The Amazon Adventure

Hours passed by and the band hit on a muddy stream when dusk had broken yet. Due to Ginger's botanic knowledge they were fulled up a bit. The sky was colored like a grapefruit and the terrible heat reduced slowly.
Twiggy started to wash his dirty dress in the brown water while the other men ran splashing into the smooth water to refresh themselves.
Meanwhile Tim's eaten stoner berry took effect. He followed the already naked Pogo into the brushwood near the stream and when he stepped out naked too, Twiggy made a huge drama out of it. Tim was too stoned to be on the edge, so he just gave Twiggy his biggest grin.
A little later the blonde man seemed to make a compromise but perhaps he and Pogo did it in either case: When the other men sat dull on the banks with their feet in the stream, both of them rollicked with selfmade bush skirts around, screaming like monkeys.

Twiggy sat querulous between Marilyn and Ginger, resting the chin in his hand defiantly. He stalked this (literally) monkey business in front of him frowning. Manson's new pet crawled about its new 'dad' and he seemed to be absentminded because he was nonstop gazing at the muddy water surface.
Ginger gnawed on a wrinkled fruit as he was contemplating his really dirty fingernails.
“Hey Twigs, where is your purse?”
The bassist looked up quite aggressive.
“What's about my gay purse, huh?!”
Ginger looked pretty disturbed, he shrugged unawakened.
“Well... you surely have a manicure set in it?...”
“Fishey come on, I'd never lend it to you! Just look at your ugly, dirty fingers!... and I don't mentioned the rest of you yet... ugh!”
Twiggy wrinkled his nose and did a dismissive gesture. Ginger pouted.
“That's why I...”
Before he could encumber himself furthermore, Tim dashed over so that the drummer oozed with manky water. Seconds later Pogo followed his playfellow. Ginger wiped some wet strands out of his eyes snarling.
Twiggy sighed hard and stood up, fumbling his willy out to piss into the stream thoughtlessly. Both, Ginger and Marilyn, pulled out their feet synchronous but Tim and Pogo still played determined in the brown water, babbling in their odd and animalistic language that only those crazy guys were able to understand.
Marilyn was now glaring at them deadpanned.
“At least we're keeping the wild animals at bay...”
Meanwhile Ginger tried to clean his fingernails with a twig he found. He was lost in his procedure, strands of dripping wet hair dangled in his face.
“Mhmm... I remember... when he's imitating guitar sound... John would also manage this.”

All of a sudden the three men paused. The world seemed to be frozen for seconds before they burst out all shocked:
“JOHN!!!”
The pelt of the tarantula bristled due to the bloodcurdling collective yelp. As fast as it could the spider crept seeking for protection right beneath Manson's greasy hair.
Twiggy gasped. “Fffffuck... We've forgotten him in the treetop...”
He forgot to put his dick in and looked really crestfallen now.
“...And now? What shall we do?...”
Ginger looked rather unhappy too. Manson swallowed.
“We have to keep cool, we can't go back...” , He was still shocked but suddenly he distorted his face for anger. “Gee! What an idiot! He knew that we were walking on!...”
Twiggy stood there lost in his own piss when Tim sprinted over and splashed him unintended.

“Ey Twig, 's uuup?? - Hehe, there's something hanging out of your dress. LOL!”
Twiggy, Ginger and Manson stared completely deadpanned at the usually serious guy.
“Whuss?” , Tim asked again and started picking his nose.
Twiggy came out from his state of shock and the first thing he did was beating Tims arm down.
“Stop picking your nose, how can you pick your nose in a moment like this!?! WE'VE FORGOTTEN JOHN!”
The blonde one gave a blank stare at him. “Really?”
Marilyn growled. “Yes really, or do you see John anywhere?!”
He squinted disastrous at Ginger who was still gaping with an open mouth.
“Drink piss, fool.”
Marilyn grabbed his drummer by the nape and pushed Gingers face into the stinky water rapidly.
Tim beckoned to his playfellow. “Pogooo, c'me over here!”
The named man went quickly by his side like a well-bred dog, grinning from ear to ear without any reason. He kept a dead fish in his hand.
“'S up?”
“John's missin'. Let's call the FBI” , Tim said whose pupil's lessened dramatically although the sun was very low so that you could barely spot anything.
Pogo nodded and reached him the dead fish.
Marilyn, Ginger and Twiggy looked on blankly what was going on in front of them:
Tim took the fish, dialed an imaginary number and held the dead and slimy thing to his ear, waiting for someone of the FBI who - of course - won't answer.
“Nobody's answering”, He shrugged and gave the fish back to Pogo who threw it disappointed into the brown water.
“There is only one thing we can do, Skold: We have to establish a search party!”
“The two of us?” , Tim said wide-eyed with a hint of childlike joy in his voice.
When his friend nodded he clapped his hands in pure excitement and yelped “Yippee!”.
Before anyone could react the pseudo-bushmen scurried back into the jungle.

The following two days nothing special happened.
Ginger yearned hard for his drums so he tried to tinker a little drum set. It looked rather primitive but he was really happy to hold something like drumsticks in his hands. Ginger took them as they crossed the smooth stream and went on though he had to left the provisional drum set itself.
Due to the keyboardists exceptionally well sense of orientation the two-man team achieved alleged the tree where the band landed on but for all that they didn't track John down. It wasn't that bad in their opinion because they discovered a lot of stoner berries – enough for two or three weeks.
The so-called search party got back from somewhere after exactly one day.
Twiggy frightened to death as someone or something nudged him from behind - it only was Tim though. Much to Tim's regret the man with the dreadlocks decided not to speak with his lover anymore so he ignored the blonde's generous offer of stoner berries. Twiggy wrote enraged in his diary more than ever.
Marilyn nearly had cyclical variation like a menstruating woman and he vent his anger on none other than Ginger who only had his pseudo-drumsticks to defend himself.
They went on straight, expecting that the damaged plane will be in front of them soon. Nobody really dared to estimate how long they were (and above all would even be) in the claws of the green hell now.
From Pogo's point of view – in the meantime from Tim's, too – the jungle was a huge playground.
When they didn't spend time in the wood like wild monkeys, Pogo used to comment seemingly indiscriminate plants, trees and stones like this:
“Oh look, we went past this palm twice!”
Mr Manson wasn't amused about this 'cause none of them could correctly assess the keyboardists statements, not even Marilyn himself although he knew Pogo for the longest time. So he became really upset and shooed him.
“Go fucking back into the fucking wood, stupid fuckin' hoe!”
One afternoon Twiggy was about washing his worn out, orange dress again as they rested this time next to a wide river which wasn't that muddy than the stream before when suddenly an excited Pogo quarried out the brushwood. None of them startled anymore when something burst out the jungle – either it was Pogo or Tim or both of them.

Marilyn sat leaning on a little tree near the riverside, waiting for 'Erin' who was at the tree looking out for some insects, little birds or something else.
The singer chewed on his fingernails as Pogo appeared next to him.
“What” , Manson greeted the pseudo-bushman annoyed. Pogo just goggled nervously at him, the behavior was rather unusual for his person.
“The-there... We discovered something.”, Pogo was breathing heavily when he pointed at the edge of the jungle. Manson frowned.
“So what!? You permanently track some shit down: Trees, bugs, pebbles... I'm not your damn keeper confirming and pampering you! Get off and don't-”
“Nonoreally, Mar'lyn! This time we... really discovered another thing.” He paused and fumbled for words, straighten his ridiculous and already damaged skirt.
“Ehm... it's in the following way... We think we track down John.”
Twiggy suddenly stopped washing and Ginger paused cutting up the heap of fish he angled. They were all on the edge - except Marilyn who grimaced with sarcastic joy.
“Well! He's hiding, am I right? Oh, little Johnny is afraid of me breaking his nose... - COME OUT NOW, IMBECILE PUSSY!”
Pogo went over Ginger who continued cutting up fish hesitantly. One night the drummer had stolen Twiggys nail scissors because he held that preparing food was more important for lost men than cutting fingernails.
“Oh... I think it isn't necessary anymore. Skold, bring him!” , Pogo giggled pretty insane and grabbed a dead fish that wasn't done yet.
“You're about making Sushi? I love you, Ginge!”
Ginger looked up confused and he frowned when he noticed that his crazy bandmate had stolen a fish.
“Ehm – no?! Just fuck off and stop taking fish without being asked!”
It was too late 'cause Pogo stuffed the whole fish in his insatiable maw. While he chewed, a watery-red trickle ran down one corner of his mouth. Manson, Twiggy and Ginger distorted their faces for pure disgust as they heard the crackling bowels and fish bones.

There was a rustling in the jungle but it was only Tim who kept an old rope. Twiggy turned away from him with ostentation and scrubbed his gown vigorously.
Ginger raised one eyebrow rather dissapointed but still curious.
Tim looked a bit pale as he stepped forward and pulled at the rope.
“Tadaah, here he is!” , The keyboardist presented smiling like a business man his friends the tied odd thing.
The three men goggled shocked at this bloated, black thing where a lot of flies buzzed around.
Ginger fainted immediately on the heap of fish bowels.
Twiggy shrieked like a girl in a horror movie and tumbled into the water.
Marilyn just swallowed hard and stood up slowly. He approached the corpse, crossing his arms behind the back. Then the black haired man bent down and nudged it with his foot.
“Hm... well, if this should be John...” , He scratched his head.
Twiggy got down on his knees in the smooth water near the banks and cried out dramatically:
“Oh my god, John!!...”
Tim picked his nose again when he was speculating:
“Maybe some jungle witches strangled him because he got on their nerves.”
After a thoughtful pause he sucked a big booger from his index finger.
Manson sighed – then he paused and glared at Tim but not by reason of the booger.
“You know what this means?” , He pointed at the rotting, unidentified corpse.
Tim blinked obtuse.
Manson continued without noticing the drugged man furthermore. He was rather talking to himself.
“A corpse means that's anybody out there! Perhaps we're near a jungle village or something like that. Better bushmen than nothing...”
Pogo went over Tim, Marilyn and the mysterious corpse. He grinned and wiped away an eye running down the corner of his mouth.
“Haven't I mentioned that we watched some natives hunting monkeys?”