Day Two: Rise and Shine

By The Noble Writer

"What the hell...where am I?" I jump up trying to get things straight. Trying to remember where I was last before I fell asleep. I remember laying in a lawn chair in The Navigator's basement. We were on something. I can't even keep track anymore with all the damn drugs we do. Maybe this is a sign I should slow down?

Looking to my left I notice The Navigator laying face down in some brush. How the hell have we gotten into this mess. I figure I might as well wake him up. Maybe he'll remember how we got here.

"Yo man wake the fuck up." I kick him a few times in the gut. After a couple seconds he starts moving. Once he opens his eyes he realizes right away somethings strange.

"Dude what the fuck. Why am I in my backyard?" He rolls over and closes his eyes again.

"Your not in your backyard Jackass. I have no clue where we are." The Navigator opens his eyes. He threw his head up so fast it looked like he was just hanged.

"What the fuck man I'm sick of this fucking bullshit. You guys always play your fucking games and I'm tired of it!"

"Calm down. I just woke up before you did and my glasses are broke so trust me I'm not in the best of moods either. Now do you have any clue where we are?"

"No. It's probably one of The Hunter's bullshit tricks. And let me guess, he's not out here?"

"I haven't seen him yet."

"What about Wench?"

"No sign of her at all."

Day One: The Navigator's House

By: The Noble Writer

There we all were. Another day with nothing to do. Drug experimentation was our favorite hobby. It was our only hobby. Magic Mushrooms were our poison of choice. A bunch of slackers laying in a basement chewing on mushrooms is a hell of a way to spend a Sunday morning. Nothing to fucking do but lay around and get high.

Shit gets crazy from this. Just enough to enjoy the fuck out of it and just little enough so that we don't puke our brains out. Swirling tints of red flying in every direction. No conversation, no want or need for it. We have known each other forever. Nothing could be said from us that we don't already know.

Who even knows how long we have been down here doing this shit. Years? Months? Minutes? Seconds? Fucking Eternities? Who gives a damn. This is life right here! The world around us being decapitated by God only knows what.

The Wench isn't always able to handle this shit. She gets pretty fucking nervous when she takes too much. Half an ounce once made her vomit the fried chicken she ate fucking days ago. She looks like she's doing alright for now.

This goddamn red tint is getting darker and darker. Where the hell that dog came from I'd love to know. My head is expanding like a Stretch Armstrong, holy shit I think it's about to tip over.

OK I'm just going to close my eyes and pretend I'm in an open field. Nothing here but grass and beautiful fucking women. This is what I choose to do for the rest of my life. Lay here in this wide open field.