|| Fear and Loathing in Neostan...|
By Harris Brio|
Holy cow it’s fear, walking, walking with quivering steps. Turn to see who was that, “ah its you”, “do you like pina-colada’s or getting caught in the rain”, “ah shame, it’s you”. A sudden fear - headlights do approach,” ah it’s a friendly”, an American-manufactured friendly, a Camry. Speeds on by splashing some mud, “ah it’s a friendly”.
Walking, walking further down the street it’s foggy out and Neo-con is scared, Hark it’s not the angels singing, it’s foot steps - firm and steady, hark a terrorist approaches, the Neo-con is scared.
Reflecting on what do, ole Neo-con recalls his expertise in Kung Fu, the collection of tapes and the Ninja catalog have made ole Neo-con a martial arts dear. Kicking forward and back to the side, and swinging it back, and crouch and kick, and stand and swing, practice, practice, time to run and hide, the footsteps approach, the Neo-con scared, knowing his throat they seek to slit...
Getting lower, lower, hide, hide some more, let them walk on by, Kung fu is handy only in surprise. Louder, louder do steps appear, Neo-con shivers, his end is near.
Power - the power is on, Neo-con jumps up screams and runs, runs and kicks to the front, to the side up and down and to the back, crouch and kick and spit and scream, scratch and pull, punch and slap, and slap some more.
Riddled with bruises the terrorist was finished, calmly Tosspot searched, for truth and justice he had served, looking at the deceased he felt the urge, to kick and slap a bit more. The card claimed the body of Agent Steven Shore, what a lie Neo-con thought, a black man has never been named that before. Rip, shred the identity was false.
Neo-con felt full, full as if he was fed. Joy, the joy of life as his enemy lay, lay dead. Run, run away and hide, even after that being’s demise Neo-con has his fear to which he must abide.
At home and secure, Neo-con doesn’t go for a beer, eight at night and a glass of milk to ease his fright. Rest is surely assured.
Nine at night has come, Neo-con now hops into bed, still shaking with dread, past his time of shut eye, what awful people are those that disturb his slumber, but Neo-con is proud he got one’s number.
Turning and wheezing in his master’s shed, the Neo-con awakens when he realizes his fear. Pee, “it’s pee”, wetting the pajama’s he had pulled down to his feet, in his restless sleep. Dear, dear a terrible dilemma a burdensome fear, the couch or the floor, from what can his back recover.
No sleep, none to be had its almost dawn and his exercise routine begins to creep, slipping in the memory of his hero, the Neo-con begins in rhythm to mimic the man on the screen, his hands slice the air chop, chop, as he chants ha, ha, chop, chop, ha, ha, a few minutes of that and a few minutes of grunts while kicking his leg in the air, kick, kick, ha, ha. Time for a chore is getting near.
The morning need now at hand, to fetch the read from a paper boys stand, running with frantic arms Neo-con fights the wind, it can cut like a knife, nothing to be taken on a whim.
With stealth, and determined speed, Neo-con hands the child his fee.
He quickly turns away, of what he seen “There’s more beyond Uranus”a headline, nay a devil’s seed, a sudden fear that someone may have taken a peep, afraid of what the other’s may say, a sudden action, that has to be haste, tear away, tear it away, the offensive read, only in the good Lord’s eyes it will keep.
Run back run, run back quick, for four blocks, away is in too deep. Careful, careful, looking both ways.
Chicken Little crosses makes his way. Jumping, hopping, skipping to a beat, Neo-con giggles while prances about on his tiny feet, knock, knock, who is there, no one, Neo-con knows, he likes to play on himself tolerable little jokes.
Humming clapping and at once in excitement sing it out Neo-con tunes his spout, the favorite hymn for only the lonely.
“If you like Pina Coladas
And getting caught in the rain
If you feel shame
If you’re into yoga
If you shiver at the thought of pain
If you’d like making love at midnight
In bed dressed in a Cape
Then I’m the love that you’ve looked for
Are you scared now
Run away like me to escape”
Smiling, Neo-con trembles as another joke had been done. Secretly wishing Rupert Holmes would take note.
Neo-con flips through the paper looking for something he can add to his name. Nothing to see no mention of the terrorist to whom Neo-con handed a defeat. Security must be tight, must be it.
When in freight a gathering must take place, at the local trough where the G men await.
In his pseudo-uniform and his shades, he sits and waits. Peeking above his goggles he notices two young ladies looking at him and laughing.
Fear and freight encompass our Mr. Shuddersome, what to do, what to do, ah ha, Neo-con remembers, chin to chest is the move. Chin to chest Neo-con’s position assumes, looking over his spec’s a wink is zoomed. The ladies naturally have left the room.
On a stool, twirling, twirling, Neo-con hears the word from two suits. Whisper, whisper, the other suits says “what ?”, whisper, whisper, “no”, anger now fills the talk one suit slams his fist on the tables frock, “what idiot could of killed Agent Shore, he was just out, out for a walk”. A sudden lull, “well will get the bastard” the other Agent yells.
The last words where Neo-con’s end, as the Agent looked and said “can you believe, how sick, how mean, Agents Shore’s identity was ripped to pieces by this lunatic’s teeth”. The quiet had returned as the other agent just turned in disgust, then stated “it surely must be a crime of hate, why would anyone lay old Shore to waste”.
Dear Neo-con begins to relieve himself. He stands and begins to run, darts like a bat out of hell.
Run Neo-con run…
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