DO NOT FAVE THIS DEVIATION, THIS IS A CLUB FAVE THE ORIGINAL

It was a monday i think, probably not, id been awake so long time seemed to be a distant option. Id been awake 80 hours or more, constantly ripped, twisted, stoned and generally buzzing. The sweat was pouring off me, whipped into the wind and beyond, from that terrible slip stream once creates when going 90mph in a 1969 Boss 429 Ford Mustang. Before we go any further i have to give you the background, the background on a terrible journey into the very heart of insanity. Id started off in a oppourtunistic fevor, asked by my boss to cover some kind of amazing race. He'd mentioned elephants on the phone and i was already packing. The thing sounded like some kind of monster renactment of the civil war, or a medley of Hannibals crossing, The Battle Of Waterloo and WW2. The only way to cover something like this was to get hopelessly twisted on a assortment of powerful (and terrible) psychedelics. I needed backup for this one i decided. Not just moral but physical too, by the sound of things it was going to get ugly, especially when the likes of me roar into the equation. So i called my good friend Carlos, a dangerous mexican with all the wrong connections, but a powerful taste for mind altering drugs and the same twisted sense of humour/reality that i had. A true visionary. He agreed immediatley, but requested he select the firearms and at least 1/4 of the drugs. I was elated, he had the best taste in powerful handguns/rifles. His drug closet was also full of rare and dangerous wares.



We conferenced about the situation at the local cocktail bar, summing up the various dangers we'd probably encounter, and the logical legal loopholes we could exploit if the shit really hit the fan. Carlos worked as a lawyer, when i say worked i really mean dabbled since he didnt have a practice, only representing friends. His family had died in a grease fire when he was 12. "BY GOD!" he suddenly yelled. "Fuck, i think ive solved the puzzle, the way I see it is that those sons of bitches are holding this thing for a tax break, shit they'll probably make millions of this bastard" Jesus i thought, what crazed delusions are looming up on him? "Tax break?" i replied, sipping my singapore sling. "These fuckers probably have had this thing clocking over in their minds for years, figuring how to make a nice tidy profit on this scale their whole lives" He mumbled. I had NO idea what he was talking about, assuming hed already sampled some of the drugs we'd be taking on this trip. "What the fuck are you on about you crazy bastard, are you high on cocaine?" i enquired. "Hell no, im talking about your boss, its the only reason he'd be paying you so much to cover this thing" he said, crunching on the ice left in his drink. "Of course, it all makes sense now, the puzzles been solved, the pieces fit! Shit, what do you think we should do? Report him to the IRS?" i said. "No, that would only involve us further, the best thing to do would be to cover it, and i mean REALLY cover the fucker, jangle it to its core, HELL! this will be one of those pieces they'll be showing kids in school 50 years from now" he suddenly exclaimed. It sounded like I'd have to keep my wits about me, if I wanted to stand any chance against these fat back grosseros, they meant business.

End of part 1