Tales Of The Gurrier

As a bleak grey morning broke over the valley a thin scratching sound could be heard coming from The Hut. Several sheets of torn, yellowing paper appeared under the door. Kesey bent down and snatched them up.
“What’s it like?” said Heinous “are there any guns?”
Keseys lips moved as he read the last few words. He snarled a curse and crumpled the pages into a ball. “Rubbish! Its all nonsense about tea and magic flutes and fecking feelings.” He tossed the ball of crumpled pages to the ground and paced back and forth knitting his brows in consternation and kicking at passing wildlife.
Heinous snatched up the paper and examined the scribblings for himself. “What’s this shite?’ he exclaimed ’sure this is all talking, where are the bombs and the evil machines? Wait a minute we’re not even in this. Kesey you said it would all be sorted out if we brought Him out here and stamped on his liver until he turned blue. Well?”
“Shut up Ingoldsby I’m thinking. And besides when did you ever even talk. All you used to do was murder things and eat horse steroids,”
“I’m growing as a person. Don’t impede my personal growth!’
Heinous clapped his hands over his mouth in horror and Kesey stared at him unable to comprehend the filthy thing that had just emerged from Ingoldsby’s mouth.
‘Oh God I don’t understand it. I just said what came into my head,’ said Heinous looking miserable. From the darkness of the Hut came an evil chuckle.
‘Gentlemen and Lady this is serious’ said Kesey. These desperate times call for desperate measures. Unchecked there is no telling how bad all this meta crap could get. Quite apart from these ‘feelings’ that keep creeping in everywhere. Obviously His mind has been poisoned. There is only one thing for it we must’

What evil Kesey had in mind to perpetrate was lost to posterity as the argument was ceased by the detonation of a 12 gauge shotgun above their heads. They all swiveled glaring at Kesey.
‘What? It’s not mine,’ he held up his empty hands.
‘Jaysus can you not keep it down. Am’nt I trying to be ritin’ a bleedin’ buke here.’
From the branches of a nearby oak tree a figure could be seen waving a clutch of filthy pages and aiming the still smoking barrels of a shotgun in their general direction. Balanced precariously on a branch was a bottle of Baileys with a protrusion of oily cloth coming from the opening.
‘Who the fuck is that?’ said the Gurrier.
‘Who cares she’s got guns.’ said Heinous
‘And booze,’ said the Gin Lady
‘And hate,’ said Kesey.
‘We have a problem with an author. Perhaps you could help, being of the authorial persuasion yourself. He’s in that hut and is refusing to write any more of the good stuff. You know the stuff with murderings and inventions and bombs, lovely bombs.’ Kesey’s eyes were ablaze with the fervor of past memories.
‘Christ is that all,’ said the figure ‘writers bollockage, easily solved. With that she lit the fuse on the Baileybomb and tossed it through the window of the hut. There was an explosion from within and intense flames began to billow from the broken window. Over the noise of the flames screaming could be heard.
The figure in the tree chuckled to herself. ‘Heh, heh, that’ll be the sugar in the Baileys. Acts like napalm when ignited.’
Keseys eyes watered with admiration. ‘My god that’s beautiful.’
‘Waste of good drink if you ask me,’ said The Gurrier.
‘Nobody asked you Gurrier,’ said Kesey drawing back his evil coat and displaying the holstered Voodoo Cannon.
‘Grand well I feel like killing something,’ said Heinous ‘what about you Kesey?’
‘I feel full of hate and machines,’ said Kesey. ‘And I have an idea for a new device, let us repair to the pub where I can find experimental subjects. Care to join us.’ They all looked at the figure in the tree who was reloading her shotgun.
‘Piss off I’m ritin’ me buke,’ said the figure and then paused ‘The pub you say eh. Well that was me last bottle of baileys after all.’
‘Red Presley’ said Red Presley descending from the tree ‘and don’t fucking ask.’
‘Ahh jesus not more fecking girls,’ said The Gurrier.
‘Shut up you!’ they all said in unison.
And so it was the bizarre group of characters wended their way to the nearest pub to wreak havoc and destruction on all and sundry. Along the way Heinous killed a tree, and Kesey invented a new disease and Red Presley showed them all how to make Baileybombs and The Gin Lady well she had some gin, and The Gurrier? He watched it all and wept quietly to himself, for now there was another one.

And from The Hut, there was silence. The fucker had meta’d his match.

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