Archive for February, 2007

Dear Drugs: THANK YOU!! for a real good time..

Fact:

Without illegal drugs, my life, up till & including tonight, would have sucked toast. Way bogus. I mean bad; a total waste of time.

It would have all been so stupid!!

Shit yes. I have problems. My life has been hard. But when I’ve needed them drugs have been there for me. When I had nowhere else to turn it was drugs that saved the day.

Even when my life sucks directly because of drugs it still beats the sad crap out of how bad life would suck with no drugs at all. I will go so far as to say I feel certain I would’ve killed myself long ago if the drugs weren’t on my side.

Why? Because drugs gave me something to live for. A reason to stay awake for another day & night when the sun comes up each morning. Yeah & you know what?

Drugs give me Hope!

Mostly they’ve helped me celebrate life with people I love. I am going to die one day. When I do I’ll look back over this 1 & 3/4 decades-long drug binge and congratulate myself for a job smashingly well done. Yeppers kiddoz! My first hit of weed was the smartest choice I ever made. Until I finally got to check out some of that L$D!!

And when you go without food — due to smoldering abject poverty — for a day or few you will thank Adolph Hitler, Sweet Mother Earth and maybe even Jesus — that evil cocksucker — for all the amphetamines.

So thanks again drugs. Just sorry you had to wear off so soon. Ya’ll come back now y’hear!

Ok. Off to sleep.

NOT!!

untitled.

spork.jpg

The Salmon Of Disco

Dig: The graph below demonstrates the difference in energy required to get a sober vs. a drunk person to dance at the disco party.

catalyst_effect.png

Notice that less energy is needed to activate a [red] catalyzed reaction — while a greater energy input is required to activate & drive its uncatalyzed [blue] counterpart to completion in the same amount of time.

Look the graph over once more while you chew on the above paragraph please; it’s entirely brain wraparound-able.

Like [blue] is the dude who just showed up cold sober to the party. While [red, catalyzed] is a properly liquored up party goer.

The reactions are complete when each hits the dance floor.

The red line denotes the amount of energy required before a lady-friend’s entreaties successfully convince a drunk person to disco dance. Blue for the amount of convincing Joe Sober dude needs.

The drunk person goes by the name Drunk Yo.

Joe Sober requires more energy to convince him to dance to We Are Family. You can count on it like a law of physics.

Drunk Yo’s activation energy is far lower than Joe Sober’s since Drunk Yo is halfway to the dance floor already.

Singing I got all my sisters & ME!!

By strategically lowering the activation energy required to move a drunk ass to the dance floor, liquor makes Drunk Yo a million times easier to convince. In this way liquor at the disco party behaves remarkably like chemical reaction catalysis.

Joe Sober will get funky eventually. It’s human nature. But without the benefit of catalysis…not funky enough. Not fast enough. Joe Sober is of no use to the party.

Not without liquid booze fuel.

Consider: a salmon steak breaks down far more readily, to its’ molecular components, in the presence of enzymes — digestive catalysts — in the stomach, than when left to rot in the sun. Each result — the molecular LEGO set from which salmon steak is originally assembled — looks quite the same.

But catalysis accelerates the situation in magnificently handy ways.

Yeah — whoa! — like Far Out.

Bitchin!!

If you learned one thing here today remember this: The crucial difference is speed.

Any questions?

the ignoramus mob

I just watched Fox News for like 2 minutes. Some correspondent was jabbering about Iran. Behind him, footage rolled on a telescreen of radiation-suited presumed-to-be Iranian nuclear workers doing their Business: rolling barrels about mostly. The segment ended. The scene cut back to the 6PM anchor, who said: “Thanks for the report. And keep an eye on those guys behind you — they look like they’re up to no good!”

A classic, balanced & fair Fox News Moment. Not quite awesome dudes but it was a hoot.

If you want to understand why the end of the world is about to happen you really must watch Fox News. Make note of who advertises. Never buy their product again. And remember: For roughly 25% to a third of Americans what you see there is Truth. A mere market share. By no means a majority. But a brutally sizable & well-connected ignoramus mob.

In many ways Fox is the most accurate news on TV because they modify the ignoramus mob’s thinking.

Galloway Nails It.

My buddy Galloway just ripped out a few superbly chosen words about writers (great fodder for me on a day when I’ve no choice words of my own).

Dig:

Writers are alchemists and they are chosen not manufactured. Chosen by whom? you ask. God? I don’t believe in God, so that’s out. What is there to believe in? Something bigger than ourselves? What could be bigger than a self? What could be bigger than ‘I’? Other men like me, perhaps? Only I’ve never met any.

Writers are chosen. Chosen by what they write. Curses are cast in soiled paper wraps, hexes are hurled through space via satellite and through wires and eventually are rendered in words. Spiritual beauty is to be found in anger. For rage moves like an erotic impulse towards the experience of time suspended; rage can expand the moment so that the whole of life becomes potentially one enormous and eternal present, like a piece of writing.

Wishful Thinking.

I just ignored a knock at the door.

Why not? I don’t want to see anyone.

And it’s my own damn door.

superstar love revisited

Dear Batya,

Remember how we thought we could sell a short book of our emails? My old & fiesty friend: we were On To It! Which is why I no longer fuck with email much even; just slap this letter here, my first to you in 5 years, straight on open container speedWay!

Where everything is for sale.

+$!

They were on the counter. Flowers. No one had — or has since thank goodness — ever fired me up a bouquet from afar. Dudes: bouquets suck! In Lieu of Flowers just replenish my online gambling account. From now on. Thanks!

But one thing about these flowers was so good it changed me.

Probably I cruised up to the Godz Club — the old place to be — to smoke pot in the walk in cooler. Hits from a carved parsnip bong. Cauldrons of Alien Turd Tea. Stirred with giant chocolate speed-dipped sporks. Yep. First they got the sporks banned. Then outlawed hallucinations altogether. What next? The dreaded ‘nuclear option;’ the US Supreme Court upholds a Texas verdict outlawing possession, manufacture or distribution of make-believe. Whoa!

Did they really?

For sure they banned smoking pot in the walk in cooler. Ask anyone — the place has gone sharp down hill since. Plus they changed their name: they’re the Organo Plug Butt-crunch Restaurant & Pimphouse now.

This! After all the hard work you & me put into that hell hole?

All a friend can say is ain’t it a Shame!!

+$!

Last time I seen her Batya wore a tank-top with 2 words — Oui on her right & WIN! on her left — emblazoned with a green Sharpie across her boob-flesh. The upper & meatier parts of each. Exposed brilliantly when flashed from her tank top; a creme colored affair with miniature lace whips, dangled like hells bells, where her spine curved crater-like into the small of her back. Two words were embroidered in scorpion-apple red across the back pockets of her vintage cut-off Sergio Valenti jeans.

Bitchen Dinero.

I always thought she meant her stack of cash was bitchin’ — Super cool.

But before I got the chance to ask off she go — amid a wild chorus of woohoOz! — with whoever says they’re sober to drive, on a daybreak airport run.

Absynthies says: “That’s the coolest thing about being Batya — must be! She comes. She whoops everyone’s asses, parties harder & harder every second until she leaves — then wooshOO! Gone. Like a hundred dollar bill on a drug run.

Fuckin rock star that Batya!!”

Hero. She does the stuff of heroes.

One time Batya emailed me a few hours after her latest stunning daybreak departure. Said she jumped a straight-shot taxi ride to her workplace’s front curb. About 10AM Chicago time. To cook food for the health conscious People. Except she inadvertently switched the blender flip on while she dislodged a root of ginger with her fingers from the industrial strength high speed blade.

It was just me & her on email back then. She fired off a detailed ‘still drunk’ missive of the incident moments later from the computer at her work. I replied: “Batya: I’m proud of you!!” Then jumped on the phone to tell all our friends! Gossip? No — this is news.

“Yep.” I said. “Last thing said was she planned to commandeer OJ & Champagne for Emergency Room Mimosas. And trade lesbian sex for loose doses of opiate pain yummiez!”

Who does that? Seriously. 2 cool!

I remember another time.

“A’right you guys I just bought every Beastie Boys cd ever made.” She commanded. “So look out.”

It was awesome after that.

Awesome but like all the good things in this world — not for long. I don’t remember when Batya left town exactly. I just remember, protestation aside, I admitted I couldn’t blame her.

Batya lives in New York City and I like the way New York City moves me.

I hit the top stair and swung to my right & into the once epic hangout now known as the Plug Butt-Crunch.

“Whose got me birthday doobages?!” I blurted.

“Right here,” Absynthies proffered the boquet Batya sent me. “Smoke up Johnny!!” “Shit yes,” another concurred. “Smoke ’em way the fuck up!!”

“Give it to Mike E: He’ll smoke anything!” Absynthies said of the daffidol or whatever the shit was. She picked on me, of course, but with deliberate kindness — it was after all my birthday.

“You should smoke the card Batya wrote you dude!” Absynthies assured. “For real. That will get you high. Like Mike E likes it!!”

That good? I thought. Someone else In The Know said, “Read it.”

It read:

Superstar Love!

GollygulpWe’eheeez!!!

It was — & very much is — among the coolest well wishes offered me by anyone ever.

I read it again. Thought about it ever since.

Back at yooz like a boOmSlang 180. Batya: I’m proud to be your friend!!

From one superstar to another: Dang. We superstars gotz to stick together these days!!

Oh..an entire medium-size Vermont town wishes you happy birthday Batya!

The crowd goes wild.

Superstar Love (spiked with XXX make-believe),
Mike E