Space Truckin' - Chapter 1: We Had a Lot of Luck on Venus

“Huh? I don’t get it.” Gee was more than a little confused at the murky language found on the opposite side of the business card. “What’s there to not get,” Franky asked.

“Multiple and/or regular patronage required? We have to keep on buying every week? I don’t like that at all!”

Franky was getting a tad frustrated at Gee’s inability to grasp the simple situation. “Can we just get this done already? It took me forever to scrape up sixty dollars.” Gee was still wary about this new venture. “Why can’t we just go over to Boo’s house again?”

Franky was insulted. Gee knew damn well why they’re not going back to Boo’s house. Boo is not worth it. He has the absolute worst product and it takes a minimum of two hours worth of hanging out and listening to his mediocre poetry just to get a lousy dime. Franky was tired of putting up with all the lowlifes and losers of Jamestown and wanted to do business with somebody that has a little more class. At the very least, someone who didn’t always reek of that sharp provolone smell. After a few more minutes of gentle coaxing, Gee was ready. “Okay, but you do the talking.” Franky most certainly intended to do all the talking. He dialed the phone number and, as expected, received a voice mail.

“Um, hello,” Franky began in a shaky voice. “We would like to place an order for delivery. Could you please call us back at 718-645-6708? Thanks.” Franky was also unsure about the standard operating procedure, so he decided to treat it like he was ordering a pizza or something.

“Did you call the guy or are we ordering a pizza first,” Gee questioned.

“No, that was the guy. I guess he’s going to call back in five minutes.”

Gee was getting anxious. It had been nearly a week since his last good buzz. He’d heard a lot of good things about this home delivery service, especially from some of his old college friends in the city. However, he was still a little apprehensive. He likes to know who he’s shopping from, even if it’s something as casual as this. But when he heard that there was some guys operating in Jamestown, his curiosity got the best of him, so he started talking about it with Franky, who was already several steps ahead of him.

Approximately six minutes and thirty nine seconds later, Gee was losing his cool. “What kind of creeps are we getting mixed up with? And now they have our phone number, man! They could find us, kidnap us and put us in a snuff film! We don’t know these guys, they could be psychos! And now tonight we’re gonna end up in some dank basement with shackles on our hands and our balls in our mouths! How do you like that!”

The phone finally rang, causing Gee to become silent almost instantly. Franky answered and continued the pizza delivery ruse. He said he wanted three large pizzas with anchovies. The guy on the other line said something about anchovies being gross, but Franky had no idea what that was supposed to imply and insisted on anchovies. The delivery man gave their total to be sixty dollars even. Franky stated that that’s a lot of money for a few pizzas, to which the delivery man replied, “We’re very good.” He gave his address and hung up. Then they had to play the waiting game.

“We could play Guess Who,” Gee suggested. However, Franky commented that they should wait until afterwards, as it’s more fun when “the game cards actually do talk.” It was a painful wait. Usually the two aren’t shy about having a couple of beers beforehand, but thought it was important to have a fresh start this evening, as they were trying something new and wanted to make their conclusions without any outside interference.

Gee and Franky were just about best friends, but they disagreed on mostly everything. Gee claimed to be a staunch libertarian, mainly out of being disenfranchised by the two major parties and wanting to have nothing to do with them, while Franky still held out hope for the democrats. Both wanted to be anarchists, but weren’t willing to go the extra mile because they weren’t sure where the 7-11 would go after such a drastic change in government structure, or lack thereof. The 7-11 is where they would usually end up after an evening of non-adventures. Franky was always up for anything, but Gee thinks too much and always creates dilemmas to avoid potential fun activities. What was supposed to be a great evening at Medieval Times in Toronto turned into nothing but a three hour session in Carl’s living room, discussing it.

At one point they started watching the first half hour of Scarface. Neither of them were huge fans of the movie, but seemed to enjoy it in the past, especially when watching it at parties. However, this particular viewing seemed off in a way. “Why is he always screaming? This is totally gay, man.” Franky agreed. As great as the final shootout was, the movie as a whole was way too campy to be taken seriously and the chainsaw scene was mediocre at best. “It doesn’t even show his limbs get cut off.” Franky was a particular gorehound and didn’t appreciate that at all. Gee questioned what the “rap guys” liked so much about it in the first place. Then it came. Did it ever.

The thing entered the house, but neither of them remembers ever opening the door. There was no doorbell, no knock, just a breeze of air that chilled the back of their necks. Their spines stiffened as the presence of the effervescent man took it upon him to sit at their own furniture. His hollow eyes drifted through the shroud of his black hood, the only thing visible of his face. Franky’s brain swelled with regret as the thing threw out an index finger, pointing its bony appendage towards him. Somewhere in the world, a poodle just had its face smashed in with a brick. “Extra anchovies?” He reached into his chest, underneath several layers of rags and grease, pulling out a cube. Within the cube was a thing of terror.

It was a gelatin - a slime. Yet it had shapes. A mighty warrior marched his way through the arctic tundra, slaying demons and goblins and wrestling snow-beasts. It was a long journey filled with hardships. Many men died, but only this warrior, the bravest of the brave and the purest of heart, could survive the earthly hell. He was within moments of victory, so close he could taste the sweet sweat of triumph trickling down his nose, only to be permanently immobilized by the cube. This horrible, horrible cube. This thing. Franky and Gee were giddy.

“Police, open up!” Their giddiness eviscerated by a single knock of a door and replaced with anxiety. Gee can’t go through this again. He’s already been hassled for possession within the last six months. And he has a second interview on Monday. Franky was a little more relaxed and more annoyed that he wasn’t able to see what was in that wicked awesome cube. But before any of them sink any further into deep thought, the man-thing reaches again into his layers of rags and pulls out the biggest gun they have ever seen. Within two or three blasts, the front door of Gee’s mom’s house is blown down, leaving a lifetime’s supply of charred wooden splinters. On the outside, Gee spots two bodies falling to the ground. “Get in the car,” the man-thing demands, referring to his old rusty VW bus parked outside. Franky and Gee expected that if they didn’t yield to his demands, they would join the two outside and decided to be good little hostages. As they stepped outside, they got a good look at the fallen policemen. They didn’t look like men at all, but had strange pinkish complexions, hideous warts covering their faces and fat snouts. They squealed their final death squeals as their guts spilled onto the porch. A siren grows louder in the air. The man-thing points his gun again. “Now!” Frank and Gee scramble to the bus.

As they hop into the back seats, they catch a glimpse of the cops pulling up to Gee’s mom’s house. It’s another group of hideous pig men wielding machine guns and dressed like the leather man from the Village People. The man-thing turns the keys to the ignition. Gee asked “Did you bring that cube thing with you?”