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small bottle with a red wrapper. On the wrapper were the words, in Olde
English Calligraphy, Olde Mortality
, and in very small print
Ye be informed no person hath ever lived to finish ye whole bottle
"I want one too," Bill intoned with alcoholic greed.
"Me three," Elliot said in the same voice.
"Last one," Uncle Nancy told them. "But I got three bottles of fermented yak's
milk I will gladly share with you. A favorite tipple of mine this time of
day." He quickly opened the bottles, seized one by the neck and passed the
others over. "Here's to a good yak," he said, almost draining his.
The drink tasted like nothing Bill had experienced before, settling to the pit
of his stomach and exploding there. But good!
Bill's eyes watered with joy. He tried to express his joy, but when he tried
to speak all he could say was
"Yep," said Uncle Nancy, wiping away tears of his own. "This stuff is the real
stuff  Moo!"
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Elliot Methadrine could only sip his. But the hippie sneered at this
abstemiousness and drained his own drink all the way down in a single gulp.
Plumes of steam seemed to rise from his ears. But instead of being more
relaxed  or dead  the guy's eyes just looked a little wilder. Apparently,
not for the first time, the commercial had lied.
"So anyway," said Uncle Nancy, folding his arms together on his chest with
disapproval. "What exactly brings a thing like you into my joint?"
"Hey, man, don't rag me," muttered the hippie. "I'm tryin' to remember. I'm
spaced out, man. Must so have been something I smoked. Or drank. Or shot up.
Or something."
Bill drained his bottle and banged his empty pint down onto, the counter.
"Better fill me up with regular.
Draft. Lasts a little longer." Bill was feeling positively buoyant. Usually
alcohol hammered closed the lid on the loose stuff slogging around in his
head. This dark, delicious stuff was actually exhilarating him.
From%20Hell.htm (28 of 91) [10/15/2004 5:51:10 PM]
Bill, the Galactic Hero on the Planet of The Hippies From Hell
"Gee," said Elliot. "None of that sounds very good."
"It ain't man, it ain't. I think I downed, like, a blotter of acid
, man."
"That must have burned."
"Not too bad," said Bill. "Can be tasty if properly diluted. Still, I'll never
be able to touch it now. This stuff is spoiling me."
A big frown wrapped around Uncle Nancy's face. "I think the guy's talking
about the lysergic dyethelamine variety."
"A psychotropic substance that alters one's perception of reality," said
Elliot, hazarding another sip of his potent drink.
"Hmmm. Sounds interesting," said Bill. "What proof is it?"
"Oh, man. This dude is bumming me out
!" said the hippie. His eyes seemed to bug from his head, as though pulsing
with angst from within. "Man ... those books up there ... they're bumming me
out too. No good, no good."
Uncle Nancy snarled in annoyance and, fed up, was reaching under the bar for
his leather-bound club when the hippie suddenly stood up straight, raising his
hands up into the air with an attitude reeking of
"I remember! I remember now! I remember what I'm supposed to do here!" he
cried joyfully.
"What?" said Uncle Nancy, still clutching the club. "Pray tell, what's that?"
"Gimme a shot of Old Overcoat!"
Clearly unnerved by the man's fierce insistence, Uncle Nancy obeyed, pouring
the amber stuff into a double shot glass. The wild-eyed man belted it back
with an enthusiasm truly unbridled. He reached over the bar, grabbed the
bartender by bodice and bra and pulled him toward him. The club was torn from
Uncle Nancy's grasp before he could use it.
"You got a little boy's room, man? I gotta go!"
Stunned, Uncle Nancy pointed to the rear of the establishment. Before anyone
could do anything, the hippie grabbed the almost-full bottle of Old Overcoat
and bolted for the toilet like a man truly obsessed.
"Geronimo!" he cried.
And he was gone.
"Don't know why," said Uncle Nancy. "But I got a really bad feeling about that
"Gee  " Elliot supplicated. "So do I." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]