Trouble in a Land way Under Down Under

One year ago today 12 seconds To Midnight was published on this site. These are the events that led famed Internet Journalist and Gonzo writer Al North to his flight with destiny.

I woke in a hotel somewhere in the south Pacific, still unsure how I managed to fly to India and end up on some strange island where the inhabitants remember the cruelty of the white man. Thank god I tan really well, but I had to regain my wits, next to the bed, which for some reason was hanging from the ceiling, s**t someone has nailed all of the god damn furniture  to the f*****g ceiling! I struggled to moved, some cruel savage b*****d must have chained me to the wall in order to sacrifice me to their strange and cruel foreign Gods. You have to understand, this seemed like a simple, utterly and rationally reasonable conclusion. The room looked to have an Asian decor, it might be possible I am in Thailand. Satin and gold couches, Jade Buddha statues, if I was captured by South East Asian terrorist, they had style. Then, a knock on the door. "Mr. North, your editor is calling the front desk, he wish's to speak to you, Mr. North, Hello?"

As I struggled to free myself, my response was cool and composed, "SOME ONE GET ME THE HELL DOWN, GOD DAMN IT I'M A JOURNALIST SHOW ME SOME F*****G RESPECT! The door opened to a heavy set man looking up at me, sweat pouring from his face, "Oh, you managed to get yourself in sling, it happens," Pulling some rope like a dreaded villain in a James Bond movie, he made one tug and I feel 12 feet onto a water bed than plunged me right to me feet. "WHERE, WHO, WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I shouted as I shook the man, who from such a tall view point look shorter than he really was. The Asian fellow calmed me by slapping me three times across the face, just the wake up I needed. Time for the punishment. "Phone!" He shoved a phone in my stomach, but had the honesty to hold his hand out for a tip. I think I handed him a Ruble or a joint, can not remember. "Al? Are you there?" It was the editor, he could save me "Chester, where I'm some where, i think their holding me hostage, and this guy expected a tip!" My editor was frank as is his manner in a major crisis your corespondent was trapped in. "Al, are you shitting me, your have my boat and your off the coast of Tasmania, Why do you have my boat?"
It all came flooding back to me, three days ago i managed to skip out on covering a Fashion show in Japan to cover an actual plot, one that would finally bring down the true dread of human society. Reality TV Shows. There is a popular show that has an environmental feel to it against the Whaling industry, this show inspired many different Vi real Reality Shows that spread across the web like a Virus, some of you may have even donated money to such causes. One group I managed to uncover, something slightly more strange. Political Slave Traders who pose has Eco Terrorist/ Environmentalists, skipping across the sea's spreading the words against whaling all while Screaming which side of the Government Joe Lunch Box would vote for. All very clever and hidden messages behind a conspiracy of Fascistic Right Wing powers.
At least that is what I told him, I did stretch truth, I remember I was suppose to race someone today and I was so confident I could win, that I bet his boat. I also had no idea where the hell the race track was or what hotel I was even staying in. "Al, do not bull s**t me, Eco terrorists,? Right Wing Government conspiracy, do you have any of thing to back it up? Cause I swear to Christ above, I will shoot you as soon as you step foot in California if your telling me one of your f*****g drug idled rants!" "It's all on the level, I got a source." I did have a source, the guy i was racing was the son of an State Senator who was deep in right wing philosophy, but sonny boy was busy skimming money from the state trust funds, to pay for his radical psycho sexual lifestyle that made him feel all the way to the ends of the earth. A mere chance, he was also a compulsive gambler. God Bless Right wing Christian families.
As I left my room, after known securing all of my drugs and spare money in the shower. The front desk clerk who delivered my messages burned a hole through my heart as i made my way through the hotel lobby.
The drug scene down under in places like Tasmania are that almost of Berkeley California, white whiskered men in old uniforms smoking joints in front of cafes. But this was the dark underbelly of the old Pacific ocean wars, the wars between white foreign powers oppressing the local inhabitants and beating them into submission. The tourist warnings, only men of questionable character would be in this part of the island, your faithful corespondent had no problem passing himself off as another dignified human being. The senator's son wasn't too hard too find, he was a tall blonde haired looking fresh faced American university student. He was literary at the first c**k fight I found while stumbling around trying to light my smoke and joint at the same time, I tried to remember the dumb b******s name, he had another look next to bright and shinny, 'I am a total psycho-path'. Naturally he stood out among a group of Asian men betting on what would Rooster would killed the other in some savage game of chance and nature. My money was on the Rooster named 'Tom Jones', for some reason he looked like a winner to me. "So when are we gonna race man, I'm loosing my shirt in these c**k fights!" The slimy son of w***e jinxed my rooster as Tom Jones was slaughtered in front of my eyes by a black rooster named 'Charles Nelson Riley'. "You jinxed me you rotten b*****d! I haven't had a drink yet, I'm in some god forsaken backwater end of the world, this is the place those cartoon devils come from, Christ, I need a drink you b*****d!" He starred at me like someone kicked his father in the balls and said 'merry Christmas'. "My name is Matt, and it's cool man, we can get a drink, its cool." The dark hallow barn was a real s**t hole, the part of Tasmania we were in was not for tourist, this was an area that still had the smell of the old world of smugglers and pirates still walked across the chess board of humanity. The further we walked the area had become more of a clearing, but my eyes and brain had lost focus from the events I had yet to fully remember from the night before.
"Listen Al, you seriously can not tell my old man what I'm doing here, cause he would totally s**t if he knew I was gambling again" Dumb fool, "hey, no sweat, telling Al North is, is like telling the wind, so where is the race track man?" I wasn't nervous, but by pure mistake my breath strips were laced with acid. A harmless mistake you will agree, that was until young Matt, asked for one. "Hey man, you got a mint, I was eating out this chick last night and I smell of Thai hahahahhaha" Just to shut him up I gave him three. "So yea, the race track, it's not exactly a track, its more like a drop". The insane f****r was taking steering me to a god damn helicopter, not a normal helicopter something out of the god damn jungles of Vietnam with a white vet to match. "Are yo-" i was going to say 'insane' but that is when all three hits of acid must have hit him, like a hammer.
"DON'T BE SUCH A P***Y AL!" he barked while jumping 9 feet in the air, three seconds later he tossed me into the back of the chopper and we took off."
"YOU CRAZY F****R, YOU CANT DO THIS, I'M A WEB JOURNALIST! IF WE LAND, YOUR DEAD PIG F****R!" My words made little to no impact as he busy bouncing off the walls of the helicopter. Our pilot had all the vintage features of a total Shell Shocked Vietnam Vet, fairly sure those were real pigs ears he wore around his neck as he laughed manically at Matt, while inhaling a bag of cooking spray, motor oil and crazy glue.
"ok, ok, ok, ok, ok, so here is what we are gonna do right, right, right" he had jumped across to my side. "we are gonna race to the bottom of the ocean man, hahahahahhahah, cool cool, cool?" At this point i felt i had to be totally honest with him, "yes, Matt, this is the thing, hey? can you hear me?" he smiled like a fool at me when the green light. With an insane toxic smile of drug fueled stupidity and over confidence only found among W/A/S/P/  he grabbed me by both my arms and with no sense of a movement at all he hurled both of us out of the helicopter. When falling Christ knows how many feet at what ever speed to a large amount of anything, really makes one reflect on the most important things in one's own life. In my case, my only concern was that fat sweaty Asian finding my stash, stealing my boat that I stole from someone else, and what ever happened to my other sock?
It was only mere chance I landed in the ocean, Matt on the other hand was not so lucky, Matt landed right in the middle of an Anti Whaling ship. Poor b*****d, still, there was a story there, just not entirly sure how to word it when I hand that one in, Sex, Drugs, Crashing In Eco-jerks.    Not that I did not suffer a reasonable amount of pain while entering the water, but by the lucky happen stance, a group of Gin drinking sailors out for an evening row happen to pick me up. My next moves had to be well thought out, after being forced to swim the remaining 3 miles and washing up on shore, I headed for my hotel to gather my things, get to the docks and attempt to sail this boat to some where close to America. How far could it be? Supplies would be needed first, but I had no money to pay my hotel bill nor the dock fee's.
Logically it would make sense to steal the boat and attempt to gun it to the California coast line.  In a small cat and mouse game, I out ran the desk clerk by pulling the fire alarm.
So far so good, all I have to do is make it passed this group of what appear to be heavily intoxicated Islanders. "嘿，是你的船" I had no idea what they were saying, "嘿，是你的船" , however, it would seem rude not to wave. They were also playing so sort of dice game and waved me in   發揮你的船 he handed me the dice, not having time I just tossed them, yes, I lost the boat. Has the sun began to set on the shore, my cell phone beeped that sweet beep of a text from Chester, my boss, my editor, my reason for being........a complete and total rake of a human being.  .


"Al, you have a flight booked to San Francisco. I expect a story Midnight tomorrow night or you can kiss your job good bye".
A nice easy flight back to San Francisco, I hope I remember my breath strips and bag of completely legal and necessary prescription drugs. Old people, College students, nothing could possibly go wrong........................

Author's Note

Reviews

[KillerWithWords]

This is nuts-it's seems like an excerpt from "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas".
I was a bit confused the whole time as your character seems delusional. But i think it was done on purpose....

[Robbie~xoxo~]

Wow!... Such a crazy Hilarious sense of humor. The journey of an internet Journalist gone awry...what more (trouble) can Al get into?...should I even ask? lol
I love the foreign dialogue used in this piece, very original!

[GunMetal]

Hilarious! Using the foreign characters as the dialogue was inspired. There are a couple handfuls of mistakes: misspelled words; grammar errors; poor phrases and sentences. But beyond that, this was gold.

[wyrd]

you definatly hit the gonzo journalist tone. Your main charactor is great fun. Might do a bit more to expand on the other charactors in the story. Every gonzo journalist needs a off the wall side kick. I can visualize this as a graphic novel. Hope to see more of this.