Fletcher Quill Chapter 119

"The young men’s vision and The old men’s dreams!"
John Dryden 1631- 1700

Justice Quill has been simply languishing, playing, day dreaming, looking out his castle window’s for hour’s either alone in his ancient old man warrior dreams or in the easy company of those he loves and trusts...

His beloved Abyssinia Cat Timba is his shadow. His time continuum back to early times when his predecessors kept the old man great company. In the early days of Quill’s childhood his dear sweet mother allowed him total freedom and pets galore!

He raised a tiny squirrel monkey, an Ocelot wild cat and endless birds, bats, snakes, frogs, whatever caught his eye. Now in his mid 70s he spends much time day dreaming a combination of what has happened and what could possibly still develop.

He never really thinks of age in terms of limitation, rather a fountain of endless possibilities until the Lord of Lords calls the old Zen Master Bad Boy home...

Drake has checked on him and Timba and delivered five fingers of the 100 year old Monk’s Whiskey, gift of the Head Child Molester Enabler, his lowness The Pope.

His dear friends the Dali Lama wasted on Brown Afghani Hashish and listening to early Ronnie Montrose at max volume with Quill’s latest way too young girlfriend Sugar Tits.

Keith Richards and a host of alive and dead hard core Chicago Blues greats come and go at will. And endless insane psycdelic drug infused semi orgy, with much alone time for day dreaming. Quill’s recipe for immortality Irish style...

"So sorry to interrupt Sir, A call from a United States Federal Prison, a call I’m certain you may wish to except? It is a Mr. Toris, Clay Toris."

"Clay, Dude, you must be getting ready for reentry Cowboy? That half a nickle must be almost over with good time and so forth, I did make a few calls mother fucker, what’s up? How you doing mentally Pilgrim?"

"Fucking Supreme Court justice, ain’t this a Bitch! My old Band Leader up to his ancient hypocritic ass in young pussy and fine drugs, yes? Listen you know Ronnie Montrose is gone man.

They are dropping like flies Son! All the old band boys are ready to reform your old proto Blues Rock leviathan "Stiff Nipples". How the fuck do we get your ass into a late career change old man?

Can you still get it up and play that fucking Harmonica till five am non stop while singing your ass off? You still stick and move like you used to Marine?"

"Fuck you moron, I play harder then your feeble brain can fathom, playing with all the big dawgs dead and alive. Muddy Waters and Dwayne Allman just left exhausted, dead but dead tired after three days of serious hard ass Blues work Ball Player?

Now, you know what fool, I will think bout a late career change. Fucking sick of the Court bullshit and love to play anyway, maybe your right Clay Toris.

I still have copy rights and regular ASCAP checks in the mail from these five songs I wrote and we sang and recorded in the 70s remember these Sonny Boy Drummer Keith Moon Wannna Be Bitch?

How bout our first big hit, "Big Tits On my Mind All the Time!" Great rough song to play live remember?

Or how bout the 2nd hugeified hit we had "Wet Pussy 24/7 that’s Heaven" followed by our fucking calling card signature smash hit I still make money on "Blond Pussy Rules".

I did give you partial writing credit on that sweet little diddy, you recall Toris?"

"Oh yeah, ASCAP Mail Box money, oh yeah... Keeps me in Beer and Porno last two and half baby! So think hard old man, endless touring, seeing old friends, too much young pussy, and all the fun you can fucking handle.

Are you really ready to totally regress Skateboarder, how are those skate board movies doing old timer, how about your killer, Rolling Stoner Video, that was you off the hook Dude!!!"

"Look here my stir crazy bad ass Drummer Boy, you have to wonder if I still eat streets on those forty mile a second killer Boards I keep in my San Francisco Ocean View Crib? Of course, midnight rides in the rain, going awfully quick dodging dog shit, cats, and cracks in side walks, oh yeah, sliding and gliding always in my top four Toris!

Back to the Band Dude, Stiff Nipple’s last line up included that fucking insane Guitar slide and six, twelve master blaster Louis Pussy A.K.A. loose Pussy is still in rehab, way too many Vicadan with his daily drug/alcohol diet, never really fined tuned his bad habits!

So he pays youngsters with too much religion to force feed him the get scared or die Coolaid (GSODC). I’ll have Drake track him down, Keith wants to play with us and so does Lenny Kravitz and maybe Sammy Cabo Wabbo Hagar and his Chickin Foot crew might hang for a tour deal?

I’m fucking already planning our come back though we were never here tour Son!"

"I can hear you opening with "Blond Pussy Rules" a killer Harmonica opening just like old Albert Collins taught you Quill, remember watching John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters try and get your Harmonica shit just right, low, smooth and long like Michigan Ave. old school Chicago?

Alligator Proto Blues/Rock recording Artists live direct from San Francisco and all corners of the Blues Universe, lets hear a huge welcome for Fletcher Quill and his Band live "Stiff Nipples"..."

"Ok, ok Claymeister, Felon Drummer Boy! I’ll set you in my Maui Penthouse for one month Son. One month and then you find a new crib, that is your welcome home package.

See you after the fly fishing trip and court. My next life may be on the fucking Blues Eternal lost Hiway (BELH)... Oh yeahhh...”

"Sir, a call from your friend Marsden at the International Melting Iceberg Office. He just found the case of 50 year old Irish Single Malt you sent."

"Marsden my main rare feather gatherer god! What have you found in the latest big melt near the North Pole?

Come on Baby, give something so fucking old even I can’t place it in the Arch of Prime Evil Bird Life, hit me Marsden, hit me Son!"

"Better have a seat Quill, we found two brand new species of north African ancient Vultures."

"What colors are we talking here Cowboy? And more importantly what kind of condition and age?"

"Near perfect rich blues and reds on long hackle like feathers. Three tail sections have brown, black and vivid red feathers, colors are incredible and never seen until you tie them into classic timeless fly patterns of which you will as usual send me two examples of each new pattern correct Sir?"

"At ease young man, drink my rare whiskey and get ready to show your up town fly friends psychedelic Streamer’s made by the Master... Gotta run, thanks so much!"

"Drake, have much work for you, first locate this list of me old Band mates, phone numbers and last address’s so forth, next, please find out if those silver and gold Streamer Hooks are on the way?

Send Sharon Stone five dozen Roses and quote Keats for me, you pick the lines my friend. Have all my fly gear rechecked, new terminal fly line on the six traveling Reel’s and my new Simms Waders. Take a look at all my 7/8/9 weight traveling Bamboo fly rods, make sure no cracks all guides, connections tight, clean.

Duke is going on the fly trip, so outfit him and maybe Dali might hang with us. Have the cook put five four pound Lobsters on the Boil and maybe fifty clams and mussels thrown in.

I’ll be down to supervise the sauce and desert. White Chocolate Moose will do, thanks Drake. We will be leaving Raven’s Haven in two days for the Black Messiah’s last trout trip to Alaska.

Then you can have all my Supreme Court Robes cleaned and meet me at the Court for possibly my last appearance in that hypocritic fucking Zoo. Find out if Justice Ginsberg is really pregnant from our little nastiness, send her Roses when you order Sharon’s flowers.

Also have my Rolex Watch Dude send Sugar Tits a killer Diamond and Gold watch, lets get her comfortable as she will be the Fill In Queen OfTthe Castle (FIQOTC)for lord only knows how long..."

"You have two calls waiting, A Mr. Merlin professes to be the great, great relative to the Merlin? And a Mr. Slick Wrongway, hope I pronounced that or is it Spit Fromley or maybe Shit Homely or Fit Nummy? Any who he say’s he is the next President and wants your ear Sir?"

"Hello is it Spit Fromely?"

"Nice Quill, I know you been hanging and banging with all the last six Presidents , guess I gotta deal with your Ancient Warrior Ass (AWA) like it or not hey Judge Quill?"

"Fucking A Kid! Lets get started, you Fly Fish at all What are your games Sonny Boy besides being the mother fucking whitest man who ever lived, dump all those fucking khakis and Polo shirts especially the fucking pucky herd instinct saturated pink Polo’s, drop the nerd clothes Dude?"

"Shit, I love those titty pink Polo’s, so while we are discussing tit’s and your hippy fashion niche old timer, perhaps you can have the Dali Lama send me a pound of that insane Black Afghani he peddles Fly General?

And a handful of his rare Tibetan Mushrooms. I love how Dali just announced he is positive the world will never live in peace. Your influence has been effective hippy General..."

"Spit, your Nerd Index is soooo fucking high Dude! I cannot hang with any creature who dress’s like Mr. Fucking Rodgers there Ball Player...

Besides the Fat Lady may be in the house, but, she sure as shit has not even warmed up yet fool? Would not be counting on Dinner in the Black House just yet Pilgrim.

So other then amassing the usual kiss ass, very lucky connected elite white boy pile of money, what the fuck else are you really good at, public speaking I give you a c+ tops Spartacus! Oh, Ahh killing companies does not count asshole, comprende fool?"

"Your kindness and sensitivity moves my bowls Quill, I’ll let you get back to writing notes to your new girl friend’s High School Principle and adjusting her Car Seat old pervert... See ya at the inaugural Din Din Judge Cannabis..."

Atmosphere in the Castle tying room changes slowly as low sweet haunting sounds of non other then the God father of all Blues, his royal highness Robert Johnson his dam self!!!!

DEAL AT THE CROSS ROADS BABY!!!

"Welcome to the real deal dirty white boy! You have after all these year’s arrived at the cross roads my Boy. It is time to either sign up and blow that fucking Harmonica all over the world or put it the fuck away and start wearing your all grown up clothes white honkey ass Blues Man.

I know Eric Clapton, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and for the Lords sake even Jimmy Hendrix ended up in my face soooner or later, now it’s your turn. I’ll lay it out simple Son, you have maybe just enough fucking talent to roll with the big Dogggs, maybe?

Or get your ass back to that Bullshit Supreme Court and lay your burden down. We have a couple more things for you to consider Mr. Wanna be a Blues legend, you listening to me Boy?"

"Oh yeah, all ears your majesty... This ain’t no drug induced scene I’m dreaming? How do I know this deal is real Mr. Johnson?"

"Real, only fucking thang real is heart break and feeling low down, that’s real. You happy not playing with your old Band?

You ready to dump that dream and just roll into obscurity and become another limp dick old man lost in dead dreams?"

"How long I have to cut this eternal deal Mr. Johnson?”

"Time up fool, up or down, right fucking now! What you going to do?"

"Born to buggy, born to rock n roll, born to play nothing but the Blues..."

Time has come today, will a man in his mid 70's have enough left to pull off a last dream?