Serpent Tongue

I am at church you understand, and sitting in the seats next to this old, loud, boozy sot, and I turn to him and say, “I’m getting out of here. This is the fucking People’s Temple all over again.”

So I go outside and the traffic is bad. I’m in Texas, dig, and there must be some sort of festival going on because the streets are full of people milling about, moving slowly, an Exodus of worshippers perhaps. And so I follow the crowd, but I begin to understand they are headed to a Catholic church, and I’m not Catholic, so I blow and go back inside.

My family is at the Catholic church, I understand.

Someone tells me this.

I’m not sure why I believe them.
***
I’m hungry, I notice.

I’m looking for that free meal.

So this preacher, who is some young cult leader wired like Jim Jones and all these guys, is sitting behind a desk, and the room is filled with his thugs. This guy is some sort of major criminal. He has a jar with a python in it.

He holds the jar against my face, but I sit there and take it. What else can I do? He unscrews the lid, slowly, and the damn thing shoots out, biting him on the back.

He pulls the serpent away from him, fondling it lovingly in his hands. The mouth of this serpent is enormous. It could swallow infants whole. He suddenly thrusts the thing between his legs, and now he has an enormous, writhing snake-cock. It might be dripping semen, or poison, for all I know, but I don’t want to stick around and find out. I make a run for it. Outside, I join a procession of mendicants all trudging toward the great Catholic cathedral that is somewhere in the hot bowels of the city.

Next thing I know I’m on stage. Writhing around, unleashing my serpent power. Bestial, I bite into my microphone. I pull back my hand and taste a mouthful of wires. Someone yells something insulting. The lights go up. The world spins on.

Flying Saucer Creep

She’s fucking the cop dig? Or, he is raping her, one or the other. We stand at the back window with our mouths hanging open, low smiles playing on our lips. I still have drugs in my sock. I realize it is going to be a long night.

“Are they fucking?” I ask. I could plainly see that the Man in Black was humping her righteously, and she must have been enjoying it because there was no struggle. We had been moving across the alley toward a parking lot, and the drugs were in my sock. Like, why did I have to carry ‘em? But I guess that’s the way it goes when you’re young and in love.

Me and the Tall Boy decided to make a run for it. Hell, the cop might not even be human. He got out of his cruiser, and we were standing there about to piss our pants, and he reels around like he is drunk and can barely breathe. Maybe he is one of the Men in Black. I have read John Keel. I have read The Mothman Prophecies, and Operation: Trojan Horse, and The EighthTower, and Our Haunted Planet, and Disneyland of the Gods. They were all righteous books. I could dig that the Men in Black and other flying saucer creeps are said to stumble around like drunkies and be unable to breathe Earth air easily. Not human. That was it. This cop was a fucking flying saucer creep.