A (a new story in draft)
by Scott Ridgway
Pain grew up in a minute railroad town named after one of the notorious land grabbing, buffalo slaughtering, natives infecting railroad barons who owned the politicians back then. I don't know much about The Garrett in question who had his name etched into the street signs leading into the slightly run down, occasionally trashy and sometimes charming burg in Indiana.
He dates his training and proclivity for waging the City Wars to early battles with neighborhood hillbilly's who lived in his neighborhood, which was isolated from the rest of the town by a series of railroad tracks on one side, and fields and woods on the other. An ever changing contigent of Bikers lived down on the corner, a bunch of brothers and sisters and their lovers; they parked their Harvey's, oil drippings and all, on the porch of the tiny house. They had a collective tribe of kids that was forever fluctuating, though was primarily led by Bobby Roy, who had a grandfather who became a statan worshiping white suprimist waorlock in prison (the warlock silliness is something poor Bobby's badly stuffed brain embraced for awhile in a druggie, post-high school phase before he became whatever mystery mark he did). Bobby was sometimes a good friend, especially when we were both into the weed, but as a kid he was a viscious gang fighter who was always raising the bar by throwing bricks at three years olds and shit...
You have to remember, this was a neighborhood where some one could 'give,' and if the other party refused to let up the beating, it was pretty agreed upon that anyone around had to break up the fight. Not that people were all into stopping fights back then. Crowds gathered, including occasionally this one hillbilly woman who came out once when her son, who was twice as big as Pain, was trying to kick his ass.... after fifteen minutes of insults and what not, that particular fight was called off.
After ten years in the Marines, he was recruited to join a private, highly secretive unit put together by the UN, with the consent of China, The Russians and Uncle Sam.
When the world changed forever into slaves and Salurnians, Johnny Pain was retired and writing a series of books meant to be read by dogs and cats once they gained the ability to read. He was well known for hiring Swedish doctors to implant vocal cords in various animals, and, before the occupation by the Religous Fascists from outer space, Pain was involved in a continous court battle to allow his trained Huskies and German Sheperds to be able to testify in the Suit he had brought against the Humane Society For, quote, "Animal Genocide and Ball Cutt Offing."
INTERVIEW WITH A SOLDIER ON THE FRONT...
By Sandra Lee Cookie dough diamond.
THIS FUCKING LIFE: Johnny Pain, what were you doing the day your war started?
PAIN: I had the dog out for an early walk, just woke up and took her out without showering of coffee... just a couple one hits and I was hunting up my keys. Oh, yea, I had to wait for my pills to hit, too.... so it must have been about noon or something
THIS FUCKING LIFE: They arrived over lake Michigan at 3:15 P.M.
PAIN: I really have to stop sleeping so fucking late, you know?
THIS FUCKING LIFE: Can we get back to the war... I mean, you are famous for digressing until the reporters time is up with you, and...
PAIN: Yea, I suck. Sorry. They came down out of this huge, mountainous cloud that looked like a scoop of ice cream, vanilla, maybe butter pecan with the tiny chunks you can't see. Coconut. Could have been anything, I suppose with all these artificial flavors and colors.... any ways, the cigar shaped silver ships looked like
stars, the sun hitting them and sending off hard to look at shards of hard white light. Like diamond chimps cutting slightly -- I mean, really slightly, into your eye.
THIS FUCKING LIFE: It would have to be pretty darn slightly, I mean, diamonds cut glass, and flesh is a lot softer. I mean, I have no evidence of that, but...
PAIN: Do you have any kind of measuring device that we could experiment with?
THIS FUCKING LIFE: "With my eye?"
THIS FUCKING LIFE: "Then, no...."
PAIN: "I can see elaborate measurements hanging out of all of your pockets."
THIS FUCKING LIFE: "They aren't sterilized enough to go near an eyeball."
PAIN: "You're right. Now, why did you have to do all that lying before finally just coming out and saying that you don't want bloody, brown shit stained measuring devices cut up your cornea. I think I would have understood that, duh? Now, don't get me started on one of your tangents, I am here to talk about what I did while most of the world was sitting around partying, completly buying the entire Salurnian Rap about how they had arrived by folding time, coming instantaneously from their nitch in the universe to ours, and were here out of concern for all the species about to be lost to the imminent greenhouse effect. The new and wondrous varieties of life styles and consumer goods being offered was so long that 24 hour broadcasts on all stations commenced. No one would watch anything else.... no one would go to work, at first... Now me, I was pretty well lit up on some green and crystally that had me feeling ever so slightly paranoid. So when I saw these cigar shaped things come down out of the clouds, I thought the angels had been smoking up there and were leaving behind some nasty, toxic second smoke. I mean, I know there are no angels, but all those years of sitting in a pew feeling hell's fires lapping at my converse left some scars on me old toes, you know, and I react with that kid occasionally before the adult takes over."
THIS FUCKING LIFE: So, what happened when your 'adult' took over?"
JOHNNY PAIN: Well, adult, psycho, or terrorist... depending on who you talk to, I guess. The Adult of course went home, got together guns, ammo, the dog and cat and stole a caddilac, drove down and got M. out of work, and hit the highway for Tennessee. I was kind of half worried that the weed was just making me paranoid, because it it wouldn't be the... well, never mind all that.... I guess there is no reason to toot my band of out of tune trumphets any more than I have to for the troops.
At the time, though, I was pretty worried that I was wrong. I mean, I had to chloroform M., of course, and that worried me a little bit because I knew I was in for an ass kicking when she woke up -- there was no way she was going to listen to a good reason for drugging her and dragging her out to a stolen car and aiming a gun at her coworkers and such... at least not at first. I had to chain her up, then explain everything for a few days before I could trust her not to just fucking stangle me. Admittedly, I have lied to her another that there was little else she could do. And she did smack me a couple times, but that was deserved because I served her tea in a dirty mug once while she was captive... or at least that is what she told me.
THIS INTERVIEW WITH THE LEADER OF REBEL TROOPS PRESENTLY BATTLING THE SALARIANS IN THE GREATER CHICAGO AREA WILL CONTINUE AFTER WE MOVE TO ANOTHER LOCATION. OUR SECURITY OF COURSE DEMANDS THAT THE SALURANIANS, AND THIER ALLIES THE WOMBATS, MUST NEVER FIND THE SOURCE OF THESE WORDS.
MESSAGE FROM JOHNNY PAIN: During the break while we move to another site, Please hum, "We Shall Overcome" and imagine an older, chubbed out black women with too much make up just belting that song into the deepest recesses of your brain (anyone who sings this out loud with a shitty voice should be shot -- and if they are in my army, they will be).