SWARTHOS

Alright, you freaking fools, strap yourselves in, because 2025 has ripped the freaking veil off reality and is dancing a tango with the devil! I woke this morning, not from gentle slumber, no sir, but from a cacophony of BOOMS and WHUMPS that could rattle the teeth out of a Tyrannosaurus. Explosions, man, explosions like the sky was shitting thunderclaps, but Urt, the hairy bastard, he just kept snoring away, the furry, four-legged Buddha.

I lay there, like a pretzel in the sheets, tried to wrestle my brain into a meditative trance, dammit, like those guru types. I pictured the chaos outside, the detonations, as distant rumbles of cosmic flatulence. And you know what? It worked, hell yeah! Slept like a newborn babe, a babe who’d snorted a line of pure madness and dreamed of neon-winged rhinoceroses.

But hell, 2025, you twisted son of a bitch, I knew it was gonna be a bad trip! Woke up to find out New Orleans had been turned into a nightmare, another terrorist love letter to this fucked-up nation. Here in Los Angeles, though? Business as usual, the city of angels, still knee-deep in depravity.

By 0630, I was out the door, the world a smoggy, pre-dawn abyss. And wouldn’t you know it, there’s some poor bastard, a mere shadow in the fog, trying to bust into cars like he’s some kinda deranged zombie. I cranked the stereo, a sonic assault of pure, unadulterated cacophony, and that spooked the little rat, sent him scurrying back into the shadows.

But the real madness, the peak of the absurdity, happened later, during my ritualistic stroll with Urt. We were hoofing it down the sidewalk when the very ground beneath our feet decided to have an epileptic fit! BANG! Sparks flying like a Roman candle gone berserk. I thought at first, some punk kid tossed a firecracker at us, but there was nothing there, no residue, no little pyromaniac running off. Then, WHOOSH! Another set of explosions, the sidewalk hissing and spitting like a dragon.

I’m telling you now, it wasn’t fireworks, it wasn’t a prank – no sir. This was some kind of twisted static electricity freak-out, the sidewalk itself throwing a tantrum. The portion that did this looked a bit off anyway. Different kind of concrete I think.

2025, you’re a wild animal, already clawing at sanity. I’m strapped in, baby, bring on the madness. This trip is going to be a freaking doozy!