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Old January 21st, 2010, 02:07 AM
Hajo Flettner
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Hookah Legend
Join Date: May 2007
Posts: 4,746
Default Pigs, Smoking and Pasole part 2

After resting up from the hectic night/morning I slept for a few hours has the next batch of guests arrived greeted by my ever enthusiastic band mates. Much to my surprise the hippy chick and her pig had remained apparently waiting for a ride and a bit more music. As the rest of Ethereal Omega and Endorphin Express showed up along with our latest vocalist addition Gwendimyre things started to rock, the ale flowed freely and things seemed to back to normal for an all to brief an interlude.

As the band took a break to eat and drink I was in the water closet when I heard someone yelling about army showing up and the sounds of the my pals stampeding. Darting out I looked out my window and saw an armored land rover driving up the path. I heard some yell “damn Hajo, your’re getting shutdown by the army! That’s what I call a party!” After a bit of wondering why they’d send out an riot vehicle for a noise complaint I panicked a bit assuming that I was about to be extradited I froze with fear as the world turned sick. My worrisome flight of fancy was broken when my cop friends popped in the door wearing civilian closes leading me to sigh with relief. I walked up to shake and noted the Vepr shotguns they were carrying and panicked again. My police friend slapped me on my shoulder and said “Hajo, are you really so surprised that we are spending more time at the range like you said we should?” I smiled, and inquired why they were here and they told me that he convinced his comrades that they needed to be brought to date on “the crazy kind of pipes you smoke” so that they won’t get sued for false arrest and that they hoped I’d give them free food and ale.

This resulted in some friends of mine showing the cops what different kinds of moassel and narghiles look like and things soon settled down a bit when in walked the vet with a bottle an empty bottle of vodka saying he was here was check up on the pig. While he was looking the pig over the band started playing while the ale flowed freely yet again. After a while a now rip snorting drunk vet started yelling for us to play Blue Cheer and so I started to do my best Dickie Peterson imitation as the band started to kick out “Next Time Around”. Mean while at the other end of the room I couldn’t help but to notice that the flower child and my cop buddy had gotten way to drunk and way to frisky which made me laugh right in the middle of bit of guitar wanking. The vet starting shouting out the lyrics to “Out of Focus” while wildly gyrating and banging on a doumbek that was laying about looking as spit and ale flew from him in all directions.

As the bacchanalian excess reached a crescendo in the middle of “Fruit & Icebergs” a vacuum tube disaster struck. A stream of sparks, smoke and jet of flame shot up as did the pig. Our porcine pal made a mad dash crashing into a firkin of ale which sent a jet of M & B Mild blasting our drummer’s wife in the face knocking her over. As the havoc among my fellow bipeds spread the band stopped and ran about looking for fire extinguishers the pig went nuts knocking over revelers like bowling pins.

The hippy chick by this point was semi-dressed and fully freaking out hollering as her policeman paramour hung his head out the window and puked. The vet staggered about with a syringe attempting to stick the pig. Instead he tripped over a narghile hose and sent some coals flying into the back of the pig and is syringe into his own leg.

With a bit of luck we got the fire out and the irrepressible vet somehow refilled the syringe and plunged it into the pig before rolling down the steps and out the door passed out. The hippy girl by this point looked catatonic and my pal Javier (the same as in the Lovecraftian post) applied some burn ointment to the now partially sedated porker.

Calm returned to the house and my guests crashed as did I content that my thatched rood didn’t go up in flames and that a bowl of pasole remained unsoiled.
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