Opinions Needed

So... I'm starting to write a book/story, and i was wondering if anyone would give what i have so far a readthrough and tell me what ya think.





Chapter 1 - Captain's Orders

The purring of a kitten lying upon my back as i lie face down in a pile of torn blankets and broken glass was what alerted me to the sun's presence outside the window shades. I had gathered my strengths and staggered myself to a sitting position, then began to examine my head for cuts, bruises or other wounds. Somehow, i had managed to remain unblemished throughout that night of what I had thought to be fun and games, alcohol induced of course. After rubbing the sleep from my eyes and coughing up a resin ball of a week's worth of cigarettes and bong loads, I noticed that my newly regained consciousness was not held by myself alone. My friends were, surprisingly, both alive and awake.

Paul, Dan, and Stevie Wonder were already conversing about the occurances of the party last night and appeared to have been doing so for quite some time now. A strange but familiar air of confusion was filling my head... Flashes of scenes from the nightly activities were running through my head like a wild beast high on PCP. The desert-like dust of long gone cigarette smoke filling my lungs and scratching at my throat was gnawing at my irritability. If I don't get something to drink soon, I will surely die a slow and pitiful death or succumb to insanity..

Luckily, the group had initiated this new day an hour earlier this morning by purchasing and consuming several 32 fluid ounce bottles of Budweiser and cans of Mickey's brand beers. The offer of a drink for my own was hard to refuse. Sure, the taste and smack to the head of shit malt in the morning is not a delightful one, but after a night of steady drinking of whiskey and more shit malt all the while smoking primo nuggets of reefer will leave one's throat incredibly parched upon waking, and therefore, despite the disgusting unpalatability of the drink, it was most welcome. Drinking cheap malt liquor just after sun-up is not exactly the greatest way to assure one's sobriety and competence in the later hours of said day, but it is a good method of curing a hangover, oddly enough. That is an interesting thing how poison can halt the after effects of that same poison...

And speaking of poison, this 'god' awful scent of days old beer and rotting "meat lover's" style pizza is growing increasingly nauseating. I can feel its essence chokingly crawling into my nostrils and squirming its way down my throat, almost like a shot of authentic mexican tequila, only even more unsettling and insanity promoting. I have got to get out of this place, but how will I tell the others? What kind weapons of persuasion and oration can a half-drunk, barely awake man hold in his mental arsenal? I'll tell you what kind; the kind that slurs every word and drools upon itself in their blithering indignity, insolence and desperation.

Looking over toward my friend Steve in hopes of some sort of inspiration for recouperation, I find that all hope of logic and reason is not only lost, but that it never even existed and will not come to being for several hours, possibly days. The man is still absolutely intoxicated from the endeavours of the previous night. Surely he is not up to the challenge of driving, walking, or even thinking at all. Dammit. Why is it that in the times of greatest need, all intelligence and ability seems to flee the immediate vicinity?

There simply has to be some way of overcoming this fatigue and clouding of thought, a way which is atleast somewhat substantially positive and not just another high or low of unnerving sorts. Dope, 'darrnar', that is, amphetamine comes to mind, but no, that would accomplish nothing other than turning us all into a bunch of raging maniacs fresh out of a Hitchcock movie that merged with an insane asylum borne into an epitome of dissolution and psychosis beyond measure. That would be imprudent and be completely devoid of responsibility, we cannot have that at this time. What good would a rampaging imbecile be in this world? He could perhaps be elected President of these United States, but he certainly wouldn't have a chance of accomplishing anything worth his while.

Again, there must be something that we can consume or do in order to wake our minds and invigorate our senses. But what could that be? What do I have or can I obtain that will further the efforts of this great mission? The mission, I recall we had decided last night, was that today would be a day of leisurly mind expansion and fine dining on beer soaked bratwurst and hashbrowns while 'camping' by the riverside. Ah, yes, I remember now... The mushrooms.

I had them stored in the top drawer of my nightstand at home for security and safety reasons. It's not like we could have had them available, at hand, last night and actually resisted the temptation of eating them all in our schnockered state of mind. No, that would have not been good. We would have ended up doing some mad thing like trying to order a cheeseburger from the police station. Shit, we probably would have been committed to a padded room by now had that been the case. Such things are not toys to be played with when you've got whiskey running through your veins. Rather, they are only meant for the hard of heart and steady of mind... Which is an even more confusing notion when you take into account what they actally can do to one's psyche, even if only temporarily. Perhaps it would be better for an already delusioned man to partake of those sacraments?

Ah, sigh, ponderances of such nature must be set aside for now - right now, I have a duty to alert the other soldiers and accomplish success in this objective. Upon realization of the mission and the means to the end, my sanity did return and my brain started preparations for issuing orders to the troops.

"Hey, you wierd fuggers", I said, stumbling my tongue upon my teeth.

The glossed eyes of them all were now upon me, with a look of bewilderment and hidden accusation of possible retardation. Their expressions were clear, they must have been thinking that I had either lost it or was still too drunk to be speaking. But I knew all too well that I was not the crazy one this time, despite my usual randomness and off-beat character. I was the sane man, yet still they were glancing ill looks as though I were a complete idiot, or mouthing off nonsense.

"What are you mumbling about over there", Dan rattled, seeming to perk up as a result of my statement.

"I'm not mumbling, I'm trying to talk to you guys", my voice rhasping, "If I remember correctly, there's something we've got to do today".

Again, they all eyed me, except for now in a manner of anticipation and intrigue.

"We've got ourselves a fuggin' mission, I tell ya!", I shouted with a crude vocal impersonation of Hunter S. Thompson.

Stevie and Paul replied in unison, "And what's that, man?".

"The mission... Of the mushroom".