Filthy Sanchez was strapped onto his bed. He did not utter a single sound as his mind contemplated the horrors that he would find in this hospital. He stared at the walls. They were black and grey; the most inhospitable of monotones. He looked at the bed to his left. A man strapped to the bed straps thrashed wildly screaming: “Reeeeeeee-Land, Reeeeeeee-Land, Reeeee-Laaaaaaaaaaannnd!!”
To his right was a man not strapped down, casually sitting on his bed smoking an oversized joint. Filthy Sanchez uttered his first words since entering: “Who are you? Why are you not strapped down?”
The man sitting there had a scruffy beard and a grey moustache. Showing no sign of the horror that had gripped Filthy Sanchez, he nonchalantly took a light puff on the joint.
“My name is Keef. I come here voluntarily for kicks. I have nothing better to do. I was in a band called The Jizzbuckets. I’m trying to re-form them. This guy said he would give me some bathtub amphetamine if we play a gig at his venue. We need a new bass player. Do you want to join us?”
“But I can’t play the bass. In fact, I seem to be remarkably untalented when it comes to all things musical.”
“Oh, that’s not an issue with this band...”
Inflict Kafe Gavani On The World
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