Sunday Archive: Nacho Sasha and the Knights of St. John, part three
Nacho Sasha and the Knights of Saint John Part III: Less Than Zero
“Christ in a handbasket, am I glad to see you.” I said to my manservant as he immediately began preparing a bread and cheese meal, removing the corpses of the people 16th Century Satan had been torturing.
The dark one himself stood in a corner, brooding, while I attempted to explain my situation. But he didn’t seem very receptive.
My manservant found a thin, gruely alcohol and poured it in a glass for me, but I had decided to keep my head clear so I rubbed some laudanum on my gums and began the 32 Positions of the Lotus.
“So,” I said to my manservant, “did you do what I asked?” Hand like Dragon, Face Pristine – Wheat Field! Man is Farmer and Bird Swoops Down.
My manservant reached into his filthy leather duffel bag, which contained 1 copy of Lew’s Guide to Magic, 1 dagger, 1 magic scroll, 2 potions of healing, 1 Star of Amaryon and a Funny Vessel.
Look Funny Vessel
The Funny Vessel is shaped like a clown, you took it from the High Priest’s altar but you don’t know what it is used for…it looks like it could hold about 4.5 ounces of fluid, though.
Look N
To the North is a flight of stairs.
N
It is dark. You will likely be eaten by a grue.
S
You can’t go that way!
My arms were out in Crane Eating Spider as my manservant triumphantly held up D’Artagnan’s time travel device. I quit the 16th Position of the Lotus and took the device, running my fingers through my manservant’s hair. “That’s my little sticky fingers.” Then I turned to Satan. “Behold, the time machine.”
Satan nodded, “So prove it to me. Let’s go for a trip.”
“Where to?”
“Anywhere. I don’t care. Your discretion.”
“Aye, aye Mr. Sulu.” I punched in four numbers.
Back into the mist.
Blue-green…and a flash, breath stolen, the mind reeling, back and again.
And that…that’s the power of love.
Make a one man weep, make another man sing.
Talking away, I don’t know what I’m to say. I’ll say it anyway, today’s another day to find you.
Enter young Virginia Madsen looking into the mirror and entering the comic strip…then we float away.
These are memories.
Four numbers, shifting space, from Rhodes to the Babylon of New York.
1985.
All the school kids so sick of books
They like the punk and the metal band
When the buzzer rings (oh whey oh)
They’re walking like an Egyptian
I had taken us to the corruption and the beauty that was America of the 1980’s.
1981, Reagan is inaugurated at a cost of 11 million dollars.
Money, glory, the greenback began to trickle down.
1981. Charles and Di marry. MTV awakens in our subconscious. Money for nothing.
1982. Pac-Man is named Man of the Year by Time Magazine. From Hitler to Pac Man…Late Night With David Letterman explodes into our media culture.
You are on cocaine.
1983. John Riggins to Sandra Day O’Conner: “Lighten Up, Sandy!” Reagan and the taxpayers watch Rambo together. Grenada is “liberated” and Reagan quotes Rambo. At Christmas, a riot in a West Virginia mall leads to the mutilation of three cabbage patch dolls. They are later buried at a cemetery and then-Vice President George Bush delivers a eulogy, aired on national television.
1984. Miami Vice. “Where’s the Beef?” is asked by former VP Walter Mondale in an attempt to criticize Reagan. The Year of the Yuppie. Again, another cover from Time Magazine.
“I Want to Know What Love Is…” Back to the future, boys and girls. Geraldine Ferraro becomes the first failed candidate to accept a major ad campaign. Diet Pepsi, this time. They start the trend. Visa gets Bob Dole a decade later. New fucking Coke. Live Aid! Band Aid! Hands Across America!
Yes, we built this city. No wonder why it burns.
My manservant, 16th Century Satan and myself pressed our backs against a brick wall as Bleeker Street screamed into view. For 16th Century Satan, half a millennia had just passed in a few heartbeats. He pressed his hands to his eyes and screamed. My manservant grinned and flipped a Susan B. Anthony at a tottering bum while I breathed in the iniquity of the world’s most glorious city.
“16th Century Satan,” I muttered, “I give you the goddamned future.”