Disclaimer:    To any respected or easily offended people.  All of the following events never happened.  I have never done, or even will do any of the drugs that are listed in following text.  This is a completely fictitious book filled with drug use and fowl language.  Once again, this is completely fiction.  It is also an unfinished work, and will probably remain unfinished and un edited until someone tells me that they enjoyed it and I should continue.  If you have now decided to read on I hope you enjoy the odd humor that I portray in the following text.  Thank You.










        He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.





           It was Friday night. If you need money for the bills Friday is always the same; get off work and go party.  My friend Carl and me work at a place called Long Bonged Slippers, he’s the night cook and I’m his manager.  There’s nothing like dropping cardboard cutouts of fish into 350 degrees of grease to give someone the right views on life.

          Anyway, it was Friday and we both had just finished our shift.  I was so ready to get the hell out of hell it wasn’t even right.  We had spent the night in almost catatonic despair; only “decent people” can be assholes on a Friday night like that.

          Carl went outside to start his car to warm it up and left me to shut out the light and lock up.  It was colder than a witches titty in a brass bra during a snowstorm, let me tell you. Just as I was turning out the last light the phone rang.  I knew it was to be a good trip.


          I answered the phone, “Long Bonged Slippers, got empty pipes?”

          “What are you looking for man?” I heard from the other end.

At about this time I’m starting to wonder who the fuck this is. So I answer with the usual,

          “Shrooms, bud, cid, kegs and drip man.  What you got?”

          “Cid,” the voice replied.  I started to get all numb inside.  There is nothing more depraved than Carl and me on an acid binge.  I knew we were getting into that rotten stuff tonight.

          I went ahead and made the deal and set up the drop-off and told Stimpy to wait for a sec.  Here we were, two good-ol’ boys getting tripped out and having the time of our lives.

          I flew out of that bitch like a bat outta’ hell, forgetting to lock the doors and set the alarm.  “Carl!!” I screamed, as I slammed my hands on the driver side window.  “What the hell??” Carl rolled his window down, and reached out his hand to wipe the sweaty fingerprints off.  “Dammit man!”

          The drool slowly rolled down my lip, hitting the pavement, as the word rolled of my lips like a babbling drunk.  “Ciiiiiid.”  I saw Carl’s eyes light up like the star on a Christmas tree, and I knew we shared the same warm and fuzzy happiness. 

          As he white-smoked the tires of the Taurus, I lit two Marlboros.  We turned on some Ozzy and flew out of the parking lot like there was no tomorrow.  Just then a sinking feeling of the premonition came to me, Carl hit something in the road.  There was a loud booming pop, the unmistakable burst of a tire.  Then I knew the golden prize of the night was further away then I had hoped.

          “What are we going to do!?”  Carl ran his fingers through his hair, with that frustrated look in his eyes.  “Relax man,” I said, reaching into my pocket.  “I’ve got your cell phone, remember?”

          “Yeah, but you bought the wrong type of card for it.”

          “Mother fucker! Are you ever going to let that die??  Anyway, I got the right card for it yesterday.” 

          “Let’s call Stanley!”

          I really did not want to resort to calling this guy, but I knew that Spazo was our only hope, save for a tow truck.  My hands flew across the keypad, dialing the number.  One ring, two ring, three ring.  ‘Slow bitch’ I thought to myself.

          “Ha-ha-ha-hello?”  I heard from the other end. 

“Stan the man!”  I called out into the phone.  “You’ll never guess what shit were into.”

          “Now just wait a minute here, guy!  My mom never got over the last stunt you made me pull.”  I grinned remembering last weekend’s adventure to Shelbyville, on a shroom trip.

          “Nah man, you have it all bass-ackwards,” I laughed, “dip-shit just popped a tire and we need you to get me to my house.”

          “All right man, I’ll be there in a sec.”  As I hung up the phone I got that funny feeling and turned to my comrade.

          “Lets take this shit now and we’ll only have to wait a short while when we get to my place,” I said with that starved look in my eyes.  He slowly grinned and nodded his head once.  I passed him three hits of this shit with a Yuk face on it and he popped it into his mouth like m&m’s.

          We waited for what seemed like forever when Spaz pulled up to the car honking the horn like a deranged lunatic.  “Shit man!  Cut it out will ya?” I yelled as I got out the passenger side.  He was laughing like some old town drunk from an early English novel.

          “Get in!  what you guys doin tonight?” he yelled over his stereo as we climbed in.  His car was roasty toasty with the heat on full blast. 

          “Acid,” I replied

          “Oh shit man!  What’s that shit like?  I’ve never done that shit before!”  I could tell he was starting to spas out and I suddenly lost control of myself and started roaring with insane glee.  It sounded kind of like a mix between a gremlin and a chipmunk.  I guess the sound of my laughing triggered Carl’s trip and he started wiggin.

          “Holy shit man!  That must be some good shit!  Got any more?”  Spaz asked with “that” look in his eyes.  You know the look, it’s a cross-section of hungry anticipation and a rushing fear of the unknown.  I handed him a hit and he put it in his mouth and swallowed.

          “Lets go get some orange juice man, that’s what we need.  Go to UDF Spaz,” I directed as we slowly pulled away from Stiggys car.

          As the acid took effect, the lights started to stretch, like runny paint across a canvas.  I got that spastic smile on my face, the kind you might see on a 32-year-old virgin at a strip joint. The road narrowed out into a thin line of eternity. I looked over, and the red from the stoplight splashed onto stiggy’s face, and his eyes went wide with wonder, as his trip went somewhere mine didn’t.  At that point I knew I was alone in my own world. 

We turned left, and the car bobbed back and forth, swimming on the road.  I looked down on the floor of the car, and reached for one of Stan’s Black’s.  Right as I popped that bitch in  my mouth, we pulled into UDF.  I got out of the car and ran in the store with a paranoid look on my face.  I grabbed the first gallon of orange juice I saw, and ran up, slamming it down on the counter. 

“Can I help you?” the large woman behind the counter said, as she turned around.  The mole on her lip bulged with every beat of her heart, like it would explode, if prodded with a sharp object.  “I just want this.  Orange juice!”  I paid quickly, and ran out before the mole unleashed its wrath upon me.  As I jumped in the car, I notice Spaz was acting a little odd, even if it was his first trip.

I paid it no mind, only spinning off the cap of the orange juice as someone would a top.  After a few chugs of that stuff, I was feeling pretty fucked up.  Stiggy was playing with a treasure troll, carrying on a conversation about some philosophical principal of how pancakes are religiously developed by little Mexican children.  I knew getting his attention was going to be a task I wasn’t up for.

Just at that moment, Stanley thrusts his hand down on the horn, freaking out, which in turn makes Carl start wigging out.  Then I start wigging out simply because these people are scaring me.  The echo from the horn was sending bad vibes to everyone standing around cause they all started staring at us.  Terrible waves of paranoia washed over the car and we all shut up simultaneously.

On cue Stan put that bitch in reverse and white smoked our asses out.  Suddenly, the car had a happy hum all around it and my vision became totally unfocused.  The weasels were closing in and I could smell the ugly brutes.  We drove for what seemed like an hour when Spaz jumped in his seat and said, “Where are we?”

Right then I knew we were fucked.  Looking around  I realized that the word bellybutton just kinda rolled off the tongue like honey and that fruit loops were a conspiracy designed to brainwash me into thinking that we were all ok. 

          Frantically I searched for some measure of sanity when I turned to Carl and noticed that he was zoned the fuck out.  I stared at him staring at nothing for a long time when his face started to drip like slow molasses.  I giggled manically thinking to myself that if we were to be pulled over we wouldn’t stand an ice cubes chance in hell of getting out of this one.

At this time Stan really starts trippin and he pulls the car over into a parking spot.  He shuts off the engine, takes off his seat belt and climbs into the back seat with Carl.  Carl slowly turns his head in Stan’s direction and mumbles something like, “Shingle lingle dingitty dangitty biddly boobity shoop.”  I start to roll with laughter and Stan starts screaming at passing traffic.

The madness lasted for quite awhile when I came to my senses and realized that the knocking sound I thought was in my head was actually real and coming from the driver’s side.  After a few bad relapses into the void I calmed us all down enough to roll down the window and find out who the hell was calling this late at night.  The window got stuck half way down as a cold burst of snow and wind rushed all over me giving me a very fuzzy feeling.

          The thing standing outside was all warped and disfigured looking wrapped in thick layers of clothes.  It mumbled something from the darkness that sounded kinda like a plea for food or some shit.  I instantly thought that the whole ordeal was funny shit and started laughing again.

          Just at that instant the phone in my pocket rang.  I grabbed it frantically, trying in vain to understand modern technology.  I answered the phone “Hello? Who am I?”

          A nasally voice replied “This is playboy international calling about renewing your subscription.”

          “No! Leave me alone!”

          Then the tone of the voice changed, “Hey man, what’s up?”

          “Who are you?”

          “It’s me, Walter”

          “Why are you at playboy?  The kidnapped you didn’t they!?  I can’t afford ransoms!!”

          And with that I clicked the phone off, turning to Carl.  “Playboy has kidnapped Walter, and their holding him hostage till I renew my subscription!”  Stiggy doubles over with laughter, Just as Spazo’s eyes light up.  No matter how fucked up Stiggy and I were, we both know that look.  Spaz got an idea in his little head.

          “We’re going to rescue Walter!” and with that, he jumps into the front seat, throwing the car into gear.  As the car lurches forward, it overtakes the bump and races through the parking lot, leaving behind tired treads in the wet grass.  Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew that the upcoming events would include ditching the car, some lime salt, and possibly a donkey.

          The road winds on for some time, and I couldn’t help thinking that these bastards were going to turn on me in a second, if they new I had six more hits of acid in my jacket.  Sweat beaded on my brow, and the pressure was more than I could take.  In a fit of madness I threw myself onto stiggy, wrapping my hands around his neck.

          “Its mine I tell you! I don’t have to explain myself to you!”  The fear in stiggy’s eyes spread as his air supply was cut off.  Spaz turned around and batted me back to my senses.  Just as his eyes returned to the road, a deer jumped out in front of the car.

          Spaz jerked the wheel to the left, fish tailing the car and making us do a one eighty.  Gibbering wildly we all climb out of the car to see what the hell is going on.  We amble around in confusion for what seemed like an hour when Carl looks up with a horrified expression on his face.  The deer is standing not ten feet away.

          “Don’t worry guys, I’m ok.  Walter knows this is the road you were on, he’ll be here in a few minutes.”  Somehow I knew he was lying, I could see it in his eyes.  So we exchanged insurance info with the dear and decided we needed to figure out what was to happen next

          Spaz starts freakin about the car and tells Carl and me we are all gonna walk to my house.  Carl says, “Don’t pluck the feathers of an iguana,” and in turn I say, “Dogs fucked in the pool, no fault of mine,” which sends us both into breathless spasms of laughter.  Spaz starts running around the car pointing out obvious reasons to abandon ship like the fact that the car is turned backwards on the wrong side of the road and we aren’t getting back into that rolling carriage of death.

          As one unit we turn from the scene and start to wander down the street.  The cars that pass by leave red and yellow streaks of light as we come to find that we are only a road away from my apartment complex.  We round the corner and come face to face with a grinning Walter.  He’s looking at us like he knows and we know he knows.

          “What the hell are you guys on?  I’ve been waiting here for an hour cause I knew by that phone call that you might need help.”

          “The dear was right!” I exclaim to Carl as Spaz tries to relate to Walter in grunts and moans our past transgressions.  Walter  starts laughing his head off and helps us get into my apartment.  As we walk into the living room of my apartment all the bad feelings drift away like smoke rings in the dark.   

          We took a seat on the couch.  Stiggy and mine’s trips calmed down a bit, but Stanley was trippin’ his nuts off.  I passed 3 hits to Walter, when the other lunatics weren’t looking.  Walter took the hits, and downed the last of the orange juice.  The grin on his face was priceless.

          Just at that moment in time, Spazo turn to Carl and screams “Stop looking at me!!”  A dead silence falls on the room, all eyes turned on Stanley.  Stiggy, in a fit of boredom, raises his right hand, looks it up and down a few times, turns to face spaz, and bitch slaps him with the quickness. 

          Carl gets up, like nothing happened, and walks into the kitchen, mumbling something about a constipated bumblebee.  I turn to Walter, His face jiggles with the flicker of the candle, like it was filled with water.  Walter starts humming a Beatle’s tune, and the music flows into my head, from out of nowhere.  I close my eyes, and imaging I’m in a field full of strawberries.  Oh look, there’s Jerry Garcia.

          From out of the kitchen comes ‘BANG BANG BANG!!’ along with a triumphant, “Yeah!”  I jump up, sad to leave Jerry by himself in the field, and run into the kitchen.  There I see Stiggy, gripping a frying pan.  He point to the floor, where three dents and a pile of goop that used to be a cockroach lay in a sick menagerie of a lost soul.  The look in his eyes, pure bloodlust.  “I GOT that mutha’ fucker!”

          I turn around, unable to cope with the events, and return to the couch.  I look around, realizing that the music that was never there, stopped playing.  I scratch my head and take another hit of acid.  As I lay back, I put my arms behind my head.  By this time I am wondering where my drug dealer is.  I closed my eyes and hum to myself a tune of strawberry fields.  Somewhere, there is a donkey with my lime salt.

          From the kitchen I hear a bunch of bright noises banging the walls with splashes of green and red.  I say something to the effect, “Why’d you flush the corner panel?”

          “To get to the other slide,”  Shelbs states not three feet away.  He was laying on his back right next to my heater giggling in a chimpunkish sort of way with a look of pure beatific euphoria stretched across his face.  His legs were running in place as his arms were moving in the semblance of free style swimming. 

          Carl yells from the kitchen, “I need some coco-butter an egg and some cheetos.”

          “Cheetos?  Did one of you guys say Cheetos.  Oh my god, you said Cheetos!”  Spaz blurts out.  His thought process was veering to the way side of the road while driving on a mountain.  Something was telling him that he was perfectly normal and it definitely wasn’t any if the people sitting in my apartment.  After his journey into the world of morbid stupidity, he falls to the floor with a loud thump and proceeds to nod off.     

          Meanwhile, while on the couch, Shelbs spasmodically starts twitching and complaining that someone was hovering over his grave and that he could see them breathing in the night while the wolves howled down at him and the moon was yodeling his own funeral dirge……………………….about that time I realized that I needed to do something and it wasn’t getting lost on whatever kick Shelbs was goin through.

          I walked around my living room trying to figure out how to get these fiends to some mode of comprehension so they could hear me out.  I still to this day don’t remember exactly what it was that I wanted them to hear, but I knew it was a matter of life and death.  All of a sudden, reality pimp slaps my dumb ass back and lets me get a real view on what the fuck.  I knew what was next to come. 

The knock on the door meant one of two things; Pizza, or happy time delivery service.  Either way it meant good times.  As I open the door I see a ghostly thin, 7-foot tall black man in a trench coat.  “Heeeeeeey.”  The coated giant speaks.  “I got you’re order man.”  “right,”  I said, “Xtra-Large, thin crust, and a coke chaser.” Yeah man, right on, here’s you stuff man. 

He hands me an octagon box and holds his hand out.  I snort, cough, and hack up a mucus ball that could rival a shot put.  I let it loose right into the mans oven mitt.  He cringers, and his head grows deformed horns, resembling the limbs of a dying tree.

I run back through the apartment, slamming the door.  Shortly after the giant mauls the door a whine to everyone,  “I can’t let him in, he’ll destroy me.”  The searchlight shines in from the window.  “We know your in there!  Come out and we wont hurt you much.” 

“I can’t, noooooooo,”  I paw at my face, “I can’t let him have it.”  I run for what seems to be an hour, going through hallways, and different doorways, till I end up in the kitchen.  The whole room begins to glow, and is filled with static, like a TV with no channel.

If they wanted me, they could have me.  They are just playing with me now.  It was time to turn the heat up.  At this time, I felt a doughy hand on my shoulder.  “Ahhhh!”  I turned around, only to face the demon that was going to send me to my maker.  Pop ‘n’ Fresh.  He raised his big doughy hand out to me, and I knew there was only one thing I could do.  I bit him.  The dough tore from his shoulder with a rough tearing sound, like carpet from a floor.

He called out in anguish.  And fell down like the doughy bitch he was.  I ran, slamming the door behind me.  Darkness.  The owls were closing in, I could feel their eyes on me.  Another moment and I would be in the same spot the other field mice were.  On the Dinner menu.  I dove, falling for a long moment.  When does the gravy train get here, I wonder.

The next thing I know Bam!  I was smack dab in the middle of the floor with a very irate Spaz screaming obscenities and kicking me in the ribs.  “Answer your fucking door man we don’t live here. Not to mention those other two couldn’t cut their way out of a wet paper bag with razors.”  I thought to myself; wow how did this guy get to be sober and I’m still a raving idiot?

          It didn’t matter.  I had to get to the door in this totally alien and new territory.  It took me a very long time to get up the motivation to want to know who it was and the entire time I’m hoping its not someone of significance.

The doorknob would not turn and the person on the other side was not happy about being kept on the outside, they wanted in.  So I had a long drawn out conversation with the knob and proceeded to tempt fate again.  Lady luck must have been giving me a hand job at the time cause the door magically swung on hinges of bright silver and out from the gloom of the hallway stepped a robed figure wielding in impossibly wicked and rusty scythe.

I was thinking to myself this must be a good day to die because someone was going to die right now, hmm maybe it’s me.  Paralyzing waves of panic and confusion washed over me as I looked around the room and noticed that everyone was frozen in place and that time had stopped along with my heart beat and all other sounds.  I was really fucked.

Old grim took one long, ragged breath and spoke, “What do ya want?”  I was speechless.  Here I was, being asked what I want for a change and by the only person in existence that no one ever gets the pleasure of having a delightful discussion with.  I decided it was time to take charge.

          “I come from a long lineage of morons,” I began, “all through history my ancestors have been noted for their sunny disposition to the fact that they were hopelessly stupid and I am really miffed at the fact that you, Death, of all people would be bothering me at this late hour.  I say good day to you sir!  Good day indeed!”  I orated in a very Englishman fashion.

All of the sudden a short robed figure throws aside the big robe, and jumps of his pair of stilts.  Throwing his megaphone aside, he slaps his forehead.  “Oh bloody fuck, another one of yoooooou stoner twats” 

I look left, look right, then look back, and pointing at myself, “Say are you talking to me?”

“Are you talking to me… what the fuck? Stupid stoned bastard…” He mumbles to himself.  “Yeah I’m bloody talking to you, you twat. You should be dead right now, but the rules say you get as many lives as you have hits of acid left.”  And with that he yanked at a cord and lifted the shade of my reality. 

I was back in Long Bongs’, and there was a line out the door.  “Well if I can’t get rid of you, I might as well put you in a place worse than hell.  How do you like that, bastard.”  He walks into the freezer, mumbling something about a squirrel. 

As my trip wore off, I had a flash of deja’ vu.  I suddenly remember the last 4 hours that I don’t remember remembering.  I look left, look right, and there’s Carl, dropping the cardboard cutouts into the vat.  “So your finally back huh?”  He gives me a grin.

“Why the hell are we here in the middle of hell, man.”  I inquire, with a raspy voice. 

“The guy dropped of a forty strip, but he was trippin so hard he left before I could pay him.”  Then that big ol’ feeling of ‘what the fuck’ hit me.  I ran back, checking the date and time, on the computer.  Did I imagine the whole thing?  Is this some bad dream? Or a sick joke?  It had to be one of the two.  I don’t know why, but in the back  of my mind, I couldn’t help thinking about a donkey with lime salt… How odd.






“You almost done bitch!”  I screamed at the top of my lungs to the bitch cooking.

“Can’t you wait five more fuckin minutes you scary fucking pig fucker?”  I hear from the cook station.  The night was progressing smoothly.  The drugs were here and we were almost done, it couldn’t get any better.

I finished typing in the bullshit from the end of the day and gathered my belongings.  I walked up into the cooks’ station to see if this homo was in the least bit done.  He wasn’t.  The floor hadn’t even been swept yet and there was a shit load of grease caked all over everything in a sad display of humanity.  I was, needless to say, pissed.

“You really worry me you stupid mother fucker.” I stated with perfect, sober clarity.  He was leaning on the dish-up with the phone in his hand.

“I’ll be done in five,” he said as he held up the almost-sheet of acid.  A grin of pure ecstasy raced across both our faces as we recognized the little yuk face imprinted on those little squares of good times.

I hastily grabbed the broom and proceeded to baby sit as usual.  This night was exactly like every other night.  I did a quick half-assed sweep job and went to get this slow asshole a mop water.  While running the water I couldn’t help but think on how in just a few short moments I’ll be melting into a pool of incoherent goo.  I was stoked and my adrenaline started goin and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that when you buy acid from acid heads it always winds up with the buyer having more acid than they know what to do with, all their money(maybe more), and a good tale to tell in the morning.

“Hurry up off the phone prick!”

“Fuck off!”

“Make your own water asshole!” I yelled while grabbing my keys and coat.

After a few more rounds of insults we ended up taking the acid.  I cranked the water, and it drained into the bucket.  I heard that soft bitch making kissing noises into the phone.  Anyway, I took his garbage out, and by the time I got back in, Stiggy had two glasses of orange juice ready to go.  We downed em’ quicker than a cum guzzling slut in one of Carl’s extremely warped porn film. 

After a long conversation about the past work shift, the drugs started to take over.  We both grinned, beginning the journey to la la land.  The noises clanged off the walls, like a river through a cavern.  The sound surrounded me, and a cold rush came over me.  I lit a cigarette and walked out to the front, where it was warmer.

Leaving the upsetting noises behind, I was greeted with very loud music from the dinning room.  I grab Bob off the wall, and took a seat under the assassin vines on the wall.  Sometime later I saw Stiggy crawl out on his hands and knees.  He pawed at the rainbow colored tile on the floor.  “Don’t upset my pattern,” I gave him the evil eye.

“Duuuuude,” he looked up at me with a helpless expression, “I’m wet.”  I noticed, finally, that this blubbering idiot was dripping on my floor, making the colors of the tiles melt, and run into each other.

The mop bucket, I forgot it.  I jumped up, leaping over the idiot on the floor, and ran in back.  The water poured out of the bucket, creating a river of suds.  The sight was frightening and hilarious, all at the same time.  I frantically grabbed a mop, swishing around the pool on the floor helplessly.

“Where’s all this water coming from?” I said to myself.  Just at that moment, I looked down, and there was Carl.  He was doing the backstroke, heading toward the mop bucket.  Out of nowhere, he jumps up, cleaving the spout of the water faucet.  “There!  I got it.”  He wipes his forehead.  All I can think off are the many ways in which I will make him pay for his stupidity.  Somehow it all seemed right. 

The Doors started playing on the store radio and suddenly the room was full of what looked like huge bats and manta rays all swooping and diving towards Carl and I.  It was all over for us and I knew that when we came down we would come down hard and hit rock bottom while this big pile of shit we keep building is falling right after. 

          I decided that maybe if I let the water run out the back door it might all decide to follow the first wave out and I wouldn’t have to clean anything up.  Boy was I fucked.  I made my way to the back and opened the back door.

The outside world at midnight is not the ideal place for anyone this messed up, especially not me.  “Call Roto-rooter!  Order some golf shoes.  We’ll never get out of this mess alive, no footing at all,”  I said to no one in particular.

“Hey man you should get Walter over here man.  He has to try this shit,” Carl said as he dog paddled over to me. 

“This shit is weak man,” I declared in absolute harmony with everything around me.  I should get Shelbs and a few others in on this stuff, I thought.  What could it hurt to have a few more friends to help you waste the late hours and take a lot of your drugs you got for free.

Carl handed me the cordless and I started to dial Shelbs’ cell.  I let it ring three times then hung up and called again, just to make sure.


“Shelbs!  Got cid and bob sittin’ at work waitin’ on you and Spaz.  Hurry, it’s going fast.”

“I’ll call Spaz,” he said as he hung up his end.  I put the phone down and looked around to find Carl.  I slowly wandered up to the front of the store where I found Stiggy doing a handstand on a table while hitting a hookah on the floor.  He spits out the mouthpiece and yells, “Wombat!” and tips forward and falls onto the seat of the booth and rolls onto the floor.  The entire trip down he was singing an old Irish drinking song; something about a two-dollar whore with three tits and no legs.  Go figure.

As we set the alarm, Bob calls out to us “Hey, don’t forget me.”  Now Bob is the type of person to let you know if you’re doing something wrong.  His job is to hang on his nail up on the wall and smile with a wooden grin at every fish eating asshole that gets the balls to get hungry.

I grabbed bob, and ran out like Stiggy after a pizza delivery car.  I hopped in the driver seat, and stiggy in the passenger seat.  He took out his key and searched frantically for the steering wheel.  “What the fuck?” Carl’ eyes widened as he looked from the glove compartment, to me, to the steering wheel.

At that moment, we both leapt out of the car, switched places, and he handed me the keys.  I searched for the wheel, realizing my mistake. I should have taken the wheel with me.  I reached over, slamming the key in the hole, and started the car.

Stiggy, trippin’ his nuts off, pulled that bitch out with the quickness onto Gaul bladder road, blazing up the street.  The mobsters behind up were closing in, and they wanted their money.  We had no legs left to break,  so we had to make a run for it.

The car dashed back and forth, around curves and running stop signs.  I had no idea where we were going, or where we came from, but I knew one thing.  Carl was trippin harder than me.  We turned a corner and went into a dark alley.  The next thing I know this bitch yells something along the lines of “Fluffy bunny! Swerve me can’t hit no!”

Before I could try and make sense of things, he yanks the wheel to the left, head on into the building beside us.  He points out the window to a paper bag in the row next to a checkout counter.  “Bluffly funny, in radode.”

I look around, and realized that we are back in the parking lot.  Walter pulls up beside us, and rolls the window down.  He must have been so stoned because he was bobbing his head to imaginary music and talking to a passenger that wasn’t there.  After the smoke billowed out of the car, I saw his face.  “You guys are fuuuuucked up.”  We both nod our heads in time with Shelbs and get in his car.

After a bunch of bad noise he let us in for nothing, provided that we sit quietly in the back and don’t upset the customers.  Customers?  What the fuck?  Where the hell were we?  I couldn’t tell.  My mind was torn between a forgotten sense of leaving something behind and a little nagging feeling that maybe in the morning being jobless wouldn’t be so bad.

          Walter was turning his windshield wipers on at this point and the swishing back and forth hypnotized everyone in the car.  Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  The repetitive swaying was entrancing; promising a life of blissful ignorance and drugs galore.  It was the sweetest song from the deadliest siren and I recognized it almost a little too late.

“Don’t touch the monkey with the contraband!” I scream from the back seat.  Everyone jumps at the intensely volatile tone of my seriously loud voice.  Walter goes completely green and Carl grabs at his chest like he’s having a stroke.  The mood in the car was strangely serene and calm for what we were going through.

Shelbs gathers what brain cells he has left and put his boat into reverse and gets that huge son of a bitch the hell out of Dodge.  It was a short time later we wound up somewhere near my apartments.  There were no parking spots in my lot so we had to go down the street a little further, which meant we had to actually use energy to walk.  I was over this shit by this time and I decided to let everyone know with the statement, “We need more drugs.”

“I got you man,” Shelbs says as he reaches for his phone.  He looks over at Carl and busts up laughing.  I turn to see what the fuss is about and trip over my own thought and collapse into a gibbering heap on the floorboards.  Man this was a trip I knew I was going to remember for the rest of my life, or maybe not.

I get up and climb into the front seat with Walter and I try to explain to him the importance of a liquor license for midgets who deal drugs out of the back of school buses.  It was all very simple.  He just couldn’t understand and it was definitely affecting his judgment.  He turns from me with a deranged look and gets out of the car.  I turn to Carl and protest the absurdity of this fool; it was cold out there.

We eventually get to my place and we get through the door only to come face to melting face with Carls’ girlfriends and my fiancé.  They both have a look on their face of death and I knew we were screwed.

“Hi Shelbs,” my Sweets waves to the incoherent friend.  She knew right then that something was amiss.  Her first clue might have been the lost and fucked expressions on all three of our faces, or maybe it was the fact that for ten whole minutes we three just stared around at nothing and everything.  We couldn’t really register the fact that it was our turn to say hello.

“What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” Carls Honey asks with a very disgusted look on her face.  Sweets turns to her and whispers something in her ear and the look on her face was as priceless as the look on my moms face when she came home early and found me and my friends partying.  Bad yes, but priceless.

“Two words.  Cut off,” Sweets says as a dark halo surrounds her head and very ominous organ music begins to radiate from Honey.  In a totally fucked up blur of movement they grab their belongings and go out the door.  We, of course, were still standing in the same spot with the same look of idiocy on our faces.  Could it get worse?

The door bursts open and Spaz slides in.  “What the fuck did you guys do to those two?  I expected to come up here and get to see some bodies.”  He pulls himself up a chair expecting us to be able to sink to his level of mentality to explain this shit.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered if perhaps I couldn’t get lucky and maybe wake up from this trip and everything be ok.



Carl and I decided unanimously to make an unspoken pledge of agreement.  We got out of the car just as two cop cars were zooming at top speeds from both directions with sirens on and lights screaming, right toward us.  We all watch paralyzed with fear as the unexpectedly soundless impact occurred right in front of us.  The two cars were mangled heaps of smoldering, leaking refuse.

We decided at that moment it was the most horrifying experience in our lives and we turned from the scene with haste.  Practically falling over each other we eventually make it up into my corridor and through my door.

“Did everyone see that, or am I just a little too fucked up for my own good?”  Shelbs asks from the blue chair.

“Take three and tell me about it in the morning,” I said handing him what was left of the acid.  He tore off a nice chunk and popped it into his mouth.  A grin slowly played itself across his face as his body visibly fades in and out of vision.

“Wow!  This is some good shit.  Is it supposed to work that quick?”  He says looking at his hands and legs.  “I aint never seen no shit like this before man.  It’s gonna make me die!  It’s gonna kill me!”  He jumps up and makes a panicked b-line to the door.

I tried to get up to stop him but there was a two-inch devil standing on my knee with a pitchfork in my leg laughing hysterically.  I was too slow.  Shelbs darts out the door and makes a frantic leap over the banister and down three flights of stairs.  He hits the ground at a run and bursts outside in a tumble of legs and arms as the 280 pound football player on acid collides with two very beautiful and very pissed off girlfriends.

“Get off me you stupid mother fucker!” I hear Sweets scream.

“You have less than three seconds to leave and the idiots upstairs have less than that to get straight and start groveling!”  Honey exclaims just loud enough for everyone in my building to hear.

I could not understand why tonight had to be tonight.  Why couldn’t it have been the other night when I talked to Death, or at the very least I could be back at work.  I was trippin my nuts the fuck off and Carl was having a panic attack trying to garrote his stupid ass with my pillowcase.  There had to be a logical explanation for all of this.  I just had to find it.

          “Fuck you assholes!  We’re out!”  Sweets screams up the stairs.

“I think we fucked up man.” Carl says as he turns towards the window.  I followed him and looked out.  There was Shelbs all sprawled out face down on the sidewalk.  He didn’t look dead but I knew he needed help.  I went downstairs and slapped him awake then proceeded to half drag, half carry his sorry ass back up the steps.

His face was all bloody and his eyes were both black.  It looked like they beat the shit out of him.  Confirmation of that assumption came when Shelbs spits out a tooth and slurs, “Sdubin bitzes.  Ney kit my ans.”

“Dude!  I’m so sorry.” Carl apologizes giving Shelbs a towel.  Shelbs wipes off and goes into the kitchen and opens my freezer.  He puts his head into my freezer and closes the door.  From inside the freezer I hear demonic laughing and I see a deep crimson glow emanate from the door.  He opens the door and pulls his head out only it’s not his usual head.  It was flat like a pancake and about the size of a small table.  His features were all stretched across the front and his hair was all up at the top.

“This is some good shit.” Shelbs says, “What?  What the fuck are you two geekin about?”  He is obviously oblivious.  I point to his head and Carl starts rolling.  He looks up and down and places his hands on opposite sides of his head and pushes his head back to normal.  “I feel like a cartoon.  Groovy.”  He walks back into the living room, sits down, and looks right at me with perfect sincerity.

“Did all that just happen or is it the drug?  Why am I seeing the things you guys are seeing?  I thought acid was a trip about your own personal bubble.  This is a mass nightmare.  The cop cars crashing into each other without a sound, your women beating my ass, and my face getting stuck in the freezer.  They are all part of your mind and you are making me go through this fucked up shit.  Fuck you guys.  Go to fucking hell and rot in the seventh fucking circle.”  He crawls into the corner and wraps himself in a blanket.  How was I to know this shit would take a bad turn on him?

Before I could ponder this new development the door bursts open and thirty maybe forty cops bust in and start to beat the shit out of me.  They leave everyone else alone and go solely for my stupid ass.  Needless to say, I wasn’t quite thrilled at the prospect of being beaten to within an inch of my worthless life for something I knew I didn’t do.  Then I remembered the acid and started shoving it in my mouth.

The pigs tried to take it from me but I was a little faster than them and I slowly chewed it up as the carnage continued.  I remember thinking something like what a terrible thing to do to a guy on acid.  I’m going to write to my congressman about this shit.  Fucking politicians.

I felt almost no pain up until the point where they started to kick me.  I could hear them grunt with effort as they wildly kicked my unmoving body.  All went tunneled and it seemed as if I were watching it all on some movie screen.

I woke up to a very bright light and someone rapidly speaking what sounded a lot like German.  My arms were not moving.  Pain was everywhere.  It was all through me.  I was pain.  Fuck that sucked.

The bright light got a little dimmer as I realized that I was on a gurney and that someone had been nice enough to take my dumb ass to the hospital.  Then I thought about the acid and hoped that the other guys were ok.  I really didn’t want them to take the rap for chaos working its magic.

          I mumbled to the doctor and he quieted me down with a dose of morphine.  The pain went away and I was happy.  I was happy to be here around all these fabulous people. And I heard a high-pitched whining noise and the room rushed into a frenzy of people and words in languages I’ll never understand.  The room faded to black as I thought that, yes, today was a good day to die.

          I woke up to the pain of a keyboard embedded in my face and the sound a computer makes when you press too many keys for too long.  Whoa!  Where am I? I thought was that all evenly remotely real?  I had to find somebody with answers.  Now.

I got my bearings.  I was sitting at the desk of Long Bongs’ apparently taking a nap on the computer.  I quickly got up and went to the dish up area.  Carl was finishing up the mopping looking sober as fuck.

“What day is this?”  I asked

“Friday man.  Why?  Are you stoned?  You held out on me didn’t ya?”  He was actually getting pissed about me having been

stoned without him.  It was pathetic.

“Nah man, I just had the most fucked up dream.  I dreamt that we bought some acid and we relived this night over and over again and that we got fucked up and the cops beat me up and the girls kicked Shelbs’ ass and I died a couple of times and I talked to Death…” I stammered incessantly

“Whoa. Whoa! Slow down there pilgrim.  You need some sleep and you are definitely cut the fuck off permanently,” he said with a grin. 

          “No man you don’t understand!  It was real.  It happened.”

          “Whatever man.  You just need to sit the fuck down and go look in my cigarette pack in the bag.  You wont need much.  Just a tiny taste should do ya.”  He said with a perfectly straight face. 

          I walked to the back and found said pack.  As the top flipped over a chorus of perfect harmony sounded from somewhere.  I knew right then that I was goin on another trip.  Maybe this time I’ll wait till the coast is clear before I take this shit, nah.  I pulled out a roll of what felt like construction paper.  Two whole sheets of acid stared back at me in the faces of all two hundred yuk faces. 

          I ripped off two, and shoved em’ in my mouth.  I knew I had to get a carton of orange juice.  I ran out the back door, grabbing the kendo sticks.  After much thought and consideration, I decided it was time to go.  I casually flipped the lights off and headed toward the front, admiring the shitty close left from my crew.  I shake my head, setting the alarm, and head out the front door.

          The cold night air hits me like the pool water when you jump off the diving board.  I pull my coat tight around me, and hop in Stiggy’s car.  We head out of the parking lot, and down Gaul bladder road.  Carl pulls into A-Merry-Stop.  “What are you doing?”  I inquire, raising a single eyebrow.  To my answer, Stiggy pulls a huge bag of weed out of his coat pocket.

          He runs in, and I see him, in a huge long line of people.  10 minutes go by and he comes out.  As he runs to the car, he slips on a patch of ice, and skids right into the car, leaving a nice large imprint in the door.  “Of fuck dude!  My dad’s gonna kill me.”  He gets in, pulls out a paper, and rolls a nice, enormous fatty.

          We blazed that shit, and after a few more minutes my trip starts to kick in, and I started seeing things in the smoke.  I knew it was going to be a very interesting night.

          As the hands on the clock grabbed at the numbers written on the poor things face, I        turn on the radio, and tuned into a nice station playing CCR.  We soar down the road majestically, like a man with no purpose, but the spirit to find one.           With a screech, the tires lock and we skid to a stop.  Stiggy jumps out and runs to the front of the car.  Just to humor myself, I follow him.  He points to a boot sitting on the side and says, “We can’t just run over a boot!  How would you feel if someone rolled right over your fuckin house, man?  Are you going to be the one to tell all those socks that they don’t have a fucking home?”

          I could tell his first wave had given him a bad jolt, but what about me.  I couldn’t remember.  I do recall, however, that some man had crossed paths with me and had offered to sell me his donkey for the price of a grave filled in with lime salt and a picture of Barbara Bush giving a lap dance to the devil.  I bought this ticket and now I’m taking the ride.  No sympathy for the angels.  No footing at all.