White Sharks Only

Title

White Sharks Only

Artist

Alpha Pup

Medium

Digital Art - Digital Art

Description

The vomiting stopped twenty minutes ago but my palms are still sweating profusely. I am obsessing about it. I know I am. I keep gripping the wheel tighter. In this state I can't tell if that's natural, the obsession with my palms, I mean. Light is funny too. I look down at the cactus buttons strewn on the passenger seat and the floor. They look...funny just floating in their glowing blue green light. Maybe I should slow down. 115 is probably too fast... My hands are white on the wheel. Iridescent. No, really, my hands are glowing now. Damn, this thing needs blood again. I ease the frantic thrashing beast into the station. Its need is palpable. It is 4 AM and the savage lighting is making my heart pound. Sweat is flowing like I've never seen it before. I blink once, twice. I can't make sense of this as I pull up to the pump. Focus. I need to focus. Reach for the handle. Door heaves open like a gasping gill and the sweat from my palms that had filled the car to dangerous levels is now spilling deafeningly onto the pavement. I look on in horror. Don't they keep mops around here for this sort of thing!? I want to scream at the management then think better of it. Even if I could find them at this hour they will be in no condition to deal with this level of rage. So I wash down 5 Valium with some Jose Cuervo and get to work pouring some war blood into the belly of this great white shark. I decant the thick warm liquid and I can feel it purr with contentment as its headlights dim ecstatically. The meter on the pump counts frantically to keep up with this angry appetite. These things need too much blood, but what can I do about it? I'm just a priest with a hole in my head answering a new calling. Tomorrow is the first Gonzo Revival. I've traveled far from the grave to guide the complacent masses out this morass. The shark's belly fills. Blood belches from its nostrils and I return the nozzle to the pump. Not bad, $45 for that much blood. There's no telling what the sick bastards that unleashed these things on us will try next. We've got to stop them before they get to our banks and insurance companies. I just hope I'm not too late. God, my palms just won't stop sweating. Where am I, Bishop? I've got to take a picture of this. Nobody will believe me.

HST RIP

Uploaded

May 16th, 2010

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Viewed 832 Times  -  Last Visitor from Wilmington, DE on 04/23/2024 at 12:15 AM

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