I’m Proud Of Me.

Tonight I took just enough pills to cause me to hit the drive-through at Wendy’s. Order for Absynth Eve & me. Drive to the second window. Pay. Get change back from my $20. Drive off & tool oh I’d say a good ten miles down the road. When Absynth Eve grew acutely panicked when she could not immediately locate her Frosty root beer float.

“It’s around somewhere dude.” I assured her. And hoped that somewhere was easily accessible — since Absynth Eve & I live in her car amongst many of her’s and all of my own — albeit very few — worldly possesions, those lost Frosty root beer floats have been known to take literally days to dig for & locate. I hoped for the best. But was on balance not overly concerned. As I reached, with supreme confidence, to the mid console cup holder where my own Frosty root beer float had every reason to be.

By now we’d driven at least another mile or so.

“What’d you do with my Frosty root beer float?” I asked suspiciously. And wished suddenly that I’d got a different kind of Frosty float — orange soda maybe — than my friend’s. Whom I carelessly assumed had taken unfair possession of mine after she’d lost her own. Of course she did. Must have. Then where was mine?? Yeah I bet she don’t know. Where else would it be? In all realms of possibility nowhere. But could I prove it? Nope.

Same damn float.

Another mile.

“Did I forget the floats?” I asked incredulously. “Are you completely shitting me? Fuck I wanted one.”

“Wanted? Oh fuck no.” Absynth Eve corrected me sternly. “I will have one. You have to go back!”

“Just for the floats?”

“Just for the floats — it’s all for the floats. That ratty cheeseburger I really do need to eat so I don’t die was just an excuse to pull in & get me a Frosty root beer float!!”

It really was about that fucked up with the eating thing; where some 99 cent Wendy’s pretenda-bacon cheeseburger was our long sought nutrient level salvation from late-stage poverty induced starvation. But would we have gone back for them? Probably not. Think of the gasoline we’ll waste and besides — what Counts are the root beer float Frosties.

Those are what we use to ward off the depression you get from living in a Toyota Echo.

Serious business.

Abandon the Frosties? Can’t happen.

No indeed.

But you can it turns out drive off & plumb forgot the burgers along with the Frosties & fries — the whole damn order in fact. And not realize it until you’ve tooled a good 15 miles along. It can happen. But only under special chemically adjusted circumstances.

You have to pop enough pills to really space way out, man! A right proper amount. And tonight well by golly — I DID!!

Listen Up Yo!

Live@Wembley 7.7.07

Beautiful Buzz Mother Lode

We were
somewhere near
PLUTO when the drugs
Began to take
hold

Feelin fine x-tremely sharp
like we can ride the boogie
in Total Control

The Wookie poured Make-Believe from a jug on to her chest to facilitate the tanning process.

Just then a Uniform Dwark appeared

Squeegeed
my 3rd eye

And ther ya have it:
the Difference
between
Just gettin by
& doing it with a dollup of Style.

“I can’t see through the hallucianations.” I squinted. Shielded my eyes with what appeared to be a bowl of petunias, attached to my wrist. I chuckled. Thought my hand might be there instead of the petunias? Silly me. Then remembered Hunter S. Thompson’s famous last words: There’s no such thing as hallucionations. Just the things more easily seen on, say mescaline.

The petunia bowl tried to shake my other hand hello. Have you ever seen bowl of petunias try to shake hands? Neither had Gonzo. Gonzo? Yeah. Gonzo from the Muppets. Freaked him right out and that is no small feat; Gonzo being no stranger to the rodeo.

He disbanded his self from my other wrist and departed nervously to phone for a space ship ride home.

Which freed up my freshly reappeared hand to put a lips-bound swing on a frosty cold Pabst Blue Ribbon can. The petunia bowl would not grasp the steering console cooperatively so I leaned back in the chair & piloted the space ship with one knee. When my can was emptied a PBR dwark hustled back with another. When I poured it over the Dwark’s head — to test his Loyalty — he profusely apologized. Then returned with not just a beer but also a dancing girl and a few Swiss Bank accounts. I instructed to dancing girl to wipe her ass with money.

“Hundred dollar bill?” She asked.

“This time,” I scratched my chin thoughtfully & did the math & decided. “Go on & make it a euro500.”

There are no such things as hallucinations.

Shroomz are awesome dudes!

I gave up trying to see. Eased my Day Off space ship into orbit around Tralfamadore. Turned to the passenger seat. Offered the Wookster a brew.

“You’ll need one.” I warned. “Drink up! It’s your turn to drive.”

I wanted to play cards.

You know what the only thing is on Earth that beats a good drug high? When you gamble & win. Each is a rush; a head to toe sink down glorious feeling. But when you win you get the rush plus a pile of cash. A glorious, glorious feeling!

Yeah. But how about when you gamble & win with a freshly drug skewered brain?

The beautiful buzz mother load.

Gear
Shift set for go
Go
GO!!

All In
on a stone bluff
just to watch
Sucka M C’z
FOLD.

Synchronicity In Drunken Motion

I have a friend. speedWay readers know her by the moniker Absynth Eve. My friends in Vermont know who I mean. But seem to not understand why me & Absynth Eve hang out.

Absynth Eve is my friend.

My old friend; we met in 1994. I was selling beer & Jagermiester shots from a cooler on the sidewalk in front of the Burger King adjacent to the Glenn’s Falls Civic Center arena in upstate New York.

It rained torrential that Halloween night. But I was sheltered by the part of Burger King’s roof that hung out over their sidewalk. The Burger King management had seemingly no qualm with the unlicensed vendor who boisterously hawked booze on their premises. They were too over run with their own customers to care.

A giant digital clock above us kept revelers assiduously aware of the time. The revelers were duly appreciative; lest we become inadvertently too drunk or stoned or spun kookie on shrooms to keep track of the time for ourselves.

Phish would play at 9PM sharp. And it would be legendary. So no one wanted to miss even the first notes of the gig.

Sometime after dark — maybe around 7 — a young lady approached me. She was soaking wet and looked a bit shaken.

“Everything OK?” I asked.

“No!” She explained. “I just got into a car accident!”

“Oh shit. Were you drunk?” I queried.

“Shit yes I was.” She assured me. “Good thing I wasn’t actually driving!”

“No kidding.” I agreed. “I try not to drive drunk. Though I do so enjoy a cold behind-the-wheel brew!”

“Me too.” My new friend winked. “Except I like to have a beer in one hand & a shot in the other. You know. Smoke a joint maybe & pop a few shrooms. Steer with my knees…Which is exactly what I was just now up to. But someone crashed in to me! What should I do?”

Like is this girl for real? I wanted to know.

“Hold on!” I protested what appeared a hole in her story. “You said you weren’t driving.”

“Not actually driving.” She corrected me. “I was in the drivers seat. Beer. Shot. Bong hit. Popped a couple shrooms. Dig? All of the sudden I needed to use my knees to steer because my hands were full and — even though the car was parked — the shrooms made it go vroom!”

Ah yes. I could see it happening.

“Shit girl.” My voice filled with admiration. “You got so lit up that you crashed your parked car?? That is WAY cool!”

I gave her a beer and a shot. And — having been slooped on booze myself at the time — forgot about the whole encounter. Until a half-decade later. When I made a new friend at the Bar back home in Loserboro, Vermont. We chatted about some things and got drunk. At some point I mentioned something about the time I sold beer in the rain outside the Burger King at the ’94 Halloween Phish show.

“Underneath the huge clock?” Absynth Eve asked, eyes widened with surprise.

“Yeah. Right there beneath the clock. Freezing cold out, but no one gave a fuck. The beer business boomed. Oh yeah,” I added. “I sold liquor too.”

“Jagermiester?” Sophie asked.

“How did you know?”

“You gave me a shot.”

“No shit?”

I wasn’t surprised. I’m not shall we say profit savvy with fun things. I like to give fun things away.

“No shit.” Said Absynth Eve at the Bar in Loserboro while we chatted & got drunk when we thought we’d first met back in 1999. “Don’t you remember me?”

I wanted to. It’s always good to remember things about a new lady friend like their names and when you first met. I strained mentally until the words flew like snarfed beer from my mouth:

“Oh shit,“ I exclaimed. “You’re the girl who crashed her parked car!! Yo I got mad respect for you.”

It was all over after that. In the near-decade that has passed we have been some things. Tremendous allies. Near mortal enemies. Fuck buddies. Ex fiances. Sages. Fools. Healthy advesaries. Petty rivals.

Kindred spirits.

Partners in the crime of survival.

Friends.

To this day & always.

And if you don’t like it you can KISS my fat black ass.

Bur probably you won’t get the chance; you probably won’t see me around.