Fear and Loathing in Capon Bridge

The shark ripped down route 50 like a nail hammered straight into the coffin of the american dream. I had spent the morning on a cocktail of uppers and downers. One had to blend the effects to maintain....maintain. I poured some redbull onto a cloth and held it up to my face, inhalign the precious vapors. A redbull high is unlike anything else, Ah, devil redbull. It makes you behave like the village drunkard in some early Irish novel. Total loss of all basic motor function. Blurred vision, no balance, numb tongue. The mind recoils in horror, unable to communicate with the spinal column. Which is interesting because you can actually watch yourself behaving in this terrible way, but you can't control it. With my extremeties shaking like a nervous dog, I pushed on. I had to make it to Capon Bridge in less that 1 hour. I scrretched into a gas station parking lot, desperate for the bull, my fix was begining to waiver. As a walked into the station I knew something was amis. Everyone was wearing camo...was I entering some secret military compound? No worse, opening day of deer season in West Virginia. Hidding in the aisles they were hunting eachother. I paid for my rebull and walked out the door backwards. You can turn your back on a person, but, never turn your back on a hunter from west virginia. especially when it's waving a razor-sharp hunting knife in your eye. My god man get ahold of yourself, can't let them know. Well here I go. One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.