Ghouls & Guns

a/n: this story is about the two friends from Blowjob (George and Scott). It takes place a few months after.

Scott and George are in a beat up red sedan, Scott is driving and George is sipping a red and greenish liquid from a mason jar in the passenger seat.

Scott:
Alright- tell me one more time where we're going.

George:
I told you man- I've told you twenty fucking times.

Scott:
It's still not registering.

George:
Alright well open up the register one more time- we are going to the most prestigious ghost hunting lodge on the east coast- Ghouls & Guns baby.

Scott:
Ghouls & Guns- what the fuck man? I thought you needed those Ghostbusters vacuum things to hunt ghosts- or have some kind of license.

George:
You believe everything you see in a Bill Murray movie? This is not ghost busting man- this is ghost hunting baby.

Scott:
The difference being what?

George:
The difference being that we aren't going into a derelict mansion with vacuum cleaners with ponchos on so we don't get slimed- no man, this hunting for pure sport.

Scott:
For sport? Like for deer or moose or something?

George:
First of all there isn't any moose out here- you have to go to Canada for those mother fuckers, and second of all and in answer to your question- yes just like that- we go into the woods with rifles and bullets and shit- but instead of deer or moose- we're hunting ghosts.

Scott:
What- this wooded area just happens to be populated with ghosts ripe for the shooting?

George:
Exactly man- it's primo for ghoul shooting. See, the lodge used to be strictly for game hunting- deer and moose and bears and shit-

Scott:
Bears- are you shitting me?

George:
I shit you not.

Scott:
So what happened?

George:
Check this out- in the twelve years they where in business do you know how many hunters died out there in those woods?

Scott:
I see where this is going.

George:
One hundred and forty four of them- can you believe that? That's twelve every year- and you know what else? Not one of them was animal related- not one.

Scott:
Meaning what?

George:
Meaning, that they where all just shooting each other all the goddamn time- some by accident and some for murder- and there where actually about twenty four documented suicides out there too.

Scott:
Now I know you're fucking with me.

George:
I swear. Think about- on a hunting trip would be the perfect place to top yourself- you're all alone, you've got a gun, and if you're having second thoughts you've got a long way to walk to think about it.

Scott:
You've got a point there.

George:
So after all the deaths- it got shut down and the lodge just sat out there in the middle of the fucking woods- till it's dark past was unearthed by some expert on TLC while they where doing a special on rural hauntings in America. And apparently some trigger happy redneck with a ghost obsession sold his trailer and opened up this ghost hunting lodge.

Scott:
Well I can't believe that I'm about to ask this, but did your cousin bag a banshee on his trip?

George:
No, it was an unlucky day and the owner said to come back in fall- that's when the ghosts get restless- around all hallows eve.

Scott:
But we missed fucking Halloween, it's November man.

George:
The way I see it, a bunch of them are probably still wondering around- besides this place would be fucking packed on Halloween.

Scott:
Won't the bullets go- like right through the ghosts- they don't have skin or anything right?

George:
Don't you know? The only thing that can harm a ghost is whatever the ghost died by, meaning that if he was beaten to death with a rusty pipe, then a rusty pipe is the only thing that's going to fuck it up and free the lost soul.

Scott:
This is so fucking stupid- what a waste of a Saturday.

George:
You'll see man- you'll see and you'll believe- but you better have your gun ready when you see and believe because I'm not getting possessed or strangled or whatever on account of the fact that your having a powerful revelation about life after death. Anyway, how's Tracy? You haven't had that BJ glow about you for a while now.

Scott:
That what? What the fuck is the BJ glow?

George:
That big ol' grin you wear for days on end after she's laid her lovely lips on your johnson.

Scott:
Hey- fuck you man- don't talk about her like that- she's my fucking girlfriend- show some respect for once in your life.

George:
Sorry, sorry and all that bullshit. But how's she going?

Scott:
I don't know, she's so fucking crazy- she's always thinking that I'm thinking that she's cheating on me, and when she does that, it makes me fucking wonder you know?

George:
I know one thing-

Scott:
Alright- rhetorical- shut the fuck up. Let's not talk about this anymore.

George:
Fine with me baby, but if you're ever having woman troubles- I'm you're man- I've seen it all.

Scott:
Yeah- this from a guy who stays with a girl just long enough to put a condom on, fuck for an hour and then get his clothes on and hit the road.

George:
You'd be surprised at how much can happen in that time.

George spots a roadside gas station.

George:
Hey man, pull in there.

Scott:
What the fuck for?

George:
I need to grab a root beer or a red bull or something.

Scott:
Ah come on, you've got that big fucking jar- of whatever that shit is.

George:
I've told you twenty fucking times- this is part of my batch of homemade wine.

Scott pulls the car into the gas station.

Scott:
Yeah, you told me- but it looks like a big jar of Nyquil to me.

George:
You should have some man, might cool you down a little bit- get your mind off you're old lady.

Scott:
Just go get your fucking red bull.

George:
Think it's going to be a root beer- back in two seconds.

George climbs out of the car and jogs into the store. Scott grabs the mason jar with both hands, lifts it under his nostrils and takes a whiff.

Scott:
Jesus fuck! Smells like grinded moldy cheese and apple juice.

Scott shrugs and takes a long drink.

-not end-