MANIFESTATION BON VOYAGE
...OUR HERO DUNCAN NIVOY, NOW INHABITING THE BODY OF HIS EX-RIVAL MR. POTS, SURVEYS THE SCENE WITH HIS LOVELY DEAD GIRLS...
"Let's get 40s!" shouted the girls in unison as they fluttered around Duncan in circles. "Yeah!" "40s!" "40 time!"
Duncan dropped to his new knees. He wrote on the ground with his dead cell phone, then dug his fingertips into the soil, thick dark dirt collecting under his nails. A smile washed across his face and he rose in a fashion not unlike William the Conqueror, sifting handfuls of earth between his fingers.
"Oh dear lovely dates, sweet ladies. You shall never again taste the warm kiss of malt liquor; you're deceased." There was a pause for dramatic effect.
"AND YET... if we can get to Furious Canyon by sunrise, we might be able to secure you a paranormal liquid more delicious than any earthly brew: GHOSTY FROSTY PUNCH!"
"Oh fuck yeah!" came the response from the ladies. "That would make it all worthwhile!"
"That's the attitude. But the canyon is a good four hours away... we can't hoof it from here. We'll need a ride. A fast one."
"Let's steal your, i mean, his car!" said Mandy.
"What's Ghosty Frosty Punch?" asked Katiedid, but she was ignored.
"Let's shut up a little bit. Now, the car." Duncan dug into his pockets and found the keys. He tossed them into the air. "Yes, I suppose we could. Yeah. A magic car?" And then, "A magic car... for a magic night. Yeah. Where's my turtle?"
Shaman was chewing on a tire. Duncan plucked his guide off the ground and walked around to the driver's side and saw the inscription under the door-handle:
MANIFEST DESTINY FOR THE REST OF US.
Our hero let out a hearty laugh. "This sounds fuckin' awesome! Get in, come on get in," he said as he cracked the window for his companions. They slid inside and all four set off down the highway as the night skies tossed mystical fire behind them.
Only Shaman knew that Sergio Moondog was the engine. They spoke in meditation.
YOU'RE DEAD IF YOU TRY ANY WEIRD SHIT, SERGIO.
DON'T THREATEN ME, BUDDY BOY. YOUR FRIEND KILLED MY BROTHA.
YOU KEEP QUIET AND MAYBE I'LL GET YOU THE KEYS TO THE PEPPERMINT STORE.
TAKE US TO FURIOUS CANYON AND WE'LL SEE ABOUT ALL THAT.
Large palms and cyprus trees formed the majority of the living wall that stretched across three quarters of the perimeter surrounding the oceanside Freshest House Estate, corporate headquaters of HAWKMEN COLLECTED. Carefully placed lupins and elevated service-berries gave the wall a lush, dense exterior. The whole shit was mechanically watered, well lit at night, and notable for providing a friendly habitat to several endangered species of poisonous salamander imported from Madagascar.
The house itself, which to the un-educated eye might have seemed a bit derivative of the Kaufmann residence at Fallingwater, was actually the design of an alternative universe Frank Lloyd Wright known only to our dimensia as Donnie Cho. It was lifted off the sand on a metal frame (simply mammoth) with its roots over 400 feet under the ground. The frame, composed of parallel materials invisible to the human eye, gave the building a floating/levitating effect that always seemed to impress investors and the finest of shorties.
The rooms were tremendous, borrowing enough atomically grafted space from an unspecified location over the Pacific to triple the physical size of the house within. Walls were four feet thick, woven out of bamboo and feathers. The offices, where his wives worked and which occupied the first two floors, were tastefully arranged with tables made of stainless steel, a long bar made of solid gold with a limestone counter, and couches and chairs upholstered in handcrafted red and black elephant leather. Large circular windows overlooked the Pacific, and a large stuffed mammoth had been refurbished into the most glamorous medicine cabinet of all time. The pleasure rooms on the second and third floors featured time-imported beds made from Lebanese cedar, gorgeous inch-thick silk curtains, and gentle monkey servants, as well as serving as the homes for various curiosities/antiquities (books stolen from the library of Alexandria, Copernicus' telescope, Francis Bacon's original steam engine prototype) the Hawkman collected during his travels. Things got a little more modern in the master bedroom on the 22nd floor, where furniture was made from a composite of carbon fibers and light. A great many sculptures, ranging in dates from the distant future back down to the Assyrian Empire (in fact, the bas relief winged bull was a prized possesion), were scattered elegantly about the room. There was also a large collection of beautiful paintings hung in the studio (36th floor), mostly from the Dutch "Golden Age".
In the main conference room on the 85th floor visitors were delighted to discover temporaly warped leaping marlins, porpoise, and sharks bursting out of thin air and splashing down into the deadliest of lazy rivers. Mechanically cleansed and managed overflow was ionized, directed towards the east side of the house, coupled with recycled fresh water from the great stone baths, and finally sent toppling over slate ledges in a cascading waterfall (breathtaking). The waterfall than in turn emptied into a large pool (depth 6,356.750 km)that was naturally heated by the earth's core. It was here in this very pool where the Hawkman both enjoyed cocktails and operated his fiery submarine of wonder, Happy Funtime.
The Hawkman, as you might have guessed, had been a very important man for quite some time, and was now in the midst of his glory days, a period stretching from 74 B.C.(fall of Masada)-4200 A.D. (first self-conscious plant). He had nine golden teeth in the front of his mouth, each featuring a laser-cut portrait of an original Wu-Tang clan member, and one ivory tooth featuring an autistic child's engraving, "Roy Orbison's Strength". A gigantic collection of over 100 other customized teeth were kept safely in a Louis XIV jewelry box. These were his prized possessions, and the Hawkman was known to leave a tooth behind inside the mouth of a victim he considered worthy of respect. Many teeth had been left in many dead open mouths, and the Hawkman barely respected anybody.
Tonight was a special night in the life of the Hawkman. A night he had returned to thousands of times. The best night of his life. He rested with his assistant Salvatore in the pool on a lovely pink raft. The temperature of the water was a refreshing 74 degrees fahrenheit, the temperature of the air 76 degrees fahrenheit. There was a nice breeze, and humidity was low. The moon was full.
One of his wives stumbled out onto the patio overlooking the pool. "That Mr. Pots couldn't hold it down. He's driving to Furious Canyon as we speak."
The Hawkman took a sip out of his martini, blinked slowly, and emptied his drink onto his chest.
"Salvatore." He stretched his fingers out, analyzing his cuticles.
"Yes Hawkman." Salvatore sat naked behind the Hawkman on the pink raft.
"I want to get another tooth."
"Great fucking idea Hawkman."
The Hawkman turned around to face his assistant. He flashed a luminous smile.
"HA HA!" Salvatore smacked his thigh. "That's a fucking great one Hawkman."
"Let's get it yesterday."
"Should I prep the Happy Funtime boss?"
"Let's have at it, skipper. I want a new tooth and that's all there is to it."