the first time since their reunion, something of that old camaraderie in the face of constant opposition which had kept them together for three and half years... From the corner came the intermittant groans of Boar, the Cat in the Hat, and the two Things as the insistent presence of morning (even in the dank and drear of Boar's cave) began to poke holes in their bourbon-buoyed sleep. A fine lot we must look! thought Roger too himself. A right fine bunch indeed!
Roger suddenly noticed the cliff edge 5 feet away from him and the lion 5 feet away in the other direction. "Now what do we do?" he moaned. He immediately heard the cat in the hats answer: "Remember what I said last night!
Get rid of your reserve and fright!
That lion is the only way
To find a happy end today!
There is one other ending: if
You run and jump right off the cliff
You'll land in great big lava pools,
An ending only fit for fools!
Get past the lion and you'll see
A happy ending (and also me)."
"Is this the sort of company you keep when we're apart. Good God! It smells like a distillery in here." snapped Anita attempting to keep a smirk off her lips. A sorry lot they looked indeed.
"Ah mus' reekwest, Ma'am, without the leas' 'mount of dis'pect Ah kin mustah in mah cuh-rent po-sishian that you pleaz loah yo voice a speck as theah is others heah who aint feelin' rightly dis-posed at the momen'" said Old Boar in a most pitiful croak.
here i go again
time passing
great glaring
pc screen
clicking on other worlds
my dreams your dreams
i see everything
and nothing
click and reclick
check and recheck
exploring daily
knocking out my skull
and sometimes i afford myself a sense of wonder
i pass through time
cyberspace curves like sculptured
do all things happen at once
hold on
am i dreaming
meet me at the detour
listen to the earth music
link minds and dance
every word i write
i try to make a note of love
to counter balance the various
evil forces in this world
reaching telephatic hights in cyberzone
i have a childs view
my daughter says
me with the words tumbling
masks wont save me
i work my mouth and roll my eyes
dreaming wires
new wave methods
surfing the world
sad eyed drifter
rainbow angel
this machine kills facists
look at strangers look at strangers
behold i stand at the door and knock
frozen by words
i pass through and i'm passed by
god flashed in my mind
downloading heaven on a pc near you
illuminating my pillow
means more than pension
for the last few years ive been an optical illusion
perhaps i could break this habit
theres a party in my head
the worlds invited
night cars go by
pretty people
there is no end to this word game
to hell with so much violence
so much misunderstanding
whoring for the sake of mercenary visions
who pumped in the gas
orbs of pain
expand your eyes to distant moons
inject love in to their nerve ends
wait for them at the checkouts
rebuild the machine
looking in to the light
words faded between one wall and the other
stabbing the shadows

Well shuck my corn and polish my shoes
Roger's got the existential blues

Said Things One and Two.
"Oh, Roger, not now." Anita sighed.
Roger fell to his knees at Anita's feet. "Please take me back to New York," he sobbed. "I just want to get out of this wretched place and my head hurts." he began to cry. Anita took pity on the poor bastard, as she always did. She helped him to his feet and escorted him to the mouth of the cave.

Upon reaching the entrance of the cave, Anita produced a plane ticket from her coat pocket. "Here," she said, "this will get you to New York." Roger thanked her profusely, then asked, "But aren't you coming with me, Anita? Certainly I cannot leave you behind knowing you are alone, here, in the mercy of the wretched!" He screwed up his face in pain, ala William Shatner. "Go now," whispered Anita, and she turned and walked slowly away. Bubu
Anita suddenly whirled about and shouted "What do you MEAN, you cannot leave my BEHIND???!!! You sick and sodden BASTARD! I always knew there was a slimy, kinky, dirty sexual deviant behind those glassy eyes!" Boffo Boingo
"Oh great" said Roger, "Anita, I meant that I couldn't leave you in this cave! It has nothing to do with your behind!" But Anita was gone. Roger sighed and started to make his way to the New York City Dump where he could get rid of the evil remote control. Anita would have to wait untill later. Carolyn
As he walked he could hear the sound of music playing off in the distance. He soon recognized the smooth licks of his favorite band "Henry Hyde and the House Managers" wailing away. He smiled and wondered where the music was coming from. Hoping he would happen upon a place to cool his heels and enjoy a refreshing cold beer, he picked up his pace. It was only a matter of time now for that damm remote control. pH
He thought to himself in agony, "will i ever score?" jess
They said if I get the remote control to the dump on time I would get 322 points. That would be almost enough to win. Yeehaw! I'm on my way. And off he went, visions of heroism in his head. pH
Or was that visions of heroin in his head? Roger was confused. Here he was back in New York yet he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here. He felt miserable and alone and he couldn't remember where his apartment was. He thought of Anita. He somehow knew that she would be able to help him but he didn't know where to find her. He figured it probably was visions of heroin in his head so he thought he'd better score some. Unfortunately he had no money. He didn't have anything of value to sell so he decided to steal some money from a convenience store. After all, he still had the gun tucked into his belt. cuddles
"OH no you don't!" said Thing ONe and Thing Two.
"Stealing cash
And buying drugs
Is just as bad
As those awful thugs
Who turn this story
Into sex
And ruin it
And break our necks!"
"All right all right" said Roger. He resumed walking towards the New York City Dump.