A Pissmas Story (Part 8)

A Pissmas Story (Part 7)


Ted moved snake like through the crowd as I tailed behind him towards the back of the club. He grabbed two Santa hats off a couple of waitresses as we passed. They must have known him because they cried “Teddy” in good-natured unison as we drifted past. Ted handed one to me explaining it was a disguise in case shit went down.

I nearly slapped mine on my head until I felt the dense weight in the bottom of it. I searched through it with my hand and was rewarded for my efforts with a chrome snub nose .38. I held it front of me just staring incomprehensibly as Teddy pulled me along. He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed I had the gun out of the hat and was looking at it. He grabbed my arm and shoved his Santa hat up to elbow covering the exposed .38. I just looked at him with a drunken grin and said “Bang”.

Teddy all of sudden seemed very sober to me. He grabbed my shoulders put his forehead to mine and said we were brothers, but he had to know if I was down for this. He slapped my face a couple of times and asked me if I was ready. I laughed and slapped him drunkenly back and said “Sure Teddy, let’s go kill some Commie bastards.” Teddy took this as a sign of my loyalty and let loose a loud battle cry as we clawed our way to the rear exit.

Unfortunately neither Teddy nor I bothered to read the “Emergency Exit Only” signs as we plowed through, and set off every fire alarm in the joint. Teddy panicked thinking it was a raid and grabbed my Santa hat and .38 and threw them in a near by dumpster. I got caught up in his hysteria and raced after him when he started running down the alleyway behind the club. Catching up to him before he reached the end of the alley, I yelled “be cool.” We slid on the snow calm and clear headed out onto two hundred and twenty second street.

“We need my bike man. It’s the only form of transportation that can get us out this alive,” Ted slurred badly.

“Right,” I said the Nazi’s and the Communist’s would never suspect us to flaunt a so totally American machine like a Harley Davidson right in their totalitarian faces. “Let’s show those heathen bastards.” I said.

Ted had some difficulty remembering where we were, so I assumed the responsibility of primary navigator. I attended to relinquish my command to him once we located his fine steed. The alcohol, pills and Robitussin all competed for poor Ted’s attention. The booze and pain pills worked in conjunction to knock Ted out, but the Robitussin provided strange and wonderful visions in horrible colors to occupy his battered senses. I understood now why Ted so desperately wanted a stimulant such as Cocaine. His body and mind could no longer handle the reality of three separate depressants raging through his blood stream. He needed a powerful stimulant to set him straight.

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