The Amazon Adventure

The sprawling sea of green dozed in the tropical heat which wrapped it with its misty and wafting fingers gently. Everything seemed to be as always in the everlasting jungle...
No, not everything.
Above all those steaming treetops were six men fixed on their parachutes trundling downwards while a smoldering plane fell roaring from the innocent blue sky and shattered seconds later somewhere on the endless green horizon. After that you could hear a few shrill voices fading in the warm air.

“Tim! Tim! SHIT!”
“My guitars!...”
“Shut the fuck up, John!”
“Shut YOU the fuck up, idiot!”
“Ow, my cigarettes... I've forgotten my cigarettes...”
“Hey you fucking lunatics! Just butt out – everyone! We're falling, there are other problems tha- LOOK OUT! TREE!”
The idyll of the peaceful jungle was ruined by the noise of cracking wood and dying plants.
A bunch of animals freaked out and the beastly riot spread over the whole tropical forest, mixed with human cry.
“Ouch!”
“Fuck!”
“Twiggy, get your gay purse out of ma face!...Gee!”
“That's Twiggy. Instruments are not that important but the main thing is his fucking purse...”
“Oooh, be quiet, John!! Am I your spaceghost for your damned broken guitars now, or what!? No, that's not my business!...Asshole!”
“Oh, guys...”
“...Did he really say 'spaceghost'?”
“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!”
“Pretty tree...”

The situation wound down, so the keyboardist began to whistle a stupid song. Ginger looked at him acidly. Pogo caught the drummers glance haphazardly and goggled back with his big, blue and a little bit insane eyes. “What?”
“Great, now we're hanging in a tree! 40 meters above...” , Ginger ignored the keyboardist's provocatively question and crossed his arms, pressing them against his chest like a huffy child. Although the sight was rather overwhelming he couldn't enjoy it. Not with an annoying Pogo within eyeshot and earshot.
“You think I want to hang in a stupid tree?? I wanna go home, that's all!”, Marilyn hissed and crossed his arms, too. Tim rolled his eyes lordly.
“Have fun. I guess... I would take a jet...” , Then he spat down, tilt his blonde head to the right and shrugged, “Hm. 40 meters... never.”
Marilyn flashed him a killing glance but he pulled his sock's up remembering the Buddha-situation a short while ago. Maybe he would payed Tim back in kind later. Or in spades. That's much better, he thought.
Pogo had switched off mentally minutes ago and suddenly picked a small red berry up from his now completely damaged mowhawk.
“Funny. I've never seen this pseudo-cherry before...”
Faster than you can blink the mysterious fruit disappeared in the crazy keyboardist's throat.
Twiggy shook his head uncomprehendingly and he did his very best not to look down. He looked already pale so that his pretty tattered dress seemed to glow intensely.

No one of the six men could really enjoy the bizarre jungle atmosphere, all of them hung helplessly in the same (maybe 20 meters tall) tree, frowning and thinking about how to solve their incredible problem.
Only Pogo continued whistling what sounds rather crappy what again fitted pretty to his messy hair and destroyed clothes. Tim pouted so hard (because of his cigarettes) that Twiggy was very worried about his lover.
“Tim, dear... what's up? Come here...”, He sounded like an over-attached teeny girlfriend and reached out for the multitalented musician.
“Tell me how... I'm three meters away from you and Pogo's between us, blockhead.”, Tim answered harshly and sighed badly after that, “Oh my gooood... I've left my cigarettes in the plaane... I will die in pain without my cigarettes!...”
During Twiggy was pouting Pogo turned to the whining man with odd sparkling eyes.
“Ey dude... calm down. If you'll ever eat this funny cherry you'd never need cigarettes again! Word!” He grinned foolish and reached out his hand, waiting for Tim's hand in vain.
Marilyn ignored his old odd friend and brooded meanwhile over their tricky situation.
“At first we should climb down and watch out for help then...” , The Antichrist-Superstar thought loudly.
His bandmates stared at him aghast what he noticed pretty late. “...Not?”
“Sure......... Good idea...”, Twiggy said.
“But wait! Before that you have to-”
“Shut up, Pogo!” , five voices shouted at him annoyed.
Twiggy sighed after two silent minutes. Finally he pulled out his mysterious pink book.

***

Dear diary! 08-22-2004, don't know the time 'cause I lost my watch :-(

It sounds incredibly but we're all hanging in the same tree. No, I didn't take any drugs... in opposition to Pogo, this fool. I hate him so much! He's between my beloved Thim and me...
Oh, I'm so upset! Besides all my new clothes are gone... with the fucking plane.
Strange, now we landed actually in the middle of the jungle. Not my destination...
I'm so hot... ugh, I hate sweating without having sex. What should I do?
…
Ha, funny. The others think they know what I should do... They say I should stop writing right now otherwise my diary would be destroyed immediately...
WAIT!...
Fine! Bastards. I'll give them 'stop writing'!...

Love, Twig on a tree

***

Ginger and Marilyn were the only ones who discussed the situation successful because Pogo was fully into his own world, only babbling about his curious berries while Tim sulked due to his cigarettes. John was in a snit as well and Twiggy had written as you know into his cheesy diary.
By habit Mr Manson took command.
“Guys! Listen to me, especially Pogo! So... first we have to free us from our parachutes... be careful with your belts... especially Pogo!...” , He was interrupted by the keyboardist.
“Ow, why me?”
“Shut up, you know why! 'Cause I know you, fool!... - Where was I?” , The others glanced at each other in a slight annoyance when he finally continued, “Ah, right. Then we have to climb down.”
Tim applauded with a sarcastic duckface.

A little later the men were busy with their belts. The command seemed to be clear to everyone but at a single blow there was a surprised yell and none other than Pogo fell off his branch he was sharing with Twiggy and Tim. Everyone stared downwards in shock. Only Marilyn deadpanned.
“What did I fucking tell ya, cocksucker?!!”
He saved himself by wrapping his arms and legs around a branch so that he looked like a sloth.
“Hang in there!” , Ginger yelled shortly after the hapless keyboardist thud right into terribly cracking brushwood. Twiggy gulped hard while he was starring still downward. He looked paler than before and his wide opened black eyes seemed to pop out soon.
“Lucky boy” , Tim murmured. This would be the perfect moment to contemplate his fingernails in disinterest but he gripped the bough.. so he can't.
Then there was a rustling and crunching noise in the brushwood when suddenly an euphoric shriek cut the sweltering air.
“SHIT-HOT! HERE ARE MORE OF THESE BERRIES!”
Manson sighed very hard and John raised an eyebrow. He sat straddled on branch leaning against the incredibly big trunk. A few tiny flies pranced around his blonde head but he didn't care. This fucking humid air began to knock him out.
“Gosh... get out of here” , the drummer mumbled and shook his head. “Now Marilyn... we don't do this way, right?”
Twiggy in the meantime tried to layaway towards his beloved Swedish boy.
The singer was already about climbing down. “Surely not, Fish...”
Ginger glanced at John who hung upside down on his branch now, yawning and smacking his lips when he wrapped his arms around his chest rather pleased.
“I like to chill out for a while...” , he said sleepy.
“Oh well... ehm... I think it's better to chill out la-”
“Hey, no coffee party up there!!”, Manson shouted in annoyance.
“Fine... - Hey, you can cuddle later” , the drummer sighed and nudged the man in the orange dress next to him who reached Tim seconds before, planting a small kiss on his cheek with a huge smile on his face. Right in this moment he frightened to death though and lost his hold. He squeaked and fell. But for all that he fell not very far.
“TWIGGY! Get the fuck off!” , Tim shrieked in panic.
Ginger got a guilty conscience and blushed because Tim had to stand Twiggys weight now who clinched his lower legs until his fingernails pierce the black denim. Nevertheless the drummer followed Manson carefully on the way down.
“I can't!!”
“PLEASE, MAN! I can't stand it!”
“I dunno how to get off!!”
“I DON'T WANNA END UP IN POGO'S SCRUB!”
Meanwhile Marilyn and Ginger were joined to Pogo – not into the brushwood but finally on solid ground. When they were busy to brush off their dirty clothes the dispute between the two bassists went on.
“Okay, either I'll crush you on the ground when we fall down or you'll fall with my pants and – WOAH, JUST. GET. OFF!”
“I-”
“No, Twiggy! I'll drop you!”
“What!? I dare you!”
“No discussion!”
“How dare you!!?”

Just a little later both of them plunged down like overripe fruit, right into the same brushwood Pogo crushed shortly before. Marilyn and Ginger took their eyes off when someone blared awfully.
“YOU DESTROYED MY BEAUTIFUL BERRIES!”