Charlie Hardon In: A Heist Gone Weird

“Get up, you worthless drunk.  You can’t sleep here.”  a voice emanating from the celestial aether spoke to me in a booming exclamation.

     My eyes disagreeably began to open and were instantly blinded by the aura of light surrounding my newfound companion.  Luckily I had transcended beyond the plane of visual stimuli and needed only my mind’s eye and the literal bucketload of hallucinogens I’d ingested to properly ‘see’ the world around me.

“Are you my spirit guide?”  I asked, in awe of the angelic figure before me.  “Because if so, you’re late, asshole.  I’ve been wandering these stupid heavenly caves for hours.  I can’t find shit in here.  Also, I’m not a drunk.  Only rookies resort to such pedestrian methods of universe exploring.”  I said, removing a flask of fermented poison sumac leaves from my pants and taking a long pull. Continue reading

Charlie Hardon In: The Art Of War, Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Wasted As Fuck

 “You’ll never get away with this!” I screamed, throwing an empty bottle of Everclear through the cruiser’s windshield.

     This was some serious bullshit.  Apparently uptight the security guard thinks I’m ‘not allowed’ to drink on the playground of an elementary school.  It’s not like I can magically KNOW where I’ll end up with a gallon of 190 proof beauty coursing my veins, which he wrongfully didn’t accept as a perfectly valid excuse while booting me from the premises.  By the time I finished elementary school I was old enough to drink anyway, so what’s the big deal?.  I sat leaning up against the chain link fence lining the school grounds, knowing I needed to seek revenge of the highest order.  Trying to formulate a plan, I steeled my mind by softly reciting my sacred war chant and tapping into my flask of emergency rubbing alcohol. Continue reading

Charlie Hardon In: The Chronicles Of The Magical Dumpster Strip Club

     I felt a sharp pang in my side as I rolled over; the ether fumes hung in the air like a beautiful summer melody.  I reached down and felt for the source of the pain, and my hand came back wet. Oh fuck.  Blood?  I couldn’t tell.  It was dark wherever I was, and almost certainly before 7pm, so my brain was having a rough time waking up.  I lit my pipe that is expressly for tobacco purposes only and the fire briefly illuminated my as of yet unknown location.  I was surrounded on all sides by steel walls with a low hanging ceiling, with bags of trash lining the floor.

“Fuck,” I thought to myself, “there’s no way I ended up back in a Mexican prison.”

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Charlie Hardon In: The Path To Enlightenment

     I groaned as I picked my head from what felt like a pile of rocks, which meant Paulie once again won the betting pool some of the guys have built around me.  Assholes.  I scanned my location, unsure of where I was.  It seemed to be a very peaceful looking garden, with well manicured foliage everywhere and a small river with little fish swimming in it.  That Toyota Tercel I stole and crashed through the gate was nowhere to be found.  God damn rusted out piece of shit reminds me of my ex-wife; always quits on you the second your chips are down and your pants are off in public.  Every part of me ached.  There was shouting and panic happening around me.  Ugh, typical.

“Excuse me, sir” said a voice coming from a smudgy black shadow to my left.  Either that or my vision was still a little ether-ed out.

“If this is one of those Rorschach tests, you should know that I’m not allowed to recognize patterns.  Court order.”

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