So LONG suckaZ!!

One time me & MG Tank were driving out to a Phish show in Rochester NY. Flipping dials on the FM radio. Suddenly the announcer was like News Flash!! Phish are coming to town — along with what the local police chief described as the Phish band’s notorious Drug Problem.

My jaw dropped. MG Tank’s eyes lit up. I Laughed riotously. Let out a one-word gasp:


MG Tank stammered excitedly and finally said ‘DUDE!!!’

Then both at once: ‘That’s me & YOU!!’

Wow. Notorious?

That’s right. Alert the Youth! We are the Drug Problem & we’re coming to your Town.

We’ll help you Party Down!!

Just then we saw a cop about a quarter-mile back & closing fast in the passing lane. He pulled alongside & eyed us suspiciously. I looked at MG Tank & noticed his eyes were clasped fearfully shut behind his sunglasses. I knew it was my job to Jedi mind-trick the cop since MG Tank was busy driving.

‘We are not the Drug Problem you’re Looking For.’ I said aloud. MG Tank opened his eyes. Flipped his sunglasses onto his forehead. Then turned & winked at the cop. Nothing to see here.

Couple’a rock & roll fans is all — with a borrowed station wagon & enough dried alien turds to make a medium-sized village laugh literally until they puke.

Oh yeah — and a homemade bumpersticker that says I Am Your Brain On Drugs ASShole!!

Problem? Shit we’re the solution.

The cop sped suddenly off & dissolved into the horizon. Why? I guessed for quantum reasons; perhaps because though we both traveled down a Thruway on Earth we in fact inhabit different planets entirely.

MG Tank had a different theory:

‘I think he went to go eat a used douche.’

We were both right more than likely.

Gets me to think on the time in Nebraska on Fall ’95. Now…Tank & me got away with It. But the one dude in Lincoln got away with It in style.

All I saw was two cops storm him from behind. Wanted to search his backpack. On the probable grounds that he seemed to prefer that they didn’t. A commotion ensued as the cops salaciously groped the kid — I call him the Quarterback — & barraged him with dumb questions.

Like: BOY! What kind of Drugs you got on you??

I don’t know what the dude had on him. A big old honker pile o’Whatevers I bet. God bless him if he did. I know for sure he had a glass marijuana pipe which he kept in a sewn padded pouch. The pouch was about the size of a football. It flew through the air like one too. Spiraled just overhead of the concert-goers who were crowded along the sidewalk.

Why not? That glass marijuana pipe was Evidence. And evidence is always better off hurled 20 feet down the way least ye Quarterback get sacked. Especially when not one but both cops haul off & chase the evidence down the street.

The Quarterback split smartly & laid low until he was safely inside the show. I never knew his name. But I’ll never forget how he made those two cops look like butt-wipe stooges in Lincoln.

The evidence was caught by a random admirably alert passerby; the Wide Receiver.

The cops got to the wide receiver. But what could they do? In front of a hundred witnesses the pouch fell into his arms out of the clear twilit sky.

Or did it?

‘Watcha Got There boy??’ The cops demanded.

The wide reciever smiled & shrugged. Held his hands palm-open. Turned his pockets inside out; patted his head & rubbed his belly.

‘Not a damn thang.’ He said. ‘I swear on Jerry’s grave.’

It was true. The pipe-pouch was gone. Poof. Hand-off maybe. Who knew?

The cops lurched idiotically this way & that. Someone politely suggested they check the Lost & Found. And the people all watching enjoyed a good laugh.


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