Thursday, September 11, 2008

Mushrooms, doobies, and fog

I used to live on some graze land that was surrounded by several thousand acres of rice paddies and when it got foggy out there, it flat out got foggy. No bullshit. You couldn't see a fucking thing. Me and my tight Brother Dave would eat a bunch of magic mushrooms, wait until we was getting off real good, then head out to the back pasture. Once there, we would smoke a fattie for good measure, then we'd spin ourselves around in circles until we could barely stand up. After that, we would try to find our way home in the technicolor fog. Sometimes it took hours. As a matter of fact, if it wasn't for the barbed wire fences dividing the sections, we might've never made it home. We'd wander around aimlessly until we hit a fence then follow it. The worst we could do was end up back in the same place (not that we'd recognize it in the fog) but I spliced those damned fences so many times I knew them intimately.

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