The Fantastic Death of Jonny Rock

The Fantastic Death of Jonny Rock.

Jonny slung his leg over the '61 Harley Vulcan and Lola climbed on
behind him. Somewhere through a chemical storm of drugs and alcohol, he
felt her hot sweaty body wrap itself around him, and they roared away
from the sun-blistered motel. Mescal tequila, amphetamines, crack
cocaine, ketamine, MDMA, morphine, Acid, magic mushrooms and PCB
competed for space in the veins throbbing in his head. There was music
playing in there too - Motorhead, not his favourite song, 'The Ace of
Spades' but a track off their most recent album that he had only just
heard on the jukebox beside the bar. He didn't even know it was their
song but he liked the words and shouted the ones he could remember as
he headed West towards the Grand Canyon.

Sunbeams twisted through his greasy hair as he increased his speed and
the wind began to whip his leather clothes. He felt a weight in his lap
as Lola slid her head around his body to suck him off. He eased back in
the saddle and swung his bike the wrong way into the freeway, as he did
so he ran down a family of white, albino rats. Laughter tipped back his
head as he caught a tail between his teeth. He turned triumphantly to
show Lola before remembering that she was busy between his legs. He
spat out the tail and decided to leave her to it as her blond head
bobbed busily up and down. An electrical storm blew up in the desert
sky above him and he swerved the bike from left to right as he tried to
catch lightening bolts in his hand.

An eighteen wheeler, chrome, airbrushed fuel tanker thundered towards
him with an eighteen stone trucker at the wheel. Jonny chased another
lightening bolt. The collision came at the very mouth of the canyon and
the truck fell on its back in a ditch, then exploded in a butane
mushroom cloud. Meanwhile, Jonny's bike flew skyward chased by a
flaming snake of fuel and blood. Ketamine slowed time down as Jonny
felt himself come and come and come. He looked down to congratulate
Lola on her good tongue work, and found himself waving at a decapitated
head rolling in his lap. Life was too good, fuck life was good, fuck.
He reached out at the spear of lightening as it flew overhead. And as
he spontaneously combusted in mid-air, his single famous last word
echoed north and south, 'Fuccckkkk'.