Asif Khan Inc.

Peace and High Tea

The fraternal twins were out on their usual rampage, but this time they had to wade through the underbelly of everything that felt gross in their eyes – the wrong kind of music, the wrong kind of women, even the wrong kind of shoes, GOD DAMN IT! An underbelly which reeked of a smutty sleaziness consisting of swinging booties and under-wired boobies coupled with Botox injected pouts puckering to the tunes of come hither glances from under mascara smudged lashes containing an ice green crystal gaze.

They weren’t allowed in today.

**
Swoosh – Boom – Crackle

Fuck Funk, haven’t I told you so many times in the past not to startle me by doing stuff like this, I mean I know that you have an intense gaze and stuff, you know things like these tend to put my already worked up hyperactivity into overdrive unless I am in the right frame of mind, and stop smirking while you look upon those specks of ash you made that motherfucker into, give me a fuckin’ light. Funk brushed aside his unruly mop while he cleaned the ash from the lenses of his transparent shades, something which not just helped him see better as most people usually thought, they helped him look at things better. Time for some nicotine ingestion to sooth my nerves, as he flipped his metal case and took out one for himself while offering another one to Punk, who immediately took to it as it went up in smoke aided by the flickering Zippo embossed with the ‘Big Daddy’s Sissies’ logo, something which Funk didn’t fancy all that much, will get another one soon enough hopefully, minus all this logo hogwash, but you know it Punk, I can’t stand it when folks bend over backwards to take it in their asses and all the way right out of their mouths and guide it to their mama’s cunts, I mean what’s it with the suit that was getting him in, after all didn’t you notice that he was dripping with the green slime from the waste that grows on his planet, and have you fuckin’ forgotten the treatment we got from them when we tried working with their neighbours, yeah, yeah, the ones whose women bleed blue, when we tried to reason with them and it felt like we were hitting our heads against the supersonic barrier, some species just deserve to be kapooshed, specially if they are ones who think they have all right to act like St. Peter at the Gates of Hades’ Den. Suddenly the airwaves around them tuned in to the broadcast from the Socialite Chai Party, some Peace crap it said, and deservedly drowned itself into oblivion as the frequency of the Alt Rock station interfered and overpowered the SCP’s airwaves at a n absolutely cutting moment in time. After all, it’s Music which rules people, not paeans of World Peace sung in front of Live TV at a hosting of the Mad Hatter’s party.

**

The Socialite Chai Party it seems had been abuzz for quite some time and there was a certain amount of ennui that had set in despite the regular martini-mojito gulping sessions. I still say that they haven’t been getting off as much as they should be, maybe they could do with some help, yeah, at times you do make sense Punk, and stop fuckin’ fantasizing yet, I can see that twinkle in your eyes which would probably put all the light contained within this galaxy to shame if it had an inkling of the workings of your inner mind right now, Fuck you Funk, you are the one who needs to get that pint sized one out of your head first, she never was there Punk and you know where she was, I am telling you, all this World Peace is just hogwash, that’s just a way for them to achieve their much needed monster sized orgasms, its Music which plays all the Inner Keys of Life, we need to kidnap all the airwaves and play our Music, that’s the only way, yeah Punk, didn’t some asshole say something like if wishes were horses or something, lets get back to just confining ourselves to our station, no interference from any other frequencies, come on, its that jaded feeling coming over you once again, better yet, lets Kill ‘em All, after all, isn’t there a dictionary entry like vigilante.

**

Back at Hades’ it seems that their airwaves had been hijacked back again, just that the booties weren’t as obscenely voluptuous this time. Maybe a counter-hijack measure needs to be put in place.