Jack’s Hangover Cure

“When in doubt, drink yourself into a tizzy, then swan dive off a roof.  It’s the best cure for a hangover I’ve ever known.”

– Jack, on how to cure his perpetual hangover situation.

Testing The Limits Of One’s Immortality

Over the next few days Jack cooped himself up at home with plenty of wine at hand, playing things out in his mind over and over again, almost coming to a conclusion, but always eventually realizing he could make no sense of any it.  He couldn’t make any sense of it to begin with, so he always ended up right back where he started.  On the third day, he decided to test the theory that he was indeed immortal by getting good and drunk, then flinging himself off the top of his mansion.  Waking up a short while later with a fractured leg and a terrible headache, he finally concluded he was one real lucky bastard.  Snapping his leg back in place, he then realized it was much more than that, as the bone fused itself back together in a manner of minutes.  He decided their was a good chance he was immortal for real, or so he certainly hoped.

The endless possibilities raced through his mind of what he could do with such a gift.  He could become a darkened-night hero of the helpless, or the savior of the damsel in distress.  That last one always came with post-salvation benefits.  On that train-of-thought note, he considered he could start his own religion.  There was always plenty of money to be made, and women to be laid,  as a miracle man who could heal himself in mere moments.  Then he realized he had better lay low about it for the time being, lest some nefarious government ministry found out and wanted to use him for means he didn’t approve of.  Jack had never been much of a moralist where his sexuality was concerned, even less when he was full of alcohol based drinks, but he was damn sure not interested in what the king might want him for, especially since he hadn’t voted for him in the first place.

– Excerpt from “Who Wants To Live Forever Anyway?”

If A Room Could Think, What Would It Say?

A few hundred miles away, in the middle of Sardonia, deep inside CORE headquarters, Jack and Lexxy had been given bedroom quarters for their stay, however long that would be.  CORE hadn’t been affected by the loss of power as it had its own specified power plant, as did most of the city in intelligently placed grids, so that, should what had just happened happen, the least amount of people would be negatively impacted.  The fact was, the power failure only affected a few thousand homes.  Since it was all just for show and propaganda, Bob would be more than pleased with the results.

Their room was an opulent one with plush decor, far more fancy than a bedroom really needed to be.  If the room could think, it would have thought that its design was one with a sense of perfection in mind, everything in the exact place it was supposed to be.  It would reconsider this once there was someone in the room to mess it up, or move things where they weren’t supposed to be.  There was a full wet bar and kitchen, closets full of clothing, a communications station and an incredibly comfortable bed that both Jack and Lexxy had eyed quite pleasurably upon first entering the room a while before.

A shirtless Jack sat at a wet bar near a luxurious kitchen messing up the rooms dream of perfection as he mixed various drink combinations from the plethora of decanters left fully stocked for him.  He had no idea of the contents of said decanters, but his four century long drinking binge had made his nose a keen discoverer of beverages containing alcohol.  He swigged the first concoction down, thought about it for a second, then mixed a different combination to see what that tasted like.  That one was Way better.  He tried a third combination, adding a liquid that was blood red in color.  It made the drink look menacing, but also added a bit of machismo to the process of drinking it as Jack gulped it down.  Damn that was good.

– Excerpt from the novel “The Suicidal Immortal”

The Ultimate Virtual Sports Bar, Unfortunately On Another Planet

Sports bars in Sardonia where not just a fun place to watch games with friends, drink too much, and argue with said friends over why they should not take the keys to your hover craft away after you peed in the bar managers office thinking it was the bathroom while singing a really stupid song off key using all the wrong lyrics.  Here they were also a place were virtual sports made you feel like you were actually a part of the game, hard hits and all.  If you happened to be virtualized as a particular player when they broke a leg or got an elbow to the face, you’d feel the pain just like they did, minus the actual physical breakage.  It was the most manly form of virtual reality anyone had ever created, though the women here loved it too.

– Excerpt from the novel “The Suicidal Immortal”.

I Drink Therefore I Am

On the 29th of June in the year 1613, at The Globe Theatre in London, a cannon lit the entire place ablaze, ruining a perfectly good play and sending people a running for the exits.  Jack, a ruggedly handsome man in his late twenties, did his best to help as many people out as he could before the heat and smoke became too much for him to bear, forcing him to rush out into the streets to get some fresh air, though one could hardly have called the air in London all that fresh during those years.

Fortunately for everyone inside, they all got out in plenty of time so as not to be harmed in any way other than psychologically, though in that day and age, no one knew what the hell that term meant.  Jack watched with extreme curiosity as the timber building burned asunder, considered in great depth what he had seen only moments before that was so rudely interrupted by the volatile mix of a firing cannon and untreated wood.  It was “Henry The Eighth”, a damn good play, and he sure as hell would liked to have seen the rest of it.  Alas, he was willing to take whatever entertainment he could get, and all things considered, watching a building burn to the ground wasn’t all that bad of a second choice.

Something about the fire amused Jack, enticed him, captured his attention.  Once he realized it could have killed him, it shook him to the core.  Of course, he got over that rather quickly once he realized how thirsty he was.  So he wrapped up that particular segment of the night’s entertainment, and went to a local pub to entertain himself even further whilst imbibing an ale or two, or seven or eight as was usually his routine.

* * *

—  Excerpt from “The Tales Of Jack & Lexxy”, the history of Jack and his life of crazy-ass adventures…

Immortal Observations

“A writer is someone who wishes for immorality he can never have.  A drunken writer writes with a death wish in one hand and a desire for immortality in the other. Fortunately, I’ve already resolved the part about being immortal.  Now all I need is to figure out where I put that damn bottle of whiskey and see if I can make a go at the death wish, knowing full well it will never stick no matter how much I try.”

—  A quote from Jack’s autobiography “Who Want’s To Live Forever Anyway?”

Piss Liquor

“Tastes like dirty feet with a subtle hint of urine.”

– Jack’s analysis to Lexxy after daringly swigging his first drink at a bar on the planet Adulon.