My Weekend With Mike: The Whole Terrible Saga pt.2/4

(Editors Note: We have received this communication from Psykosity’s wife: "Due to some unforeseen side effects from changes in his medications, Psykosity is in the middle of what can only be described as a ‘fit’. He is sitting in his lift chair, looking forward, hardly blinking, gripping the armrests and occasionally screaming about “Hottentots”. Thank goodness the godawful drooling seems to have stopped. At one point, he shoved a thumb drive across the table at me and just said the words: “Free lunch, final wisdom, total coverage”. I checked out the thumb drive and found a sound file on it, probably recorded on his phone. I assumed he wanted me to transcribe it, which was difficult; with all the screaming, the wind sounds, and the distorted music, it was hard to figure out what was being said. I did the best I could and send it to you now. P.S. thank you for the blowgun and the tranquilizer darts. They came in handy two nights before when he decided to shoot bottle rockets at the neighbors and try to ‘annex’ the alley behind the house.) 

(The sound file opens with a loud, coughing and spitting engine whine, the sound of wind, and the loud, distorted sound of music which could be…  “Whole Lotta Rosie” by AC/DC?)

PSYK: JESUS JUMPING CRACKERS, MAN! SLOW DOWN! WATCH THE RIGHT TURNS! I’M HANGING ON FOR DEAR LIFE HERE, YOU BASTARD!

MIKE: I TOLD you not to LEAN on that DOOR! I TOLD you that the door was BARELY HANGING ON!

PSYK: WHY is there no SEAT BELTS in this Death Trap?

MIKE: They didn’t put seat belts in trucks the year this was built. Besides, seat belts are for WUSSIES! HANG ON!

(There is the sound of metal banging…the phone possibly being dropped…undecipherable yelling…)

PSYK: …will you PLEASE slow this pile of crap DOWN! You hit that bump there and I smacked my head on the roof! I almost lost my phone!

MIKE: Where we’re going, you don’t NEED phones!

PSYK: What does that mean? Why do you SAY shit like that? I’ve had a bad feeling about you since Mom and Dad brought you home from the HOSPITAL!

MIKE: Shut up and smoke another joint. Hand me some more of the ‘shrooms!’

PSYK: Holy SHIT does that creep up on you!

MIKE: Pretty good, huh? Check out the stuff in the vial.

PSYK: No, not now. It’s important to pace yourself. You never know when you’ll need that “fight or flight” reflex. We have to be ready for ANYTHING. I need a drink.

(Sound of furious rooting through a cooler)

PSYK: Old Granddad? OLD GRANDDAD? YOU CHEAP BASTARD!

MIKE: Shut up and drink it! You are always so prissy about your alcohol!

PSYK: Do you know WHY our sister calls you “.5”? Do you have ANY IDEA WHY THAT IS? When Mom and Dad got married, the standard family size in the United States was 2.5 children! They had ME, and then they had HER: a boy and a girl! Perfect! And then YOU came along, the “Oops Baby”. THAT’S why you are “.5”! You are only SLIGHTLY more a part of our family than all the PETS we used to have!

MIKE: HOLD ON!

(Another sickening ‘THUD’…the sound of metal bouncing around and screaming…)

PSYK: OOOOOWWWW! Fucking HELL! SLOW DOWN! How fast are you going anyway?

MIKE: No idea. Nothing on the dash works. Probably ninety.

PSYK: WHY did you buy this rolling piece of SHIT???

MIKE: Well, this truck isn’t exactly mine. MY truck has a water pump problem. I borrowed this from one of my neighbors. He’s pretty cool…

PSYK: YOU STOLE IT, DIDN’T YOU?

MIKE: Borrowed…

PSYK: I’m riding in a STOLEN metal death machine going NINETY MILES AN HOUR with no door and a cooler full of at least TWENTY YEARS IN PRISON if we get caught! Probably more! I’m telling the cops you KIDNAPPED ME! I SWEAR I will!

MIKE: You’d DO THAT? You’d SELL ME OUT LIKE THAT?

PSYK: YES! If we were in prison, I would sell you for a couple of cigarettes and a plastic spork! NOOOO!

MIKE: DON’T TOUCH THAT FUCKING RADIO!

PSYK: IT’S JAMES TAYLOR! JAMES TAYLOR, YOU BASTARD! We can’t go into battle to the ‘soft rock’ sounds of JAMES “YOU’VE GOT A FUCKING FRIEND” TAYLOR! We need to be listening to something like Japanese Death Metal! Why doesn’t this piece of SHIT have a CD player???

MIKE: Get a GRIP, man! You’re riding in a truck that has no passenger side DOOR and you expect a CD player??? You’re lucky I didn’t stuff you into a cannon and SHOOT your crippled ass over to this shindig!

PSYK: Doomed, I tell you. We are well and truly doomed.

MIKE: HANG ON!

(Now, there is the sound of squealing tires, tires digging into gravel, screaming, and bouncing metal)

MIKE: We’re HERE!

PSYK: Patches! You remember Patches, the dog? The dog that always HATED me and kept trying to bite me? That ugly black and white dog we had when we were kids that gave birth  to a litter of puppies under Mom and Dad’s bedroom window ALL NIGHT LONG that one summer? SHE was more a part of our family than YOU were!