Satan Burger by Iii Carlton Mellick Read Free Book Online Page B

get beaten for listening to them.  But now they are funny and everyone loves them. 
    In other words: BUTT ROCK = PUNK.
    My room is nothing more than a janitor’s closet that can only hold my body and a mattress.  A whole bed couldn’t fit inside, so I just put the mattress on the ground.  I can’t sleep on an entire bed anyway.  If I sleep too far away from the ground, I get sucked out of my body and hover in the air above it.  And believe me, it’s pretty hard to fall asleep when you’re floating outside of your body.
    Richard Stein said that sleep is the best part of your life.  Many people take sleep for granted and don’t think to appreciate its beauty, but Richard Stein said his sleep was quite beautiful.  If you do not find satisfaction in something as simple as sleep, you might never find satisfaction in something as BIG as life.  Being without satisfaction makes you bitter , so it is best to obtain it wherever you can.
    Also:  a man who enjoys sleep never puts a gun to his head, he just sleeps his problems away.  This is because death and sleep are very similar states, due to their tranquil conflict-less characteristics.  So the suicidal man can trick his brain into thinking he is dead, when he is actually just asleep.  However, it can be a very dangerous thing to trick your brain into thinking sleep and death are so related, because if a person is very tired and can’t fall asleep at night, he might pick up a gun and shoot his skull across the room.  And I’m sure he’d feel pretty stupid the next morning, when he finds out that he traded his brain to the wall for a good night of sleep.
    At this time, Christian is entering my room.  He doesn’t emerge fully, because of his claustrophobia, standing by the doorway instead.  I can see Vodka far behind him, on the toilet in a stare, caressing his bagpipes and the porcelain. 
    "Do you want to go to Satan Burger now?" he asks.
    I look up at Grim Reaper joy-tumbling, Christian splashing. Pieces of fish meat falling from the ceiling.  "Yeah.  How we gonna get there?"
    "I didn’t think that far."  Then Christian yells to Mort, who is putting all of the equipment away and getting no help from anybody, as usual, "Mortician, did you get your bus fixed yet?"
    "No," Mort says within working, "I probably won’t be able to until next week or next month."
    Mort’s bus hasn’t been working all year.  He gets it fixed every month, but it only works for a couple of days before it needs fixing again.  It is always polluting the back of the warehouse.  If it was a normal autocar I wouldn’t care, but this is a bus.  Not a VW Bus, I mean a full-sized school bus, laced with graffiti and bullet holes.
    I point to Vodka, whispering, "What about him?"
    Christian turns to Vodka.  "Vod, got a car?"
    Vod is in a trance.
    "Vodka!"
    He snaps hard out and twitches at Christian.
    "Do you have a car?"
    Vod glimmers down to his bagpipes.  "I do."  Then up to Christian again.  "It is only the most luscious and vigorous piece of machinery UPON THIS INSIGNIFICANT PLANET."      
    "Well, can you drive us to Satan Burger?"
    Silence.
    Vodka continues a trance at Christian until his face turns dirty, the toilet seat sweats round pools into his buttocks.
    He coldly answers, "Certainly."
    Christian claps his hands together.  "Great.  Let’s go then," heading toward his next bottle of liquor, and his polyester jacket.
    "NOT YET," Vodka howls at him.  "There are rules in my car that must not be taken lightly.  If you break any one of them you’ll be THROWN OUT INTO THE STREET AND BANNED FROM MY CAR FOREVER."

    Vodka’s autocar turns out to be an AMC Gremlin, not the usual style of car to be remarked as luscious or vigorous , but some people seem to like them.  It is sparkling black with silver lightning bolts on the doors and large metal wings attached to the back end.  Vodka approaches the front and cuddles to it, warming the cold metal.
    "It is more