Posted by: drifter,vagabond | December 6, 2011

Me and Willy in the Bad Bush

My head banging with a hangover, I awake, rolling to one side I slowly open my eyes. Before me, not much more than a foot from my face, lies that which had perhaps once served as a reproductive male organ, twitching and jerking it swings and bobs hither and thither as if it twere set dancing upon some merry gig mayhap by the mockery of unseen silent demonic flutes. Momentarily transfixed by this monstrous cycloptic puppet, I stare, caught in the hypnotic all knowing urethral glare. Too long I gazed into the abyss and the abyss it stared back into me as if to say “Behold! Such darkened and occulted recesses have I penetrated as now into your soul I delve and there I do see such craven sins that it does start from me like some wanton beast pregnant upon its benighted purpose. Flee! Flee! Before me and the burning light of truth and piety which I bring”. Recoiling in abject terror, drawing the bedsheets close upon me I clutch at the pillow like some desperate shipwreck to a piece of flotsam “Ye gods! Ye gods! Why do you mocketh me?”

So my day had started much as the previous had ended. Willy had in a single fluid almost gentle motion slipped his boxer shorts down over his boney concave buttocks, whos cheeks gently met and parted threatening to reveal unspeakable horrors as he hunched over his bed fixing the linen. In the bunk above me lay a petite Spanish girl with nothing but a flimsy magazine cover spread open unwittingly shielding her from unblinking brown eyed terror beneath.

Later that day I somehow got roped into traveling along with Willy to the Cu Chi tunnels. The tunnels were used by Viet Cong irregulars to penetrate right into the heart of American bases, attack and disappear. The tunnels were tiny and filled with booby traps, I pity anybody sent down to die in that muddy hell. Willy turned out to be relatively normal for a solitary older single male traveler but who knows the most sinister and dangerous learn to cover their tracks. We stopped at a food stall on the side of the road in Saigon where Willy attempted to strike up a conversation with a monosyllabic Belgian man with a tiny Vietnamese girl who looked she’d raided her mothers makeup cabinet, and in a big hurry too. The Belgian looked like a classic pervert you’d expect to see in a Viz magazine or something, big bald head, jam jar glasses and a permanent lupine leer plastered over his sunburnt face, just like my old PE teacher actually. My ears felt violated by his rapist deep tones followed by jarringly incongruous high pitch squelling laughter as he bellyached over some private joke in his own head after every response he gave to even the most trivial of questions. I was unfortunate enough to cross paths again with this man in Cambodia, what he was doing there I never found out although another young looking girl appeared to be sharing his room.

Incredibly load gunfire from Ak47s at the tunnels added an interesting imaginative factor. I purchased 10 rounds off some old guy who had probably killed people with the gun I fired and shot the hell out of some stuffed animals. A good day was had by all.

 


Responses

  1. Part Lovecraft, part Conrad, all horror.

    • It looked like my dream visions of Shub-Niggurath


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