Tuesday, 11 June 2013

Stoned Out Of My Mind


Yes, Comrades

Straight in the taxi, hangin' out the window, pantin'. We arrived at Greyhound. I was going back to Arizona, because the minimum travel time to Denver was 19 hours, due to it having to go through Utah. No thank you. It was announced the bus would be an hour late, again, then the lady did her best Bon Qui Qui impression.

Eventually we got on. We lasted about thirty minutes before drifting off at about 8am. The next time I looked at the time, it was coming up on 1pm. None of us had the energy to move at our pit stop, not even for a cigarette in my case.

Mrs Nancy picked us up, almost literally. I tried to speak, but my state of mind wouldn't allow it. Sheba was dropped off and we drove to two Subways. I got me a 6" Spicy Italian - second sub of me life, and how I chose well. When we got back, I was treated like a camel, pumped full of Nyquil, hot lemon juice and Campbell's chicken noodle soup. No, I wasn't bloated and that's not even funny. I was offered a room for the night due to feeling like Sylvester Stallone was narrating my thoughts (no? I heard that somewhere).

Then I was offered something else: To live there. For the last fortnight at least. I accepted while listening to Whiter Shade of Pale, which I actually enjoyed. After this we drove to Mama Sheba's to resume business as usual.

I guess a week away from this stuff had an effect on my tolerance. Three funny cigarettes sent me straight to Hell. We took a drive downtown, Trouble Will Find Me had never sounded so good. Luckily the Nancys were in bed, so we sat in front of the TV watching Cow & Chicken then Dexter's Lab, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. That Klondike bar was the best thing I'd ever eaten at that moment, as was my kettlecorn. Think I made it to half eleven before disappearing into the couch.

I should plug some gaps here I reckon. The Jessica Rabbit segment of Fantasy must've put a canoe in the pocket of every straight male in the audience, I speak for all of us. Also, props to Don Vegas for the gear. His name actually is Don, Bongo, so no worries, I'm not pulling an Andy from Toy Story and replacing you.

No pics really worth sharing from today.

"I was just a backseat driver in a car of love"

In a bit.

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