"ADVENTURES OF FLETCHER QUILL"
Illustrated By
Phil Frank,
San Francisco Chronicle Cartoonist, creator of "Farley"
It has been an action packed non stop orgy of Alaskan remote
fly nirvana for last seven days.... Our beloved Supreme Court Justice
and his most demented crew, Dali Lama, Jim Ferguson (Digital Radio Zaar)
Keith Richards, and the Leader of what’s left of the once rich, safe,
reckless Free World have caught and released countless fat Trout, King
Salmon, Char’s and occasional Dolly’s. The Black Messiah has calmed down
considerably in lieu of his numerous bout’s of Historic Mimicry
psychedelically induced by his fly fishing Mate’s!!!! Quill’s cell
phones are blowing up as Drake his main Butler, Personal Assistant and
Honcho of Quill’s Northern Ireland Castle Raven’s Haven calls! The
United States Supreme Court has been calling for day’s trying to get
Quill’s Top Secret Hot Line cell number which he changes every thirty
days or less as the old General’s security these days is top priority.
In Quill’s world now that this trip is almost over. The Supreme Court is
next up and then its off to Russia for another attempt at putting the
latest Bullshit Russian Pricktator to sleep forever....... It’s 4am and
everyone other then the UnHoly Dali Lama and General Quill are warming
their hands by the dying fire and sipping Black China Tea.
"Dali my main Spirit Keeper starting to really miss my little Cat
Timba. He must be sound a sleep and dreaming of Mice and Men don’t you
think Mr. Hashish?"
"Timba lives for sounds of your voice, he is as nuts about you. Lets
speak of you and me my dear friend. Your letting me become an important
member of your inner circle and then finding a way for me to make truck
loads of Cash as well! Ahhh, mortal life is about as dependable as the
American Economy. I know what a pain in the ass I’m, lets face it your
Marine Buddy General Parker is over my painintheassnessss! Thank you my
friend."
"You have brought balance and spiritual wholeness to me Dali baby. My
next two hurdle’s will be first resolve the Supreme Court metal straight
jacket I been wearing up or down? Then it’s that jerk off Pricktator
Putang and his strangle hold on Russia, the Bear needs to be released
from his Stalinistic Death Grip (SDG).This time Duke Parker and me will
make fucking sure his time has passed and him with it, can’t fuck up
this time, no mistakes or my International Assassin status will
evaporate. Parker has the killer remote Drone shit lined up he says."
"You have already forgotten the Demonic Conspiracy out to put your
ancient ass six feet under and the Sharon Stone affair is not over yet
either! Untidy loose ends indeed mortal maniac."
"Ok, wise ass Lamastein, then you roll out a tasty little Soul/Karma
cleaning invocation ditty for me, uhhuhm sha dooby, boom shak a lacka,
boom shak ala Jim Morrison rules all Galaxies."
"In the name of all dead and alive Harmonica Blowing/ Young Pussy
Eating/Hard Playing Drug Taking Alpha Dawgggg’s (HBYPEHPDTAD). Let the
universal energy and the power of huge Tit’s and Blond Pussy fill your
ragged heart with endless gigs and taking no fucking prisoners ever
Baby!!! And in the name of all that is nasty, sticky, wet, tight and
under 25 Blond, let this old man have his mother fucking way till his
dying day."
"Now, that’s what I’m talking bout!!!! Hit this Bong my friend, San
Francisco Hash laced Planit Pluto, Polio Wheel Chair Number Six Baby!
(SFHLPPPWCNSB) Oh, yeah, hold that hit UnHoly Man... Did you just see
that figure jump over the fire coals?"
"Yes, it looked like one of your music friends?"
Suddenly the camp fire explodes in pure psychedelic Haight
Street San Francisco circa 1967 colors. A Group of ghosts slowly appears
led by none other then old Pigpen the first Grateful Dead front man
screaming a medley of Primal Hippy Soul Stealing Hits (PHSSH) starting
with the classic killer, " Sun rises in the East and it sets in the
West".
Pigpen
"Man, I Loves me some Trout fishing for sure! Told Janis Joplin back
when she was my girlfriend I would teach her how to fool fish, she was
little more interested in Southern Comfort I’m feared. Quill, you and I
go back to early sixties Buddy, man! love your Harp playing last few
years, soulful like Aretha was even before her hit, "Respect". Man. Grab
your Mississippi Tin Sandwich(MTS-BABY!!) in the key of low ass G and
lets get into "Truckin" One Two Three, Truckin like the Do Dah Man,
Truckin any way we can, just keep on Truckin across this Desolate
Land..."
"Whow Pig, Dude who else you brought with you to my remote deep
Alaska dying camp fire?"
"Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jimmy Morrison, Freddy King and your old running
mate Mike Bloomfield, hey Bloomfield come on man Quill knows all your
songs. Pick up on Bloomies big smash hit, "I got a sweet little Angel"
"Quill long time no play man. I remember you always hanging round
with your younger brother back stage playing that fucking Harp and
smoking the best shit, give me that fucking Bong before one note falls
on the killer forest floor, man, Alaska is a fucking trip Dude! Did you
see that hugefied Grizzly Bear eating Salmon over there!"
"Man, I do remember hanging with you back stage at the Avalon with
fucking Santana, Muddy Waters in that long fucking Fillmore West Jam
Buddy! Buddy Guy and Mick Jagger with Charlie Watts, what a fucking nite
that was Mr. Supreme Court! Your fucking Harp work was mystical and
moved Muddy to let you roll long into his solo shit remember old man,
you still got the shit down below ? I hear your old Band "Stiff Nipples’
have rented a big ass luxury Rehearsal Villa in Monte Carlo ala Rolling
Stones legendary " Exile on Main Street while Keith waited to hear about
his drug bust. Exile on Main Street classic. That nite was way off the
hook! The Mike Bloomfield Magic be Mojofying that nite fo sure! Come on
man, lets jump into some nasty/funky old school San Francisco Blues
Boys. Santana’s Blusey ass smash, " Got A Black Magic Woman."
"Oh yeah, please man hit this mean shit while I warm up this brand
new Harp from Hohner... Mike Bloomfield man I do miss the sound of your
voice my friend, " I got a sweeet little Angel, you should see her when
she spreads her wings..."
"Excuse me Mr. Pigpen may I ask you a question oh Hippy Lord of
Lord’s?"
"Dali Friggin Lama, you go Man!"
"Back in the day, do you recall how many times Quill gobbled LSD, was
found in the company of extremely loose #10 young things and so forth!
Take us back to the Golden Hippy Time Capsule (GHTC)"
GOLDEN HIPPY TIME BABY!
"I remember Quill and his crew all connected, running round in these
bad ass Hot Rods and killer bikes. Quill used to spend all his time from
11pm till early morn at either the Fillmore West or the legendary San
Francisco hard core hard rocking Mabuhi Gardens on Broadway run by the
ignominious Dirk Dirkson. Dirkson hosted a serious hot menu of Bands
like the Tubes and Blondy and the incomparable Mink Deville. These acts
attracted the Cream Of The Cream Bad Boys (COTCBB). and our beloved
Supreme Court Justice was in the fucking thick of it every nite I
recall. I used to find him in back alleys all over North Beach where his
woman lived. I would see him Blowing the living Hell out of his low G
Harp, just fucking roasting it standing in some fucking alley. That’s my
boy the Frisco Wolf. That boy always was the Heart Of Frisco Wild Man
Blues Blowing Music Loving Fool (HOFWMBBMLF) that Boy!!!
"My Boy Pigpen, hey man do you remember that crazy weekend when you
decided you and all your Pal’s were going to dye your Junk Black! Man, I
laughed so fucking hard, you said all the Bitches’s will be killing each
other trying to get a taste of Jungle Love Dirty White Boy Style! Man,
that was some funny ass shit Dawgggg!!!!"
"Oh Yeah, Black Junk! I do recall that insanity man. Did anyone
actually get their Junk dyed Dude?"
"Did we, we went to see that old man who owned the Ace Shoe Store on
Fillmore & Geary Street and ask him how much it would cost to turn six
white Pricks into six Shiny Black Dicks... Hey man, is there a fucking
song in there Pilgrim? Lets write it right now, title it, work it out
for your Band reunion Man! Stiff Nipples needs this kind of tune Cowboy
comprende’ pour some more..."
"Man, I still trip bout those 1960s, Dude did we not drink profusely
from the Cup Of Hard Core Nastinessssss!!! (COHCN)."
"We did not sip Pig! Listen man San Francisco has become a declawed
Bitch Buddy. When I’m home roaming, slidin, rollin, tumblin on my
Skateboard it ain’t the same laid back vibes. The new generations are
building iron gates to keep out the world while wearing sweaters around
their necks and raising brats. Its as if the last vestige of real
masculinity left town when the overly entitled, highly educated,
spoiled, blind, conservatives moved in from Silicon valley."
Fucking locust came and ate the leaves off the well
established Frisco Tree Of All Encompassing life (FTOAEL) like Clint
Eastwood talking to empty chairs at the 2012 Republican Convention..."
"Pass the Bong Dude"
Black Messiah has arisen like the ancient warrior spirit
Zitheious who for a heart beat was the supreme ruler of an advanced
surreal outer Galaxy near the dark star Beta in the Sistheous Star
Quadrant just 100 Trillion Light Year’s left of Mars baby! He is in fine
spirits and looking for the last of the LSD, Schrooms, 100 yr old Single
Malt and he is ready fo the last evening in Alaska’s deep remote
everythingness...
"Quill, Man, thanks for saving my dumb ass from biting off more then
any man can possibly chew from over fucking amping on this Reelection
Bullshit! Feelin better this morn, talked to the family, all well. Great
to be alive and all that jive, sha dooby. Hey man, anybody here like the
fucking Dooby Brother’s Man?"
"Old school and still rolling, saw them in Berkeley California last
year. Hot show man, Soccer Mom’s and kids, great show. Hey lets suit up
and go after this last evening trout bite. I see them starting to jump
man. Alaska been good to us boys, lets make this last nite the best! Cut
back just a taste on the Hard Drug/Booze/Orgy/Fetish Fest(HDBOFF) and
prepare for reentry... I’m almost out of feathers for the Mosquito
Pattern, time to throw bugs boys lets go."
"Hey boys I just got a great idea! I think its around 4am Washington
time, your main boy Fat Tony Scalia is sound asleep dreaming about how
to spend the 100 Kabillion he Banked after giving America’s Corporations
real people rights such as give all the money you want to get YOUR BOY
elected!"
"Fat Man, wake up Dude! Good morning from deep Alaska Mr. Give It All
Away! Soo listen I’ll be rolling in two days, get my main Bitches ready
for Party Time Italian I wanna be a Stallion., Uh huh. So what’s up
Pilgrim?"
"You Pathetic Drug Addled Octogenarian (PDAO) PTSD riddled grey
haired bag of San Francisco Hippy shit? You have the fucking Cahonies to
wake me up with this drivel. I’m fucking tempted to call my boys and
have your ass for Breakfast Marine Hero! Are you fucking listening to me
asshole?"
"Wipe the grease off that fat Italian face and write this down so you
never ever forget you pathetic fat whiny grease ball. If you ever had
any Balls you and I would probably be at the least lunch time Pals. Deal
is Tony baby, we both understand the fucking hugefied chasm we have to
scream across just to amiably exist in the same fucking building. Comes
down to what you did as a boy and what the Frisco kid was into right
Pilgrim. Ok, example fat boy. From age 7 until I went into the fucking
corps at 16 after Mom lied and falsified my Birth Certificate. My entire
existence, every waking hour, every fucking nite or day dream was about
either hunting, fly fishing, and becoming the absolute best back alley
Street Fighter at that time in all of San Francisco period. Of course
pussy came into play and that my friend was the fucking end to all
innocence other then when I killed a few dozen Gook’s in Vietnam by 17.
Now you on the other fucking hand were a Boy Scout trying to learn knot
tying and helping little old ladies cross the street while I was
practicing early Panty Removal Technique’s (PRT) circa late 1950s
Alcohol and expert lying usually did the job in those hallowed sacred
early years."
"Please in the name of whatever Pagan fucking god you worship
asshole! Stop this drug induced mindless dribble. Better tell your boy
the Black Messiah Shit Homely and Clint Eastwood were a scream at the R
Convention. What a show, Clint killed with a blithering mind fuck of a
rant, great shit! Also before you come back I sent all the relevant
Bullshit needed for next Session. FYI, all the girls are scared your
going to insist on endless orgies, lap dances, stripper pole parties and
BJ lunches and such. Your Clerks are out on parole and your always empty
chambers have been fumigated for vermin as the dust balls are now in
full control. Justice Quill! Justice’s Kennedy, Thomas, and Blackmen all
in unison send you no good wishes and hope your little fucking Jet
Copter goes down on the way back, chow you Old Hippy Fool! (OHF)"
"Same to you Fat Grease Ball, maybe its time for special Old Man
Boxing Lesson’s Pilgrim. You borrow some testicle’s and stop walking
your wife’s four ounce almost Wanna be a real Dog on her sweet Pink
leash and borrow someone’s testicles and I’ll be happy to give you
private Boxing Lesson’s. Say 3am Court Gym. Pilgrim? Let the other
little Boy’s know my first move when I return will be a hugified
Drug/Sex/Orgy just like old times, you betcha Ball player, Peace and
kiss’s to all! Oh, when my man Drake arrives in two days, if he is the
least bit hassled by any of you assholes, Hell to pay Mr. Give The
Mother Fucking Nation Away (MGTMFNA) comfuckunprende?"
Endless twists and ragged turns down into the Worm Hole of Reality
as Fate comes to town!
Read about Fletcher Quill in earlier chapters:
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12 13
14 15 16 17 18 19 20
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28 29
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51 52
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115 116
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118 119
120 121
Written by Dan Fallon © 2012
Illustrations by Phil Frank © 2003
Photos by Dan Fallon © 2012
For Dan
Fallon's earlier and later columns;
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