What a long strange trip its been. Beach, Builder, Oveis and I are currently navigating our way through the streets of Boston in hopes of finding our way out a bit easier than our trip into the beast. We are giving the finger to Fenway Park and yelling a collective “Fuck Boston.” If I ever come back to this city, it will be too soon.
I may be over exaggerating my disdain for the city of Boston, but some of it is true. One thing you can say about Boston is that within its walls of frat boys and teenage girls resides a king amongst men. We like to call this divinely appointed warrior Perry. Getting ourselves to the high court was no easy task. Grab a glass of water, smoke a joint and tuck in because I’m about to begin one of the most triumphant stories in stoner boner history.
Saturday morning’s itinerary was simple, and with the self enforced (and desperately needed) early Friday night, I was sure our traveling would go off without a hitch. The day started with Builder and I waking up an hour late. Actually I woke up on my own, only to find that he had done the same. We quickly cleaned ourselves up and packed a couple replacement t-shirts before hitting the road. After maneuvering through some West Side Highway traffic we reached cruising speed on the Saw Mill. Yesterday’s weather was prime for a nice drive and the road to Bedford to pick up Beach and Oveis who had gone home the previous evening.
We were greeted by Mrs. Beach who directed us to the front door where Mohawk was waving us in. After a brief exploration of the childhood house of the Beach, the four boys plus Lucy and Mohawk made our way across the street where the carnival was taking place. The kids rode a couple rides without me for two reasons: 1. I can’t stand carnival rides. After the incident at the Clearfield County Fair where a kid was thrown from the swings, I decided that completed my adventures on the Gravitron. 2. Have you ever noticed how often I vomit? If not, you don’t know me well enough. We caught a quick burger and snow cone and set our sights on Boston, (after getting more sandwiches, of course).
The names in the following piece have been changed to protect the identity of the innocent.
The ride went really well at least for the first two hours and twenty minutes. We were cruising along through the sun-drenched state of Massachusetts when the shit hit the fan. Malkmus was blaring across the stereo as we approached a State Police Station along on the Mass Pike when Captain Cupcake informed the rest of the car that a cruiser had pulled behind us. Upon peering into my side mirror, I realized we were fucked because the blue statey was riding the bumper for a hot second before he flipped the lights and pulled us over.
What I’ve neglected to tell you is that Huevos, Ponyboy, Ortega and Double C were freshly toasted after we spent the past 10 minutes passing a batty around the car. Unfortunately we were about to be hit by a serious buzz kill.
It was a matter of seconds from when we pulled onto the shoulder to when the State cop had opened Ortega’s front passenger side door. The cop politely asked me to, “Get out of the car you fucking idiot. I did as instructed and stood by his cruiser. It only took him a moment to find my stash that had be kicked under the seat. He walked right up to me and asked me why I am such an idiot. Realizing the rhetorical nature of the question, I proceeded to keep my mouth shut while he berated me with the story of driving down the highway and seeing a pipe handed to me from the back seat. He asked if I had all the pot and I couldn’t say anything. He asked which person gave me the pipe and I said the driver, Captain Cupcake had not smoked. While searching me, he stuck his hand down my left front side jean pocket. At that same instance, 4:19pm to be exact, Dan called me. Since my phone is set on vibrate, the office got startled and quickly pulled out, (how many times have I said that about my cop boyfriends?). He told me to take a seat in the grase while he dealt with the rest of the monkeys.
He went back to the car and pulled Huevos out of the back seat after asking which one of them was going to talk to him next. Upon being pulled out, the officer started on Huevos asking him why he was back talking. Huevos pot was found along with an assortment of sweets in his left cargo pocket. Huevos was then ordered to sit in the grass while he interrogated Capt Cupcake and Ponyboy. We were lined up along the Mass Pike with 10 feet between each of us while he rooted through the car looking for the big score. Luckily he didn’t find all the meth I had on me. Please tell me you know I’m joking.
Capt and Pony were told to get back into the Champagne Supernova (II) while Huevos and Ortega were left to sweat it out. He then proceeded to ask Huevos and I a series of questions regarding our residence, employment and an inquisition on how I could be so “fucking stupid”. Now I don’t condone breaking the law in any capacity, but there was some punk inside of me trying his damnd’st to say something like “It was only a little pot”. Thank god I kept my mouth shut.
At this point the officer returned to his vehicle to figure out how he was going to deal with the situation. Awaiting your punishment from a police officer is nothing that I would recommend. It can’t even compare to my days as a kid when I would be threatened by my mother who would use the “You wait till your father hears what you’ve done,” line to instill the fear of god into her children. Huevos and I were in danger of a tarnished permanent record along with the possibility of spending the night locked up in jail which would prevent us from seeing The Strokes.
After an intense 5 or 10 minutes (that felt like hours), the cop called me over behind the cruiser. He then handed my jar over and asked me to toss the two one-hitters into the woods. Upon throwing the first one, the officer asked “Do you throw a baseball like that?” I tossed the second and was then instructed to break up my grass and throw it to the ground. At this point I realized we were getting off, but I was still a bit shaky. Huevos was downwind from where we were standing so the officer told me to “Break it up real good. I don’t want it going into his hair and then you smoking it later.” Yup, I’m serious, but the cop’s best comment must have come while he was instrucking Huevos to do the same as me.
By the time Huevos was breaking up his grass for the kind officer, I was in the back seat of the car telling Capt Cupcake and Ponyboy that things were cool. They asked why I meant, and I relayed the fact that we were getting off without any tickets or penalties. While Huevos was turning his buds into shake the officer told him to “Break it up real small. I don’t want any squirrels getting high.” Huevos returned to the automobile and we pulled away visibly shaken but physically unscathed.
With that behind us, we made way for Boston with the full understanding that God (or something) had rock predestined for our evening. After getting lost and receiving some bogus directions from a drunk in the liquor store we finally found Perry’s apartment. We unloaded and cleaned ourselves up before stopping by Mistral which is a swanky restaurant were Perry tends bar.
We’ve all seen Tom Cruise in the international smash hit Cocktail. Don’t be shy. Remember when his bright eyed character gets out of the military and heads for the big city only to find he doesn’t have the credentials to become a Wall Street player so he decides to work at a bar where he learns about love, responsibility and how to flip bottles around while making cool drinks? Well, that sums up Perry’s attitude at work, (except for the love and responsibility thing). This kid has the touch behind the bar and he is a workhorse. The management must realize how lucky they are to have this kid on board.
On Friday I had a t-shirt made for this exact moment. I wanted to roll into Perry’s place of business with something that truly conveyed how much I love this kid. Once I saw Perry behind the bar, I opened my sport coat to reveal my t-shirt which read “Ian Perry Is A Bastard.” Perry took it like a champ and as Beach said we could have sold 10 of them if we had the product. All of Perry’s coworkers along with a few of the patrons thought the shirt was a riot. It was a burn, but a welcomed one.
I’d like to note on the record, that we just placed a pick-up order to the Chili’s in Danbury and Beach did not order an entrée. He passed. Mr. Chili’s himself did not order an entrée. To say I’m hurt may be putting it lightly, so I’m going to say I’m disappointed.
At this point I’m going to stop this entry and let you know that it will be continued tomorrow. Have a great night and don't forget to check back for more.
3 Comments:
Nice opening line you hippy bitch.
Scary Garcia
I see a bunch of hippies crying yeah August 8th is a beautiful day, Like waking up from a real bad dream, suddenly everything is ok.
The storm has passed and the sun is shining yeah August 8th is a beautiful day. What's goin' on, what's goin on, is something bummin your scene? There's something wrong, there's something wrong, I'm not trying to be mean.
The air is sweet the summer flowers bloomin nowhere in sight is there anything grey, Feelings of joy are filling the street, yeah August 8th is a beautiful day.
Like waking up from a fucked up dream, suddenly everything's looking good. There's been no permanent damage done, Yeah August 8th came right when it should.
Poor Jeff,
Poor little Timmy Turtle,
Staying home on such a beautiful day.
Hey Fat Mike, Jerry Garcia died on August 9th not 8th.
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