EDITORS NOTE: We received this submission from a strange Italian man who asked to be called Dada Skabowabo since his real name would link him back to things we didn’t want to know about. We tried to do what we could, but the original manuscript had blood on it that smeared the ink, and he wrote in some sort of strange Italian gibberish, so we vouch for none of it and would not advise reading it.
It was a late night Friday at the end of August and our deadline was Sunday
We were not so late but the pressure was high in that kitchen and the
solvent fumes were digging deep inside our lungs.
“Jesus fucking Christ, again!? Do you want to see this place be mistaken
for a nuclear test area?”
My mate was so close to making us blow up in that house so many times that I
felt irredeemably harsh towards him.
“Go out smoking you dirty bastard!”
He really was dirty, and I was too. It was almost three days that we were
closed inside that kitchen, preparing what was supposed to be our lives’ big
deal, and we had to stay there for more than another god-blessed day.
We slept on the floor. While the mixture was resting and evaporating we
could drink some of our so loved and hard earned wheat beers and the
I somehow felt pro.
It was me that had to manage all the reactions, the ratio of solvents and
compounds, the temperatures, the pH etc.
I studied for that! And I felt in the middle of a battlefield – ready to
There I was: months of preparation and I was doing it – half drunk, wearing
some yellow plastic gloves, to my left a jar of stinky black liquid “pH 1”
labeled, chewing a toothpick – no fucking cigarettes allowed – and pervaded
by that frenzy feeling that we were doing it right.
On Sunday morning the sun was literally melting the outside garden, 40
degree Celsius, Sirs.
The cat entered, almost burning, with a tired and subtle ‘meow’.
“The game has entered!” my mate screamed, throwing a lighter to its
I thought that maybe his inner mind mechanism was gone forever, corroded by
those invisible acid fumes that, like entities, were floating all over the
I was astonished when I saw him run at the cat, then the cat jump up for
fear through the table where our one pound pack of pure white powder
was laying, still open.
We both stared at each other and time stopped.
We were mentally fighting and only when our faces were finally bleeding for
all those mind guided combo of punches/kicks and our eyes could barely
see, and blinded by blood, that we finally shook our hands without believing
what had just happened?
“Nice shot man,” I mumbled, “you were very close to win a never-ending
beating and a long lasting life food supply for your cat entirely made from
“Calm down, calm down, nothing has gone wrong. Just think what could
have happened if that little bastard would have landed with its nose onto
that white shit.” He laughed.
I stopped drinking my beer and let my cigarette smoke through its holder –
yeah, we could finally smoke inside there.
I suddenly understood that we were dealing with one of the strongest drugs
in the whole fucking universe.
I gazed at my friend and quickly said: ‘We should test our product’.
[end of part 1]