Archive for the 'drink & drive' Category

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


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.


If I had a dollar for every year of Galloway’s life I’d be a GAZILLIONARE!

When I read that blog, I was thunderstruck. Personally, I don’t
know how anyone could advocate drinking and driving – not matter the
–My Mom

My mom isn’t alone; most often, the stuff I swear is raw spleen-split hilarity gets me the classic ‘I’m embarrassed for you because that is SO not funny’ stare. I learned many posts ago to go on & delete anything that erupts me into double-hunch gas blasts of laughter. The kind of thing that would rudely startle even the mighty Galloway.

Which ain’t easy. Mainly because Galloway — best new friend I’ve made in years btw — turns a gazillion years old today! Happy gazillionth birthday G! For those who don’t know: Galloway is the Cool Blogger Across The Street. Posted some first-rate Fiction recently. Check it out Big Time.

You see some Shit in a gazillion years. All kinds. So what does it take to startle a gazillion-year-old? A gazillion dollars cash I bet would startle him into a happy-fit tizzy. And I bet my very funniest bits could startle him noxious. If I went on & published them…

Can’t do. Don’t dare.

I don’t aim to offend. It’ll happen though…and when it does the offended party can Fuck Off & never come back. Or preferably leave instructions in the comment box for me to do the same…

Huh. Tell someone to zark off from their own blog — now that’d be an Act of Class.

‘You heard that right there blog-boy! Why don’t you do the world a favor & just DELETE this lousy online crap-sack??’
That’s Free Speech for ya, umK? Reader Beware!

But I never wanted to offend my poor mother. Which, I point out, is precisely Why my blog’s url was kept mercifully secret from her.

Well she found it in her own sneaky way — and I realized: if my Mom wants to hang around this crappy joint that’s cooler than SuperCool with me.

So I sent her this email to Clarify my stance of unabashed support re: drunk driving.

Mom — the drinking & driving skits are a Joke.

In 2003 there were 50,000 handgun deaths in America. But only 30,000 drunk driving related fatalities. At cursory glance the evidence suggests handguns are more dangerous than drunks behind the wheel.

Yet the gunslingers have a powerful mega-lobby which deliberately misconstrues the 2nd Amendment; we have local militias armed to the teeth already; as per their constitutional guarantee. Unfortunately they’re all in Iraq — sucks for us when Shit Happens (sunken cities etc) and we need them.

But that’s another story. The point here is if the gunslingers are so well represented well hadn’t the drunks oughta be too?

Now I’m no constitutional scholar. Just another smart-ass American with a loose interpretation of the Equal Protection clause — and a sui generis Zeal for my own damn Freedom of Speech.

I propose we turn more drunks loose to run wild on the road. I know you disagree. Yeah — well I say Get With the Program! Oppose drunk driving?? Mom — that’s just so o pre 9-11.

Think about it: odds are eventually one will collide with a terrorist on their way to car-bomb a Sunday School.


Support Your Local Drunk Driver I Say!!

It’s the least we can do for the Children.

Meanwhile…anti drunk driving laws are no better than a blatant rip off. A cash cow for cops. Who have if not personal then surely an institutionally vested interest in keeping drunks on the road. Shit — repeat offenders are where the Big Money is!

Hope this clears things up a bit.

Drunk Driving Laws: the Case Against

What we need is an organization to bribe Congress for the Right to enjoy our liquor while we cruise. Yep. Enshrine it in a Constitutional Guarantee.

What about the Pursuit Of Happiness?? Says right in the Constitution that we’re endowed by the Creator with the right to pursue our own happiness.

Yet I don’t see a damn word where it says we gotta drive sober on the way!

Yeah — but what about all those Sober Drivers who always get in the way?

They suck.

I say this: If you mess with a drunk driver in patriotic pursuit of their God Given Right to be happy…why, that means you Hate Freedom.


Like Galileo Dropped the Orange

Want. Beer. Go!

Reach arm forward.

Grasp. Sip…


It happens.

When it does we have these to thank:
It’s a molecule of adenosine triphosphate (ATP). Note the *A* and the three *P*’s. The *A* is adenosine. The *P*’s represent one phosphate each. Adenosine triphosphate.

ATP is the biochemical equivalent to the right music on loud or a six pack of beer in the Tank. The ‘energy Currency of the Cell.’ It makes stuff Go. Like your arm when it reaches for a beer.

Want. Beer.

Here’s the Deal: Thermodynamic energy is stored in the chemical bonds between each of those *P*’s. When the bond is broken the energy is released & works like a spark struck to fuel.


When the phosphate bond in ATP is broken, the molecule becomes adenosine diphosphate (ADP). When the phosphate is reattached in the mitochondria it is once again adenosine triphosphate.


Guess they tried to teach me this crap in high school. But I thought it was Stupid – like the other dumb bull they tried to cram down my throat. Like Don’t Drink & Drive.

Yeah I got news for you Pals – drinking & driving is Patriotic…and cool!!

Alrighty then kids. That’s the Lesson for today…

give your jar of crappy old Speed to me.

One thing you can for sure say about a Green House Party: There’ll still be a good 15 folks drinking beer on the front lawn 72 hours later.

‘Fuck YES!!’ Someone may exclaim. ‘It ain’t a party unless it goes on all weekend!’

‘You know,’ a cohort will point out, ‘I don’t think it’s still the Weekend.’

‘No way,’ the beat goes on, ‘Even better!’

There’ll be silence for a bit of while. Till someone says:

‘I have no idea what day it is!’

The party stragglers respond with 2 words, sung in wastoid unison.

‘Right On!’

Happens every time.

Another thing happens at every Green House Party. I show up, say some Hellos & look for my buddy grooveBeaker. Find, say hi & high-5 him. Peel a lap around the inside of the house. Built in a circular concept – with no doors to separate the kitchen, living & dining room – it takes about 7 to 15 seconds, dependent on traffic conditions, to route the entire first floor.

I first ran into grooveBeaker in the kitchen, then split – to not be rude – and dashed around the house. Met back up a few seconds later a few steps from where I left him. Acted casual. A little surprised to see him again so quickly. Took a step past him, then pretended to remember something; a question I wanted to ask. Small question. Nothing to see here.

By now the farce is comic – grooveBeaker knows my Game. He gives me the nod. Before I pop the Question I dart my eyes around the crowd of faces. It is always good in these moments to have a Plan B. So I made a quick mental tally of other likely Prospects.

‘Yo, uh so grooveBeaker there,’ I stammered reluctantly, ‘You you know got like any…’

grooveBeaker eyed me blankly. His expression revealed nothing. He could’ve finished my sentence for me. Or cut straight past the verbal mumbo jumbo & just dispensed the festivities. He could. But why would he? He stood to gain nothing by making it easy.

I saw that he was unwilling to cooperate. It jarred me from my feigned pleasantry. I mean am I some kind of god damn old lady?


‘Yo I’m Mike E bitch!’ I explained. ‘I go crazy without Dexedrine. And we wouldn’t want that, right? So fork ‘em over you dumb honky slut!’

His chin began to tremble. For a second I thought he would cry. I wondered if maybe grooveBeaker was getting too old for this shit. Until I realized my friend was strained to hold back a bellyfull of laughs.

Wonderful. You’ve heard the old adage: Laughter is the Best Medicine.

‘What did you just call me?’ He asked.

‘I called you? No way. You called ME, pal. For medical advice. Remember? Asked me if it was true that laughter was good medicine. Yeah. Boy. Shit is fucking spectacular medicine. As your doctor I advise you to laugh like a hyena on PCP. Yeppers – best medicine ever! Now…seeing that you got a whole belly full of that BOMB shit…it would be psycho pharmacologically advantageous to give your jar of crappy old Speed to me. Thanks for calling!’

Like jazz; make-believe in motion; poetry.

In short, a smashing performance. I felt like a million bucks. Where moments earlier I felt like I owed some dude $50!

I closed my eyes and savored the moment. Felt a mile-long drug eating grin curl from lip to ear. I quietly thanked the Cosmix Gonzo for making me so smart. The Cosmix Gonzo didn’t answer. I figured because the Cosmix Gonzo was speechlessly pleased.

I peered through my squinted eyes. grooveBeaker stood there still. But his mind was far away.

I raised my eyebrows. Held my hand out to receive my hard-won pile of Dexies. Looked intently at my friend. He looked like he wanted something from me. I was stunned. How much more could I give?

‘I have no idea what you just said Mike E.’ grooveBeaker informed me. ‘It didn’t matter. But I must know what name you just called me.’

My outstretched hand fell wearily. Righto. Jokes over then. Pity. I thought it rather funny. But to the dude with pills – only one who counts – my very good joke never happened.

Oh well. At least I’d get to call him a dumb honky slut again.

‘I called you a dumb honky slut,’ I replied, ‘You Dumb Honky Slut!!’

‘That’s what I thought Mike E. I love you man!’ grooveBeaker’s voice welled with emotion. He hugged me.

Great. Maybe I’ll make a t-shirt that says I WENT TO THE GREEN HOUSE PARTY AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY HUG!! A long hug.

The Cosmix Gonzo hates me.

grooveBeaker stepped back. Finally. A nearby lady party-goer called us Homos.

I told her to go lick the carpet and hit her up for speed.

‘Yeah — I got Adderall.’ The lady party-goer said, then looked at grooveBeaker. He gazed at me like I was the coolest thing to come along since the doctor who diagnosed him with ADD. ‘But you can’t have it. Cause you’re kinda Cute you know, but — what’s in it For Me?’

‘I hope you’re happy.’ I told grooveBeaker.

‘Happy as a speed freak in an orchard of amphetamine trees! You know why?’


‘Because you called me a dumb honky slut.’ My friend beamed, ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me!!’

‘Of course it is. Yeah. Shit I tell you what – give me a pile of Dexedrine’s and I’ll wish you HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!’

Just then DJ 20 MG happened coincidentally by. ‘Well that was a pain in the ass huh?’ He said, ‘I almost gave up!’

‘How long you been stalking me?’ I asked.

‘The whole time. I know what it means when you circle around and find grooveBeaker 3 or 4 minutes after you get here!’

I handed him a pill. He looked at it & me. ‘Just one?’ he asked, ‘Dude – that took an hour! Don’t short me!’

‘You know what?’ I asked, laughed & broke the pill & ate half. ‘grooveBeaker’s girlfriend thinks you’re one Dumb Honky Slut!’

‘That’s right — me & yo Momma!’

Cosmic Affirmation

First off, a BIG HOWDY to all you drunk drivers out there!!

We got some, here on Open Container speedWay. I checked my Stats recently, and noticed an unintended side-benefit to the name I chose for my Blog. For reasons known only to them, a few folks, somewhere, have found need to Google requests like:

Cost for Open Container in Moving Vehicle

I’m not sure what they expected — I’d guess to find out how busted they were, the next morning — or else they were Shopping Around, for jurisdictions that afford optimal leniency to the Open Container enthusiast.

Way to take Responsibility for your choice of recreational activity!! They say Don’t Do the Crime if you can’t do the Time — but how many of us bother to do the research?

Whether looking to avoid some, or in it already, the harbinger of that Google search was Trouble.

Here’s what they found front & center on their Google results page:

the Open Container speedWay – 3 visits – Jun 28
By my good estimate, a six-packed downed in a moving vehicle is as good, MPG-wise, as…gas in the tank … – 35k – Cached Similar pages

On occasion, life will provide verifiable proof that what you do is Right. Like when my hometown newspaper unexpectedly printed my eulogy for Hunter S. Thompson. With a serendipitous twist: it ran on my birthday.

We’ve all had these Cosmic Affirmations. But this is my first churned out of a Google search engine result.