You know what I miss?

That slow, shit-eating grin that you start to get about thirty minutes after you swallow a tab of LSD. Invariably, the grin starts the very second that you turn to each of your fellow stoners and ask, “does anybody feel anything yet?”

Someone thinks they felt something but aren’t sure now. Someone else claims that LSD has absolutely no effect whatsoever on them. It’s not as easy to believe them because they are holding open the refrigerator door and pissing all over the groceries.

If the acid is clean, sex will be wonderful, slow, sensual, and meaningful.

If not, jitters, nervous energy up the ying-yang (whatever that is), and weird visions that can last for up to eight hours.

In all seriousness, I have eaten approximately one-hundred hits of LSD in my lifetime. Maybe twenty mescaline trips, twenty psylocibin mushroom trips, pounds of cocaine, kilos of weed, and after all of it, I am still smarter than most people I know or meet.

I realize that sounds unbelievably arrogant, but it is true and I know that it secretly digs at the Domestic Despot. It gets her that my memory is so sharp despite everything I have put my brain through in this lifetime.

But I still can’t find my freakin’ keys.

Go figure.

A case in point is the song I was practicing only two weeks ago. Actually, I am stoned right now, and the song I was playing and trying to learn in its entirety was Johnny Cash’s classic I’ve Been Everywhere.

Singing the song in rapid-fire staccato fashion and including every single stop, all four verses worth, is something that even I doubted after day three. The whole thing balances on your ability to breathe in the right spots so that you can fit all the lyrics in and not run completely out of breath.

But no.

Maddogg is as stubborn as they come, and as we all know, that can be good or bad.

I am now ready to play it out and I will hopefully have a big crowd to play for at my last practice at the Wednesday open mic before my first nursing home gig on the 20th.

I long for the ORIGINAL Arby’s roast beef sandwiches that you used to be able to buy. You could smell them cooking off the bottom rounds in the Alto Shams all day long. The crap that they pass as food at Arby’s is only worsened by their stupid “we have the meats” ad campaign. Processed meats, deep-fried garbage, and dip-shit specials dot their piece-of-shit menu.

I long for the frozen pineapple rings we used to get in Japan when I was a little boy. I think mom liked us eating them because she thought it was better than candy.

I long for the days of big bands playing smaller venues where you could really feel the music coursing through your body.

That first power chord through stacks of Marshall Amps.


Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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