Dark Country Roads

In my high school we rural kids would go out to a dark country road and get wasted.  There was plenty of beer, usually I would have at least a twelve pack. We had weed, we had cocaine. When you couldn’t stand you could go sit in your car. Often a cheerleader, a quarterback or a big defensive tackle was right next to you. We were all bonding. There was a lot of love of living on that road.  Soon we would graduate, go our separate ways, not realizing those were our glory days.

Good Old Days

Matt flipped a switch on the portable Flintstone’s record player–the three forty fives dropped down, and Lean on Me played again.  He and his older brother Erick were teaching me, their eleven-year-old cousin, how to play poker, and Erick was dealing.  So far they had won most of the money.  I came with four quarters I had hoped to use for french fries at the pool.

Later they showed me how to smoke out of a pipe.  They asked me questions like, “did I see a purple rabbit?”  I told them, “My eyes feel funny. Could we go eat some of the donuts I saw in your kitchen?”  Everything was funny.  I laughed so hard my belly ached.  The third chocolate covered donut was so good.

Love and Heartburn

Life can be challenging. My doctor told me I have something called GERD. I must stop drinking alcohol.  Fried foods and chocolate are a no-no. These were my favorite things in the world next to marijuana. I told this to my girlfriend. I think she blocks out most of what I say–she suggested we go get a drink.  I tell myself one bourbon won’t hurt. The fried cheese balls she orders are only inches from my reach. I eat a few. On the way home she breaks off a corner of a Hershey bar and says, “go ahead it’s only a little piece.”  Later the burping brings acid from my stomach into my esophagus.  The heartburn pain is unbearable. Tums don’t work at all. I have learned my lesson. No more alcohol, chocolate or Fried foods. Most important avoid my girlfriend whenever possible or suffer in pain and agony…

How to Quit

I’ve worked over forty-nine jobs in the Frederick County area.  That’s given me a wide range of work experiences, especially how to quit and how to get fired.  I now command salaries of up to nine dollars an hour.

At my last job, my boss, Jena, a rather attractive woman asked me to please get to work. I winked at her and said, “Jena, there is nothing wrong with getting a little behind.”
That was my last day there.

I have sales experience in jewelry, real estate, fire alarms, frozen steaks, furniture, and marijuana. None of these jobs was lucrative, but selling marijuana helped me to get laid once.

One of my qualities is that I take jobs that require mindless labor and no responsibility, and focus on getting to know my co-workers.  On the clock, I’m a real people person.

My main requirement now is that I work with women. My motto has always been: Work hard, play hard, but don’t play hard to get.  I’ve always appreciated promiscuous female co-workers–without them, I wouldn’t have had nearly as much sex on the job.

I’m currently seeking employment as a Mystery Shopper inside dialysis clinics.  Keeping a close eye on nurses comes naturally to me.

When I look back at my past, I can see that my future has to be better. It can’t be any worse.  It is always darkest just before the light.

Another New Lease on Life

Saturday morning and I was in jail. I had sold a friend of a friend five dollars worth of weed. He was an undercover cop.
I was in a room with murderers, rapists, and even transvestites. My worst nightmare began to unfold. One of my cellmates walked towards me. He was huge, six feet six, 320 pounds. I could fight him–I had proven my fighting skills back in high school, whipping Patty Hiney in a food fight.

The hardened convict nearly stepped on my toes. He said, “Come into my cell with me.”
There was no greeting, no handshake–his manners were atrocious. I pictured him behind me, and a painful experience involving my rear end. I followed him and stopped just inside his cell door. He sat on his bunk bed, looked at me with weary eyes, and said, “They arrested me when I was naked. I want your socks and your underwear.”

I felt that my answer was critical to my survival in this hell hole. I looked straight into his eyes and said, “You can have my socks, but, you don’t want to mess with these underwear.”
On Monday I was released.
Forty-two years old and another new lease on life, underwear intact, socks gone forever.

The First Time

In 1972, my hippie sister got married. The wedding was in our front yard, on a hillside overlooking Frederick valley. I was twelve years old then and quite naïve.
So, when my cool cousin, who was eleven, asked me if I wanted to get high,
I said, “yeah, you want to climb some trees?”
He said, “no, lets catch a buzz.”

I liked this cousin. He lived in McLean, Virginia, in a big cool house next to a United States senator. I was not going to let him know that I had no idea what he was talking about. He said, “come on,” and, we walked down the lane into the woods. He got out a little pipe, flipped his Zippo lighter and started smoking. I had never smoked anything, never tried alcohol, but, I hit that pipe like I was Popeye. Some things just come naturally.

Exhaling smoke was fascinating. I was hooked.
He said, “I’m wasted,” and I said, “I am too,”
although I didn’t know whether I was buzzed or not. My eyes felt funny, and later, I did eat four pieces of wedding cake. A couple weeks after that my best friend told me that he smoked it, and, shortly after that, I became a young pothead. I can’t say what happened that day was a bad thing. I do know it’s been a factor in my taking the road less traveled. I have been high for most of the journey.

Bucket list

1 Star in x rated movie
2 Sail to Tahiti with all girl crew
3 Have relationship with hippopotamus
4 Write blog that changes mankind
5 Go to nudist camp with underwear on
6 Get e-mail from Jesus
7 Ask Bill Gates to lend me 1 million dollars
8 Fall hopelessly in love with myself

The bar scene

I don’t go out much but tonight I’m going to get messed up and walk into a bar. I’m a good looking man, which can work against you, and nobody has my back. Most of my old party buddies are dead, or they had to leave town. I told two women the last time I went out that I won’t fight men any more but I’ll take on two woman. The bars in this town you have to be ready for combat. I can’t imagine getting in a fight at my age. 6 shots of bourbon and I’ll fight Godzilla.

stolen jokes

What do you call an alligator in a vest?

An investigator

What do you call a boy who finally stood up to the bullies?

You call him an ambulance

What do call a fat psychic?

A four chin teller.

Get Control

So life has thrown me a few curve balls. A death in the family, a move to a new home, and then I got fired. A lot of change, and problems in my life that I thought I had turned around. Marijuana is part of the my problem, my determination to live life as I want is a part of my problem. The fact that I never met my soul mate, and raised a family is also a factor. With a positive, stoned attitude I will carry on. To old friends, and classmates who have passed on to the next world, I salute you with this buzz, and wish you could be here to join me. I’m almost ready to grow old, and grow up, but not yet . My birthday is tomorrow. I’m going to enjoy it, and then live the rest of my life, the joking life, and try to do the best that I can. Wish you luck! Stephen.