"Sir! Sir! Wake up. You're disturbing the other passengers." I blearily pulled my face away from the window that I had stuck to from dried drool and looked up at the stewardess who was shaking my shoulder. I had been dreaming about the porno movie I had seen at the Pussycat Theatre on Hennepin Avenue in Minneapolis that had kicked the previous night off and realized that I might have been shouting out things like "hairy snatch" and "let me stick in your ass, big momma." Passengers were looking at me in horror. By the stench surrounding me I must have been also farting like a circus elephant. If I had pulled the same stunt after 9/11 my ass would sitting in a jail cell right now. Jesus Christ, what a day and a half it had been. It all started off when I had checked into the downtown Radisson Hotel. When I found my room and opened the door I discovered that I had company. And my company appeared to be both lonely and stoned. He was also talking a mile a minute and appeared to be some sort of drug fiend.
"Hey, buddy! Guess we'll be bunking
together. Cool! My name's Bobby. You're Navy,
huh. Me, I'm joining the Marines. Just like my
brother, which by the way reminds me. Do you like
to party?" When I nodded at him (I had yet to utter
more than a single word), he reached into his pocket
and pulled out a glass vial and handed it to me.
"Acid, dude. My brother is stationed out in Frisco
and he sent it to me. Owsley acid. They call it that
cause some freak named Owsley makes it. Suppose
to be the best in the country. The Hells fucking
Angels get their acid from this dude. There's enough
for both of us. Let's drop it and make a Fucking-A-
Dilly-Bar party for our last night."
We washed the tabs down with a swig out of
Bobby's can of Schlitz malt liquor. The good old
Bull. The LSD took about fifteen minutes to kick in
as we chatted. And it kicked like a mule.
"Fuck, Bobby," I stuttered. "This is some
potent shit! We better get some food in us and a
couple of beers to try to mellow out some or this is
going to be a long night."
Bobby had started making this weird look
with his face like a chipmunk chattering and he kept
repeating "Yes, dude, yes! Fucking A yes!" It was
really starting to freak me out. I realized that I may
have made a huge mistake.
We stumbled down to the dining room
where our government issued meal tickets got us
this greasy and goddamn nasty Mexican dinner
which we both inhaled. I don't know how since it
was like eating a dead squirrel and didn't taste
much better than it looked.
We damn near got
thrown out of the joint because Bobby kept
whistling at this hot little waitress and flicking his
tongue out at her like Linda Blair when she had the
lead role as Satan - which I was starting to think
Bobby wasn't too far off from - in The Exorcist.
After we finished our rotgut meal we
staggered out on to the streets of Minneapolis to
find a bar that was lacking in the skills of checking
the identifications of underage drinkers. It took
about half a block to find. The place was dark and
dank and all of the customers appeared to be about
ninety fucking years old. They were drinking Old
Style beer, obviously the house special, and were
glued to the television which seemed to be playing
an endless loop of Leave It To Beaver, Maude, and
Good Times reruns.
"Cold beer for our men and hot whores for
our horses," Bobby yelled out as he slapped a
twenty on the bar. The bartender, who looked like
an old queen from the silent film era, popped two
cold ones down and gave a sly wink and swished
back down to the other end.
"Fuck, I think we may be in some sort of
retirement home homo bar," I slurred out, I was so
high I couldn't tell if I was really talking or not. "Is
there a parrot on the bartender's shoulder?" Behind
the bar there appeared to be a giant purple lizard
wearing a turban and it was crawling slowly across
the wall.
"Who gives a shit," said Bobby, "As long as
the old bastard keeps bringing these beers," he
belched out. "Maybe he'll blow us if we tip him
enough." I looked at Bobby in horror not knowing if
he actually had said that and meant it, or if I was
now having auditory hallucinations.
"You boys having a good time tonight? You
two can sure put the beer away." The old fart ran his
tongue over his yellowed dentures. I looked down at
the bar in front of me.