Date: Mon, 14 Jul 2003 13:08:05 -0400
To: (Recipient list suppressed)
From: "Dr.Legume" <>

Subject: Report from the Secret XDay

I was looming over the unconscious form of 808 with a big sharp knife in my hand when the hallucinations finally kicked in.

I'd been in the woods for forty hours by then.

Commander Chazz had called me at 8:30 Thursday night and said, "C'mon back to Brushwood", and I tried to find every reason in the world not to make that long, hellish drive again, but the missus was waiting at the door with my bags packed, and told me "come home whenever you feel like it".

And so into the dark and rainy night I went, driving like a speed-crazed weasel. I knew this wasn't going to be a "right" weekend, so I grabbed my trusty magnum and tossed it on the seat, just in case things got out of hand enough for me to have to shoot my way out of Brushwood.

Little did I know how close I'd come to having to do just that.

I arrived at 3:16 AM. Commander Chazz met me in the darkness of the woods, his fist packed with a frop rocket, clueless that the weekend ahead would become an orgy of debauchery and bloodletting that would become known as "The Secret X-Day".

The first night seemed subdued, I was glad to just kick back and decompress from that long midnight drive. The night was quiet in the lull between the time when the SubGeniuses boarded their private escape vessels and escaped back to their dreary normal lives and the upcoming "Sirius Rising" pagan event. It seemed like the weekend would stay quiet and peaceful until Chazz handed me that <censored>.

It seemed like it wasn't going to affect me at all...after all, between the frop rockets and the many bottles of liquor I'd consumed, I should have already been as twisted as Joe Theissman's leg, but I wasn't.

The night had already begun strangely. I'd jokingly sent the orgy of leftover SubGeniuses I'd found in the hot tub over to visit Chazz as a gag. When I arrived there several minutes later, Chazz was playing the piano while a writhing pile of naked bodies...well, writhed, all over the ground at Tranquility Base.

Then somehow 808 ended up on the "X" while his female companion beat him brutally; occasionally a pagan would wander in and stare, too disgusted and horrified by the spectacle to turn away.

Afterwards, I sat by the fire and told the menfolk stories of XDay while Chazz <censored> <censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored>.

I saw 808 again later as I was standing in the road chatting with Pater Nostril. A dark voice spoke out through called out, "Take 808's hair".

"808!", I shouted, "I want your hair".

And so we return to me, in the dark, with a big knife, looming over the unconscious body of 808 with a head full of crazy and eyes that shot fire.

I'm not going to go into the details of the insane scene that followed; wild-eyed ranting and ominous portents, insane prophecies coming to life before our eyes...maybe someday 808 will be able to talk about it...but suffice to say, the two-foot hank of hair that was once his ponytail is lying on the skin of my Djembe as I type this report.

The next morning, I <censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored>, which is the last thing I intended to happen, but it did, and I <censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored><censored> was too late to stop it by then, we'd already sunk waaaay down the rabbit hole of depravity.

"Shit, man", Chazz said to me the next morning, "I can't believe what happened here last night. I feel like we should get out of NY state as soon as possible. What would Waylon Jennings do in this situation".

"It's OK, Waylon", I replied, "shit like this happens when you're on the road. Sometimes you just get caught up in the moment, and pray there are no witnesses to incriminate you. Besides, I'm the only one who saw that thing down by the acid pool. If ANYONE should be worried, it's me, everyone has seen <censored> is all cut up and bloody, and my prints are on the knife".

We laid low after that, cringing every time we heard a low-flying chopper buzzing the area, each time wondering if it'd land and 'disappear' us. But it never did.

Late in the afternoon, Chazz struck off West, while I crashed out at T-base for an hour's sleep before striking East.

I woke up at 3:16 AM...the same time I'd arrived, exactly three days later. Three days. Enough time for Jesus to rise from the dead. Enough time to indulge in the kind of horrors that'll scar my brain for years to come.

I got in my car and drove like the Ghost of Dale Earnhardt was after me, and I didn't stop until I was once again safe in my underground concrete bunker, where I immediately sat down to write this report, while the memories this poisonous weekend still fester in my diseased brain.

"In order to fly you have to lose your shit."

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