+ Zombie : Without Me +
Writing Prompt: No
Date: 7th Nov 2021
Tell me how’s it feel sittin’ up there
Feeling so high but too far away to hold me
You know I’m the one who put you up there.
// Alsace-Lorraine, France – Family Manor – Château de’ Gloire \\
++Three weeks. Silence. Just as fast as he appeared in my life, he was gone. Disappeared into thin air. It was like he fell into a void. I guess the fault is mine. Men and mascara always run. Hindsight is always 20/20 and while the view from where I’m sitting is currently pleasant as Eric has his face buried between my thighs, just beyond that is actualization. And it hurts. He was gone before I even hit the backstage that night. His gear? Gone. His apartment? Quiet and empty. It was like he just vanished. My fingers were tangled in Eric’s long blonde hair as he indulged himself. If he had at least one positive selling point it was that he was good with his tongue. Dare I say better than his big brother. My grip tightened as the tip of his tongue flicked across my clit. I knew how it looked. It looked like I was using Eric as a replacement for Eoin. That I couldn’t have the real thing anymore so I substituted with the next best thing, his brother. It wasn’t that at all. It was far from that. It’s just what it is, is still considered taboo and controversial, if you’re a woman of course. Being a powerful man means the more partners you have, at the same time, showcases your alpha masculinity. I’m still a whore if I do it. All of us women are. We’re all different yet all the same. Each of us in the same god damn boat, in the same fucking ocean, surrounded by the same starving sharks, but still fighting amongst ourselves and the imminent danger, because that is how it is. A battle on two fronts. The only two certainties in life are that you are born and you will die and in between? That’s just surviving. Existing…to die. I instinctively used his hair to pull him in closer as he made it clear he was ready for the coup de grace. I hated this. Being able to do this. Conversate in my head while outside the confines of my body, an attempt to pleasure me was made. I hated being able to exist in two worlds, both the figment in my head and the real world. I hated that while I WAS feeling pleasure on the outside, my mind was somewhere else, in it’s own world. After 38 years, I had been able to achieve the ability to live like a zombie, neither dead nor alive, only running on instinct and habit. My cortices responses are based on routine and natural response. No feeling, no attachment or cognitive resonance, just instinct. As we finished, I casually rolled over and grabbed a cigarette and lit up. He went to the bathroom to use some mouthwash++
Elizabeth: It’s a phenomenon you know.
Eric called out from the bathroom as the water ran in the sink. “What is Minxy?”
Elizabeth: People disappearing into thin air. There’s old folk tales of it happening. Real ones, not creepy pastas.
He shut the water off and turned off the light as he stepped back into the room; “Are you like, for real real?”
Elizabeth: Yes. There is one story in particular. It was a long long time ago, maybe turn of the century I think. It was out west, which is always where the really weird stuff goes on anyways. Anyways, this kid left the homestead to go get water at the nearby creek, but he never came back. His family went searching for him, and his mother could swear she could hear him calling out, but the closer she went to the sound, the farther away it got and vice versa. His foot steps stopped right at the edge of the water. There was no sign of drowning, animal attack, nothing. She swore for a few years after the incident, she would hear him calling every now and again when she went to the creek, but it eventually stopped and they never found him. It was like he just stepped into a void, a tear in the time space continuum, and just vanished into another dimension…
++Eric sat down on the edge of the bed, listening intently. We were both high but I meant what I said. His face contorted as he sat there thinking of the possibilities of other dimensions and conspiracy theories. It was a common bond we shared. He indulged my more eccentric interests and line of thinking. He casually handed me my panties as he really contemplated my theory. I arched my back as I pulled them on, sitting up as I did. The truth was I had a sneaking suspicion why he was ghosting me. The truth was this was just a ploy to keep Eric calm and occupied, because he relied on his brother, and now he was ghosting the kid again. Not that I didn’t actually believe in the idea of different dimensions, time jumps and tears etcetera. I did. I was very interested in and a student of the paranormal. But our last real conversation and the tense confrontation lingered in my mind. Replaying it like a red tape recorder. The black box of a downed plane. Scouring it for clues and red flags. Trying to make sense of it all. Even more so now that he had just fucking disappeared like a ghost. He lit up a blunt and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he sat leaning off the edge of the bed++
Eric: Did you at least enjoy that?
Elizabeth: Yeah. Was it obvious I was somewhere else mentally?
Eric: Only if you know what to look for. I’m not a smart guy. I’m pretty fucking wicked stupid. But I notice when you’re here but not here. You don’t have to explain it again, I’m not bitchin’ or nothin’ just saying, I notice it and I get it. You’ve been dealing with some pretty fuckin’ shitty stuff.
Elizabeth: If you know I can disconnect during sex or foreplay, and not be fully present for it, why do you go the extra mile and do it?
Eric: Well I mean, it’s not your fault? And you deserve to get off even if you aren’t like, fully enjoying it? Does that make sense? English is really fucking hard.
Elizabeth: No. No Eric it makes sense and I’m…I guess touched that you see it that way. Have you been on the internet again? Googling?
Eric: Like I said, I’m pretty fucking stupid but I mean, you were going to blow your own brains out so it seemed like it was a pretty big deal that I try to you know, understand what’s wrong with you. Fuck…no that sounded really mean. I didn’t mean it that way!
Elizabeth: It’s fine Eric. I get what you are saying. You don’t have to shit all over yourself because I have a high priced education and you don’t want to sound stupid in front of me. I’m book smart, gifted. But you make more sense in your own way and the way you use words, then some of the most prolific professors I have ever met, and I studied abroad a few times. You are true to yourself, not an ideal or a set of parameters. You speak honestly and real. I meant what I said, it touches me on a very deep level that you have gone to all these lengths to help create a safe space and to better understand my illnesses. Most people just look at you and say “get over it” or “someone else has it worse” or “it could be worse”, to deflect their disinterest in actually learning about your disease. Then again, in some aspects unless you have experienced it first hand, either by being diagnosed or through taking care of someone close who has it, you can never truly understand.
++Eric took another hit as I leaned forward, taking a drag off my cigarette and laid on my stomach, curling my legs into the air as I ashed into a nearby ashtray, a souvenir from an old road side shit hole I stayed in on the way to a show in my early days. He reached back mid hit and grabbed a handful of my thick ass, squeezing it. He wasn’t intended to take the place of Eoin. My relationship with him had it’s own reasons. It was a mutual agreement between two consenting adults, who loved each other in their own special way. Because there is more than just one type of love. You’re lying to yourself if you think otherwise. Eric held his own special place in my life, not as a placeholder or replacement but as an equal. He indulged the chaos and risky behavior. He was like a youth tonic. Eoin was the voice of reason. Perfectly balanced. Thanos would approve. Or at least it was balanced. Eric was more raw and hedonistic. Unpredictable and alive. Eoin was a creature of habit. Familiar and comforting, like home. As Eric enjoyed his hit, I poured myself a glass of magnolia wine, home made. The smell hit my nostrils and I could feel the endorphins spike++
Elizabeth: Thank you for accompanying me back to France. After Acension, Eoin disappearing, I just wanted to get away. To be left alone. Not that anyone in that company is particularly interested in me or worried about where I am. Well, I’m sure NSQ and their ilk does. They have too. It’s their turn to be the ring leaders now. But they don’t see the bigger picture or the long term effects of what has been set in motion. They can’t see past their face…
Eric: Sounds like you’re up to some fuckery Minxy. Can I know? I want to know.
Elizabeth: You call it fuckery, I call it art. I’m painting a masterpiece. They’re living in the now, I’m laying a golden path into the future. If anything they should all be thanking me for their success. I helped foster their banding together because poor little Warstien was being bullied. If I had just kept him off my radar. If Moore had ignored him and treated him like he was beneath him. I really don’t think they would be in the position they are now.
Eric: That kinda sounds like you guys fucked up and your whole plan backfired. Did you WANT them to succeed? Because I think maybe you guys did it wrong…if they’re winning and stuff.
Elizabeth: Wrong? No. It ended exactly as it was meant too. I knew we had no chance. We weren’t a solid unit. We were a bunch of rag tag, fringes and egotistical fucks trying to co-exist. Why do you think we agreed to give Moore the prize money in the event we lost? To ensure his ability to challenge for a belt, even if it wasn’t the one he wanted at the time, in order to make people pay attention. Casually crafted and executed, without a second thought. Moore didn’t lose. We didn’t lose. We played our parts. At least I did.
Eric: You didn’t even stick around after the show. We were on a flight back here. What about the others?
Elizabeth: I sent them all an email, thanking them for their contributions and officially dissolving The Cure. I even made sure they were all paid extra for their loyalty and time. I’m a professional and we have standards. Meanwhile, I think of what could have been, if Koresh was actually the monster he was billed by Alexander as. If Korrupt…had been done the way I wanted it. It makes me wonder, eventually the affects of the brain washing will wear off and he will get his memories back. Oh how I would love to be a fly on the wall the day he finds his way on his own doorstep and she finds out she was lied too and forced to mourn, for nothing. Nothing more than a whim. To make a statement.
Eric: So…that’s it? Now what? Why were you so insistent on coming back to France? You have been spending a lot of time with your dad, and he’s kind of weird I’m not going to fucking lie. This whole place is kinda fuckin’ creepy bro. Something feels off, or am I paranoid?
Elizabeth: Not paranoid. Situationally aware. I’m impressed. I wanted to come home because I needed too. I needed to return to my roots. My strength is in this estate. These lands. The women who came before me. Our history. It is the very core of my being. You aren’t wrong in thinking he is creepy or weird. It’s perfectly normal to see him as such. You are an outsider. I…don’t think I can really explain this in a way you would understand without disrespecting the content. Ah! He is kind of like Ra’s al Ghul. Which in a way makes me Talia al Ghul. The same idea applies to my Father, and our history. It is sordid, mysterious, controversial and taboo in a way. You and I have talked about how I even came into existence, how he ended up being my Father. Well it’s directly related to that. I had to come home, because I couldn’t continue to run from something that’s embedded in my very existence. Elysia.
Eric: What is this fucking Elysia you keep mentioning. Who is it? WHY IS IT?
Elizabeth: It is a concept. A set of tenets and rules. An alternate path. It is the old gods and the old way, mixed with the new age and ever evolving. It is the divine feminine. It is a take on the word “Elysium”. In Roman mythology it is the land of the dead. The immortal, smiled upon by the God’s. My ancestors were linked to the Gauls, the Celtic people of the Roman Empire. This area was once inhabited by Gaulois, French Celtic people. They migrated here from other parts of Europe/Roman Empire. I doubt you want me to go into depth about it. That’s the TL:DR version of it I guess.
Eric: So, a cult? It sounds like a cult. Then again I think anything strange is somehow related to a cult cause cults are fucking weird man. Are we going to end up wearing purple track suits and drinking kool-aid? I’m sorry…I was watching a lot of YouTube and ended up down this fucking rabbit hole.
Elizabeth: No. Same. Been there done that. I get it. It isn’t a cult, per say. I mean the WHOLE of the organization, Order of Elysia, IS cultish. I won’t even fucking deny it. I will willingly admit that some parts of the Order, is comparable to Hitler and his Lebensborn program. I mean this entire area of France was once deep into the Germany/France debate whereas the people who lived here were both of German descent and French descent. It was owned multiple times, back and forth, by Germany and France. There were SS soldiers FROM this area, who fought in other areas of France, killing their own people and were never charged for their crimes because they used their home cities history of being a German territory, to say they were forced to do what they did, because of where they lived. I digress. I know what it is and what it isn’t. I also know…what it means to me and that is where I am coming from. What it means to me and what I feel when I acknowledge it. I have spent my whole life running from who I am, what I am, what I want. I’ve been running since the day I turned 14. I’m tired. Tired of running. Tired of avoiding it. Besides, therein lies the other reason. Change. I want to bring the Order into the 21st century. I want to upgrade it, re-write the ugly parts. I know the things that exist that I do not agree with, and I know what the intention was meant to be. For lack of a better word I guess, sure fine, lets call it a cult. But it is more than that, if you are a woman. I can liken it to Wicker Man, only less Nicholas Cage, no bees, and we don’t ritualistically burn men to appease the goddess for a good harvest.
Eric: No you just burn them for shits and giggles, Minxy. You don’t need a totem or shit to burn a man. I know you. I know your kind witchy woman. You burn men just for your own amusement. You sick fuck. Sorry that was meant to be a joke but now it sounds really fucking mean. I’m sorry.
++I finished my wine, set the glass aside and rolled off the bed. He was rolling me a blunt when I got to my feet. I needed to stretch my legs. What now? That was a good question. On one hand freedom of choice was stretched out before me like a road. No longer tethered to someone else’s idea. Most of the loose ends had tied themselves up. I knew an email sounded cold and detached, but Dollface got a phone call. I respected her far too much to just send an email and let that be that. She was loyal. Dedicated. I kind of missed her. She understood where I was coming from. She just got it. For her, I wished things had turned out better. I also knew if I ever needed help, she was there at a moment’s notice. I just didn’t want to hint at any favoritism or emotional attachment. Lose face? Never willingly. Not that Eric would give a fuck. It was just a habit. Hiding your true feelings and intentions, always alert that if you say something it can be misconstrued and manipulated to fit a narrative. Betsy. Season 2. Imagine having the balls to show my face after the way Acension turned out, right++
Elizabeth: The way they look at me, is no different than the way Montouri always talked to me. The way she sees me, especially now that they won, is no different than the way the rest of the god damn company has used my name since the day I met these people. I’m well aware of my IP so I watch the forums, the comments on the Facebook page, Twitter. I am fully aware of what everyone expected out of me, or hoped would happen. That I would tuck my tail between my legs and scamper off, defeated and ashamed. After all I went through all that trouble, bullying Shawn, his pals, and in the end the underdogs, the new blood, won it all and now gets to gloat and shove it in the old guards faces. Betsy is full of venom, but her bite is weak. She exists in this conversation, this equation, only because Warstien needed some backup and she was happy to oblige. She has a career here in this company, because of my fuckery. She gets to enjoy the success she does, because I decided to troll a fence sitter.
She’s riding high on the fumes of success and supposed “veneration” of the wrongs I committed against them, yet I’m not the least bit pressed. How could I be? It ended the way it was intended. Sometimes a loss, is only a loss if you see it as such. It is about perspective and interpretation. I didn’t lose, I had nothing TO lose. Even if we won, I would have gotten nothing out of it and that it what they seem to forget. I had nothing to gain win or lose. Moore would have gained from our success, not me. Of course, when your head is so far up in the atmosphere, it’s hard to discern facts. The fact is, I ascended in my own way at that show. It was the swan song of The Cure. A failed venture. It was me fulfilling my professional obligations to Mr. Moore. I was never trying to win. I was merely there to close chapters and burn bridges. They’re playing checkers, and I’m playing 3-D chess.
I know there will be repercussions. I would expect nothing less if I was honest Eric. She’s petty. They are all petty. Yet this situation is new yet familiar. It’s been 20 years. I made my debut when I was 18, well really 16 but we don’t really talk about New York and the street fighting. 20 years and I have seen the same scenario again and again. NSQ thinks they are the answer. Just like The Wolves and Syndicate thought they were the answer. The shining example of salvation. Just like The Cure. Now they’re the main event and the rest of us are expected to jump when they say jump and dance when they demand to be entertained. We are at their mercy. Until the maggot turns. Because success in this business is always fleeting, no matter who your allies are, or how well you know them. This business is a perpetual machine of a group or person, gunning for someone elses spot and taking it from them. There will always be someone waiting in the wings to trip you down the fucking staircase and take your spot. This business would cease to exist if that trope ever stopped. I know exactly what she sees when she looks at me. Because I have seen that same look before. I see it every week I go amongst those fucking heretics. And I would be hard pressed to doubt that she sees me as fucking scum. I’m dog shit on the bottom of her shoe. Vomit on the curb. I’m dirt. I’m nothing. And that is…fine.
I mean it’s hard to keep things like this a secret when your mouth is constantly talking shit amongst your peers. It’s a small business, word always gets around. And that is exactly what she wants, what they all want. They are in active dick swinging mode and god damnit they aim to hit multiple people in the face with their massive member. Have to use that stiffy while you have it, until you go soft and you’re on the bottom looking up. She can swing her cock as wild as she wants, they all can. When you are confident in your abilities, you don’t need to put your prick on display, waving it around like a flag. It’s when your self-esteem is shaky and you don’t truly feel validated, that you need to keep shoving it in everyone’s faces. I’m not ashamed. I’m not sorry. I don’t feel the least bit bad about how it all turned out…
++He handed me the blunt and my lighter. I stood in front of him, his hand running up and down my hips, pulling me between his legs as I inhaled, caressing the skin of my thighs and wide hips. He was into MILFs. How could I not indulge him? He rested his hands on either side of my ass, smacking it a little and feeling it jiggle in his hands. It felt..strange for me. There was a sense of realness to being with Eric. No pretenses. I always felt like I needed to maintain a facade with Eoin. I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin with him, not like I am with Eric. It was foreign for me, being comfortable with him being attracted to the flaws in my body. The stretch marks, the surgery scars, even the love handles and thick thighs he loved all of it. His affection pointed them out and made me take notice. His affection forced me to acknowledge my own body issues. It felt nice and liberating, it was also terrifying. How did we go from using him to make Eoin jealous, to here? How was my loose, non-official casual sex relationship with Eric, more healthy than all of my marriages and my own family relations combined? Why could I be strong enough to be vulnerable with him, but not with his brother? Was it because I knew Eric wanted nothing from me, but my time and attention? Because somehow, over the short period of time I had known him, he had quickly become my best friend? I closed my eyes and inhaled deep. I hated humanity. I hated being able to feel. Being able to feel meant being able to be hurt and that was a constant fear++
Eric: I mean, isn’t that what is supposed to matter? Like if you aren’t all fuckin’ bitter and shit from how things turned out, then isn’t that what matters? Like…you lost and shit fell apart right? So I mean you COULD be angry about that but you’re just like, moving on. Like you have accepted it and shit right? And it is what it is, right? You just went back to the drawing board so, fuck her. Fuck that cunt and her friends. Fuck everyone who talks that kind of shit on you. I mean I have seen some wild shit because of you. That German chick in the desert…I still don’t fucking understand what happened out there bro. That was some fucked up shit man. It really fucked with my head. It threw my vibe off and shit. But then I said “Shut up Eric and just watch and listen. Stop fucking talking all the time” and I did and I realized that, YOU knew what was going on and why that whole thing happened. You were in control the whole time bro. It was YOUR party man, who the fuck am I to question it? I’m just a fuck buddy, we do drugs together, we game together, The Cure wasn’t my business man. What happened in the desert wasn’t my business, you just appreciated me enough to include me in case you needed backup I guess? Which is cool. That’s how I knew you liked me. You invited me along.
I’m still sorry. About the fight. Hitting you and shit. I just wanted you to notice me. I was angry and jealous and I didn’t understand why. You were always mean to me and treated me like shit. You’d only fuck me if Eoin’s knee was acting up and he couldn’t go or you were like mad at him and shit and needed to get back at him. I’m sorry…I shouldn’t say this stuff, huh?
Elizabeth: No. Go on Eric. Please. Finish telling me what you were trying to say. I want to hear it. Because I know you wouldn’t lie to me and tell me what I want to hear out of fear, or loyalty, or obsession. Go on..
Eric: Umh, okay I guess. Like, I know I’m dumb. I know you think I’m dumb. I know Eoin gets irritated with me. I mean you KNOW I’m dumb. But you know why. You understand why I’m me. Why I am THIS Eric. Not a different Eric. You like this Eric. I think. I still shouldn’t have fought with you. It was mean. Good men don’t hit women. It’s wrong. It’s why I won’t have sex with you when I know you’re really fucked up, because like it feels wrong. I feel like you’re not YOU you, so even if you say yes or ask for it, YOU aren’t asking, HIGH YOU is asking. Taking advantage of a woman is wrong. I don’t want to do the things my dad did. Now that I know everything he did to my mom, I don’t want to be like that. Eoin is like that sometimes…I know.
Elizabeth: Eoin has your fathers tendencies, yes. You were closer to your mother, you bonded with her despite the awful drug addicted situation. You never bonded with him. How could you? He wasn’t around long enough TO bond with. Eoin also didn’t bond with him. Again how could he? He was left to pick up the pieces of his mom pitching herself off a cliff. He chose anger and resentment. You chose drugs, and getting sloppy head from college girls to pay for the weed. Not saying there is anything wrong with that, it just is. It seems like, since Eoin finished him off, you have changed. Did him dying affect you in any way?
Eric: Not really. I mean you always feel bad when someones dies, at least I do. Death sucks But I didn’t know him? So it was kind of shitty knowing my dad was dead, but also it wasn’t because I didn’t know him. It like didn’t have a personal affect I guess? I know it should have…he was my dad and now he’s dead and I don’t act like it matters. Does that make me a bad person?
Elizabeth: No. That makes you human and well adjusted. We all handle death in our own way. I mean, he abandoned you and your mom, he’s the reason she’s dead so I would not ever consider you the asshole because you don’t feel anything about him dying. It’s perfectly natural. I mean when my mom dies…
Eric: You won’t feel bad?
Elizabeth: Yes and no. Not about her dying, but because of the lost time, the abuse, the bad memories. Sometimes death is just the climax. Even after death who you were and the things you did to others, they still linger long after you are gone. Sometimes there is no consolation or reconciling death with never being able to get a resolution because of it. I would feel bad, but for myself. Not for her. Then again I am numb to death after all these years. I’ve seen too much of it. It is a matter of life. It comes for us all. The true test of its effectiveness is HOW it comes, WHEN it comes, WHERE it comes and WHY it comes. Those are the things that dictate whether a death is tragic or not. Think about it Eric, people die every day. 1.8 humans die a SECOND in the world. Of those 1.8 how many are mundane? Old age? Overdose? Non-shocking, non-traumatic deaths. Your everyday run of the mill deaths. No. We always hear about the cancer deaths, the suicides, the deaths that came with conditions and a big yellow highlighter running through the middle of it. But death is just a matter of fact, she comes for us all. I’m a cynic. Dare I say and occasional nihilist. But I am glad you still have something good and decent inside of you. A moral compass. In a sea of chads and neckbeards, you are a true gentleman. And an ally of female equality. You’re not dumb Eric. You’re unique. You’re you. I wouldn’t have you any other way..
Eric: But you love Eoin.
Elizabeth: I most certainly do not! LOVE was never part of the equation. That was what HE wanted. Not me. I don’t love him…
Eric: Yes you do. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be so mad that he’s ghosting you. He’s hurt you. I can tell. You were falling in love with him. You didn’t WANT too, but you were. You just didn’t notice until now. I thought he loved you…
Elizabeth: He loved the IDEA of being with me. He loved his IDEA of the woman I was or could be. He didn’t love me, he loved not feeling empty and alone. He was an awkward socially inept Irish rogue that got his dick sucked in a women’s bathroom, and fell in love.
++Eric wrapped his arms around my waist and cocked his head to the side, smirking. Occasionally his Boston accent would come through. I always had a thing for their way of speaking. He had that sly grin. That classic Irish smart ass smirk. He pulled me closer and started kissing my abdomen, rubbing my sides++
Eric: I’ll never tell him. You have my word. You don’t have to like say it out loud, I just wanted you to know that I could see it. You and I, our relationship is like, really fuckin’ different. I mean I love it! I love the way we vibe. But like, he challenged your ego, yeah that sounds right. So like, because of the way you two challenge each other, you started to fall in love with him because you couldn’t get away with the shit you do with other guys. Like he’s loyal, and he worships you but he’s an Irish asshole and he’s gotta asshole you know? So you start being a bitch and then he starts being an Irish asshole, and then you start yelling at him in French and he doesn’t even fucking KNOW French, and then he starts cursing at you in Gaelic, and you DO understand what the fuck HE’S saying, so you just start screaming in French, Creole and German if you are REALLY mad, and he STILL Can’t fucking understand you…and yeah. Then you end up fucking all night. Then like, it starts all over again. You and I just, you know, get high, get wasted, fuck, watch movies and game. We’re bros. Well I mean I’m a bro you are CLEARLY a chick, but like calling you THAT sounds really bad, so you’re my bro. My GirlBro!
Elizabeth: It’s not like how I felt matter, or even matters now. He’s removed himself from the picture. What was, is the former. All that remains is what is and you are still here so, I guess this is what we’re doing now. We’ll figure it out. It’s not really that important. So let’s not talk about him anymore. There’s no need. Let’s just enjoy, us. This unique, taboo niche we have carved out for ourselves. In fact…Eric..there is a party tonight for the Order. I would be thrilled if you accompanied me. It’s the first Order event I have attended in over a decade. I would really like you to be there. You could see first hand WHY I am here, and how it affects where I go in FIGHT from here. Where I, as a woman, go from here. I know you think some of this shit is creepy and weird, but The Order has a pretty non-existent and heavily encouraged drug policy…we get some pretty high end shit is what I’m trying to say here Eric…
Eric: Well fuck! Hand me some fuckin’ kool-aid, a purple track suit and lets get this fuckin’ party started..I mean it worked for Manson!