Saitama, Wednesday

Sonoko: How about Mitsubishi?
Yumi4never: NO. Not reliable. They are the makers of the dangerous car.
WinterSonata666: Nissan is reliable.
Yumi4never: Too small. There are 12 of us remember.
Toshi: We need a flatbed truck.
Yumi4never: BAKA. NO ROOF ON BACK OF FLATBED TRUCK. The gas will not be contained and will dissipate into the atmosphere.
Toshi: Oh yeah.
Sonoko: BAKA.
Yumi4never: BAKA.
WinterSonata666: BAKA.
<<<**Thomas Bottersfly has entered Room 1**>>>
Thomas Bottersfly: Hey, you guys can use my van. You can pay me later.
Toshi: ????
Yumi4never: Shut up Toshi. OK! Sounds good! We'll do it!
WinterSonata666: Thank you, Buttonfly!
Sonoko: Woo hoo! We're all gonna die!
Thomas Bottersfly: Meet me by the bubbling brook near old man Watanabe's paddy at 11 pm sharp.
Yumi4never: Will do.
Toshi: Everything is falling into place.
WinterSonata666: Drive carefully, Mr Bothersomefly.
Thomas Bottersfly: Thats BOTTERSFLY, you goth-tard knob receptacles. B-O-T-T-E-R-S-F-L-Y.
WinterSonata666: Honto ni moshiwake gozaimasen deshita.


===============================================

Oh man, am I gonna get laid tonight! I'm gonna go steal shit from Homac right now to fashion my own makeshift trouser press to spiff up these Burnt Sienna rayon strides! The Editor wanted the inside scoop on this whole Japanese "InterNet Group Suicide Pact" fruitfly fest but fuck that, all I can see are laid-up laissez faire lollies limply lolling about logged out on negligent chloroform. Like marionettes with all the strings severed. NEGLIGENCE! All I need is an angle and a quick draw holster for my Dresden gas mask and I'm in like Flynn.

The 12 of them were bang on time, standing there in the dark huddled around a solitary torchlight when I arrived in my new van that I'd just liberated from the carpark in front of some 7-11 not 10 minutes beforehand.
"Hi! I'm Thomas! I brought some extra gas just in case you're a bit short."
"Lucky. Because Toshi left the argon in his Mums freezer."
"He left the what? Aah, never mind. This van came with a video camera too so we can submit some video letters to Samma's Karukuri video letter thingy. Did any of you tell your parents about your totally ludicrous, certain-death-mass-suicide-pact plot tonight?"
"I forgot."
"I sent a text message to my mum "dnt wt up. dying w/tomo's" but then I remembered, my mum hasn't got as cellphone."
"All the better! Imagine the looks on their faces as they peer up from their Sunday dinns of fishface soup to see you permantly signing off from all earthly concerns! LOLL! Samma will laugh his tits off. Now then. Let's get you lot in the van"

The smoke curled stiffly, I mean, implacably skyward as the morning sun loomed below the horizon. I mean, impeccably. It curled impeccably. The smoke. Not implacably. Can smoke be placated? I guess that depends on whether it's platonic smoke or not. Anyway, I don't smoke but I'd lit a cigarette and was holding it in a studied repose. Eyes squinting like Pierce Eastwood. Just then the wind blew the stupid thing out and my elaborately staged post-coital rooting metaphor was ruined. I dropped the filthy fucking firestick and ran my palm slowly over my corked thigh wound. Had dinged me gammy knee on the bumper a few times and almost cramped up mid-roger.

I leaned back against the front of the van, resting my elbows on the bonnet. All quiet inside. Next to me, sprawled across the bonnet, was one dishevelled, inert, partially naked figure.
Just another Pleasant Valley Negligent Chloroform Sunday.
Lemme just get this filthy great fuckin' WWII bomb shelter gas mask off, couldnt see what the fuck I was doing with that on...
There.
That's better.
Oh, shit.
I fucked Toshi.
He's coming around too.
Bugger.

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