I got up well early, no ten o clock scholar today and gave my legs a good heavy scratching in the shower. I went down to our garage and got on my rad scooter, putting my bum-bum way back on the seat and leaning all forwards. I took off at faster miles an hour heading for the ring road. The traffic was all light on the ring road because it was well early and I pushed the scooter up to faster hundred miles an hour. Well exhilarating; like a Seigfried Max Shake shot gunned right in my gob.
I parked up my rad scooter and walked out onto the boardwalk that went over to well near the edge of the dome. You can stand there all still and see it arc up over the city until it is lost in the way high mist. There was a convention of Elevens all cluttering up the boardwalk with banana oil and slow walking. I stood to one side to let them pass, all alone.
I gazed out at the Pacific Ocean. Watching it heave beyond the pitted surface of the dome, all water all moving. Way back if you were well spawny enough you could see old rain run down the scarred surface and see it splashing and sploshing all over the big sea. That was well long time ago, back when people still shaved every now and again and some lived over back on the mainland. I watched the sea thinking about the well strange ideas people had of living in the glossy pages of Brenda’s. Minimal scratching, rain and shaving, primitive cancer facilities and low speeds of piddle miles and hour for their lame cars.
I got back on my rad scooter and headed for a café I knew well where you could see the ocean. I ordered a Seigfried Max Supersize Shake, the one with everything in it, and started necking it alone at a window, a right Jimmy Woodser. The stimulants flooded my body with potent exhilaration and womb relaxation. It felt great to be me, sitting and gulping, getting well nutted on the Max Shake. The oblivion of the cool white nurse shutting me down, the twin extremes of boy and girl taking me two ways twice, the black and white minstrels keeping me sitting upright in the plastic chair looking at the ocean heave while the rainy day woman took any edges well off, effortless and smoothly blended. I well prefer the Max Shake giving it all to you at once, giving it and taking it and moving it, shaking your max all about, feeding a caned buzz. Wendies prefer the Seigfried Black and White Ladysize for a well mild hum. Not me Brians. I gazed at the ocean, thinking it was well Pacific, my tight powerful hands treated to the way wicked textures on the Shake, taking it up and down and up and down again for my gob to suck, with the heaving big sea out there, making me feel five ways fine. I sat there well rushing, buzzing off my top elders. My brain a white roar I nearly didn’t itch at all as I soothed and grew, expanded and shut down, frozen at faster miles an hour. I had a shot of White Nurse straight to quell the well wicked conflict in my body. Then I checked my blood levels in the machine by the door. I was AOK.
I headed back to the flat at faster hundred miles an hour and collapsed on the sofa, grogged out and lazy as Ludlam’s dog, just in time for the Tortelli’s theme music. The Tortelli’s neighbour, Johnny ‘Eggplant’ O’Bergine had knocked the Tortelli’s garden shed down with his rubbish car and well lame driving and Papa Tortelli got his owl out and dragged his trencherman’s big mary outside and they all had a small row in the garden. And then what they had was a power cut, with Johnny’s teeth standing out in the darkness. Things used to be well rubbish with their extreme shades of skin and different hair and crap power.
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