

___________________________________________________________________________
*  April 21              Phucked Phreak Productions                Vol 19  *
*                           Proudly Presents....                           * 
*                                                                          * 
*          \  /  \                                                         *
*            /  /  \ \/                                                    *
*           \   \ / \\ .                                                   *
*             \ \  /    \    ____________________________                  *
*             \  /  \ |||||||          Bum Trip          |                 *
*               \  \  |||||||____________________________|                 *
*                 '   /                                                    *
*                                                                          *
*    WARNING:  The Attorney General has determined that these files may    *
*              be as dangerous to your dogma as that cigarette is to your  *
*              Health!                                                     *
*__________________________________________________________________________*



                          From Somewhere in the Universe,
                                    Hungover,
                                   A Bum Trip.

                                       by

                         J O H N   C O N S T A N T I N E



        "Whoa! Man!  I just found out where it's at.  I just met
the manager... at a drinking party... and that's all I remember.",
 I tell myself as I stare down into someone else's toilet bowl.  I 
see myself, complete with bloodshot eyes and sallow face, reflected
in the tranquil waters.  "Jesus! What a mess!  I gotta get home.
where in the hell is home?  Where in the hell am I?  WHO in the hell
am I?"  These are just a few of the cosmic brainteasers carousing
through my pounding skull as I shoot a bloody stream of urine directly
into my reflected right nostril.  

        After pulling up my trousers I dig through the back pocket,
 pulling out some sort of ticket stub.

LOTRNOC NOISSIM
        
        MESSYS YTILAER:  htreE / nywreB / llI.

        THGILF:  :-> DSL <-:
                 :-> TOP <-:

        So  here I am, hung-over, in this fucked up reality system
I've never even heard of.  AHA!  A memory!  All I need to do is 
look up Earth in my handy guidebook to Reality.  Aw damnit-to-hell!
  I never picked up a copy.  Though I'd never need it.  (Now I 
never leave home without it!)

        Enlightenment strikes!  I left with a friend.  Maybe if I 
can find my way out of the bathroom he'll bum me a couple of 
aspirin and tell me what the story is.  Stumbling out of the john, a 
charmin streamer trailing behind me I yell, "JAY! JJJAAAAYY!"

        Testicles curl up out of my scrotum and into my stomach as he
pops around the corner.  "Be quiet!", he puts his finger to his lips, 
"you'll wake THEM up!"
        
        "Who are they?  Let's go wake 'em up and get directions back to
mission control."

        "I'm K-K-coo-w-w-wit-wit-it-wit-d-d-em-dem.", (translated I'm
 cool with them) he machine guns back to me.

        "Where are they?  Let's go wake 'em."

        "I don't know nothing.  They're at the party."

        "What are we doin, Jay?  Why the fuck are we here?"

        "I dunno.  i'm pretty sure my current jobs not it though.  I'm
 cool with them.  I'm cool with them.  I'm cool with them."

        I can see he's worthless, still more fucked up than I am.  So,
 using acid logic, I deduce that I can get home merely by walking out
the front door and into a friendly Reality transport vehicle.  Elementary,
 my dear Watson.  Elementary!

       "Ugh!  Acid logics not too efficient in "htraE / nywerB / llI."
No wonder they outlawed the shit.  The same problem again.  "Where am I?"
My personal genuis answers, "I'm wandering around in some street...."  A
 tattered newspaper blows by.  Seeing this commonplace custodian of 
everyday Reality gives me courage.  Now... if only I could get Time going
again, I could walk through Space and go pick it up.  My watch chimes the 
hour.  It reads xis o' kcolc in 0 dimensional lettering.  wow!  Good, 
time's moving.  I pick up the paper and wrap it around my waist. If any
cops come they'll think I'm a bum, modern industrial age acid camo.

        A jogger passes by me as I stagger down the street, "doog 
gninrom!".  I come to a panel of payphones.  Uh-oh.  Three BIG inner
city black boys.  "enmig ruoy tellaw, etihw yob!"

        "No problem.  I'm cool with you.  I'm cool with you", finally
 I find a use for Jay's Magickal formula.

        My memory returns, decaying in my french fried brain, as my
tormentors depart.

        "Hello, Jen?... Can you pick me up?.... No I'm at 3400 S. harlem."

        Kaleidoscopic pigeons chirp the sacrament of Supreme Unction
as I kick back and light up a fag, waiting for a ride back into 
R E A L I T Y.

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Spread this file around freely but please do not claim credit for
it as it was written by me NOT you.

***************************************************************************

call these bbs....

The Cage --- 708-945-3665  (ppp headquarters)
Ripco    --- 708-528-5020

****************************************************************************

John Constantine
Peace \/

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