Digital Underground - uXu - Underground eXperts United #uxu-461

### ### ### ### ### #### ### ### ### #### ### ### ##### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ##### ### ### ########## ### ### ########## ### ### ### ### Underground eXperts United Presents... ####### ## ## ####### # # ## ## ####### #### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## #### ## ## #### # # ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## ## ####### ####### # # ## ####### ###### [ Website Oblivion ] [ By Max West ] ____________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________ Ross H. Pollette writing as Max West 1175 A Oak St. S.F. CA. 94117 (C) R. H. Pollette '98 WEBSITE.OBLVion.666 #2 Mendoza spat at the screen door now locked in his face. "...Yeah?! Well just fuck you! ...and you know? In my humble opinion, you are a Goddamned BITCH!" He yelled in her dried out yard at the kitchen window where he could see, through his own pissed reflection, her silhouette flipping him off. "You don' access me man! I fucking access you! GOT IT?!" Stamping to his car, he threw himself in and slammed the massive door of his cherry 1972 Lime Green Caddy El Dorado, sitting at a cockeyed angle across the driveway. "Why couldn't the chick just get it straight?" he grumbled, jamming the big car into reverse. "Goddamn it!" Squealing down the street, he stabbed the power button on the arm rest getting the window open enough to stick his head out before flinging back a defiant, "No bod-y-y-y-y!" He checked his rearview mirror for some kind of reaction, but it was strictly nada. Mendoza: Bit Stream addict, whose attention span was tentative at the best of times, cooled out behind the sensation, however illusionary, of the virtual wind breezing through his pompadour while he smiled a CAD smile. Turning the corner on two wheels, he fell down time, barreling along un-roads where guys who sort of looked like Jimi Hendrix extracted tortured howls from the squirming larva they played instead of guitars - where silicon based pornography dry fucks crystal particles dreaming of Carbon-where the Ice Cold Loop drops him off back at the intersection leading to the El Cortez Motel and Trailer Park over in Virtual Town, located at: http: www.fuc u Ass hole net./puck.shit.shoot.666. Everything was just a short hop in Cyberspace. Mendoza knew that there was one sure way to take his mind off that crazy bitch: He'd go get some virtual neon, blowup toy action-a dog, a Pineapple, a big dice, for Christ's sake!, whatever. "Ah, that damn static electricity!" he panted. That's what did it for him. He'd been overheard many times at the Aztec bar explaining to anyone who'd listen: "You just rub 'em against that ol' zipper on your jeans and, well... there was no need to go into the obvious results, just reach for a Kleenex afterward and call it a day." Right on! The thing behind the counter at the 'V' Gas'n'Go on the outskirts of V-Town, whined to him about how they'd sold the last inflatable toy hours ago, as it fluttered and congealed in and out of a shape that resembled a store clerk, (at least like he remembered them), about as much as a Preying Mantis looked like a lawnmower. "You think you're the only guy around here who likes those things?" It asked rudely. "Uh, you know where I can get one?" was all he could bring himself to mutter at the warped attendant before it lost cohesion again, this time turning into a sort of metallic donut covered in hairy mustard yellow spikes. "Well! If you need one that bad, you'll have to go someplace else I guess..." The donut lisped in a prissy voice Mendoza thought was completely out of it, considering the way the item looked. Annoyingly, the virtual creature, mincing and swaying with what would have been hips if it'd had any, was moving in a little too close for comfort; He also did not appreciate the insultingly familiar look deep down in the liquid pits of it's eyes-for a second he thought he could see little pink hearts fluttering his way. M. was just reaching for the weapon he kept in his belt, when he heard a toilet flush, followed seconds later by the bland emasculated form of the Gas 'n' Go manager appearing down the counter on his right, apparently from the blank wall. "Kin I hep yooo? Is they a prob'lm he-are?" The southern Web-Boy with a shit eating grin from ear to ear, looked from his customer, gun half pulled, back to his virtual employee, who'd stopped eye-grappling with Mendoza and now stood contritely to the side adjusting its name tag. "Randy? What's all the commotion?" "Well, he started it!" Randy sniffed in its offended Queer voice. Ignoring his assistant, the manager asked, "Uh, wha'wuz it yoo needed, sur? Did you want to pay fo' some gay-us?" "He said he was looking for some of those blow up neon toys and I told him we were all OUT!!" Randy cut in. "Ya day-ed? I guess we's out of 'em alright, but we do have someo' deese." Mr. Van-Mendoza checked the name stitched over the left pocket- carefully placed some items in hygienically wrapped plastic on the counter directly in front of him. Mendoza examined the novelties skeptically: The 'Clap-on' sound activated light switch; The fly swatter that looked and worked like a toy gun; The salt and pepper shakers that resembled cows or corncobs all in Day glow florescent pink and yellow, but it wasn't what he wanted, not by a long shot. "No man. Thanks, but this shit just ain't it. Not doin' it..." He turned his back, contempt for their inefficiency written in every line of his face. "Ah now son..." the manager started between smirks, ("Don' go off mad..."), but Mendoza was already half way across the lot to his car, muttering. "Damn! A guy gets his mouth all set for some inflatable fun and all he gets is this crap! Cyber-shitheads!" A couple of miles down the road he came across a liquor store called Slick & Marty's where they just happened to have a brand new shipment of cheap blow-ups including the ubiquitous dog that squeaked when you lifted it's rear leg-M.'s favorite-all in the violent, brain dazzling shades he craved. Somewhat mollified, he headed for his destination, the palm tree lined court of the El Cortez, free pool and color T.V. Motel, his home in V-Town. Mendoza flopped back against the quilted turquoise, Nagahyde headboard in unit 666. Between hits on the chrome injection apparatus, he dialed his Virtual phone looking for some pals. His selection scanned as he started to nod off-It'd been a long haul. Just seconds later, as he sat up in the bed rubbing his face, Casper the Gnarly Ghost appeared in the open door, pushing a cart load of dope, bottles of Liquor, mixers and hors d'oeuvres, followed immediately by Zink-Boy, a hybrid mix of Front-end Loader, 1200cc Harley Hydroglide and a dead horse, but an inveterate party guy. Mendoza knew from experience that these two would not give out on him until the last drop of whatever they had was gone. It could take a week. "Hey, hey Dozer! M'man!" brayed Zink-Boy revving his twin motors in party anticipation. "Let's kick out the Jams!!" Sometime later: He brushed at a mosquito that kept buzzing around his stomach. Through his half stupor his butt felt cold and exposed when it shouldn't have and this is what finally brought Mendoza out of his drunk. He stared down at Zink-Boy who was fumbling at his jeans. "Git the Goddamned Hell away from my ass fuckwad!!" Zink-Boy turned his dead white horsey eyes up to Mendoza with undisguised insincerity. "But, you said..." His windy voice trailed off. "Said?! Said?! What'd I Goddamn say? I don' think I said nuthin' bout what you got in mind muthafucka!.." He yanked his pants up over his bare ass with a vicious tug, kicking Zink off the bed. "God! Goddamn it! I can't believe this shit!" The more he thought about what had almost happened, the madder he got. He reached into the drawer of the nightstand, his fingers questing through the pages of old bibles, used rubbers greasy with forgotten love, a couple of broken ant farms and miscellaneous other material to grasp the handle of his nine mm Perp Eradicator. Leveling the weapon straight into Zink-Boy's rotted ear, he fired. The Boy flew away, hitting the far wall with a thud. Oh! Dozy, pal!" Casper gasped, just out the shower, looking squeaky clean. Always the mediator he chided, "You guys ought to be friends! What with all the violence in the world today." "Hey, fuck you Sheethead! we are friends," Mendoza groaned from under his pillow where he'd stuck his pounding skull, looking for peace and quiet, "...just can't handle people getting' out there and tryin' to take advantage of me... damn!.." "Yeah Casper.." said Zink-Boy scrabbling up onto his dead horse legs, "That was really a rush man! I feel wide awake now, I could go for another week at this rate." "Fine!" Mendoza warned through the pillow, "...you stay the fuck away from my ass!" After a menacing moment of silence, loud snores filled the room. Casper and Zink watched a virtual cartoon saw cutting a log, as it hovered over the Bit-Addict for a couple of minutes, then looked at each other and shrugged. "Well, I guess he'll be out of it for awhile." Casper laughed. "Wha'cha wanna do? Ya know I just shot up in the bathroom, so I'm feeling pretty frisky and frankly, your wired outta your mind m'man! Do we want to waste it sittin' around here watching El Pricko sleeping it off?" "Yeah, you got a point little buddy. Let's go do sumpin'." Impulsively Zink grabbed Mendoza's car keys off the fake Danish Modern dresser. Giving Casper a wink and signaling for him to be quiet, they tip-toed through the door smothering their giggles. "I don't be-lieve your stealing Mendoza's 'Green Queen'! He'll kill both of us if comes to and finds her gone..." Zink blew through his corroded lips as he unlocked the car door. "Shee-it! I ain't afraid of Taco Bell in there. Besides, fuck him!" The little ghost nerd was filled with admiration. "Zink-Boy, you are so cool." Zinky was at the wheel of the big machine and lovin' it. Casper preferred riding shotgun so he could work the CD selection and chop out lines of Virtual Cocaine and Meth. Zink's yellow gapped tooth grin was everywhere as pieces of dried muscle and stringy hair flew off him like a terminal case of dandruff. Deep down inside the twin cylinders of his chest a rumble of pure satisfaction bubbled into the steaming interior of the Cadillac-this was when he was always the happiest: Illegal as hell and going fast; He was burning it up! But first he had to get rid of a little extra baggage. In the rotted brain of Zink-Boy, treachery, like a pretty flower, bloomed. He was going to ditch the Pollyanna-like ghost geek first chance he got. The kid was O.K., as far as it went, he was a good soldier, but not Zink's idea of a real bud, no matter what Mendoza thought. He rammed the car over the curve, into the lot of the Gas'n'Go and parked, motor idling. "Uh, I gotta drain the ol' lizard; how 'bout you pal?" "Yeah, now that you mention it-thanks!" Casper chirped. Poor little fella, he looked so sincere that even the mummified heart of the obnoxious hybrid twitched in mild sympathy; but the kid still had to go - he was too damn innocent for any real fun. "Right kid! You go ahead, I'll follow up the rear," he told the opaque sucker. Briefly Zink wondered about the advisability of leaving Casper, since he was a pal of Mendoza's'. "What the hell," he reasoned, "Charley don't surf..." As soon as the little spook passed through the door marked, Caballeros, around the side of the main block of the building, Zink-Boy tromped on the gas, barging into the steady stream of traffic leading out of V-Town and off through the Cyber countryside. He didn't waste time gloating over his little deception; The kid would probably cry for a while but he'd manage to find himself a baby elephant or some other woodland creature who could get him a fix, just like always. After all, it was V-Town. Casper was soon forgotten. At the moment, Zink was conducting a visual search for the road kill site where Mashed-Snapping-Turtle Willy, (MST-Willy), hung out. A dark huddled something was waving a broken leg or tail, about an eighth of a mile down the road and it seemed to be in pain. Back on Earth time, this obvious Road-Monkey would easily be mistaken for an animal run down by an indifferent motorist and left to die by the trash can a few feet away from it-this is a common practice. But it was only Willy directing him over to the location of his pickup. Zink veered dangerously toward the flattened animal, barely slowing as he rumbled by. Willy threw out a sticky pseudo-pod of intestinal flesh, attaching to the 'B' pillar and hauling himself through the open window, where he landed with a soft plop on the couch sized front seat. "ZIN-KEY! You ol' analog bastard! Been missin' you for a while Bro!" Zink-Boy shoved another quart of tequila into his side tank and shook off some of the snow storm of crank that was all over his face. "Here, take a poke on some o' this." He jammed a loaded Crack pipe coming out of the transmission hump, already sizzling, under the hole where Willy's mouth used to be and watched him greedily suck down the entire five gram rock that had been in it. "Man! That's just what I needed!, whooo-shit!..gimme some o' dat booze, will ya?, 'fore the top of my fuckin' head blows off!" While his partner slouched down most of a half gallon of Vodka, Zink gave him a general outline of his plan: "Hot chicks! Hard drugs! Rot-gut liquor! Big guns! that's it; Ya got anything better to do?" "Chicks did you say?" goggled the horny road kill simulation. Willy smoothed as best he could the broken turtle meat on top of his partly visible skull. "You got it ol' buddy!" After about ten minutes grooving on the Caddy's sound system and gazing out the window at the blurring landscape where banners for triple X sites alternated with fractal trees, Willy suddenly sat up. "Oh man, I almost forgot: I ain't really interested in chicks anymore Bro. I'm Gay now, man." Zink took his gaze off the road for a moment to check his pal out. "Well, don' really matter much I 'spose.." he told the wild-turtle indulgently, "main thing's poppen' yer rocks, eh buddy?" Willy, pumping yellowish pus, laughed. "You always were a broad minded fuck!" he raved. "You know that's why I liked you." One paw had begun to creep toward the hybrid's whip corded horse leg, flopping back and forth with the motion of the vehicle on the now bumpy back road toward Webville. "You know one day I woke up and just decided I liked the taste of some good ol' manhole or maybe a big hard one, you might say, I got into it-Golden showers, cum shakes, the works..." "Knock it off Willy!" Zink threatened, eyeing the patchy object covered in maggots that was only centimeters from his thigh and moving steadily closer. "Not into that kind of shit right now. We gotta get Splink off his dead ass before we can really groove." "Splink? Really? Well, fuckin-A man! I mean, we is gonna party, eh dude?!" Willy was happy. Actually he was more than happy; he was very happy. When they both saw the familiar sign, Webville General Store, jump up on their right along with the lugubrious form of Splink on the porch, who was mostly a big bare white butt with a piece of shit for a nose, they both had to laugh. He dangled his one good leg with its patented combat boot while picking at his other leg, (meat down to about mid-thigh and exposed compound fracture for the rest), in an abstracted sort of a way and only looked up when they skidded to a dusty halt in front of him. Zink reflected somewhat nostalgically on the low resolution of the building, revealing its eight bit origins. "C'mon Spink, jump in, we got some partying goin on!" yelled Willy, banging on the side of the Caddy with an enthusiastic fist. Splink looked at them with tired puppy eyes. "Oh, hi you guys. What was that? Party?" They couldn't help noticing his slight hesitation, even though the massive buzz rising in their heads. "I want to, but I don't think my Mommy will let me-I'm supposed to be watching the store." From inside the crude software building a digital female voice shrilly demanded, "Who you talkin' to out there?! You better not be jackin' off, you worthless Prick!" etc. "Heh!, must be mom.." sneered Zink. "Hey Splink! Get in man-let's ditch this retro Mario Brothers bullshit! Fuck Mom! We got stuff to do man; Now let's go!" Splink, not entirely convinced but easily swayed, climbed into the backseat over bags of Day-glo plastic toys and mason jars full of corn liquor, Meth and Cocaine, old Big Mac wrappers and shattered bidets, with many a backward glance at the open door of the general store where his mother's voice probed the atmosphere, her irritation like a heat seeking missile looking for a target: Now he was a "Worthless Ass-hole," now "A Useless Piece of Shit," (That one kind of hurt), and before long the inevitable. "Lazy Cocksucker"--one of her standards-- belched from the depths of the store. Minutes later, to the warning slap of shower thongs, the source of these and other less favorable character analysis', appeared on the porch, eyes glowing phosphorescent red. "WOW!!" yelled Zink and Willy simultaneously. "What a knock out!" Willy, though Queer, could still appreciate relentless physical beauty where it existed in women or whatever. Splink, looking really worried in light of this new development, begged, "C'mon fellas, let's go before she gets pissed." "Wait a minute boy, I think we need to explore this shit," drooled Zink, "Yo Mama is a babe!" Turning to Willy for back up he asked, "Whatcha' think amigo? Wanna see if she'll party with us?" "Uh, yeah, I'm with you man. Ya know, turn off the lights and one ass hole looks just like the next one ta me. Let's do it!" Splink, who was growing seriously alarmed moaned, "No you guys, I wanna have fun. That's my Mom." Three pairs of eyes, two dead white, two rotten and fallen in, two saucer big and goggling, surveyed the luscious curves of Splink's mother. The minds behind the peepers, each lost in their own respective agendas, alternately scoped the clinging sweater and skin tight Spandex, the reality of the taunt flesh barely hidden beneath. They dug the pneumatically round globes of her thirty-six 'B' cup boobs, surmounted by erect nipples, the size and shape of a number two pencil eraser; The sensuality of the full red lips curving in an arrogant pout of a prime grade bitch; The ever so slight bulge of her stomach; The length of the foot long hard-on pulsing against one leg. Splink had turned so red with his shame, he looked like some sort of obscene beet. Willy had the car door half open, one of his brown, mashed turtle feet almost on the ground, when Splink's Mom pulled up the surprise she'd been hiding behind her back; an extremely ugly looking Super Mouse. "O.K. boys.." she purred in a voice that dropped to their balls and squeezed tight. "Your time has definitely come. I am personally sick of you Dickless wonders feeling me up with those stinking eyeballs. You too Splink!-you think I like having perfect tits like these? Hermaphrodite Momma pointed to the obvious. "..or an ass like this?" She wiggled it provocatively, stoking up the already over heated lads practically coming on themselves where they sat. "Well, your wrong, wrong, WRONG!" Viciously she clicked both buttons before any of them could even reach for their zippers-they didn't have time to scream, bark or puke before they began to scan off, downloading to dimensions unknown... In the college town of Slack Grove, Iowa, a Web Geek fingering himself to a Necro butcher hit, is driven insane at 600 MHz of pure horror somehow overriding the system and bringing into the student computer lab the impossible delirium of the three Web Meisters in their stolen car, not really giving a damn where they were just ready to get down. "Ye true Party Guy is not bound by Ye Time nor Ye space," Necronomicon. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- uXu #461 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #461 subscribe@uxu.org - notify@uxu.org - info@uxu.org - submission@uxu.org ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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