At the request of donteatpoop, I shall now repost what I post over here

I recalled the tale upon DEP saying To which I replied: "I'm sorry, I don't believe you."

And for this incarnation of the tale, even though it is unchanged from its original version, I shall give it a title (Cue dramatic music for absolutely no reason whatsoever except I thought it might seem cool for a second and then thought better of it but had already started typing and didn't want to hit the delete key all those times because it's way over there-> and it's just so out of the way for typing and I'm gonna stop typing my thoughts so I don't get pimp-slapped by someone)

Memoirs of a Meatbag: The Marlboro Chronicles

I had some really odd friends in High School. The one, we'll call him Junior, enjoyed unzipping his fly (while going commando, of course, like any good grunge/filth/gutterpunk) and hanging his "boys" out through the fly of his pants; amusing him greatly, while sickening everyone else in his vicinity in equal proportion to his amusement.

Eventually (after about 4 months) we were no longer phased by seeing his meaty bits flopping about in the cold winter breeze each morning before the school bell rang as we waited on the island of pavement separating road from bus lane. This led to what I believe would be the equivalent of a brainstorm (although in his case, I suspect it may have just gotten a bit foggy and felt like it might rain on Sunday of the next week because grandma's arthritis was bothering her again).

He decided that, while literally freezing your balls of was fun, nothing spells F-U-N like a Marlboro Light snuffed out on your testicles. And so, with one final drag of his cigarette (perhaps it should be mentioned that he was 16 at the time and had been smoking for at least 6 years to my knowledge, a fact that may have led to his seemingly stunted mental development*) he plunged the miniature cattle-brander into his (by this point blue) scrotum; eliciting a yelp of pain (as well as ghost-pain among all of us unfortunate to bear witness to the event) that was heard by at least half of the population of the High School, if not the entire city. The entire school populace within eyesight of this gruesome deed reeled in horror as he continued to press the lit cigarette into his self-proclaimed "fun-bag" until each and every ember was fully extinguished.

You might think that the sheer pain evident in his yelping triggered by this act of self-mutilation would prevent him from repeating this stunt; if so, I am sorry, but you think wrong. He repeated this little "stage-show" at least a dozen times before the end of the school year, and I'm quite sure that I don't want to know how many times in the privacy of his own home; although, without the audience, I'm sure it must lack some of its appeal (I hope).

Thankfully, that was during my senior year of High School; freeing me from having to ever witness another cigarette-testicle union (or so I had hoped). In my former hometown, there is a festival of music (or so they claim, though most of the festival is comprised of large amounts of alcohol, local white trash, and terrible musical acts that no one has wanted to see perform since, well, ever). It was my tradition to go to this "Musikfest" (since it's only cool if you spell it wrong, that's what must attract all the big names to the area) when it was held in the years following my graduation as a means of checking up on people I once called friends. I ran into Junior at "Musikfest" each time; and each time, a cigarette ran into his crotch.

I do realize that a burn from a lit cigarette is nowhere near the amount of pain that is likely to be caused by a device intended to sear flesh so thoroughly as to leave its mark for the life of the animal since I have (while in a drunken stupor) put a cigarette out on my arm. It was rather painful once I noticed what I had done, but the scar is gone now and the burning itself was but a fleeting pain that only lingered long enough to say "Hai, i'm on ur arm pwning ur skinz, kthxbai." But what forces me to disbelieve your hypothesis that "no man wants his boys to be burned" is the fact that he engaged in the act as many times as he did.

Which of course leads me to my point [aka the moral of the story] (which, surprisingly enough, seems to be my point in a lot of things I say). Some people are incredibly forking stupid.

Well, this one happened a couple days ago; but it was entertaining for me and I figured I'd share anyway. (two stories - one night)

Night Out

The other night I got out of work an hour early. So two of my co-workers (we’ll call them Dude and Chick) and I decided to hit up the bar.

Buffalo Zoo Juice

We sat down and ordered our drinks. A few minutes later this trio of guys got up to the bar and ordered an interesting looking pink mixed drink. Dude and Chick were all like “Oooo, that looks good” and “I wonder what that is”. So I said, “Why don’t you go ask him?”

But they responded (and I’m paraphrasing here) “No, we have social anxieties and strangers intimidate us.”

“I’ll go find out, then,” I said. Both of them said I shouldn’t; I don’t really understand their inability to speak to strangers.

So I asked the guy what drink he was having and he told me; “It’s called Buffalo Zoo Juice” (this is at Buffalo Wild Wings, so it’s probably some sort of ‘chain-drink’).

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” the guy said; “But my brother works at another BW’s, and he made me one of these. I only drank the one and I was buzzing my d**k off.”

“Wow,” I said. “Last time I buzzed <i>my</i> d**k off, there was a cell phone in my pocket.”

Awkward silence, he blinked a few times.

“Alright,” I said; “thanks.”

“Sure,” he said.

I walk back over to Dude and Chick and they are immediately asking for details. “What’s it called?” “What is it?” “What’s in it?”

“It’s called Buffalo Zoo Juice,” I told them, pausing dramatically; “And it is known to buzz d**ks off.”

“What?!” The two of them asked, astonished. “It does what?!”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I asked that guy what was in it and he said he didn’t know, but the last time he had one he was buzzing his d**k off.”

They laughed for a while and “buzz my d**k off” became a catch phrase for the night. I modifying it for Chick, saying “It will buzz your vag off”.

We ended up ordering the drinks and they were pretty good. Sadly, however, there was no d**k buzzing.




A Friendly Game of Confuse the DJ

There was a DJ there that night. He mentioned that he was taking requests, said to come on up and tell him what we wanted to hear and to come on up as often as we like.

That’s when I proposed a bar-game. I don’t know if this is a game other people play, but it’s called Confuse the DJ.

“How do you play Confuse the DJ?” Chick asked.

“It’s easy,” I told her. “We make up a band and request to hear it.”

So we started brainstorming. It had to sound like a real band and we threw several ideas out on the table; Black Sunday had a good run, then I suggested Silver Jews (someone I was certain they had never heard of). They thought Silver Jews sounded horrible, not like a real band at all. I then revealed that Silver Jews was a real band, and they were astonished to learn this. This gave me an idea.

Next I suggested Queen Franklin and we toyed with this one for a while before I suggested Soul Coughing, a band that was not unheard of but not common. I watched them for recognition and saw (thankfully) that they had never heard of Soul Coughing.

“That’s what I’m going to request then,” I said. “Soul Coughing. I’ll call the song Super Bon-Bon.”

So I went up to the DJ and suggested it. The DJ hadn’t heard any requests for Soul Coughing in a long while, but he did have the song.

I returned to the bar and Dude and Chick were excited to hear how it went.

“I walked up to him and asked for Soul Coughing, Super Bon-Bon; and then I walked away.” They laughed a little. Wasn’t overly funny, but it was amusing at the moment for them.

It was far more amusing when, two songs later, the DJ announced that the next song was from a band called Soul Coughing with the song ‘Super Bob-Bon’.

Their jaws dropped as the bass started pumping. “No way!” I said, trying to look as shocked as they were. A moment later realization hit them and they understood that they had been had, but the look of shock on their faces before then was worth the trouble of the long set-up.

Calling off for a trip

I had just bought an eighth of shrooms and decided that I was going to call off of work and trip out. The plan was to use the trip to help me come up write some wacked out story that I had a vague outline of forming in my head.

So I called work and told them I wouldn’t be in. (I told them I had diarrhea, no one ever questions diarrhea.) Then I ate half of the bag of shrooms (which was way more than what I typically ate, and eighth used to be three mild trips for me) These also happened to be a more potent strain of fungi than I usually had.

For those that don’t know, it usually takes half an hour after eating them before you start to feel the effects. So I had half an hour. I ate them and sat around chilling out for a while.

At about twenty minutes I found my notebook but could not locate my lucky pen. I go through phases where I will only use one type of pen when writing, and I was becoming quickly annoyed that I couldn’t find it.

I realized after much searching that I wasn’t going to find it, so I got in my car and sped to the store. The store was about five minutes away. I had to hurry, I didn’t want to be driving when the shrooms kicked in.

I bought the pen real quick-like and got back in my car. The moment I turned the key I started to have that feeling, those of you who have done mushrooms know what I’m talking about; it was the early stages of hallucination.

I had to get home fast.

So I pulled out of the parking lot and booked it home, the drive becoming more and more surreal as I went.

Eventually I was able to make it safely home. I parked the car, grabbed the notebook from the seat, took the pen from the package, and got out. It was so beautiful outside, the colors of the sky seemed to have been pained by hand.

I made my way into the woods behind the parking garage, there was a fallen tree back there that was propped up strangely on the hillside so that one could sit upon it. I had named the tree “The Happy Tree” and it was a common destination of mine to meditate and/or to smoke ganja.

By the time I reached The Happy Tree my mind was starting to really feel the effects of what I had ingested. My vision pulsated wildly, zooming in and out like the camera man who was working my eyes had severe palsy.

I tried to write, I really did; but something pushed up on the bottom of my foot. I became distracted by this. I moved my foot quickly and searched the ground to find the source, but found nothing. Was it because I couldn’t see straight? Or was there nothing there at all? I wasn’t sure.

It took a while before I put my feet back on the ground again and tried to write again. Before my pen could touch the paper, however, I felt it again; something pushing at the sole of my shoe from beneath the ground.

I pulled both feet up off the ground and stared down from the Happy Tree. The ground was pulsating, portions of it looked as though something was going to burst to the surface. I was terrified.

I sat there for an unknown length of time trying to work up the nerve to get off of the tree and run back to the apartment. Eventually I was able to reason with myself that if I stayed on the tree I would be trapped. I came to realize that I had to chance it.

I dropped to the ground and ran through the narrow and winding pathway all the way home.

The next day I looked at the notebook and found one sentence written. The handwriting was unmistakably mine, but it was shaky and paid the lines on the paper no head.

“The ground just tried to eat me.” It said.

I laugh about it now when I occasionally stumble upon this notebook which still has only one sentence written in it. But it was no laughing matter that day.

Can I buy you a drink?

Those words are like music to my ears.

I just drove my Mom to the airport. Returning home at 07:30 am on this bright Sunday morning, I was offered cocaine at my own doorstep.

I didn't have any money with me, but at least now I know where to go.

Out front of your own doorstep?! either you are a rockstar sir, or I would think about maybe.... a neighborhood watch or something.

When I was in the navy when I first reported to the Submarine I was on. once underway someone bet me 20 bucks I would not walk stem to stern butt nekkid. we'll after a bit of haggling i got the price up to 45bucks. so i grabbed the cash stripped down, except for my boots cause metal floors are cold as hell, and proceded to pimp strut in all my "Irish Glory".( us Irish people know what I'm talking about!) this was more then a test of fortitude, it was a rite of passage. about 2/3 way through the boat. who do i see making his midnight rounds, yep the Captian. I "Pop tall" and salute and say "good evening sir" he looks me up and down and asks, "how much?". I say "45 bucks sir!" he smiles at me and says " Carry on son." and smiles, shakes his head, and walks away. I earned the respect of my fellow crew but I also have a few stories that live on today on the USS Alabama. Its kinda cool to be remembered as a Legend in some respects.

At the Walmart in town, there is a 'short' door, front and center that's used for cart return. It's well labelled, covered in bright white tape to highlight that the top of the door is only about 4 foot 6.

Hubbin and I were walking towards the store when we see a young lady run out the door--duck to go through, then bound into the street with a boy (probably her brother) in hot pursuit. He too ducks, and tackles the girl, where they wrestle and giggle.

About 45 seconds behind them, an older woman walks out...And fails to duck. WHACK! Very loud noise and she smacks into the top of the door, CRUNCH as her glasses go flying and hit the pavement.

"Mamma!" The girl runs over and clutches the woman, now holding her brow. No blood, but I suspect she had a bruise, to her ego if nothing else.

I had to hustle Hubbin over to another store so we didn't burst out laughing.

Putting my dog down

Last summer I had to help my mom put my old dog down. She had cancer.

Jo-jo was a good dog who chewed her butt hairs a lot. She would chase a tennis ball until she fell over or your arm fell off.

I looked her in the eye and pet her as the doctor shoved the needle into her. She got really scared and then left us forever.

My mom cried. I managed not to and drove back. It was pretty s**tty, though.

{hugs} I had to have my oldest dog put down last December. He had cancer. When the lumps first showed up, I was told not to worry about them, that they were just fatty deposits that are common in older dogs.

Orion was a great dog. I cried. Heck, I'm crying right now.

Not to diminish the sadness of the dogs with cancer stories, but I have a story of

THE BEST/STRANGEST CONCERT EVER

Back in 1999 there was a new big hit song, that's probably still playing on the radio somewhere, called "She's So High." Like many other people, I totally loved the song, and bought the album, which I ended up loving as well. I started hanging out on the bulletin boards for the artist, and discussing all kinds of important issues, like, "omg, is he married?" and "omg, does he wear boxers or briefs?"

My husband thought it was funny, because I'd never really cared about any specific artist before, and started giving me a hard time by photoshopping pictures of the singer, Tal, in weird situations, using the stories that Tal occasionally sent to the website to keep his fans amused. My husband would then post those pictures to the fan site.

After a few months of the photoshopping, I called into a radio station and won tickets to see Tal perform at the Hard Rock Cafe in Salt Lake City! I told my other fan friends about it, and headed off, with my husband, on a road trip to the concert.

I never thought Tal really read his fan boards, so imagine my surprise when we got to the concert the next night and before he even sang a note Tal shielded his eyes from the stage lights, and started looking for me! Once I finally had the guts to identify myself, he asked if my husband was there. My husband, suddenly going from laughing at me to turning beet red, showed himself, and started mumbling things like "oh god, what have I done?" under his breath. Tal sounded very serious and said, "I need to talk to you after the show" and then went on to sing, tell stories, and put on a pretty good performance, during which time my husband, who had gone from beet red to very pale, didn't stop mumbling in horror, and looking like he was about to be shot.

After the show Tal came over to where we were and was very nice - he just wanted to meet us and get my husband to do some artwork for a project - but I had the best time I've ever had at a concert, being singled out by my favorite singer, and seeing my husband get his comeuppance, even if only for an hour or so, for trying to embarrass me with those pictures.

I remember that song. It was pretty good until I got sick of it. But that's the radio's fault, really. Good story, gretel.

So, Happy New Year and the rest to all you folks.

Mr. Monkey and I just completed an almost spur-of-the-moment cross-country road trip! His sister just moved to Montreal, and to make a long story short, we drove her car out to her but took the scenic route and stopped to visit friends that live out east. It was a blast, except that my body thinks I'm in a different time zone, so I'm Pliming here and it's currently 05:34 - I should be asleep!

The Scary Blowout
So I was driving in Saskatchewan on the 16 (it's a 4-laner), and it was a typical snowy but sunny day. As I was passing a big semi, I heard a !!BANG!! just beside me and looked to see shredded rubber everywhere! As I saw this, I instinctively floored it to finish passing him (I was almost passed), as the truck was starting to swerve a bit. I'm thankful for wide shoulders. When we pulled over later on we discovered bits of shredded rubber on the trunk and back bumper of the car. It was scary!

Scary Old Lady
So we phoned some very dear friends of ours when we got to Thunder Bay to get directions to their new house. My friend said it was just a quick jaunt, so she figured she'd stay on the phone and give me directions until I get there.... except that she began to give me directions to this scary old lady's house across the street. I heard her laughing hysterically as she hung up the phone - right as we were ringing the doorbell. This old cranky woman showed up wearing old granny slippers and holding a cat, and told us that we had no business ringing her doorbell and that we should just quit delivering flyers and leaver her alone already!! We mumbled we must have the wrong address as we scurried back to our car, but she came out to the sidewalk and heckled us until we got in and drove away! It was then that I spied my friends laughing in their front window - to them, it was a grand joke.

London
Not a real story, but I wore my Roughriders bunnyhug when we got there, and as we walked out to supper that night, random people were shouting "whoo, Riders!". I was happy to see RiderPride alive and well.

New Year's
At the request of another friend, we went to Niagara Falls for the night. Big Mistake! The town was rampant with 19 and 20 year old Americans who wanted to just get drunk legally and be stupid. It felt like the entire town was a frat party or something.

Some of the things I was asked:
'Are you from Canada? Where's a good restaurant?' I know of a great one - just go WNW for 2000 miles.
'Are you from Canada? Why are things more expensive with American money now?'
'Where's the closest place where I can see polar bears?'
'I honestly thought there might be igloos and s**t here. How much farther north do I have to go to see those?'

The last comment reminded me of that Rick Mercer sketch where he had Mike Huckabee, the governer of Arkansas, congratulate Canada on preserving our National Igloo, which was apparently at risk of melting thanks to global warming. So I decided to play my own bit of 'Talking to Americans' right back at them.

I had one guy convinced that the Niagara Falls turn off when the tide goes out, and another girl believing that due to global warming no-one could build igloos anymore and that we all have to live in tents instead. I know it's mean, but it was still kind of funny.

I once played darts with a pimp.

One night, I wandered the local red light district with two female fellow students (yes, we were that bored), and after visiting a really lame strip club (yes, we were that open-minded), we entered a really a shabby bar (yes, we were that desperate).

There was this guy at the counter, with two really cheap hookers at his side. He looked something like this, but 6'6'' and without sunglasses:



I paid little attention to him until I met and squeezed past him again in the narrow corridor to the bathroom. It turned out he had turned off the tap with enough force for me to be unable to turn it on again.

Excitedly I returned to our table and declared my intent to duel him, or at least defeat him at darts (yes, I was that drunk). I totally suck at darts, but went over nevertheless and challenged him. He accepted, and we began to throw. Meanwhile, the hookers were standing by and cheering for him, which I found was quite unfair. I gained the lead pretty soon, though, and he turned out to be quite amicable and loquatious.

Yet, I was going through severe fear of being recognized as the smartass student that I was, only coming here for voyeurist socio-touristic reasons.

Just when I seemed to be winning the game, and was anxiously speculating of what consequences that victory might have (a beating? a friendly hug? a round for everyone? a free hooker?), he did a triple 20 and thus finished me off.



A handshake - that was it.

But I have played darts with a pimp!

I had fun playing darts with you that night, sucker. (bump)

Part 1 The Intro

Hmmm ok here is a story...i will try to keep it from being too long but its a LOOONG story.

Soo I had been working at a call center...not a great job but i was just out of college for the first time and i was working so it was cool. Now occasionally i apply for random jobs throughout the world and this was one of those times...i actually got a call back, did a couple interviews and what do you know i got the job, i was moving to Bermuda SWEET. So I quit my job and two nights before leaving I have a going away party...we are all far too drunk things get out of hand i end up punching a door(i know stupid) and i think i dislocated my nuckle. At this point im pretty plastered and i try to pull it back into place...after about 15 minutes i decide that pulling it is not going to work and i need to go to the hospital. I find someone who is sober and he drives me over to the hospital. After 8 hours in the waiting room im pretty sober and in a lot of pain and the take me in and reset the bone and throw a cast on.

At this point im pretty freaked out cause i have to drive 200km in a standard car and my right hand is wrapped half way to my elbow in a cast. So I make the trip anyway shifting and steering with my left hand as my right hand sits uselessly by being sore. So i get to Bermuda and they have someone show up at the airport to pick me up...i must say they looked pretty suprised by the cast on my hand but help me with my bags and take me to the office.

Here is where it gets fun....so I am sent over to the local scooter shop where I am to pick up my scooter that I will be driving for the next couple of months while i am there...i have never driven a scooter at this point so I am a little nervous but the friendly people offer me a lesson and I accept. Unfortunately the lesson only involved driving in circles in a parking lot the size of a driveway...anyway i drive back down the street and finish the day of work and pick up my cell phone they have provided me.

At the end of the day I head home...making out pretty well for the first time on a scooter i must say. Unfortunately about half way home i forget how to turn...so i decide i should stop...unfortunately I have that pesky cast on my right hand...which happens to be my throttle hand...which happens to be stuck on the brake lever so im kinda going full speed when this concrete wall jumps out of nowhere and hits me. Ok so im lying on some guys front lawn surrounded by scooter pieces and in quite a bit of pain. A friendly person stops to ask if im ok, to reduce the level of embarrassment i am already feeling i say yep im fine as i look at my shattered cast and try to pick up the scooter with my left hand.

So i brush myself off and try to start the scooter, and to my suprise it still works YAY..so now i continue on my way driving a little more carefully but fortunately my cast is a little more flexibly now(although a whole lot more painfull) so i am able to drive a little easier. I see a grocery store and stop in to grab some beer because i figure that will help me through the evening.

I don't have many stories, but here is one that makes me chuckle.

Back in JR high I used to walk home from the bus top everyday with a group of friends. Well for some reason a group of guys that knew one of my friends seemed to enjoy throwing rocks at us from across the street as we walked home. After a few days of this I was getting rather miffed and I told myself that if I got hit one more time I was going to really fake it... Sure enough I was quickly hit on the shoulder by a good sized rock.

So I fell to me knees and began crying out
"MY EYE! OH MY GOD YOU HIT MY EYE!"

They ran home like scared little chickens and that was the last time they bothered us.

Part 2 (the evening continues)

At this point it is starting to get dark so i turn on the headlight...unfortunately the headlight doesnt exactly work anymore so im trying to find this place i live...which i havent been to before(work set it up for me). After driving around for about 30 min or so in the dark i finally find it...Finally home.

Now this is where thinks go really wrong. I take the keys out of the scooter, take my helmet off and throw the helmit in the storage compartment under the seat and close the seat. I grab my beer and head for the apartment door...just one problem, i cant find the keys. I say to myself I must have them they were here a minute ago. I soon realize what has happened, the keys went with the helmet...in the storage compartment...which locks automatically, could this day get any worse? Yup...so i figure i will call one of the guys at work on that fancy new cell phone they gave me at work...too bad for me it was on my belt when i left work and somewhere between work and home (im guessing that little accident i had) i lost this phone. Ok so im locked out i cant drive anywhere and im in some pretty bad pain...what can i do...OOOOOOH I KNOW ill drink beer it always helps. So i crack open the beer and start drinking.

Eventually the land lord comes home and lets me in...i am drinking the beer and continue thinking how to resolve this situation and it comes to me...so i grab a magnet off the fridge and tie it to some string from a sewing kit used to reattach buttons. I go back out to the scooter and try to pry open the seat with my good hand as i throw the magnet under with the other hand and try and get the keys that way. After a couple minutes i give up on this and head back in for another beer...this isnt working. So after a bit i get another bright idea...maybe if i can get more room i can reach inside with my good hand...so i grab the toilett plunger and unscrew the plunger part and head back out side with a mean look on my face...its me and you scooter...so im prying and pulling and in excrusiating pain at this point but i think im gonna get it...again no luck. Time for more beer.

After i finish off the beer i am just mad by this point i walk outside kick the scooter on the ground and turn it upside down. I shake it violently until i hear the keys drop to the seat I grab the handle from the toilet plunger and start prying open the seat until i can grab the keys..SUCCESS

That basically concluded my first day in Bermuda...although the next week or so were quite fun as I didnt fix my cast and i had to explain how i lost my phone to work :S

(One of) Tito's craziest nights.

This post has been rated R for sexual content and drug use

To preface this story I must mention this was during a rough time during my life.

Part 1

Sometime about 6 years ago....

A buddy of mine and I received a call from some girls that we had met a few weeks before. They wanted to party with us, so we said "ok" and picked them up. We decided to go over to one of the girls uncle's house and have some drinks.

We went to the grocery store and shopped the liquor aisle. The girls picked out two bottles of booze. I knew the girls were planning on getting hardcore drunk because they picked out a bottle of Rumple Minze and a bottle of 100 proof Hot Damn. I picked up a six pack of beer because there is no way I am just going to drink shots of 100 proof liquors.

We meet up there and the uncle is a cool guy. He ends up leaving with a friend and we continue drinking. We played some cards and just hung out smoked some pot and drank. Before we knew it the girls started making out. This wasn't a shock to us because they were known to us as being bi anyway.

One of the girls ends up taking off her clothes and lays out in the backyard naked on a blanket and asks us to come over. This somehow turns into an orgy.

After the fun was over one girl runs out and says we need to hide, her uncle just pulled up. I don't think her uncle would care that we were there, I just think she was afraid that he knew what went on. She told us to come back in 30 minutes after he went to sleep.

We went out and sat in my friends car and listened to the radio waiting. I think I forgot that she told us to come back. I said to my friend "are you ok to drive? I gotta go home". He responded to me "Hmmmmmm mmmmmmm weeeee ahhh uhhhh" and then passed out.

"Man, I gotta go home". I jumped out of the car and decided to start walking. We were about 8 miles from my house.

I started walking down the street. I walked about 3-4 blocks and I heard what I though was a house party going on in an upstairs unit. For some reason I decided going home was less important than trying to get these guys to let me party with them. I rang their buzzer. Some guy answered "yeah". I replied "Let me in, I wanna party with you". For some reason this guy did not want to let some random wasted guy in off the street into his apartment. He looked out the window "what do you want"? I replied " I wanna party with you".

I finally realized this guy didn't wanna party with me so I started back down the street. Another block later I run into a homeless man who asks me for a smoke, I oblige. He asks what I'm doing. I tell him I just need to get home. He tells me he can get me a ride. "Right on". A couple minutes later some car comes flying down the street cranking some metal. The homeless guy talks to him and asks him if he can give me a ride back to my house. The guy tells me to jump in.

I get in the guys car and come to find out he is some tweaked-out metal head meth addict. "Oh well, just so I get home". He starts driving, I have no clue where, he jumps on the highway headed south, even though I live northwest. I do not remember much of this ride besides him cranking metal and getting on and off roads and highways. It felt like I was riding with him for 30-45 minutes. Apparently I said something that set him off, although I have no idea what. He keeps repeating "You gotta get out man, you gotta get out". I was so turned around by his driving I wasn't sure where I was. I was worried I would have to now walk home from south county (15 miles from home). He drops me off in the parking lot of a Jack in the Box.

Part 2

Where am I? I then realize I am only two or three blocks from where he picked me up from. "Sweet"! I see a group of guys hanging around their cars eating at the back of the lot. I walk over to them and see if any of them is headed my direction. Nope they are all going east to the strip clubs. They all declined giving me a ride, but they gave me a cheese burger. I ate the burger and chatted with them about nothing. One of the guys then says to me "see that couple over there, they are our friends and they will give you a ride". "Really?" I ask. I then head over to the car.

It was a big gangster looking guy and his girlfriend. I tell them what their friends said. He tells me to jump in. For some reason he had me sit up front while his girlfriend drove. He then asked me if I want to party. I told him sure. He then hands me a plate of coke. "Thats not what I was thinking of" I thought to my self. "Oh well, at least he's taking me home" I thought. I end up doing some lines. I sobered up somewhat. He then looks at me and says I now owe him $100. "I thought you wanted to party! I didn't know you wanted me to buy it" I said in a nervous voice. I told him I only had $20. He started getting this upset look on his face and his girl kept giving him a dirty look. I was worried I was going to end up dead in a ditch, I had to think fast. I mentioned to him earlier that I sold real estate. I told him to call me the next day and I would get him the money. I didn't have money to give him and I didn't want to give my number to a drug dealer. I decided to give him the card of another Realtor I knew (and disliked). He said everything was cool. I didn't want him to know where I lived anyway so I asked him to drop me off at the corner because my girlfriend lived right up the street. "Oh no" I just remembered 10 minutes earlier I told him I didn't have a girlfriend. I think he forgot about that. His girl let me off on the corner.

How was it after another 30-45 minutes in a car I ended up only another block from where I was picked up? I crossed the street and went over to White Castle because I was hungry again. I then remembered I just gave the last of my money to a drug dealer. I go inside and see if I can score some free food. That didn't work. I start walking outside and notice the place is crawling with cops that are trying to control some guy that is spazzing out on some drugs. I talk to one of the cops and see if they will take me home. That didn't work he told me he could only drop me off at the station and find a ride from there. I then start flirting with a female cop and she some how agreed to drop me off at the St. Louis city/county limit. I agreed and thanked her. We chatted in the car and she bummed my last cigarette. At least I am closer to home, finally.

I ended up walking for a long time, dying for a cigarette. I was able to get one from some guy at the bus stop and eventually made it home after walking for 2 1/2 hours.

I got home at 7:30am and slept until about 8pm.