THE STORY OF VURM Pt.3

 zombie wurm

TheStory of Vurm .

Part 3; The Raid

 

“What the fuck is that?” the outraged Detective thundered, pointing a trembling finger in the direction of Zombie-Vurm as he whirred and grinded across my kitchen table towards us, red eyes glowing with menace.

I looked up briefly from reading the search warrant and glanced over my shoulder. The raiding party had been swift. From the vantage point of my strategically placed kitchen-chair I’d seen them massing at the bottom of the stairs and I’d barely had time to race to the door to intercept them while muttering a brief warning to my associates.

The Taxidermist, an innocent lunatic with no rational fear of the police, tried to explain it was an Art Project. The Explanation did not seem to make the Detective any happier.

“What sort of sick bastard would do something like that?” he demanded.

We looked at each other and shrugged.

Meanwhile the other detectives who had recovered from their initial shock were starting to fan out, and were making their own disturbing discoveries.

“Are there any drugs here?”, the Head Detective demanded, trying to get back to the prepared script.

I considered his question. Probably. My conscience was clean but I couldn’t be sure about the others. I was hoping that the brief space I’d bought by holding the police up at the door had given my guests enough time to dispose of/secrete anything that might bring trouble down upon us. They were a cunning little group of rats so I was fairly optimistic but still..

“Well”, I said, “I haven’t been able to find any but you might have more luck”.

“Is that right smart-arse?”, he growled, violently opening a draw and rifling thru its contents,

“Are there any improperly disposed of needles here”, asked another detective, worriedly looking at a creation from a recent Art Exhibition; a toy Huckleberry Hound toy had been combined with a zebra to make a sort of centaur, and two insulin syringes jutted like stalks from the sockets, eyeballs impaled on the sharp tips.

“None that I recall”, I said vaguely.

They put on gloves and poked around more cautiously after that.

zombie wurm

But they found nothing. They never did. They visited that house many times during those eight years, despite the fact they never found anything worth finding. Often they were reduced to making up ridiculous charges that would eventually be dropped to justify the continuing harassment. They’d confiscate a piece of equipment at random on the way out, say a typewriter or a bass guitar, and if I couldn’t immediately produce a receipt, take it on “suspicion of being stolen property“, then hold on to it for a couple of weeks, before inevitably ringing and telling me to collect my property from the Local Station.

Once they even took me back to the Station for having roadkill! I’d put a dead, blue-tongue lizard I’d found by the side of the road into a jar of methylated spirits.

“Do you have a permit for this,” a Detective demanded.

“You’re kidding, right?” I said, but he wasn’t.

It was a violation of the the Protection of Native Species Act he insisted and off we went to the Station. I took a copy of the Dead Sea Scrolls with me to pass the time, and I sat around the station quietly reading for a couple of hours, while they tried to decide if they could get away with charging me.

They couldn’t, and reluctantly let me go but they still didn’t give me my lizard back. I imagine it’s still stitting in a locker or on a shelf gathering dust somewhere in the Valley Station.

zombie wurm

This time at least they let me keep Vurm the Zombie Guinea Pig, but they did take away Mad Nigel, for a small, unpaid parking fine which they found when they did a background check on him. Really though I think they just found him such an odd specimen they wanted to take him back to the station to show the others. Maybe keep him in the exhibits room with the lizard-in-the-jar and other trophies of the Drug War.

 

As I stood at the top of the steps watching them take him away

I could hear that back in the kitchen someone had already wound Vurm up again in celebration and..was that someone vomiting?

I turned around to see Dave “Green Teeth” on his hands and knees, dry-retching. Poor guy, I thought, the stress must have got to him.

Then he coughed up a small alfoil packet.

Wonderful, I thought, there are drugs here after all.

 zombie wurm

Well we were all suitably impressed with Dave’s stratagem and Mad Nigel was bailed out soon enough but the stress of the raid had taken its toll on my “Country Cousins”, who were staying with me on a town-visit. They decided it was time to go back to the tranquility of the bush and the simple folk-ways of the pot farmer.

 

Nigel thought it was time he had a holiday too and decided to crank up the Combi and spend a couple of weeks at the Cousin’s bush camp. Fine, I thought, I’ll get my driveway back. That should make the neighbours happy. Well, happier, at least.

But then Nigel announces he wants to take Vurm with him to continue working on the project. Some fine tuning. Maybe see if that toy “Laugh Loop” will fit in the thorax..

I frowned.

Now, I had a rule about lending items from the Museum:

Never Do It.

Be it Book or Guinea-Pig, once a specimen left the Protective Aura of the Museum, I warned, it was subject once more to Irrational Forces like Time and Gravity and likely to crumble into dust in minutes.

Just like the Moon-Queen in that old Jungle Jim Movie..

“Work on it when you get back”, I suggested and told him the cautionary tale of the Psychedelics Encyclopedia.

 

to be concluded..

tai chi hand negative green button

************

Brand-Aid reduced

****

!

The Reverend Hellfire is a reformed man, a productive member of the community and a practising Performance Poet.

As an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism he is an appropriate role model for young people today.

***

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~ by reverendhellfire on May 25, 2014.

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