We were somewhere in WalMart, on the edge of the electronics section, when the drugs began to take hold.
Suddenly, there was a terrible roar all around us, and the air was full with what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the cart, and a voice was screaming: Holy Jesus. What are these goddamn animals? I swatted away at the evil bastards but it was no use. There were too many of them. So I dove down the DVD aisle to evade them. Crouched on the floor I took a moment to pop some downers and get my heart settled down. It was time for action.
Those rotten creatures weren't going to keep me pinned down. I grabbed the first thing that came to hand on the shelf and lunged at the bats, swinging savagely and mashing their nasty bodies out of the air. The bats retreated from my onslaught, giving me time to head for the door.
I was just about free when a brute of a woman tackles me at the door. I'm trying to deal with bats she's prattling on about paying for things.
"What are you going on about woman?" I bellowed.
"Sir, you need to pay for that item before leaving the store," she replied.
"Item? What item? I'm just trying to get out of before these crazy bats get me," I explained.
But I could see she didn't get it. She stared into space as if trying to locate the bats. Clearly she was blind. Finally she pointed to the blood soaked DVD box in my hand that I had been using to repel the bats.
"You're going to have to pay for that," she stated.
"Damn you woman. There will be hell to pay if the bats get me." I yelled.
I scurried back to a register and slapped some bills down while trying to stay low. Then it was time to run for the door and make good my escape. As I barrelled toward to exit, I became aware of a horrible screaming sound in the store. The woman at the door stared in my direction in horror, causing me to look behind me for the source of the sound, sure some horrible monster was descending on me. No pursuit was visible and it slowly dawned on me that I was the one screaming. I felt a bit foolish at the discovery but I was into a full berserker rage and the only solution was going to be a violent collision. I aimed myself for the woman but the store manager tried to intercept me. I went airborne to deliver a vicious clothesline to the throat of the poor devil. Before he knew what had happened he was lying on his back, gasping for air as I roared out the door.
Outside I jumped into my huge whale of a Cadillac convertible and hammered the gas, tearing out of the lot as shoppers dover for safety in all directions. Serves them right, wandering around in the middle where they don't belong. I headed home with the pedal to the floor. The Caddy didn't much care for the curves so I had to keep in under a hundred.
Back home I lie on the couch, listening to my heart pound. A handful of whiskeys later and my nerves calm themselves. I finally look down at the box clutched in my hand. It's apparently a movie. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I saw that once before. It's that demented flick that tries to make sense of the crazed journalist Hunter S. Thompson. Realizing I have time to kill and a couple tabs of acid on my arm rest, I put them both to good use.
A couple minutes in and I realize that Thompson himself set those bats on me. I always knew he was a narc. Wait. He's dead isn't he? Couldn't be him then. But no one else could have laid such an elaborate trap for me involving bats. No. He's clearly not dead. I'll bet that bastard came back just to get me. God probably took one look at him and decided resurrecting him was far less of a headache than letting Thompson roam about heaven. That would explain everything. Oh shit! Did you see that goddamned woman's face do that? Maybe the acid wasn't a good idea. Got to remain calm. I can do this. Ahhh! Lizards!
(Editor's Note: At this point it became necessary to step in and help Dr. Shea with his narrative. After the lizards appeared, he became convinced that one of them had taken up residence behind his keyboard and thus refused to further approach it. What follows is cobbled together from handwritten notes and an audio recording that he dictated after being lured back to the room with several buckets of fried chicken, two bottles of tequila, a bag of pot and an "herbal remedy" that he gave us the recipe for.)
Where was I? Right, the movie. I fear this film represents a fiendish plot to subvert the American dream. Obviously Thompson's resurrection lends a messianic ferver to his Freak Power movement. That could help propel it out of Aspen and on to a national level where it could actually supplant the Democratic Party, which has been dead for years anyway but stumbling about like a zombie looking for brains.
Where was I going with this? The movie. The movie is probably the weirdest thing I've watched since Brazil, which was also the product of Terry Gilliam's diseased mind. Clearly Gilliam has sewed up the freak angle of Hollywood movies. His stars, Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro apparently lack egos, bucking the trend of stars whose characters are always the most likable and decent. These two stomp around like madmen, managing to constantly upstage the production design and special effects. The beating this movie drops on low values, corporate culture and the steady mediocritization of the country is brutal. Naturally, anyone who stands for those things is bound to be offended and put the movie down as the glamorization of drug use. That's why the movie got so many bad reviews when it came out. The Establishment was trying to crush it before the message got out. That must be why the great Gonzo journalist laid his trap for me, so I would find his weird little movie and bring attention back to it.
But if he did that, he must know what a procrastinator I am. And so he must have been shadowing me to make sure that I got the job done. You will have to excuse me, I need to lock some doors.
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