Dangerous Fun In The House Of The Scorpion

XaLEv · Post by **XaLEv** » 2003-01-29 07:52pm

I believe "ownage!" would be appropriate here.

Arrow · Post by **Arrow** » 2003-01-29 07:53pm

Damn, that one sounds almost like my college! Great stories!

HemlockGrey · Post by **HemlockGrey** » 2003-01-29 07:54pm

w00t!

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-01-29 08:35pm

Still waiting to get word from KNOT Radio on arrangements to broadcast these... cross your fingers, kids...

RedImperator · Post by **RedImperator** » 2003-01-29 08:53pm

Dude, you seriously can do shit with the language that I've only daydreamed about. I need to read up on my Hunter S. Thompson.

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-01-30 12:33am

I'm not sure, really, how much of my writing is imitation, how much is emulation, and how much is inspiration. I can tell you that I'm not trying to sound like Thompson -- either in my writing or in the way I talk; yes, I've been told that I also bear a visual and vocal resemblance to Johnny Depp as Thompson from FLLV. There are times when I'm afraid that I'm nothing more than a dumb, wild-eyed freak who's somehow caught the tail of a glorious comet and is too stupid with fear to let go.

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-01-30 12:43am

There is also the possibility that the Buddhists are on to something with this reincarnation bit. If so, perhaps I am Thompson in some weird twisted way -- after all, Time is a mortal experience, and who says that a man who dies in 2008 can't be ejected out of a tortured womb in a dingy delivery room in 1975? But these are Dangerous Speculations, best not considered in a state of sobriety.

RedImperator · Post by **RedImperator** » 2003-01-30 01:24am

Raoul Duke, Jr. wrote:I'm not sure, really, how much of my writing is imitation, how much is emulation, and how much is inspiration. I can tell you that I'm not trying to sound like Thompson -- either in my writing or in the way I talk; yes, I've been told that I also bear a visual and vocal resemblance to Johnny Depp as Thompson from FLLV. There are times when I'm afraid that I'm nothing more than a dumb, wild-eyed freak who's somehow caught the tail of a glorious comet and is too stupid with fear to let go.

I can see some of his influence, but I wonder if it would have occured to me if you weren't named "Raoul Duke". Your style is unique--don't think I was implying that you're imitating him--but similar to his in how you take fairly ordinary pieces of everyday life and point out how absurd they actually are (if you ever decide to go on a wild drug binge in Vegas, please remember to take notes).

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-01-30 02:57pm

I have had wild drug experiences -- both firsthand and as an observer -- but none recent enough to have been included in the thread thus far. I have also taken a stab at a life of crime, and had some success... but for reasons of self-incrimination, I am hesitant to go into detail regarding those exploits. I must also point out that the crime and the drugs were never related. I am much too careful for that.

Lord_Xerxes · Post by **Lord_Xerxes** » 2003-01-30 04:19pm

LOL. Raoul, when I read that, the song "When Worlds Collide" popped up on my play list.

So fitting.

Definetly you should write a book. I'd be down for buying that.

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-01-31 03:51pm

Dangerous Fun on the Road To Madness

"Your car," I told Jimmy solemnly, "is trying to kill us." I dragged a forearm across my forehead to try to siphon off some of the sweat that threatened to get into my eyes. It was like trying to soak up a mud puddle with a wet rag.
"Shut up." he said, shading his eyes from the merciless sun. "You are paranoid. The car only means to hurt us."
"I warned you about test-driving that Eclipse." I reminded him.

The diabolical machine, a 1984 Volkswagen Cabriolet, waited at a tiny restaurant three miles further down the highway. We had set out that morning from Newport for the hour-and-a-half drive to Corvallis. We had planned an excursion of hard drinking, fast driving and general debauchery unlike anything the small Oregon college town had ever seen. The car, it was now clear, was in direct opposition to these ideas.

By refusing to run, it had sentenced us to manual labor... the sun raged at us as we lugged the gas cans back toward the homicidal vehicle. After 20 minutes, we staggered into the parking lot, we found the beast still there. Jimmy could not help but agree that in the awful brilliance of the afternoon sun, it appeared to wear a malevolent grin.

"Damn this thing." he said as he fueled the tank carefully from the first gas can. "I knew I should've--"
"Ssshh!" I scolded him. "It's a nice car." I stroked the front quarter-panel lovingly. "A good car."
"You are insane." Jimmy spat as he climbed into the driver's seat and turned the ignition.
"Insane?" I snorted as I climbed over the passenger door and took my copilot's seat. "I'm not the one who bought this fucked-up piece of--Gulp!--niiice car."

The beast finally turned over with a sound like World War One artillery. We were off... almost. The car roared, choked, and died all the way out of the parking lot.

"Fuck this." Jimmy said in disgust. "We will never make it to Corvallis. We may not even make it back home in time for Happy Hour!"
"You fool!" I said, opening a hot can of beer that had unwisely chosen to make contact with my foot. "You spineless lump of rotten meat! Where are your balls?"

"Fuck you!" he cried, and gave the horrible car full throttle. The engine roared, sputtered, then screamed. Forty miles per hour was soon a distant memory as we cruised past fifty... then sixty. Sixty miles per hour on a freeway may be small fries, kids, but sixty miles per hour on a winding two-lane blacktop with precipitous drops and gnarled trees on either side is something Completely Different.

"Have you noticed," I screamed over the shriek of the engine and the roar of the road, "that the engine is much smoother at this speed?!" I tried to take a sip of my hot beer, but couldn't quite find the right opening.
"What?!" Jimmy screamed back. We swooped through a dip in the road and up the other side, further complicating my efforts.
"Never mind!" I shouted. We arced over a crest and dived through a left-hand turn into a steep descent. Something was about 400 yards ahead of us. A compact car.
"Fuck!" I screamed. I finally got a handle on my hot beer, and took a sip, eyeing the vehicle ahead.
"Don't worry!" Jimmy screamed. "I'll just go around him!"
My eyes went wide and I took a big gulp of beer -- aw, fuck, hot-hot-hot -- "Why don't you use the brakes?!" I asked calmly.
The car -- a Civic, I could now plainly see -- crept down the hill, apparently oblivious of the screaming approach of the incoming shit-missile on its tail, or the frantic conversation of the shit-missile's payload. And we are almost On Them...
"Uh... I would use the brakes!" Jimmy responded matter-of-factly, "if we had brakes!"
I was about to respond, "Oh, well why didn't you say so, I could've jumped to my death a few hundred yards back?" -- when we lurched into the opposing lane.

Ordinarily, this would have been a fine solution to the problem. Pull into the opposing lane, swing past the slower vehicle, and whisk! back into your own lane. This solution, however, was hampered by one tiny, niggling detail: there was a very large and very ugly truck in this lane. And it wasn't hard to deduce who would win if we played a game of Fenders with a Peterbilt.

After some due consideration, I lost my fucking mind. Or did I? The interesting thing about being an Outlaw Journalist is that I remember things...

I remember the look on the truck driver's face -- a mixture of incredulity and outrage -- "How dare these punks play chicken with me!?" -- and genuine admiration. I remember the way the harsh sunlight sparked and glinted on that massive grille, the way it resembled nothing less then the very Gates of Hell... and I remember the noise, the god-awful stupid-animal bleating of three horns at once... and I remember, under that, the sound and sensation as the mirrors on the Cabriolet were inexorably altered, the driver's side mirror exploding in a shower of glass and sparks, the passenger-side mirror as it snapped off and flew into the back seat, where it bounced up and out of the car...

To this day, neither Jimmy nor myself will stand too close to a Volkswagen Cabrio, and neither of us will ever consent to ride in one... they're a Bad Breed, and we have learned our lesson.

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-01-31 08:35pm

This last story was true (more or less). Only the names were changed to protect the guilty -- because, as everyone know, the Innocent have nothing to worry about.

Arrow · Post by **Arrow** » 2003-01-31 09:07pm

WOOHOO! Damn! That sounds like what happens when my friends and I play GTA:VC!

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-02-01 12:16am

A couple of questions I find myself harboring here:

Do any of you have an idea of how many of these articles I would need in order to compile a marketable book? And does any of you wonder, as I do, what Darth Wong thinks of these things? I'd really like to get his reaction.

Strafe · Post by **Strafe** » 2003-02-01 01:09am

Raoul those stories are absolutely hilarious!

On a side note, when I visited my grandparents in Brazil I've seen people practicing Capoeira in the streets. Just amazing stuff really. Kinda like organized chaos.

Alferd Packer · Post by **Alferd Packer** » 2003-02-01 01:36am

200-230 pages makes a good book. Besides, you've got a killer title already.

Shinova · Post by **Shinova** » 2003-02-01 01:39am

Who knows, Raoul. Your book may even inspire a new generation of disenchanted teens to adopt a "Raoulian" lifestyle, like the Beats or the Hippies. You'll be credited with the creation of a new counterculture! You'll go down in the history books!

XaLEv · Post by **XaLEv** » 2003-02-01 09:44am

I couldn't help but imagine berserk Zerogouki as I read that last one.

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-02-01 11:07am

Shinova wrote:Who knows, Raoul. Your book may even inspire a new generation of disenchanted teens to adopt a "Raoulian" lifestyle, like the Beats or the Hippies. You'll be credited with the creation of a new counterculture! You'll go down in the history books!

I don't know that I want to go down in History... once, during high school, I heard of a girl who went down in History. She got suspended.

XaLEv · Post by **XaLEv** » 2003-02-01 11:13am

Raoul Duke, Jr. wrote:
Shinova wrote:Who knows, Raoul. Your book may even inspire a new generation of disenchanted teens to adopt a "Raoulian" lifestyle, like the Beats or the Hippies. You'll be credited with the creation of a new counterculture! You'll go down in the history books!
I don't know that I want to go down in History... once, during high school, I heard of a girl who went down in History. She got suspended.

LOL. This one's going to Dalton.

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-02-01 11:50am

Hmm... I think I mentioned crime stories above... now, if you can all assure me that you understand that any crime story I tell you is for Entertainment Purposes Only, and that it does not necessarily describe any actual event in which I may or may not have been involved, I just might drag one of the best ones out...

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-02-07 02:46am

Just to warn you all ahead of time, the next installment is in the works. By the way, I'm still left in anticipation of Darth Wong's opinion of what's here so far... you know, considering where he and I stood before I started posting to this board, I'd say I've still got a way to go before I can consider myself redeemed. I'd like to think that, as big a kick as he seemed to have gotten from the Brahms article, these might go a long way in that direction. Just a thought, Mike -- hope you're enjoying these as much as the rest of us.

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-02-10 01:59pm

You Can't Take It With You

Some people have a fear of heights -- I love them. I will often go to the tops of the tallest buildings I can find, find myself a good perch, and gaze out at the lights of the city at night, or stare into the midday smog as if endeavouring to pry mystical secrets from a great crystal ball. It is a great form of meditation.

Sometimes, though, my stolen refuge is invaded, as it was the night before last.

I had taken the elevator of the Chase Building to the third floor; the Chase Building is actually six stories tall, but an employee badge is required for elevator service to the roof, so I left the lift behind and started up the three flights of stairs, with the comforting weight of a full pint flask of Jim Beam to keep me company.

I walked quietly to the north edge of the empty roof-level parking lot, withdrew a Lucky Strike, and took in the sight of Mill Avenue stretching out toward Town Lake as I lit up. On the distant water, I could just make out the lights of a small boat sliding through the inky darkness. I snapped my Zippo closed. Six stories below, I could hear pedestrians talking. A woman laughed.

I heard a rustling about eight feet off to my left; I turned to look, but no one was standing there... but when the rustling came again, I saw that the reason no one was standing there was that someone was standing on the ledge.

"Get out of here!" he hissed in a teary voice. "Don't try to stop me!" For all the times I've heard that cheesy line on TV, I couldn't believe a jumper actually said it.

I blew air between my teeth. "You asshole." I said. "I'm trying to relax up here. I don't care if you jump or not, but could you have some consideration and wait until I leave?" I pulled the flask from my pocket and took a healthy nip.

"What is that!" he demanded to know. "What are you doing?"

"It's whiskey." I said, holding it out toward him. "Want some?"

He stared at it for a long time. "No." he said finally. "My life is over. I'm going to jump, and I guess you'll just have to watch."

Fuck. Here I am, drinking in a place I'm probably not supposed to be even when I'm sober, and this spineless, bawling drama queen wants to splatter himself all over the scenery. Life is full of strange hassles...

"Wait." I said.

"I told you!" he screamed, flapping his hands wildly, "Don't try to stop me!"

"I won't." I assured him. "I just want to ask you one question first."

He stared at me with his red-rimmed eyes, brushed a string of black hair out of his face. "What?"

"How much money do you have in your wallet?" I asked, taking another shot from the flask. "I'll take it."
"What? You can't have my money, you prick!"
"Why not?" I shrugged. "You're not going to need it."
"But--" his shoulders slumped. "But it's mine. It's my money."
"So can I have it?" I held out my hand.
"No! You fucking greedy asshole!" he shrieked, and climbed down off the ledge to get away from me.

"But why not?!" I called after him as we kept walking. "How much you got? A couple hundred? I could get a brand new leather jacket with that!"

"Animal-hater!" he screamed. "Do you know what kind of terrible things they do to cows for those things?!"

"Come on!" I went on, "How much? Fifty? I could get a pretty clean whore with fifty!"

He was stabbing frantically at the elevator's "Down" button. I took another hit from the flask, not slowing down. He abandoned the elevator and shot down the stairs. I kept after him.

"Twenty?" I bounced down the flight of stairs and rounded the corner in time to see his tie-dye covered back rounding the next lowest one. "Couldn't do much with twenty," I called to him, "but I'll take it anyway..."

He wasn't playing around anymore. On the last landing, he almost tripped and fell on his face he was moving so fast. He was making an odd sound, somewhere between a moan and a sob, as he went -- it produced a most amusing effect; a fast-moving, groaning grunge-rocket shooting across the courtyard...

"Come back anytime!" I called after him. "We'll review your finances!" There are only so many tall buildings in Tempe, after all. He'll have to come back sooner or later...

Raoul Duke, Jr. · Post by **Raoul Duke, Jr.** » 2003-02-10 03:26pm

Reactions, anybody?

Post by **weemadando** » 2003-02-10 04:39pm

Raoul Duke, Jr. wrote:Reactions, anybody?

Brilliance, sheer brilliance.

I might need to post some more of my me vs Greenpeace battles.