by Reverend Bad Funk


Free Your Mind

Do you know what it means to free your mind?
To unbind the ties that rob you blind
To live out of love that hovers like doves
Or to bury your merry in a substance hug, a fluid drug.
It’s easy to shove away the day,
Which gave you an array of games to play
When to choose which you use and which you lose,
With whose tools you duel,
And which bitch would glitch and mark you the fool.
This makes me confused, and I find muse in abusing the booze.
And all these choices that soil our noises
When we moisten our voices
Toys with these games we play
When we smoke our pay, and abstain from the day.
Loosen yourself from the rules and the tools
That boast to host fools and make trash into jewels
But truly, who’ll be the fool and who the founder of the rules?
Even this rhyme is confined within a twine
That binds it’s hurdy-gurdy wording to make it sound so purty.
When perhaps it’s not the tools,
But the soul of this show that shines on the rhyme
With its incandescent glow…
Who could know??


I put the FUNK in dysFUNKtional.

    1. When I was young I was told I had one mouth and two ears, so I should talk half as much as I listen. Well thankfully technology caught up with my needs, so guess what bitches?? You got two eyes, and I got ten fingers. So sit the fuck down and pay attention, this could take a while.
    2. I wonder if work is getting harder as the day progresses, or is it just me? Oh, wait, my desk just elevated a bit and spilled my coffee. I guess it’s just me then.
    3. I want to get a super-cape to wear on my penis when I go on dates. Or actually, to wear anywhere I guess, cuz you never know when my penis might heed a call to action!
    4. I woke up this morning and went, “no no no no no no no nooooo….” You ever have a morning like that?? That’s the last time I volunteer my bedroom to a work-release program for “rehabilitated” prisoners…
    5. I was thinking about the evolution of man, and I realized we really haven’t come that far. We just traded in our clubs for bottles of rufees… which (coincidentally?) we use at clubs.
    6. I can understand why people wonder if God ever listens to what they say. But me, I wonder if the world might be as fucked up as it is because God ONLY listens to me… and that freaks me out.
    7. Today I woke up, wanted to toke up, but had nuthin broke up. So I lit a smoke up, and wrote a quickie joke up. Suddenly you spoke up, said “Hold up, you’re gonna make me choke up!”
    8. Tonight I’m going to sit down with my cats and explain the dangers of catnip, because if I don’t, who will?
    9. I was permanently kicked out of Market Basket earlier this evening for motor-boating the cantaloupe. It was worth it.
    10. I had a vision: Picture if you will, Neo and Trinity from the Matrix in a king-size bed. They had just finished a round of wild unbridled coitus, when a small boy with a bald head dressed in a monk’s robe (presumably their son) enters the room. Upon the sight of his father wrapped around his mother he suddenly covered his face and started rocking back and forth while chanting, “There is no spoon… there is no spoon… there is no spoon…”
    11. I was at a three day rave over the weekend when at one point a tripped out kid came to our tent with a pair of glasses on that were blinking blue and red in bright LED lights around his eyes. I felt like we were being pulled over by the fashion police for accessorizing poorly.
    12. I’ve recently realized that as I lose more hair from my head, my chest and ass are getting hairier. I no longer believe that I’m losing hair, but instead I think my hair is actually migrating south to warmer pastures. By the time I’m 80 I’m gonna be totally bald and have the hairiest ass on Earth.
    13. I was just sitting in the cafeteria in a white shirt with a bowl of smoldering soup at a table with an incredibly wobbly leg when I realized that the whole scenario was a perfect metaphor for the sloppy delicious chaos that is my life.
    14. I got a balloon of nitrous (NOS) and a balloon of helium (He) at the same time and performed the following routine: (inhale NOS) “You must pay the rent!!” (inhale He) “But I can’t pay the rent!!” (inhale NOS) “You must pay the rent!!” (inhale He) “But I can’t pay the rent!!” (inhale NOS) “I’ll pay the rent!!” (inhale He) “My hero!!” (inhale NOS) “Curses!!” But I didn’t quite finish the routine before fainting.
    15. I have an “index toe” that’s longer than my “big toe”. My “big toe” is still plenty big, it’s hardly stubby or anything, but I still struggle to call it the “big toe”, it being shorter than its neighbor. So for now on I’m gonna call my “big toe” my “fat, lazy couch potay-toe”.
    16. I try to cough in harmony with my pot-smoking peers whenever applicable, because I don’t get high to enhance the music, I get musical to enhance the high.
    17. I enjoy sex and masturbation mostly because I can’t figure out what else to do with my penis when it isn’t peeing.
    18. When I was a child I was told from a classmate that Santa Claus wasn’t real. I went crying all the way home, ran into my mother’s arms and said, “I just heard that Santa isn’t real??” to which she said, “Oh no, Santa’s real… But you’re Jewish.”
    19. I just suggested to a lactating lady friend that she use finger condoms for her nipples… and I meant it. It’s far too often that my realities severely outweigh my fantasies in absurdity.
    20. I’ve heard that it’s impossible to eat seven saltines in one minute or less. Well I was thinking, if you would be willing to stand before me in some sexy, slutty lingerie, and then right before I begin you pop those beautiful breasts of yours out from that sleazy top… I think I’d salivate like Pavlov’s dog. So… in those circumstances, yeah, I bet I could do it.
    21. ><)))> ><)))> ><)))> ><)))> ><)))> ><)))> ><)))> I like fish, because they have to stroke everywhere they go to get there, just like me.
    22. I just spent the last 1/2 hr using stone and leather belt to sharpen the edges of paper that I intend to use to write a letter to my friend serving a life sentence in prison. That way if anyone fucks with him, he can use my letter to cut the vato.
    23. I’m like a Rubix cube. The more you play with me, the harder I get.
    24. I saw you on the red line train this morning. You were wearing an incredibly sexy blouse with matching earrings and a skirt that flowed like a dream as you entered the train. I immediately became entranced by you. You were a vision of beauty, God’s finest masterpiece, and I had to talk to you. I approached slowly, and screamed “TOUCH IT!” as I flashed you my junk. Sorry about that. I flash people when I get nervous.
    25. I slipped a rufee into my toilet this morning to try to figure out which cat has been drinking out of the bowl. I just got home from work and my roommate is out cold on the kitchen floor…
    26. I never feared the Boogeyman, because I know the only reason he was under my bed was because he was hiding from me.
    27. I don’t have room in my life for people with overinflated egos. Not while I’m so much better than those people are in every way.
    28. I see the connection so clearly now! “Yarrgghh” is to pirate as “OYY!!” is to Jew!
    29. I forgot which way was up until I noticed the vomit that my face was wading in and said to myself, “Oh, that must be down.” It always works out in the end.
    30. I smile too much because the only other things my face is good at are sucking and blowing.
    31. I had a comforting thought: I believe in infinity and reincarnation. I believe our spirits have been and will be around for all eternity with no beginning and no end to our existences. Therefore, all you women who won’t have sex with me, chances are GREAT that I’ve already had you in past lives, and WILL have you again in future incarnations. So say no to me today, I’m not concerned. I’ll get to you (again) eventually!
    32. I wonder if Pavlov’s dog ever salivated for Schrödinger’s cat.
    33. I just realized that eggs get laid more frequently than I do. This isn’t right…
    34. I got caught peeping into a woman’s window as she was getting undressed last night. She was livid after that. She waddled over to her night stand, threw in her dentures, came to the window and started yelling, “Hey you whippersnapper!! Get out of this window with those bi-foculars!! Young people today, honestly…” and I didn’t catch the last part… Something about communists and a black president…
    35. I put the FUNK in dysFUNKtional.
    36. Legend says that when the Buddha reached enlightenment, he basically just vanished, whisked away to Nirvana… but I can’t help picturing the Buddha acknowledging his enlightenment to his disciples, and then covering his eyes with his hands and chanting, “You can’t see me. There’s nobody home.”
    37. Right now I’m attempting to blink at the opposite pace of the cursor to see if I can create my own optical illusion of the cursor being invisible/non-existent. It’s working. And I feel like I’m getting stupider by the blink. Some time within the next 20 minutes or so I suspect I’ll reach my most stupidest ever.
    38. I’m willing to admit that zombies have the upper hand on me, because they taste like rotten meat, whereas I suspect I taste like grade A beefcake.
    39. I’m thinking about dressing for Halloween this year as a priest with a little boy blow up doll around my waist. I know most of you are thinking that’s wrong… but aren’t we suppose to dress as monsters on Halloween?? I can’t think of anything more monstrous than that.
    40. I believe that there’s one single word in all languages that have caused and continue to cause war, greed, corruption, homicide, suicide, lying, cheating, theft, pain, suffering, and the overall destruction of all forms of existence: “I”.
    41. I put my left foot in, take my left foot out, put my left foot in, and shake it all about. I do the hanky panky and I turn your ass around. And that’s how I foot-fuck you.
    42. Newton’s law states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, proving he knew nothing about women.
    43. I was recently told that “Idle hands are the Devil’s playground,” which I find very interesting, because it means that the Devil likes to give me a lot of hand-jobs.
    44. I’m thinking about starting up either a chess game or scrabble game from my band’s page on Facebook against my personal page so I can play with myself all day, like I always dreamed I would.
    45. I heard that Barak Obama’s presidential campaign spread a slanderous rumor that John McCain beat him up, and that’s how he was elected as president, on a sympathy vote!! Oh wait, sorry, I got my facts mixed up… that was Zack Morris that spread a rumor that A.C. Slater beat up Screech, which was how Screech won the Miss Bayside Beauty Pageant. Sorry everyone, my B.
    46. I went to Staples this morning, went to the register with the cutest cashier, asked her if she’d like to join me in a bathroom stall, pushed the EASY button, and got slapped. Note to self: EASY button bad investment. Does not perform as advertised.
    47. I think the Ku Klux Klan are… well they’re just adorable!! With those matching pointy clean white hats and the cute little eye-holes, I just wanna get like 8 of em and organize em neatly on top on my pillows when I make my bed in the morning. They remind me of Smurfs, but they’re white instead of blue, and instead of saying “smurf” for every other word they say “kike” and “nigger”.
    48. I have a message for those of you that need this message: Your negativity becomes you. We all go through shit. The important thing is to learn from it, not allow that stuff to overcome our aspirations, and keep making strides to bring our dreams to life. Try smiling, even if there’s nothing to smile about. Smile in the face of everything that defeats us. Smile for the hope of smiles to come. And they will.
    49. I wish that I could rearrange the alphabet, because if I could I would put P on U.
    50. I love how everyone sees the drama of their lives in all the wrong ways. Drama takes on vivid colors before it finally falls, just like autumn leaves. And just like those leaves, don’t worry, they’ll grow back. Everything hurts, everything heals, everything comes and goes through the same cycles. See every aspect of life in all others, and you can clearly see the beauty in the connections that compose our lives.
    51. I wouldn’t chuck wood no matter what sort of wood-chuckery was afoot. That’s just rude… I mean who chucks wood, really… That’s really not cool, Mr. Woodchuck.
    52. I have a tip for new parents: Potty train your child BEFORE they learn to walk. Otherwise they’ll just piss all over themselves. Looking back I wish I hadn’t learned this the hard way.
    53. I hate when people say, “If the tables were turned…” It always implies that you could be better off than someone else. But I’m a DJ. Nothing is ever funky enough for anyone until the tables are turning. And “If the shoe was on the other foot,” sounds uncomfortable. How can I dance with the shoe on the other foot?? And if I can’t dance, what’s the point of turning the tables at all?? American phraseology is stupid.
    54. I wonder who would win in a battle between a rooster and a cat… Ideally, I’d hope that both would win. Many times.
    55. Sometimes I like to perch on the handrails in trains like a church steeple gargoyle and announce the stops like a Spartan General: “THIS. IS. ALEWIFE!!”
    56. Voltron reminds me of the robotic equivalent of the Gay Pride Parade.
    57. I never stop being amazed by how gassy I can be!! Take for example my appearance: I’m a pretty big guy, right? Got some girth to me… probably appear to be, what… 260, 270lbs? Nope. I actually weigh 117 pounds.
    58. I don’t have anything particularly interesting to say right now, but my fingers are looking a little flabby in the mid-section, I need to get some exercise. And a ONE and a TWO and a THREE and a FOUR and a FIVE and a SIX and a SEVEN…
    59. I would like to take a moment to answer one of life’s greatest mysteries, which has gone unanswered for far too long: Hit “Menu”, go to “Edit Options”, choose “Time/Date”, and use the up and down buttons to set the clock. I’m glad to have been able to help, and I apologize for bringing this solution to you years after the VCR became dead technology.
    60. I wonder if skydivers consider eagle fucking “tandem”.
    61. I wonder if when dominoes fall in love, a massive orgy ensues. (domino effect and all…) At very least I think it’s safe to say that dominoes aren’t big on monogamy.
    62. I’m thankful for the last drop of toothpaste that just lasted over 3 weeks for me, which is WAY more miraculous than Hanukkah ever was. Take THAT Jews!!
    63. I wrote a poem this morning that I’d like to share. It’s about the nature of stones: Some stones see water, and they just want to skip. Some stones see you walking, and they just want to trip. Some stones hate the ground, and they just want to flip. But baby, YOU ROCK!!
    64. I wrote the word “NO” on the groove of my hand between my thumb and index finger because I wanted to feel like I was raping my hand when masturbating.
    65. I had a shoe that the sole almost fell off of last night before my band’s gig, and I was really concerned… I mean if it had… well how could I be expected to play funk with no sole??
    66. I’m an Italian Jew, so matter how you cut it, my ancestors killed Jesus.
    67. I think I’ll go walk around the hospital for a while wearing scrubs and tell people that they’re gonna die. Not maliciously though, just for fun.
    68. I’m willing to accept “FRUIT” as a synonymous term for my cock and balls… but must my crotch be referred to as “THE LOOM”??
    69. I just quit smoking cigarettes. It’s not actually that bad… it’s worst when I’m in those moments where cigarettes are so vital to the moment. Anyone who’s ever smoked knows what I’m talking about on that, whether it be the in-the-car smoke, the after-dinner smoke, the waiting-for-the-train smoke… for me, my cravings have only really been brutal at one moment: When I’m inhaling air.
    70. Day three without a cigarette and I’m already starting to acknowledge the changes! Everyone is TOTALLY right, when you quit smoking cigarettes you CAN taste everything better! For example, the phlegm I’ve been coughing up all day… it never tasted so bold! What a treat!!
    71. I wonder if angels get their wings every time the bell rings when Sweeney Todd sends his freshly killed customers down to Mrs. Lovett. DING! Aww, Clarence got his wings! And Uncle Milton is DELICIOUS! What a joyous occasion!!
    72. I was having a conversation about New England weather, but I don’t get it… Shouldn’t NEW England be an IMPROVEMENT in weather from OLD England??? I feel like this area of the world is like the Windows Vista of Britain.
    73. I wonder if unibrows come about by thinking they’re highlanders in the womb. “There can be only one.”
    74. I can put everything into perspective quite easily. Perspective is such a filthy whore.
    75. I can’t tell the difference between cool and metrosexual when it comes to fashion. Fuck.
    76. I learned some interesting connections between hands and personality traits this weekend. For example, if your ring finger is longer than your index finger, you’re probably gay. If all of your fingernails are too long and colorful, you’re probably a receptionist. If your pinky is longer than your penis, you’re probably suicidal. And if you’re not, you probably should be.
    77. I’m so sexy that I’ve never even seen my own penis when it’s limp!! I know it does get limp, I’ve felt it happen. But every time I look at myself, BAM!! Erection.
    78. I’m very sensitive when it comes to multiple stab wounds.
    79. I have recurring flying dreams. I also have recurring walking lives.
    80. I think I might be suffering from multiple personality disorder… but personally I disagree.
    81. I’m going to win against ego. You know why? Cuz I’m the best!
    82. When I do surveys that ask me for my favorite number, I always choose 0, because I always suspect it’s going tell me to forward the survey to that many people. As a result, 0 is now my lucky number, which is why I never gamble. There’s no 0 in dice, roulette wheels, or playing cards.
    83. I wonder why viruses are called viruses… wouldn’t “ETD’s” be a more appropriate name?? (Electronically Transmitted Diseases)
    84. This morning I (we) had many heated debates between my (our) multiple personalities, and I (we) have finally come to my (our) conclusion. It’s unanimous, you’re an asshole.
    85. I was listening to Prince this morning and he had this one lyric that said, “Maybe I’m just like my father…” Wouldn’t that be fucked up?? If Prince’s father was ANYTHING like him?? What a fucked up holiday it would be at La Casa De Revolution!! Normally I’d give examples to how funny it could be, but on this one I’ll let your own imagination do the wandering.
    86. I would like to take a moment to remind everyone: slapping people’s asses in public is only acceptable if you follow it by saying, “Good game.”
    87. I’m a man of the modern world and very accepting of all walks of life. But I gotta say this because I think people often act hastily without first getting all the medical facts: If you get a sex change, you INSTANTLY get both boy cooties AND girl cooties, and the two together create a super-cooty, which is untreatable and incurable. Choose wisely.
    88. I have something to say to all the child-proof lighters and bottle caps out there: FUCK YOU! I don’t have to prove how adult I am to YOU.
    89. I was thinking about black holes… It’s easy enough to picture a vacuous hole in a 2D surface, but how would that apply to an infinite and boundless 3D surface?? I tried to picture it from the “other side” of the hole, where everything sucked in would come out… might it look like a star?? And if so, perhaps the heat and light from the sun are being expelled from a vacuum in an anti-matter-universe?
    90. I like bow-legged girls, because I think their condition is inviting for my arrow.
    91. This morning I overheard a snail call a slug a homeless bum, who combated the snail’s remark by calling him trailer trash.
    92. I think the Transformers would be a lot more exciting if they were ethnic: The Mexicautobots vs. the Dominicons. And the Hispanic wrestling masks would look cool on them.
    93. I would like to take a moment to explain all the miracles performed by Jesus Christ: Walking on water, turning water into wine, giving sight to the blind, rising from the grave three days later… this is all part of what we Jews call a “Bar Mitzvah”. It’s a rite of passage thing. Just because Christians take a lazy path and make their kids eats crackers doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t still respect the traditions of our ancestors.
    94. I think it’s ironic that I never get tired of sleeping.
    95. I was told recently by a friend that she was given a series of shots at her doctor’s office, just your basic shots, including a “Titer” shot. WTF?! How come I never knew about this?! I think women should get a Titer shot REGULARLY!! In fact I’d prefer if a Titer PILL was made available over the counter to be taken one hour before sex with me!! VA VA VA VOOM!
    96. I think racism will finally be abolished when the fashion industry comes forth and announces that white is the new black.
    97. I wonder if fat people that work in cubicles feel when they arrive at work in the morning like they’re round pegs trying to squeeze into square holes…
    98. I wonder if Adam loved performing cunnilingus on Eve as much as I love eating ribs.
    99. I made a yalmukkah with a swastika on it to wear on the train… just to keep people guessing.
    100. I’m amazed by how it always seems that kids are becoming sexually active younger and younger. Take for example the other day I got a box of Cracker Jacks, and the prize inside was a condom.
    101. I’m putting together a petition to rename the Old and New Testaments: “The Testament” and “The Testament 2: Armageddon” respectively.
    102. I rode past a church this morning with a marquee offering a class entitled, “Making Disciples”. So I went in and offered my services teaching an advanced class entitled, “Making Prophets 201” with a mandatory additional lab entitled, “How to know when it’s REALLY the voice of God”.
    103. I’m a school-of-thought drop-out.
    104. I was in a conversation over the weekend, and as I told the other person that “I put two and two together”, I provided visual aid by taking my index and middle fingers from one hand and interlocking them with the same fingers on the other hand… and immediately associated it with two lesbians scissoring. Am I the only one who’s mind works this way?
    105. There was a flood in my town recently, and I was disappointed in all the people that were upset about their flooded basements. All those people out there that insisted on viewing their glass as half empty didn’t even realize – their basement was half-FULL!
    106. I like to jump in puddles when it rains. To clarify, by “jump” I mean “masturbate”, by “puddles” I mean “public” and by “when it rains” I mean “as frequently as possible”.
    107. I type poorly when I cross my fingers, which is why I never have any luck finding anything on the internet.
    108. Every Passover I like to wear a “Hi my name is” sticker, write “Elijah” on it, and go to all the Jewish houses saying, “I heard you had some wine for me?”
    109. I was weary yesterday of hurting my favorite eye, to which my friend kept insisting that I tell her which eye was my favorite. I told her repeatedly that it should be obvious, because it’s the one I favor! But truth be told, I was being secretive because I think she was aiming to hurt my favorite eye. Well, I’m gonna let my guard down and tell you now… my trouser snake only has one eye.
    110. I need a doctor that will write a note that says I should get paid to do nothing, and a lawyer who can make it stick.
    111. I recently attempted to watch the Matrix on one channel, and switch channels back and forth between that and the Replacements every time Keanu entered or exited the Matrix.
    112. I’ve come to realize that the more I think, the less I know.
    113. I would like to take a moment to break down the history of BLACK in honor of Black History Month: Black is the color of objects that do not emit or reflect light in any part of the visible spectrum. In most belief structures before the “beginning” there was darkness or it is unknown, so that doesn’t help… therefore I hereby conclude that BLACK HAS NO HISTORY. It’s infinite. Get over yourself, February.
    114. I think there’s too many “___ism”s in the world. Acknowledging differences is what makes us each unique. I don’t want to be equal with anybody; I just want to be me. There’s only one thing in this world that I can respect any sort of ism for: the letter “J”.
    115. I wonder if a homeless woman hosts a gang bang and gets pregnant, would that be considered “making primordial stone soup”?
    116. I just overheard an adorable conversation a coworker was having over the phone with her husband, and she ended it with, “Be careful, because you know when your mind is elsewhere, that’s when accidents happen…” and just then I peed myself.
    117. One of my legs is slightly shorter than the other two.
    118. I wonder what my nose smells like, now that I’ve become immune to its aroma.
    119. Sometimes I’m amazed by how simple it all could be… perhaps this is just wishful thinking, but seriously, if all our bosses stopped the presses for one hot minute on a Friday afternoon and said, “We’ve worked hard this week… what do you say we go outside, wind down for a sec, and smoke this blunt?” suddenly all the world would be a happy place. 🙂
    120. I was at the TD Banknorth Garden in Boston and spoke to a little girl who just got out from seeing Disney On Ice. When asked if she liked it, she said there was one part that was “really scaaarryy…” I asked, “Was it with Cruella Deville??” to which she replied, “No, Tonya Harding.” Way to step it up, Disney.
    121. I wonder if a one-eyed man would be flattered or take offense to a girl winking at him…
    122. I have a question: If it’s too much to ask, then how much is it to just tell you the way I want it to go down? Is there a discount if I refrain from ending my sentence with an upward inflection?
    123. I just watched the Neverending Story for the umpteenth time, and it never ceases to amaze me how disappointed I become when it ends. Talk about a fucking tease! They should re-release it with the title “The Story That Ends In Two Hours” so us fans with never-ending availability aren’t so disappointed.
    124. I attest to the absence of the Messiah in our world by picturing Jesus and Elijah jammed in a doorway like a bad slapstick routine, fighting to be the first one through.
    125. I understand that the name “pick-up sticks” was already taken by a lame kids’ game, but really, “chop sticks”?? Those things can’t chop SHIT!! Back to the drawing board with you, Japan.
    126. I accidentally peed in the gene pool.
    127. I think cigarettes would be way more fun if they came with accessories. For example, Marlboros should have cowboy hats, Parliaments should have curly white wigs, and Camels should have toes.
    128. I’m always amazed by the emotions evoked by nightmares. In the same respect as a good horror flick, it blows my mind that the brain can produce such fearful imagery with the power to shake you to the bone. It’s a shame that fear has such a mighty effect on people, because it really is pretty awesome how impacting nightmares can be! For me, they present another reason to celebrate the human experience.
    129. I understand that the graphics are intensely realistic and the new controller feels just like the real thing, but I still prefer actual sex to your new Wii Fit game.
    130. This morning I put on my shoes and tied them, but then realized that I hadn’t put on my pants yet. Too late now, I’ve already committed to it. I’ve been roaming about town all day in just my underoos. Got a problem with it?? WHY DON’T YOU COME PUT MY PANTS ON FOR ME?!
    131. I hate when you work and work and work and just when you think you’re finally done with all your responsibilities, BAM!!… the alarm clock goes off and you realize you dreamed your entire day at work, and gotta do it all over again, but this time without the dancing penguins.
    132. This morning I saw a Muslim woman shielding her eyes from the sun with a newspaper. You’d think after all these years of covering her face she would’ve caught wind of the visor trend.
    133. I just upgraded my junk! My testicles now hold up to a full terabyte of sperm and my penis has twice the RAM!
    134. I think that I’d have more success when I aim to please if I stopped aiming with such sharp, pointy objects.
    135. Someone sent me a link to a website specializing in child pornography, and when I went to it I had to check the box confirming that I was over 18 in order to enter…
    136. I wish letting go were easier… Damn this industrial strength superglue…
    137. I think sex is overrated. Oh wait, did you say sex was the best thing in the world? I’m sorry, I stand corrected. It’s rated exactly right.
    138. I went to the doctor to find out once and for all whether my penis was bone, muscle, or what… and to my shock and surprise, it turns out that my cock is made of Oobleck!
    139. I wonder, if a vampire were to attack a cannibal, would he think their blood tastes irony?
    140. I wonder what camp councilors at nudist camps wear on casual Friday…
    141. This morning I was taking a shit and jerking off while smoking a joint, when suddenly I felt a sneeze coming on. I hit the joint, and then sneezed the hit out while orgasming and shitting at the same time. I can die now, no point in going on. There’s no denying it’ll never get better than that! Thanks for the times, check ya on the flipside! (P.S. – This is what my suicide note would say if it ever really happened)
    142. I don’t understand people who say they “fell head over heals for each other”. I don’t know about the rest of you, but my head is already over my heals. Those people must be confused. Then again, I suppose confusion is a lot like love.
    143. I remember “Remember the Alamo”, but of the actual Alamo I don’t remember a fucking thing. Except that there is no basement.
    144. I’ve come to a decision: I was born naked, and damn it all, I’m gonna die naked! The only problem is that I don’t know how or when I’ll die… so everyone expect to see me cruising around on my brother’s moped naked for the next six decades or so.
    145. If there’s one good thing I can say about myself, it’s that I complete every task I’m charged with and I never lose track of what I
    146. The more lost I become, the more I recognize how much happier I am being lost than those who are blessed with knowing everything.
    147. The underwear I’m wearing can be YOURS! No purchase necessary. DETAILS INSIDE!
    148. I have a sign hanging from the deep recesses of my soul that says, “Help wanted. Inquire within.”
    149. I walked into a colonoscopy this morning where the nurses had a radio on, and Bob Marley’s “Jammin” came on… awkward moment.
    150. I think that Rizzo’s “There Are Worse Things I Could Do” in Grease is a contemporary version of Fantine’s “I Dreamed A Dream” in Les Miserables. This will no doubt be the gayest thing I’ll ever say.
    151. I don’t understand people who go to sex websites and then wonder why their computer got a virus. Didn’t you have Sex Ed in high school? That’s what happens!
    152. Sometimes I wonder what Sigmund Freud’s mother was like…
    153. I don’t get it… if the floor is slippery when wet, why must you construct a fucking obstacle course with your wet floor warning cones that I have to struggle through too?? Cuidado my ass!
    154. Tomorrow I’m hosting a venture capital meeting with representatives from the Raid company and the Summer’s Eve company. Here’s the slogan I’m pitching for a new synergistic product: “Got crabs? RAID! Now for vaginas!”
    155. I think people who sign things “xoxoxo” are full of shit. You may want to give someone multiple kisses, but nobody gives people multiple hugs. It’s just one big hug. Now I understand the concern that if you sign something “xxxO” it looks like a perverse hug… so my suggestion would be to sign things “xxOxx”. That is unless you WANT to sign things with a perverse hug, in which case I’d suggest “xxxOMG!”
    156. I’d like to take a moment to remind everyone of this simple way you can do your part to help the environment: If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down. And if it’s purple, seek a cure-ple. (stupid, I know. It ain’t easy being me…)
    157. This afternoon I saw a bumper sticker that said, “My life before Jesus ☹ My life after Jesus ☺ Any questions?” Just one – You were alive before Jesus?
    158. I went to my 15 year high school reunion last night. When people asked what I was doing for work nowadays I said, “I’m an aeronautic mid-wife.” They’d ask what that was and I’d explain, “When astronauts have babies, I deliver them… In space!”
    159. I need a smarter brain. Right now the smartest part of me is my ass.
    160. I’ve been feeling woozy ever since I started drinking cologne. You know, to sweat it! I thought it was brilliant! But now I’m having second thoughts…
    161. I decided to tie a bell to my balls so you know when I’m coming. Yep, that’s exactly how I meant it.
    162. I wonder if the word “Lesbian” is derived from French meaning “The Goods”? Think about it – “Les” being “The” pluralized, and “Bien” being “Good” – Les-Bien – Lesbian – The Goods. For the record, if it is, I agree.
    163. Today my brother went to the airport to pick up a girl that I’m pretty sure he has strong feelings for. They were in theater studies together in college and she was in his play. So I wanted to wish him luck, but I know the first rule of theater is never say “good luck”. So I said, “Break her leg!!” Wait… What?!
    164. Perspective is everything. This morning my brother and I went to a coffee joint and the cashier said, “Wait a sec… are you guys twins?” I said, “Yep. Can you tell us apart? Which one am I?” She said, “Ummm… the one on the right??” I said, “Nope, I’m on the left!” Perspective is everything.
    165. Just once I’d like to see a cartoon of a chicken and an egg BOTH smoking a cigarette in bed with a caption that reads, “Contrary to prior skepticism, the chicken and the egg defy all odds.”
    166. I have a problem with people named Keith… Hey Keiths: “I” BEFORE “E” MOTHERFUCKER!! You got a problem with the American language?? LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT BITCH!!
    167. I’m made of 100% recycled materials.
    168. I was thinking about the animated pictures in Harry Potter… and then I was thinking about the little bee drawn in the urinals… poor bee.
    169. Life is hard. Wear a condom.
    170. Yesterday I took my cat to the vet to get her pill administered for flea prevention. The veterinarian took me aside and told me about a new drug they have for flea prevention that I should try. I said, “OK, tell me about it.” The Dr. says, “It’s an injectable, and it lasts up to 6 months. Here’s the deal – it doesn’t kill fleas, it doesn’t weaken them, it doesn’t make your cat toxic to them, it doesn’t even detract fleas. What it does is makes any flea that feeds on your cat produce sterile eggs. So teamed with topical creams and other medications it will help halt the cycle of fleas.” I said, “Wait a second… We bombed the apartment. We cleaned every article of clothing, sheet, curtain, and miscellaneous fabric in the house, and scrubbed the place from top to bottom. We have the cat on a 6 week medication cycle. We’re giving the cat heavy duty topical creams that smell like ass every three to four weeks. And now you want me to get my cat’s fleas’ tubes tied??”
    171. Usually when someone calls, anyone around hears it, and hopefully someone answers the call. But when Nature calls, you’re the only one who knows it, and if anyone around hears it… RUN!
    172. I never understood why people would hit the ground running. You can’t outrun the ground – it’s the ground! If there’s anyone you’re gonna hit, I’d suspect the ground would be the one thing that would catch up with you no matter how fast or far you run! I’d suggest that if you’re gonna hit the ground, consider flying, and never land.
    173. Note to expecting mothers: If you’re expecting a boy, you name your son Fabio, and he comes out ugly… you fucked up.
    174. This morning I dropped my girlfriend’s deodorant in the toilet after I made a #2… I grabbed it and ran it over to the sink and cleaned it off. Then I looked at the label and it said, “Secret” and I thought, “You read my mind!”
    175. There’s a strong campaign going in the medical industry for people to drink more water. If they really want us to drink more water, they should push the water companies to produce flask shaped water bottles. That would at least make the idea of it more attractive to most of us! And the bottles will fit better in our pockets/purses/etc. I’m talking to you Dasani! I’m talking to you Poland Spring!
    176. Seriously, it’s been over 40 years now. It’s not cute or funny anymore. Would someone PLEASE tell those fucking kids how to get to Sesame Street already???
    177. Whenever I really have to pee I fart afterwards, cuz after I’m done peeing my ass is like, “AHHHHHHhhhhhh…..”
    178. My wife asked me what I believe happens after death. I said I believe in reincarnation. She asked how many times I think I’ve been reborn. I said I don’t believe in beginnings, I think we’re infinite. She asked if I think we had met in past lives. I said definitely! When we were amoeba we came upon each other and I was like, “Hey Amaby, you got one sexy cell there.” ♥
    179. They say diamonds are a woman’s best friend. They say dogs are a man’s best friend. From this there can only be one logical conclusion: Science will finally win the race against religion when they genetically modify a dog that shits diamonds.
    180. I have a confession to make. I want Paul to die before Ringo. It’s not that I want either of them to die… It’s just that in the grand scheme of things, one of them has to go first, and I don’t want to hear Paul tell the tale of John, George and Ringo. I want to hear Ringo tell the tale of John, George and Paul. Just sayin.
    181. I was watching the snow fall and thought how can something so evil be so beautiful? Then I thought some day I’ll have children, and a much deeper appreciation of that reality.
    182. I did a couple of pirouettes through the office today. When a coworker asked why I was so happy I said, “I’m not. That’s how I vent my frustration.” Always keep em guessing.
    183. I woke up this morning and put on a new tie. The tie is difficult to tie because it’s too fat. But wait a second… this is a Calvin Klein tie! It can’t be too fat, that’s impossible!
    184. If I had a pet snail, and it ran away from home, I’d be like, “How did I miss that?!”
    185. I was driving behind a bus, and I noticed for the first time that it had one of those “How’s my driving? Call (800) 323-****” stickers on it and, well I just couldn’t resist. I called the number and gave the bus line and license plate numbers. They asked what the problem was and I said, “This guy’s driving like an asshole! He keeps stopping every other block!” Ain’t I a stinker…
    186. I wonder if the guy who invented masturbation considered it a stroke of genius.
    187. I feel bad for King Midas. Every time he took a shit he had to wipe his ass with a rigid sheet of gold. Yowzah!
    188. I don’t think lethal injections are humane at all. If a prisoner were to have an allergic reaction to a lethal injection (which is not the kind of thing you test for) their whole face might swell up. Eye lids, cheek, lips… How embarrassing!
    189. This morning I faced the same conflict I face almost every morning… Do I arrive to work late today, or do I run over this woman and her baby… Do I arrive to work late today, or do I run over this woman and her baby… Decisions, decisions…
    190. I think my nipples look (and feel) great in this weather. Just sayin.
    191. I think the letter “H” is the smelliest letter in the alphabet. If you don’t believe me, ask anyone to enunciate it for you. You’ll see.
    192. Every time I read a bowl of SpaghettiO’s it always says something that implies suspicion and intrigue. It makes me want to read on. I find that Cheerios have the same effect over me.
    193. This is a forceful reminder: Gentle reminders are for pussies.
    194. Last night I was driving home and saw a billboard that said, “Right now you’re driving in what thousands of kids call home.” I looked under the seats, behind the mirror, above the visors… where could they all be hiding?? “Marco…”
    195. This morning I asked my girlfriend not to call the small mugs teacups anymore; I think the coffee overheard her. It tasted self-conscious to me.
    196. I learned a valuable lesson today in work. When a customer calls and asks who they should speak with to file a complaint, “You can speak to MY FIST!” is not the correct answer.
    197. I’m gonna tell all you future parents the secret to having good, obedient children. Here’s the trick: If you want two children, have three. And then kill the third in front of the other two.
    198. I’m just sayin’, if someone told me today that Bill Gates was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, I’d be like, “MS? Word?”
    199. This morning I made a crucial decision. Nothing is more important in this life than following your bliss. So from now on, I’m going to be ignorant.
    200. So I was getting a hand job, and suddenly I farted. She gave me a disgusted look and I said, “Oooh, a genie!! You get three wishes!” And that my friends is how it’s done.
    201. God can’t be a man. If God were a man, then when I gain weight my dick would get fatter. Just sayin.
    202. I just heard Edvard Munch’s “The Scream” painting sold at auction for a record breaking $120 million. I just made an Instagram of the painting. We’ll start the bidding at $130 million.
    203. As I listened to the elevator music, my first reaction was that I am WAY under-dressed for this elevator. But then it hit me that the music was a fancy string quartet cover of R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly” and I realized I was dressed just right. And REALLY need to update my wardrobe.
    204. I have a few words for Keanu Reeves: In the movie Speed, that scene when Sandra Bullock crashed the bus into the woman’s baby carriage and she was freaking out thinking she killed a baby, you laughed it off saying it was just cans. I got news for you – that poor homeless woman probably worked all god damned day to collect those cans just so she could have a decent meal. She probably worked straight through breakfast crossing her fingers for a lunch better than McDonalds. And you laugh. Cold, man… cold. Listen up, buddy – If I ever see you in the cafeteria I’m gonna throw your lunch on the ground and go, “Ha! Not a baby.”
    205. I only wash my cock with volumizing shampoo because, well, you know.
    206. Today my bank account got hacked and I got robbed for $1280 which was spent at Walmart in South Carolina. I’m less concerned about the money than I am that somehow a chronic shopaholic at Walmart in South Carolina outsmarted me…
    207. Some may ask, why do so many people suck so much? Well I can only speak for myself, and my answer is simple: The world is my nipple.
    208. Working in mental health, I often find myself among people who talk to themselves. I don’t mind so much, as long as they don’t drag me into it. There’s no way I’m choosing sides.
    209. When are they gonna put legalization of marijuana for procreational use on the ballot?
    210. Driving a stick shift – PROS: Good acceleration, good on gas mileage, handles well in lousy weather. CONS: Makes playing Candy Crush and Tweeting very difficult.
    211. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m extraordinary… But I think it’s fair to say that I am REALLYordinary.
    212. Oh shit, your meme is in all capital letters, this must be serious!
    213. If you’re an avid meat-eater I recommend hot dogs when you’re feeling under the weather, because they have a little of everything in them, like multivitamins.
    214. I don’t like watching big dick porn… it’s like watching Miss Piggy AND Frank Oz.
    215. Do black people tell white lies? Or is that part of white privilege?
    216. Why don’t mannequins ever have camel toe? I’d imagine that to be a selling point.
    217. I started a fitness training program last night. Crazy good work-out but I’m in serious pain. I figure in a few months I’ll probably be in pretty good shape… if the hospital counts as a pretty good shape.
    218. Sometimes I fart when I walk past people to maximize my “Excuse me” potential.
    219. Zombies always need to feed, that’s what they are, right? Walking dead have two functions: move, and feed. I’ve seen a lot of zombie movies and shows, this is the constant… But I’ve never seen a zombie poop. Anybody ever seen a zombie poop? I mean they’re not exactly the kind of folks that find a bathroom and close the door. I wouldn’t call them bashful if you know what I mean.
    220. When I’m feeling under the weather, sometimes I wonder if smoking weed would help me feel better. I mean shit cures cancer! [Two hours later] Yep, much better.
    221. If you press your forehead and nose to your partners’, their eyes will both look like one eye.
      It’s a cycloptical illusion!

Coming of Age


After high school I attended a year at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. This proved to be inevitably worthless, but loads of fun! At the time my head was simply not in the right place to accomplish anything of substance. For those readers that are unfamiliar with the Amherst, MA area, let me take a moment to describe it. Amherst has five major colleges and universities in town: UMASS Amherst, Smith College (all-female University, and welcome to the area!!), Hampshire College, Mt. Holyoke College, and Amherst College. In addition, one section of UMASS (Southwest) I’ve been told is the second most densely populated area in the world! Therefore, Amherst, MA is not some trouble-free run-of-the-mill town; it is a PARTY COMMUNITY!! And I was not ready for the responsibility.

That year I gained an education surpassed by none other. It was not my first of experiences with the underground arts, but it did yield a significant growth of skill. During that year I outgrew my britches as a pharmaceutical distributor. Throughout high school I was moving about an ounce or two of marijuana per week. Not enough to make any money, but enough to maintain my own habit. Finally out from under my parents’ roof, I grew more aspiration. Soon I was wheelin’ and dealin’ well beyond my previous ambitions. Every day I was walking around with a couple thousand dollars in my pocket while tucked away in some hidden crevice in my room would be a variety of party favors including marijuana, mushrooms, opium, LSD (both liquid and sheets), ecstasy, cocaine, crystal meth, ketamine (special K), angel dust, mescaline, and other assorted uppers, downers, and hallucinogenics. I was on top of my game. In addition, I was constantly living for the next party. Tight in underground circuits, I always knew the place to be: warehouses, factories, roller rinks, abandoned apartment buildings… you name it. I brought the party, I sold the party, I bought the party, I owned the party.

By some miracle, I survived that year without incident. No overdoses, no trouble with the law. I knew even then though that if I continued this lifestyle, things would not remain so invincible. Regardless, any thoughts of pursuing this routine any further were short lived. After the year was through it turned out I accomplished a lot less than I thought I had. I was making money so fast and frequently that I wasn’t budgeting it very well and just pissed it away. By the end of my second semester I had basically what I had begun with, and nothing more. Let me expand on “nothing more”. I went to the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, perhaps the finest state school Massachusetts has to offer, and I completed the year with two zero point zeros. Double doughnuts. Robert Parish. Considering the course my life had taken during that year, I should be thankful that that’s all that went wrong. But after my “Ten thousand dollar camp”, as my father so eloquently put it, my parents weren’t willing to help me get into college again. So I had to devise a strategy to fund the following year. This was when I discovered City Year.

City Year is an urban peace corps originally initiated in Boston, MA. As described by the City Year Organization: “An Action Tank for national service, City Year seeks to demonstrate, improve and promote the concept of national service as a means for building a stronger democracy. An ‘action tank’ is both a program and a ‘think tank’ – constantly combining theory and practice to advance new policy ideas, make programmatic breakthroughs, and bring about major changes in society.” From an insider’s perspective, it is something entirely different.

Upon enrollment to the program, I discovered something… to say the least, unexpected. This program, ranging age groups between seventeen and twenty-four, had a great deal of warm-hearted individuals volunteering because they legitimately wanted to make a difference, and to help people. However, it turned out that a larger percentage of the volunteers were not necessarily interested in helping anyone other than themselves. Many were opting for a year of service as an alternative to going to prison. This was not a “heal the world” mission; this meant “Save my own ass!” And even though I had no trouble with the law, I was in fact lumped in with these thugs as well: trying to save my own ass.

As it turned out, City Year accomplished both missions! Not only were we able to help clean up many communities in various ways, but also we grew into adults as well from the stupid, jacked-up-on-angst kids we were when we signed up. Over the course of the year, we tackled many tasks including domestic abuse counseling, teaching and mentoring, STD education, construction, renovation and maintenance, etc. I had personally taken part assistant teaching a Head Start program and 5th grade, as well as mentoring and supervising an after school program for grades K-3 and autistic children. On weekends I volunteered as a team leader for volunteer teens, ages 14-17. Activities included construction, renovation and maintenance of schools, churches, retirement homes, parks, playgrounds, and neighborhoods. I, along with my team, organized a carnival for children ages 3-5. I single handedly coordinated games for the winter camps, which were offered during the school break to help keep kids off the streets. I acted as team leader for the spring camp children as well, ages 8-10. I addition, I assisted with a variety of fund raising events.

Many of these tasks had unexpected complications along the way. My first team (of two) turned out to be a herd of loose cannons: Compulsive liars, racists, unhygienic slobs, violent chauvinists, and sloths. As it turned out, we were the least productive team in the corps when it came to fundraising. When you take into account that most teams had at least one rather wealthy team member and we were all straight po’, it really wasn’t that surprising that we were below par. However, in my opinion, that did not justify the repercussions.

At the end of every year there is a conference called CYZYGY where all the City Year corps across the country get together to share accomplishments, horror stories, sing and dance and shit like that. I can only assume what goes on at this event due to the fact that my team was denied access to it because we didn’t raise enough money. Please allow me to put it all out on the table for you to decide for yourself if this was really fair. We were working for City Year Monday through Friday 7:30AM to 5:15PM with a half hour lunch: 9 hours and 15 minutes a day. My commute from Marblehead was a two-hour commute, which meant my day started at 5:30AM and ended at 7:15PM. On weekends (Saturdays and Sundays) we led a group of volunteer teens from approximately 8:00AM to 4:00 or 5:00PM. We were not allowed to commit ourselves to any fundraising activities during working hours. And for all this service, we were paid $104.65 per week. Now I ask you: With what “personal time” were we expected to raise funds? Or here’s another question: How could we afford to donate from our own pockets even if we wanted to???

Long story short, we weren’t allowed to go. We were the first and last team to ever be denied access to CYZYGY. When the rest of the corps returned, the corps president gave us a sincere apology claiming this to be a grand mistake on their part, and promised that this would never happen again. As much as we appreciated the apology, it didn’t do much for our self-esteem. I mean we were busting our asses!! We were working harder than we’ve ever worked in our lives for less money than we’ve ever made, and this conference was suppose to be the big THANK YOU for all we’ve done! We had that taken away from us! Can any apology make up for that?? In this case, I’d actually say yes. Not that there’s any right way to make it up to us, but you need to understand the circumstances we were in. This is an urban peace corps. We were constantly being subjected to abused women and children, dilapidated apartments buildings, parks and playgrounds where children were not allowed to play due to the likely chance of a drive-by shooting… We were part of something much bigger than ourselves. Perhaps it’s something that has to be experienced to be truly appreciated, but when you know you’ve made a difference, no matter how small, it’s more than enough. What it all comes down to is that everybody makes mistakes, and what’s really important is what you learn from them. Yeah, it sucks that we had to be on the shit end of the stick for City Year to learn that lesson, but I’m happy to say it’s a mistake they’ll never make again.

It’s hard to avoid mistakes when the basis of the organization was centered on the mistakes of others. We learned things about the world that I wish I could go on pretending didn’t exist. Sometimes the difference between right and wrong is not as simple as black or white. There are a lot of gray areas in morality. For example, one of my many duties included teaching a head start program, ages three to five. The class had a number of kids from a diverse array of backgrounds. One in particular, a little girl named Cassandra, touched my heart in a way that I never could’ve anticipated. She was an adorable little girl, the sweetest angel. She was kind hearted, generous, cooperative. And please don’t think perversely of me, but I loved her immeasurably. She never fought, and if one of the other children instigated with her, she always did the right thing. More right than I would’ve thought to do. If a child stole her toy, for instance, she would simply demand it back and tell the child to get his/her own or ask to share. She wouldn’t hit, she wouldn’t tell the teacher. She’d handle it on her own. She was very strong.

One thing always caught me off guard about this child: during naptime, she would never take a nap. It was the strangest thing. She was told that it was naptime and that she couldn’t play with toys or color or read any books or anything. If she wasn’t going to nap, she still had to stay still and not make a sound. And that’s exactly what she did. Every single day, naptime would come and she would sit on her mat, legs crossed, eyes wide open, and wait for naptime to conclude. She never said a word. This always got to me. I just couldn’t comprehend what might be going through Cassandra’s mind that made her so uncomfortable napping. So one day I decided to see if I could help resolve the problem.

One afternoon, I went to her while she was sitting on her mat and asked if she’d like me to read her a story. She, being the well-mannered doll that she was, accepted and lay down on the mat. So I sat there, rubbing her back and reading a story, desperately trying to calm her in hopes that she may drift off into slumber. To no avail, she lay there, quiet as could be, eyes wide open the whole time. But I wasn’t going to give up so easily. I continued this routine, rubbing her back and reading a story to her every day. Eventually, the other kids started to get jealous, asking why I rub her back but never theirs. So I started rubbing all their backs, but I always tried to concentrate most of my attention on her. Then one day, it finally happened. I looked down, and her eyes were closed. She was fast asleep.

The next day I made no big deal of it: Just another day. Naptime came and I sat down next to her mat and started to read. Then she interrupted me.

“Hey, Brett. Guess what?” she said.
“I’m not afraid anymore!”
“I’m not afraid anymore! I can sleep now!”
“That’s wonderful!!”

It’s at this moment that I felt a warm glow around me. I had never felt so good in all my life. To put an image to it, this was for me the moment where the Grinch Who Stole Christmas’s heart grew three times it’s size and expanded to break the examination box it was viewed through. I felt glorious, victorious, triumphant and overjoyed… then it all came tumbling down.

“My mom hits me.”

Just like that. I didn’t know what to say.

“How much?”
“A lot.”

At this point, dearest reader, yours truly is a shell of a man. That heart that grew beyond its frame just a moment before… now crumbled and dribbled through my body and out through my toes. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to think. I was utterly crushed. In fact, I had never been hurt by someone’s words more in my entire life. Right then I weighed my options. I wanted to hunt down and kill her mother. I wanted her mother to know the pain she’s caused her daughter. But that was obviously no solution. I wanted to grab her and run. I didn’t care about anything else at this moment. I just wanted to pick her up and run and run and run. I could take care of her. I could father her better than that. She was an absolute angel. A child every parent dreams of. And I could save her. But could I?

After much deliberation I came to the conclusion that telling the principal of the school as well as my team leader would be the best course of action. After all, if I tried to harm the girl’s mother in any way I’d obviously go to jail, which would leave Cassandra without a mother or me. Not a reasonable solution. And running away with her, making me a kidnapper and she a hostage, wouldn’t give either of us any piece of mind. It seemed to be the only thing I could do.

When I went into the principal’s office, my team leader at my side, I was sat down and asked to listen patiently. I expected them to tell me they were going to send the Department of Human Services to take her from her home. I expected them to tell me her mother would be forced into counseling. I expected… anything but what they actually said. They told me that there was nothing they could do. WHAT?!? I was up in arms! I was rampid! Sit down and listen patiently?! FUCK YOU!! How can you sit there and tell me there’s nothing you can do?! I prodded and pushed, struggling to understand how they could let this continue. I refused to believe there was nothing that could be done. The principal said it as calm as she could, competing with my tantrum.

“Brett, you may not understand this now, but we can’t act on the word of the child alone.”
“But this child you can!! I swear by her word! She is the sweetest angel. She would not lie about something like this!!”
“What you need to understand is that… children get hit. It’s not wrong for a parent to spank their child. Nearly all parents spank their children.”
“But I’m not talking about a little spanking here!! This girl doesn’t sleep during naptime because she’s so frightened of what goes on at home! This is not a matter of a little spanking!!”

I wanted to rip all their heads off. Why won’t they understand? Maybe I can still grab Cassandra and run.

“I know it’s hard to accept this, but she’s lucky she has a mother at all.”

This killed me. ‘She’s lucky to have a mother at all…’ How could she say that? It’s not lucky to be with a woman that makes her feel such fear in her own home! This is not right!!

“The best we can do now that this has been brought to our attention is keep an eye on her. If bruises start to show, or any other signs of abuse come to light, we can take action then. But we can’t act on the child’s word alone.”

I didn’t understand this. I couldn’t understand this! And I probably would never have grown to accept the fate of the situation if it weren’t for another situation that occurred a few months later.

My good friend Robbie, another corps member, was teaching at his team’s school on the other side of town. I believe his kids were in the third grade, which would make them right around eight years old: A dangerous age. He was very good with his kids. Every time I saw him he’d tell me how great they were, and how much he loved his job. One day, he was with his class during their physical education period, and one of the girls’ pants started falling down a little. He didn’t want to embarrass the girl, so he went to her and quietly said, “I see London, I see France.” She apparently hadn’t heard that one before. She shot him a puzzled look. He told her that her pants were coming down a little and she should pick them up. No harm, no foul, right? Yeah, that’s what he thought.

Later on that day, the girl went with two of her friends to the principal’s office. What they told the principal just goes to show how power can be manipulated so wickedly if it’s not respected.

Little Girl: “Our City Year sexually harassed me.”
Principal: “WHAT?!?!”
Little Girl: “Our City Year sexually harassed me.”
Principal: “But how?? What exactly did he say??”
Little Girl: “First he said, ‘I see London, I see France,’ and then he said…”

…And this I quote:

Little Girl: “… and then – he – said – sexual – harassment.”
Principal: “And then he said sexual harassment…?”
Little Girl: “Yep. And then he said sexual harassment.”

It’s amazing the way children can manipulate the truth to suit their objectives. Robbie was questioned about the whole ordeal, and naturally he told them everything exactly as it happened. Perhaps they believed him, perhaps they didn’t. But under the circumstances, with the little girl getting her parents all ranting and raving about the whole event, something had to be done. And that something was my good friend Robbie being discharged from the corps. He was so close to finishing the year, and this little girl took it all away from him in one swift move. And ya know what else? I don’t think she even had anything against Robbie! I think she was just flexing her muscles. It’s a rare privilege for a child to have so much power. It’s not so surprising to see them want to exercise it.

It was in this, the loss of my good friend from the corps, that I finally understood what was meant that day in the principal’s office with regards to Cassandra. I knew what that darling girl told me was true and a serious matter. We all knew Robbie’s situation was preposterous. But the world we live in is an unjust one at times. You can’t always completely trust the word of a child. You can’t always trust the word of anybody for that matter. We simply need to do our best to try to read between the lines and play the cards we’re dealt.

The accomplishments of City Year eventually inspired President Bill Clinton’s development of Americorps, which now has many organizations spanning throughout the United States. For more information, visit


100 MPH in the Cool Winds of Fate


It’s Friday night. The sky is clear, the weather’s warm and calm. I’m in Massachusetts visiting friends that I haven’t seen in ages. It’s great to be reunited with the old crew. In addition, I have a few friends that came down from Maine along with me. This evening is starting off right and full of potential.

We start off the evening at a local bar in Salem. Throw back a few in the meantime; soon our friends will be performing. There are very few things that I enjoy more than going to a show to support close friends bringing their art forms to life. If you are a painter, please let me know when the gallery’s opening. If you’re an actor, save me a seat. If you’re a musician, tell me the time and date and I’ll be there. And this is one of those precious moments I live for.

After a few rounds we’re starting to get a little antsy. The gang’s all here… When is this show gonna get on the road? Tick tock, tick tock… Not that the waiting really bothers me so much. I’m with a large collection of good friends that I hold very dear to my heart, so it’d be fine if this went on for days. But there’s only so much small talk a person can handle, and an environment like this is not the most suitable for starting up a conversation of dire consequence. The time for the bands to go on is now!

A few more moments twiddling my thumbs and the show is finally ready to begin. There are three acts booked this evening: Frightening Dick Theatre, Due Process, and my friend Chris, who’s subtly in the process of becoming a frightening dick. Chris starts off the show, and what an… ummm… int-ter-est-ing show it is… Chris is an exceptionally gifted musician. In fact I can honestly say he’s the best, hands-down, no question in my mind, best drummer I’ve ever had the privilege of playing with. His talent is extraordinary. But this show is not what I’ve been privy to.

He comes out with a small drum machine and a guitar. He’s got a black sock pulled over his head… why, I don’t know. He starts up his drum machine and it produces a noise like no other noise I’ve ever heard. You may think you’ve heard noises like this before. Perhaps you think you’ve heard it all. But unless you were there, you couldn’t begin to imagine. The drums were so fast and furious there was no identifiable beat in it anywhere! I happen to have a great deal of experience with drum machines and sequencers, and I didn’t know something like this was possible. There was no rhythm. The nature of drum machines should automatically determine a rhythm, but here there was no recognizable rhythm. Perhaps if recorded, slowed down and divided I could’ve discovered a pattern to it’s madness. But to witness this was to know there was no such pattern present. It was disgusting.

To add to its anarchic nature, Chris was playing his guitar in an… undetermined way. In fact, I’m not even sure what he was doing could even be categorized as playing it. He was hammering at it, beating it, stroking his fingers up and down the strings rapidly and without motive. The noise coming out of his guitar was somehow well matched with the drum machine in that it made no sense whatsoever: A horrendous, violent outbreak of noise. For all he was doing he might as well have been setting the thing on fire. At least then it would have had some visual aspect to it. But I suppose that would have taken away from the visual aesthetics he was supplying by flailing his sock-covered head every which way, desperately trying to dislodge it from his spine.

I’d like to take a moment here to reinstate my opinion that Chris is the best drummer I’ve ever played with!! No one I’ve ever played with has the sense of rhythm that he does. He’s a genius! So now back to the matter at hand: This is not an expected display. I’m trying to grasp it in great depth, with limited success. Perhaps it is simply above me, and above my understanding of what it means to be music. Perhaps it is some new-level shit that I’m just not ready for. Perhaps I’ll never be ready for a sound such as this. Frankly speaking, right now I don’t ever want to be ready for this sound! It’s offensive, it’s agonizing, it’s hideous and painful to behold. Perhaps it’s a big FUCK YOU to the music industry, the stage, and maybe even all of us. But above all, I think all present will agree; it’s a conversation piece. Maybe Chris really is a dick.

Next up, Citizen Dick. They come out ready to entertain, and I think just about any band following the previous act would be a welcome change! Shania Twain with Yoko Ono in a new band they formed called “the Glam-Polka Invasion” would’ve even been welcome!! So they were greeted with open arms by all. Now don’t let me lead you to believe that they weren’t any good. It’s true; any act in the world could’ve followed its predecessor, but let the record show that these guys were good. Really good!! They can be categorized as a rock/hip hop project, similar in sound to that of Rage Against The Machine. In addition, they have a member of the band playing the didgeree doo, which gives their sound a certain spacey, psychedelic feel reminiscent of Aborigine tribal rituals. Their MC has a talent for lyrics and a strong political message to deliver. Normally I would be against such political outbursts, but their music is just so damn funky that I can’t help but to get caught up in it!

Now that Chris is no longer poisoning our ears with his display (Chris, I love you man. Please don’t take my review to heart too much!), and Citizen Dick is keeping us jumping and wanting more, the night is taking on a whole new light. We’re all drinking (plenty) and dancing, arms up in the air, bursting with enthusiasm. There is an overflow of welcoming craze. I would much rather be here than any other club or show. This is one of those moments that when you’re in it you know that it belongs specifically to you. You harness it, and hold it close. Surrounded by friends, absorbed by the music that is trademark to our generation, and brimming with the feeling that you could be a part of something great. Who knows what tomorrow holds? This band, this triumphant group of comrades, could be the next big thing! I may find myself years from now being begged by my children to call my old buddy to see if I can get them backstage, because all of their friends love these guys!! I could be backstage myself, taking interviews with MTV News telling the true tale of the band and bumping rails off of groupies’ asses in between film rolls. And I, the lucky lucky bastard that I am, I’m in on the ground floor!!

Citizen Dick finishes out their set with a hearty round of applause, and on comes the final act: Frightening Dick Theatre. These guys are animals! Significantly gifted musicians with a very full sound. I want to say these guys are going to be huge, but as much as I do care for these guys and want them to succeed, I know this isn’t true. They have a long way to go before they’re ready for stardom. There is no question that they are a talented bunch. But I can’t escape the feeling that they are basically creating a display of audio masturbation. Heavy solos, long-winded runs through instrumentals, screaming lyrics that are inaudible. I know they have the ability to be great. There is no doubt in my mind. But before greatness can be achieved, they will have to tame their skills. I’ve known these kids for a long time, so I know they can write some deep, powerful music. And when the day comes that they do I hope I’m there to see it. In fact, I’d even like to be a part of it, playing and writing alongside them. But again, who knows what tomorrow holds.

After the collection of Dicks has ended the evening, it’s off to the Porthole for a nightcap. I’m with a small group of friends: JoeGlo, Webber and I ride together. We get there, take back a few more (by this point well lushed up!!), and finally the highly anticipated inquiry by JoeGlo comes out, as expected:

“Hey, you guys wanna go smoke some weed?”

Anyone who knows Joe would know right off that this was coming eventually. And as naturally as a couple of dogs hearing the opening of a can, our ears perked up.

“Hell’s yeah, let’s do it!” Webber and I say in unison.
“Ok, but I forgot my piece at home. Either of you got a bowl?”

This was another trademark of JoeGlo’s. He’s a scavenger. I love the kid dearly, so Joe if you’re reading this, please understand I mean this in the best way possible: If you were to pull out a hitter box, as soon as you turn the lid open, WHAM! He’d be right behind you goin’, “What’cha got there? Can I get in on that?” If you whip out a bag, he’ll be football fields away and can still hear the crinkle of the plastic! I swear, if you so much as think about lighting one up, he’ll know and he’ll find some way to be there! In addition, he’s stingy about who he shares with. Always a limited number of heads, so to maintain the highest high for himself. Honestly, most people are this way to a degree. No one wants to waste all of their weed on too many heads and end up stuck with no weed and no buzz to boot. But this kid’s different. The difference is that he’ll scam his way into your session and act all needy, but the truth is he has weed in his pocket! And he won’t pull that out under any circumstances. It’s a rare privilege to be smoked up by JoeGlo. I actually have had that privilege a great number of times, so I really shouldn’t say he’s so greedy. The truth is, he’s always been very generous with me. Very generous. But I call ’em like I see ’em. Joe, I love you, kid. Please take no offense. But I still question whether he would’ve asked Webber and me to partake with him if it weren’t for that he didn’t have a piece.

So as per usual, he takes just Webber and myself aside. We head out and I say I might have a piece in my bag. But to our dismay, my bag comes up a waste of venture. So Joe asks two other friends if they have a piece. No luck, and now there’s more heads to include. We don’t want to ask anyone else, ’cause the group is growing larger than the budget. Joe says we can ride to his place and puff up there. Sounds good to me, I say. Webber agrees, and we pile into the Lincoln.

This car was PIMP!! Joe’s step-dad pretty much just bought it. A brand new Lincoln! It was such a smooth car!! As it turns out, JoeGlo’s step-dad had gone out for the evening, and you know, when the cat’s away… So here we find ourselves cruising down the causeway, drunk, and definitely not in the safest condition to be behind the wheel. But I don’t care. I’m in the back seat, not my responsibility! We start driving and I suddenly get a quick jerk of speed in my stomach. It arouses my appetite, and I want more!

“Joe, go a hundred! Let’s see a hundred, Joe! C’mon Joe, let’s see a hundred!!”

I could tell Webber didn’t entirely agree that this was a good idea. Perhaps it’s that she’s in the front seat and the prospect of going through the windshield seems much more real to her:

“Joe, Joe, Joe, no, Joe, NO, Joe…”
“Don’t listen to her, Joe. C’mon, let’s see a hundred, Joe!”

It’s a this point where I know I’m a bad influence and very fortunate that any parents ever let me hang out with their children. But then again, what do I care??? I’m DRUNK!!! The engine begins to roar as Joe picks up speed. I continue to egg him on as car cries through the evening sky. Sixty miles per hour.

“C’mon, Joe. Get her up to a hundred!””
“Joe, Joe, no, Joe…”

Seventy miles per hour. We’re staring to build up our momentum. I can see the fear developing greater on Webber’s face. She’s clearly not enjoying this. But who gives a fuck!! I’m having a blast!! Plus, we’re only goin’ seventy. We go seventy all the time. In fact, seventy is SLOW on the highway! Of course, this aint no highway!

“Let’s see it, Joe! Hit a hundred!”
“Joe, Joe, please…”

Eighty. We’re getting up there now. I know Joe’s enjoying this as much as I am. It’s not so much the speed as it is the luxury of this pimp-ass car that’s thrilling us so much! In fact, it might not even be entirely that. It might be the whole idea of getting away with something. JoeGlo’s step-dad didn’t know he took the car! He’s out of town, and Joe clearly has no consideration. Hehehe… I shouldn’t say that. I know there’s a lot of love between Joe and his pops. But we’re young, and kids will be kids. So up to a hundred we go!!

“You’re almost there, Joe! Do it! Do it!”
“Joe, please, no… please…”

Ninety miles per hour. We are so close, my anticipation is growing rapidly, and I am anxiously awaiting lift-off! The road’s still got plenty of run to it, so no reason to pull out now! We’re so close to a hundred! Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight…

“Joe, Joe, Joe, please….”
“Go, Joe! GO!!”

Ninety-nine, ONE HUNDRED!!


Upon hitting 100 MPH, Joe promptly jerks his foot off of the accelerator. Perhaps a little too promptly. As soon as he does this the car jerks back hard as if he had just released a parachute from the rear. The car starts to jerk and builds up a steady bounce to its motion. Joe struggles to regain control of the vehicle, and the car puts up a mighty battle to claim the steering wheel from his hands. We start flowing across the road, one side to the next. THUD!! We hit the curb to the right of the car. The car goes jetting off to the left side of the road. BAM!!! We slam into a Jersey barrier, and the eight-ton wall-piece flies off the road like a paperclip pushed off a desk surface. Back to the right. CRUNCH!! We hit the curb again; the car makes a sudden shudder and sends us sailing back over to the line of Jersey barriers. WHAM!!! Another Jersey barrier goes flying into the distance. And now the car shoots off into a spin.


I’m in the back seat and whoops! Damned if I didn’t forget to put my seatbelt on!! I’m sliding across the seat from side to side. The fresh smooth leather is so new it’s still nice and waxy, allowing me to slide with complete ease and no friction. I’m sliding back and forth, to and fro. My head hits the window, but I hardly even notice. Remember now, I’m completely hammered! Joe keeps his composure and doesn’t say a thing throughout the entire event. Webber is clearly not enjoying this and is scared for her life. I, on the other hand, am having a blast!! I’m swishing across the back seat, feeling like a little boy on a Slip-n-Slide!


The car finally stops spinning and is now flying straight down the road… sideways!! The left side of the car is facing forward and we’re sliding straight ahead waiting for the next slam or twitch we might encounter. Steadily, the car slows, slower, slower, and finally comes to a complete stop.

“YEAH!! Let’s do it again!!!” I holler.
“Is everybody ok??” Joe asks. I admire this about him at the time. His total selflessness and initial concern for our well being.
“Joe, what did you do…?” Webber, perhaps consumed by shock and whiplash, shudders out as she reviews her surroundings.
“C’mon, let’s get out of the car.” Joe insists.

We step out of the once-mighty beast and browse the damage. The wheels on the right side are gone. One is about thirty feet behind us, the other only about ten. Both have the axles still attached to the amputated rims. We peruse the left side, and the body is smashed to hell. In addition, the wheels on this side, with no axles attached mind you, are on a forty-five degree angle heading into the car’s innards. Then we examine our environment. About seventy feet behind us there’s a Jersey barrier with a crumbled face on the opposite side of the road. Even farther down there is another Jersey barrier in the middle of the opposite side of the road. That will definitely obstruct traffic. Thank goodness it’s 2:00 in the morning, hopefully it can be removed before rush hour the following day. Then we look around and consider all the what-ifs.

We hit the curb to the right a few times. Beyond that curb are stones and boulders that roll into the ocean. If we had gone up over that curb, we would have flipped over, dove into the ocean, and if we didn’t die from the crash itself, it’s likely that we may have drowned. Then there are the wheels. The two removed wheels on the right took the axles with them. Which means the wheels on the left side (which would be the front side when considering the direction of the slide) were basically unattached. In addition, they were already on forty-five degree angles. This means that the slightest little pebble could have sent the car flipping, and that would have surely been the end of us!! Suddenly, the reality of the situation was setting in. We really could’ve died!! I can’t believe I didn’t wear my seatbelt!! What the hell was I thinking?!?! We could’ve been crushed, we could’ve drowned, we were so near to our ends… I’ve never felt closer to death, and I’ve never felt closer to God.

Quickly I snap back to reality. We have bigger matters at hand. Any minute now, the police would be here, and we need to figure out a way out of this mess!! Thankfully, there are our two friends following closely behind and they pull over immediately to make sure we are all right. We quickly stuff their hands with our bags of weed and tell them to get the hell out of here!! They fly off into the night, a speck in our vision within seconds. Then on to the empties. We open the car doors and quickly and rampidly fling our empty bottles into the ocean. Then we check the trunk. There are dozens of beers, still full. Still panicking, we start flinging full bottles out into the wide blue yonder. After tossing about fifteen to twenty bottles, it suddenly occurs to us that there’s nothing illegal about possessing full bottles of alcohol. It’s only illegal to have empty ones, due to the chance that they have been drank while driving, which they probably were. It’s all a blur now, I don’t even know. Ugh… So we cease our bottle disposing and start to work on our story… hmmm… Someone cut us off! Yeah, that’s what happened! Someone came whipping by us going as fast as lightning! And they kind of bullied us aside, and that’s when we hit the barrier! Yeah, that’s the ticket!

The police arrive, and we hope we’re ready. They check us and ask what happened. They survey the scene and try to get an idea of what transpired, trying to read between the lines (or lies as the case may be) of our story. The interrogation begins:

“Ok, first, who was driving the car?”
“I was.” Joe says with no hesitation.
“License and registration?”
“Sure thing.” He fiddles around looking for them a little. “Here you go.”

The cop looks them over and hands them to his partner who takes them to the squad car to run the information in the system.

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“Well we were driving along down the causeway when out of nowhere this car came racing past us, too fast for me to make out the license plate, and cut us off! We shot off into the Jersey barrier, bounced around a few times, went into a spin, and here we are.” Joe was calm and collected. I was impressed!
“Can you describe the vehicle?”
“It was a red sports car. It all happened so fast I didn’t catch the make or model.”

At this point the little piggies went back to scoping the scene. They walked around the car, looked down the road, looked closely at the car, probably checking for paint from the other car or something. But perhaps they were looking for something else.

“So… How fast did you say you were going?”
“About thirty-five.”

At this, Joe looks over at me with a shrill look of obvious idiocy. We’re both kind of ready to laugh. But it’s obviously not the time. I wonder if the cops caught that sideways glare…

“Thirty-five, huh? You sure you weren’t going faster?”
“Ya know, we may have been going forty I suppose. But right in there somewhere.”

I’m choking on my own snickers. Keep your composure, Brett. Keep – your – composure!

“Well it looks like you were going a lot faster than forty to do that kind of damage!”
“Can you hold your hands out at arms length, close your eyes, and touch your nose with your index fingers, one at a time?”

Ok, now I’m getting nervous. Webber looks nervous, too. I don’t know if we’re going to get out of this clean.

“Ok, can you turn around for me?”

This is when things get bad. The cops take Joe and throw the cuffs on him. Then they walk him to the squad car and lower him into the back seat. Webber and I are getting pretty worried. Are they gonna arrest us too? But they don’t. Other than asking us what happened, at which we gave the same responses as Joe, they seem entirely unconcerned with us. This is shocking to me! When they finally get him into the car, they drive off and leave us stranded in the road! They didn’t even ask if we were hurt! They didn’t check us for injuries at all!! Why the fuck do we pay taxes for these fuckers?!?!

At this point Webber’s a mess. She’s crying, freaking out, and complaining that her neck is sore. I don’t know what to do, but I know I gotta figure something out! Now feeling sobered up, I do my best to bring rest to her mind:

“Webber, right now I need you to be strong. It’s ok. Joe is getting arrested for DUI. It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened. He’ll be fine. What we have to do is go bail him out. But first we have to get out of here and find a way to get him. How’s your neck? Can you walk ok?”
” Yeah, I’m sore, but I’ll be fine. What are we going to do?!”
“We’re gonna do whatever we have to do. And that means getting to the police station and bailing Joe out. So for starters, we gotta get to the end of this causeway. After that, we can find a phone and hopefully find someone to pick us up and take us to bail him out. Ok?”
“O… K…. ”
“Ok, here we go.”

So we start walking the causeway. It’s a long walk, but it’s good. All this walking and fresh air is calming Webb down considerably. Finally the tears stop running and we’re talking normally, weighing the fates Joe may be looking toward. We rule out jail. He’s a first time offender, and didn’t hurt anybody. Worst, he’ll lose his license. Then there’s the question of what his step-dad’s gonna do when he finds out. He’s gonna kill him!! But there’s nothing we can do to about that. Joe’s going to have to face that raging bull on his own.

We finally get to the end of the causeway and head straight for the payphone. We call a friend over at the house party we were suppose to be attending right now, quickly give them a quick rundown of the situation, and tell them to come pick us up! Within ten or fifteen minutes they’re there, ready to drive with us to the police station.

We get to the police station, and one of the kids that came and collected us ran in to bail Joe out. No need for all of us to go in and make a scene. One, two, three and he’s out of there. We all head off to the party.

When we get to the party I exit the car and suddenly everyone’s grabbing me, freaking out, pawing at my face and Webber’s face as well. They’re all in a complete frenzy! What the hell is going on???

Finally slowing them all down and starting to understand what they’re rambling on about, we discover that our friend who previously took the weed from us at the time of the accident got a little… dramatic is the word I suppose… upon arriving at the party. He told everyone that Webber was dead!! I couldn’t believe it!! He said Webber’s dead, Joe’s in jail, and… get this… my face is gone!! I couldn’t believe it. Everyone was pawing at my face, so happy to see it still intact. I think, the way these ladies are looking at me like a work of perfection, that I’ve never felt sexier in my whole life! Hehehe… I’m laughing my ass off! I can’t believe that kid told everyone all that bullshit!! But apparently no one else thinks it’s funny. Well, I think it is.

The party continued on into the night and we had a ripper of a time. In the morning, I stepped into my kitchen and my mother was freaking out.

“Have you seen your brother??”
“No, but I just woke up.”
“Did you see him last night?? He didn’t come home.”
“No, but why are you so worried? I’m sure he’s fine.”
“I heard that he was in a horrible car accident! I haven’t been able to get in touch with him! I’ve been up all night worrying! I can’t stand this! I hope he’s ok!!”

Oh shit… How is it possible that word spread so quickly to my mother of all people?! And how could it have gotten to her so badly mistaken???

“Mom, calm down. I’m sure he’s fine. In fact I know he is.”
“How can you say, ‘calm down’?! You don’t know he’s fine!”
“Yes I do, because it was me that was in the car accident last night.”
“WHAT?! What happened?? Are you ok? Did anyone get hurt??”
“Mom, calm down. I’m fine. Everyone’s fine. We got into an accident, but it was a clean accident. No one got hurt. There were no other cars involved. We made a stupid mistake but we’re all fine.”
“Were you wearing your seatbelt?”

It’s a simple lie. A lie that will never make any difference in the world, other than letting my mother sleep better at night. It wouldn’t be wrong to lie here. In fact, I think it would be wrong not to lie!! Yes, I should’ve been wearing my seatbelt. But what’s done is done. Is there any sense worrying her more than she’s had already??


I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t lie to my mother. There was a time in my life where I could lie and not think twice about it. But that time is long gone. Guess I’ve grown up a little. But apparently not enough to know to wear my seatbelt! The thing is, I’m usually really good about wearing my seatbelt, but I was really drunk and it just didn’t occur to me: A simple mistake that could’ve been the end of my rope. Kids, remember to fasten them buckles!!!

In the end, JoeGlo ended up losing his license for three months, no fine. We were all astounded. We expected at least a year. As for the situation with his step-dad, the insurance covered the accident (another breath-taking stroke of luck) with the exception of a five-hundred dollar deductible. After all was said and done, Joe’s pop got a brand new car that he liked even more, and Joe basically got off with a slap on the wrist. Lucky bastard!




I’ve been told that sharks never sleep. Perhaps you’ve heard this before as well. They can’t ever sleep because they need oxygen to survive, and if they fall asleep they’ll sink too low into the water and not be able to draw any air. It is because of this phenomenon that they first of all are always angry (you would be too if you never got any sleep!) and secondly they are fairly stupid creatures: so stupid that if they bump into something, they turn around and bite off the thing they bumped into to “correct” the situation. Please don’t allow me to fill your head with such blabber. A little research on my behalf uncovered that these are just old wives’ tales that people tell to make you think they know something about the world. There is no truth in any of this. However, I’d like to argue that there are these types of sharks in the world. And they’re closer than you may think. We see them all the time, wandering the streets, muttering something to themselves as they scamper by, obviously deprived of sleep or oxygen to the brain, ready snap at anything they bump into.

I met a shark like this once: a whacked-out bitch, clearly a few buds short of a dime bag. I’d guess she was in her early sixties, gray hair, casually dressed and seeming like any other passer-by. But this was no ordinary lady. She was a land-shark, a space-case, a ticking time bomb. At first she seemed harmless. She approached us with a quizzical demeanor, convinced that she knew my friend from somewhere in her past: or perhaps not her past, but from the twisted creation of her subconscious. We were eating lunch in a small vegan luncheon called Little Lad’s Bakery: my friends Jodie and Becky, his friend from Utah, and myself. She approached slowly, cautiously, and stared at Jodie with a puzzled look. She asked if she knew him from somewhere. He replied that he didn’t recognize her, and we went along finishing our meal.

When we left, she turned on us like a page of a book flapping closed on you while you read. Unexpected, and unwelcome. She looked deep into Jodie’s eyes and spoke firmly, threateningly:

“Now I know exactly who you are! You thought you could get away but I’ve found you!”

It was clear that Jodie was not sure what to make of this lady.

“YOU!! It was you!! I know it was you! I could never forget, you horrible, horrible man!”
“Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but obviously you have me mistaken for someone else.”

Jodie seemed to want to walk away. I on the other hand had my curiosity perked up, and wanted to see this to the end.

“I could never forget your face. How could I, after being locked up in your basement all that time!!”

Now things are getting interesting…

“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, lady! I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not you’re man!!”
“You won’t get away from me again! Police! Police!!”

At this point I had to step in:

“Now calm down here. Miss, why don’t you tell us who you think he might be. Then maybe we can help to figure this out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out! He’s a NAZI!! He held me captive in his basement for MONTHS, trapped in chicken wire!!”

O… K…

“… Chicken wire??”
“Yes, chicken wire! I escaped through a window one day when he wasn’t around. I brought the police to that horrible place later and he was gone! But he won’t get away again!! POLICE!! POLICE!!”

Wow. I mean… WOW! So there we are, my friends and I, soaking all this in and trying to make heads or tails of it. Naturally, I’m laughing my ass off inside myself, but displaying a serious disposition to this psycho-beast. At this point I think it is important to mention a few minute details about myself. First off, I’m Jewish. So the idea of me hanging out and having lunch with a Nazi is outrageous. Secondly, at the time I was wearing a baseball cap that had Hebrew letters on it, which should’ve (to the normal observer) been a dead giveaway as to my religious preference. So perhaps she simply hadn’t made the observation yet. Maybe it’s a good time to point it out:

“Ma’am, my friend here couldn’t possibly be the Nazi that held you prisoner with chicken wire. Firstly, he’s only about 24 years old, and the Nazis were back in the late ’30’s to mid ’40’s. He wasn’t even born yet.
“I admit, it is a clever disguise… But I know it’s him! I’ll never forget those eyes!”
“Ok, ok, I hear what you’re saying. But also, I’m Jewish, he knows this, and he’s one of my best friends! Look at my hat! This is Hebrew.”

ב ר ך

“It says, ‘Barach’ and it means, ‘Blessed’ or ‘Blessing’.
“Blessed? HA! The Jews are not a blessed people! YOU KILLED JESUS!!!”

And now, dear reader, this is where the fit hit the shan! I was appalled! Did she just say I killed Jesus??? A rage started to grow in me that I had never felt before. I thought about my mother and father, my brother and sister, my grandparents, great-grandparents, and all the friends and family that helped to mold me into who I am today. I thought that she wasn’t only accusing me of killing Jesus, she was accusing all of us!! This I would not stand for. A moment ago her babblings were entertaining. I was getting a kick out of her! But to accuse me of killing Jesus!?!? Perhaps I did get a kick out of her, but now she’s gonna get a kick out of ME!!!

I’m ashamed to say it. Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do. You be the judge. But that’s exactly what I did. I kicked her ass. I grabbed her by the shoulders, I spun her around, I planted my foot firmly on her bulbous ass, and I pushed with all my might exclaiming, “You’re outta here!!!” Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten physical, but really, she’s lucky that’s all I did. You have to be careful in today’s day and age, throwing around anti-Semitic slurs in the face of overly defensive Jews such as myself!!

She struggled with me, and I kept right on pushing her down Exchange Street. To any bystanders watching this scenario unfold, this must’ve looked really bad. I’m surprised no one stepped in and tried to stop me. Perhaps someone did. I don’t know. At that moment I was not myself. I was outside myself, watching it all happen as if it were on a TV screen. I couldn’t stop it. Trying to stop it would’ve been like me yelling at the screen, “Don’t go in the bathroom! He’s hiding behind the shower curtain!” I had no control. All I could do is watch myself along with everyone else, wondering what would happen next. As I was throwing her away I started to notice a crowd gathering around. Suddenly it hit me that this may not look so good. A young man rolling an old lady down the street like that. Perhaps it’s time to take my leave. So I push her one last time and storm off back to work.

The rest of the day my nerves were shot, hands shaking. I was grateful that I didn’t harm her in any way. I pushed her a few times, but I never punched her, kicked her or threw her to the ground. She was fine, there was no doubt about that. But I was still shaking. She got me sooo mad!! My fingers twitching, heart racing, another thought suddenly crossed my mind. What if there were any repercussions? I knew I had left the scene of the so-called crime. So technically I had gotten away. But did I really?? There were a lot of people around. Had any of them contacted the police? Did anyone there know who I was?? This was a very busy street by Portland, Maine standards. Who knows who may have witnessed the incident? Any minute now there could be a handful of police at the door looking to question me, maybe even haul me away! Or worse yet… it occurred to me that I don’t even know this woman! There’s no question that she’s a nutcase, but she might have a big brother or something… a VERY big brother that could right now be looking for me, scouring the streets! Perhaps it’s best to just lay low in my office and hope for the best.

As it turns out, no cops or muscle-bound big brothers came for me. When five o’clock came I was relieved that I had made it through my workday without incident. At least my boss wouldn’t be made aware of my lunchtime antics. The thing is, getting through the workday was the easy part. I was more worried about what would follow. If the police were looking for me, they might be waiting for me at my apartment. The same goes for the mammoth thug she knew, if such a creature existed. And then there was the question of what would transpire when I stepped back onto Exchange Street? Would I be recognized? If I were, what would be said? What would be done?? Well, there’s no sense postponing the inevitable. I stepped out the front door, lit a joint, and started my descent.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” – Psalm 23 : 4

Almost immediately as I stepped onto Exchange Street, a friend of mine named Dan came out hollering, “YOU KILLED JESUS!!” Hmmm… Funny, but paralyzing me with paranoia. I give a chuckle and move along. Dan rushes over to tell me he saw the whole thing and wants to know what happened. I say something like, “Eh, you know. It’s just one of those things.” We both laugh about it a bit, but he kept egging me on, trying to draw the tale out of me. Suddenly an older lady, maybe mid sixties, grayish-white hair, dressed in a nice business suit came calling on me with a cute proper-English accent:

“Pardon me, pardon me, pardon me young man. May I ask you about what I witnessed this afternoon?”
“Well, I apologize for prying, but I witnessed the whole thing from my office window, and I thought, ‘That boy must be crazy!’ But then after you walked off, she kept right on going, screaming at everyone, and I thought, ‘Hmmmm… Perhaps it’s her that’s crazy.’ So I’m just wondering if you could please tell me, was it you or she that was crazy?? ”

You be the judge.



The world is far too cluttered with financial obligations. All my life I aspired to accomplish something in the arts, both musical and visual. I studied piano and keyboards, saxophone (a little bit), bass, turntables, recording and production, studio arts, computer graphics, and other various crafts. I even picked up a few random skills that would otherwise be entirely useless and stupid if it weren’t for entertainment value. Unfortunately, none of these skills seem to be financially prosperous. I hope to some degree that my antics have been entertaining, maybe even inspiring to some. So I keep it up, my moronic routine, because it’s more important to me than money to put a smile on people’s faces, and I believe that it is more what life is truly about than financial gain. At least I hope so. Of course, who knows? Maybe everything I’ve ever thought will prove disastrously wrong. Perhaps when I die I will go to heaven and God will greet me with an apology saying, “Sorry, you lose. Those who die with the most toys win. Didn’t you know that??” and I’ll be dismissed to Purgatory. Hopefully that won’t hold true. In any case, we are living in a material world. And I need money to buy and maintain a home, food, a car, keyboards, computers and other assorted toys that keep me happy. So it’s off to the grindstone I go.

Finding the right job is a refined skill. You have to know how to sell yourself, highlighting your more useful skills and experiences specifically oriented to the position you are applying for. When it comes to the great American workforce, it’s important to keep in mind that you are not an individual: You are a product. And it’s important that the customer buying said product (you) sees everything great and nothing incompatible about you. It’s not until after they hire you that they can see how truly broken you are. Me, I’m damaged goods.

Stage one: Agencies. In my experience, temp agencies have provided great success in finding permanent positions. My experience yields a higher success rate with temp agencies than with standard placement agencies. The advantage to temp agencies is that many jobs they offer are temp-to-hire. This means that everyone applying for a permanent position typically has to go through rigorous exams of resumes (sometimes hundreds), however you (the temporary employee) are brought in “for the time being” to make sure that the work gets completed while the assholes in the Human Resources department (and I stress ASSHOLES!!) shuffle through their overabundance of resumes and applications to find “the right person for the job”. Meanwhile, you walk in and do the best damn job you can and then some. You learn the ins and outs of the position more competently than the individual you replaced. In addition, you add some color to your work area (professional looking and tidy at all times, bordering obsessive-compulsive) and maybe even improve on the workflow by designing a quick database, spreadsheet, calendar or whatever you can think of. Doing this gives your manager-to-be the impression that you’re making the workplace a better, more efficient machine. If you can pull this off, then they’ll start pushing you to apply for the job. They need someone to do the job, you’ve proven that you can do it, and they can’t wait any longer for the Human Resources assholes to finish their shuffling process… this shit needs to get done NOW!! Once your application is in and the management has put in a good word for you with HR, you’re in!!

Now I know this may seem bizarre, but that is the easy part! The hard part is stage two: the Transfer.

Let me begin by explaining the transfer. There are certain job placement agencies that will find you a permanent job that you have the right to accept or decline. This sounds good in theory, but there’s a catch. Job placement agencies typically charge you something like $150 – $250 for providing the placement service. Now I don’t know about you, but personally I think that’s ludicrous. I mean, hey, I’m looking for a job here! How much can I really afford?? With temp agencies they charge you nothing, but the catch is… they own you. So in order to start working on a permanent basis, the company you work for has to buy you from the temp agency. Now you may think that you can get away with quitting with the temp agency and then apply for the position you already had. But no, no, no… that won’t do. That would be a breach of contract between the company and the agency, and no company in their right mind would hire you under those circumstances. The transfer takes a little more of an artistic approach. You have to be creative. Here are a few examples of methods to initiate the employment transfer:

1. Create new, more efficient systems in the workplace (this technique previously mentioned). Hard work is always crucial. But keep in mind, hard work won’t do it alone. All your hard work will be in vain if it goes unnoticed. This is why it’s important to create a competent, user-friendly system that benefits the business. This is what will get you noticed. Make sure to display your new system for the management and ask if it’s acceptable by them. If they’re impressed, you’re as good as in!

2. Pull the “A better offer came along” card. This technique requires proper drama skills and a realistic anecdote. Typically it goes something like this: You ask your manager to put aside some time to speak with you. When you meet with them, tell them you were offered another position that pays substantially more, but it’s only a six-month position. Therefore, the only way you’ll be willing to stay is if you’re hired on a permanent basis. Playing this card is a risky strategy because the manager may call your bluff, wish you well, and ask when your final day will be. So to pull this one off, you better be a very convincing actor and very good at your job!

3. Pull the “I’m getting fucked” card. This technique is essentially playing with fire and can result in not only the loss of your position, but also the loss of your agency’s assistance. However, when properly executed can produce the most exhilarating experience you’ve ever had acquiring a job. And it goes a little sump’n like this: To begin, let me first reinforce that hard work is essential. Without that, you’ve got nuthin’. For a few weeks to a month, complain (noticeably by your management) that your temp agency keeps stiffing you on your paycheck. Perhaps they had a mix-up with payroll and don’t have your paycheck this week. Maybe the following week another mix-up in payroll causes your paycheck to be for only half the hours you actually worked. So on so forth. Keep this up for a few weeks. Finally, stage an argument. When you receive or paycheck (or don’t depending on how you play it), call your “agency” (this part needs the assistance of an outside colleague or friend to play the role of your agency representative) and act obviously aggravated by your agency’s appalling services provided. Make it quite convincing. After some time slam down the phone. At this point (after making a large disruption in the office) take a moment to request a five minute break for some air from your manager (who witnessed the whole thing) and apologize for your outbursts and explain that the agency’s been giving you the shaft on your checks for the past month.

Now comes the fun part. It’s time to get fired. Go directly to your agency and demand to speak with the manager. Now go crazy! You can do whatever you want, but most importantly, make it offensive. So offensive that if they were to choose to contact your present employer they will not be able to mention what you had said or done because professional courtesy will not allow it. This may include (but is not limited to) jumping on the desks (don’t damage anything!!), screaming obscenities in the manager’s face, mooning is always nice, et cetera. You may want to bring someone to the show as well. After all, these are the moments that make our lives worth living!! You may want to share it with someone!! Most importantly, whatever stunts you may pull, keep in mind that you don’t want them to repeat what you’ve done and you also don’t want to get arrested. So choose your antics wisely. And remember: Don’t ever use the words “I quit”. If you use these words, it’s all been in vain. They have to fire you!

Once this has been accomplished, you can stroll into your work the following day, request to speak with the manager, explain the situation. Tell them the agency has been withholding money from your paychecks for a number of weeks and this week they didn’t have a check for you. So you went to the main office and raised a fuss regarding the state of affairs, at which point they chose to terminate your employment. Then ask if you can continue your employment with the company. If you’ve proven yourself to be a competent employee, and put on a good show, then the prospect of hiring you without having to buy you from the agency (since the agency fired you, the contract is null and void, and you are now an independent applicant) will be a welcome one, and you’re in!! Now I don’t recommend this technique if it can be avoided. If you don’t get hired, you also can’t go back to the temp agency. So be sure that this is for a job you really want and the agency you’re presently employed by really isn’t worth working for.

Let the record show that all these techniques have been tested and approved by yours truly, and I can vouch for their success. My personal preferred technique in practice had to have been technique 3: Pulling the “I’m getting fucked” card. I thoroughly enjoyed telling the manager of the agency to fuck herself with something raw, hard, and spiked (in that exact order), then proceeded to tell everyone else in the office to do the same. Finally with a bite of my lip and a grab of my crotch I was terminated from their employment. That was a real jaw-dropper for my girlfriend at the time that was sitting behind me bearing witness to the whole scene. Again, let me reinforce the need for a friendly witness. This was a precious moment, and I’m happy to know that it will be remembered by more than just myself and a bunch of temp agency circle-jerks. In addition, that job was one that I truly loved. I eventually accrued my own office, a staff of my own, a laptop, a higher wage than I had ever previously received (which paved the way for every job to follow) and a fantastic education. I learned more in that position than I’ve ever learned from any job I’ve ever had before. I worked there for over two years when they finally hired a manager that I wasn’t pleased to be working under and felt that I had to resign. But I’ll always look back at those days with great reverence.

I think it’s noteworthy to state that I do not claim these methods to be the “greatest” for acquiring a job. First of all, there’s no way of guaranteeing that the agency you are employed by will place you with a company you would like to work for, and shuffling through temporary placements until you find the one you want to keep can be a long and tedious process. Secondly, let the old fashioned way be noted as the “right” way to go about pursuing a career. Go to school, get a degree, apply directly with the companies of your choice. This method typically gets jobs that pay more and have less responsibility due to the fact that Human Resources people are IDIOTS and have a bad habit of hiring narrowly-experienced fools simply because they have a degree. So if you’re interested in less work and more pay, graduating college is definitely the best method. Personally, I like working too hard and getting paid too little. It’s just my thing. Thirdly, the “greatest” way, unquestionably, is to start your own business and be your own boss. If you have brilliant ideas, money to invest, and the resources needed available to you to make your dreams come true, I highly recommend this method. Finally, my mother might be reading this. So there’s no way I can condone my suggested courses of action. But just between you and me… yeah, go for the gusto!!


It’s a perfect summer afternoon. “Sun is shining, weather is sweet,” to quote the great Bob Marley. On a beautiful day such as this, I can feel his music entering and exiting every pore of my being seamlessly, causing no friction. I feel as if the music, as it rides the trail of the wind, becomes a part of me, and I of it. In turn, it carries me along as well. I am now floating, weightlessly hovering just inches above the surface of the earth, close enough to allow my fingertips to absorb the morning dew without the slightest interruption of a single grass blade’s stance. I flutter my fingers ever so slightly, and with this subtle vibration, I rise another inch or two higher from the growth. I feel at one with nature, but somehow defying it. Curious, I glance around. I’m in an apple orchard, surrounding birds chirping, flowers reaching for the sun, squirrels, chipmunks and other wilder beasts frolicking through the field. And therein lies the proof to my inquiry. Gravity is still intact. They flow gracefully over the land, but they are, in fact, still bound to its surface. I know now I have obtained a mighty gift.

I heave my hands forcefully toward the ground, resisting the urge to physically punch the earth away from me. I incline a good eight feet higher toward the treetops, and consider reaching for an apple on the very top of a tree, now wanting to attach a goal to my newfound skills. I flap my arms slowly, but with full emphasis, savoring every bob I make through the air. This is bliss. Upon reaching the peak of the orchard, I reconsider my initial aspiration and venture to climb higher, wondering what fruit might be awaiting me at the top of the clouds. Higher and higher still, I climbed the vast ladder of light and particles, reaching for the stars. Suddenly I started to notice a red tint come over my vision. I considered the possibility that the air may be getting a little thin for me at this elevation; perhaps it’s time to descend. Strange… Plummeting toward the orchard below, the translucent red curtain that’s been pulled over my eyes refuses to lift. It, in fact, is getting brighter! I close my eyes and rub them vigorously, trying to overcome the mighty crimson army that’s surrounded my perceptions. And when I open them, I’m blinded by a searing light and wrapped in a sleeping bag.

I rubbed my eyes again, and shortly after working the sleep from them I found myself waking at the base of a mountain. A faint hint of Bob Marley and the Wailers whispers on the wind at my back. Occupied sleeping bags and tents, foldout chairs, still-smoking fire pits, apple-cores and debris of all shapes and sizes surround me. There’s a brief moment (unfortunately short-lived) where I know in my heart… I can fly!! I consider levitating from my territory, but after a short spurt of finger fluttering I give in to realism and rise up on the ol’ shit-kickers. Now… where the hell am I???

A yawn, a stretch, and I’m back on top of my game. I’m in Nashoba Valley. My friend the Deuce and I, he still dreaming away under his L.L. Bean canopy, spent the night here awaiting a concert to take place the following day (today), optimistic that we might find some first-rate mushrooms or some hallucinogenic mindfuck up to par before the show began. And find them we did.

We came across a bumbling hippy, dreads-to-ass, dancing to the sound of his own footsteps (no music was playing just yet). We figured he either had what we seek, or knows where to get it. And sure enough, he had a little sump’n sump’n that he was willing to part with… and at an excellent rate too!! These mushrooms were bright in color; brighter than any I had ever laid my eyes … We ate an eight of an ounce each, which at $15 each seemed quite a steal! But we were thinking entirely wrong about them. For the reader that’s all-too-familiar with the jacked up rates we partygoers are suckered by in suburbia, $30 would typically be enough for two people, but a third person would weaken the trip considerably, to virtual uselessness. However, these shrooms were not your typical suburban, half-assed, grown-in-a-fish-tank-in-my-basement variety. These were of a higher caliber, a truly potent mindfuck! The events that followed are shaky, to say the least. But I do remember, in great detail, a string of thoughts (the experienced tripper will identify with the never-ending strand of thoughts that you throughout wish you could wake yourself from, but this time you’re in for the long haul) that led to my vegetarianism which stemmed from a sudden divine appreciation of bananas, and eventually the structure for my whole belief system regarding existence, time, the soul.

And the beat goes on, to quote Sonny and Cher… Poor Sonny… Damned trees… Please forgive my continuous strand of obscure quotes from songs your parents left behind for you to use to prop up your wobbly coffee tables. It’s under those coffee table legs that I find my greatest sources of inspiration. Remembering what the door-mouse said, I’m feeding my head. And today I’m filling my head to a sore indigestion of the mind.

The day’s festivities begin with a String Cheese Incident; a hyper bluegrass group that I hadn’t ever heard before, but as it turns out they are actually quite entertaining!! Their music fills me with joy, I dance and move in ways I’ve never dared before, and I feel alive!! Of course, this could’ve been on account of the mushrooms. For those of you that have had the privilege of seeing these guys, you’ll surely believe my praise to them. They put on a hell of a show!

Probably about half way through their set suddenly began my unbroken trip-line, from which there is no escape. This may sound frightening, entrapping, and entirely unwelcome to the conservative sober-o-holic. But to us, we who have tempted Alice’s caterpillar and accepted his gift, we know that this is not a prison of the mind, but an adventure! And this adventure led me astray, to a place in my mind I had not considered going to, but now felt obliged to indulge.

It started smooth, yet overwhelming. Everything slowly began to move and swim in ways it didn’t seem possible just moments before, when these masses in front of me were solid, sturdy, unbreakable. But now everything (and I mean everything!) is a river of particles, flowing any which way choice leads, and always dragging my eyes into its current. My body dipped and swung wildly, feeling on the verge of letting go of its seams, and leaving my spirit bodiless, simply one with all, drifting freely. And the colors, man. The colors!!! Flowing from reds to greens to blues in streaming trails, all blindingly prismatic and reflecting one another, as if light itself had its own shadow. I was simply another color in the scheme, another beat in the rhythm or note in the melody. I was a simple puzzle piece that though highly insignificant to the whole picture, without me this picture would not be whole! And I felt at home. I let the colors and sounds float into me, through me, and absorb me. This time I was not dreaming. I was experiencing this in my waking life.

I have to keep reminding myself that I am tripping. I dare not allow myself to believe that what I see before me now is Truth. Ridiculing me, the truth laughs in my face because it knows that I know it is in fact… Truth! I know from all my education that everything is made up of particles, molecules, atoms, nuclei, DNA strands, microorganisms, protons, neutrons, electrons, … It is truth that we are in fact made up, mostly, of air!!! And everything I’m seeing now may not be so much a hallucination, but more like a view of life through a microscope, 1/10x, 1/1000x, 1/10,000x and so on… But the difference is, this new vision, this microvision I’ve acquired is better than microscopic vision, because when you view something through a microscope, let’s say for argument sake at 1/100x, you can only see 1/100th of the whole picture. But my microvision is allowing me to see everything magnified to 1/100x, but still see the whole picture! And what a marvelous picture it is! Colors intertwining with music, people dancing all around me, the lights swaying in every direction, blinking, strobing, and making the most fabulous backdrop designs… It was a magnificent spectacle to bare witness to. And then what should enter the path of my vision: There’s a girl in front of me; Beautiful, early twenties, petite, dreadlocks clean and spiraling into the sky as she flows with the music. She stops, and pulls… out… a… banana.

Now this may seem to some (perhaps even to most) as a moment of profound stupidity. But I assure you that to me this moment was one of profound clarity! The sight of that banana made me think such pleasant thoughts of sweet desires, developments of life, and god. I thought to myself, “Bananas are so cool! They’re like candy from Mother Earth: sweet, juicy, full of nutrients and vitamins… and they even come in their own wrapping!! I mean, how cool is that?! And to top it off, they grow in bunches!! There’s plenty for everybody!” And then I started thinking about oranges, apples, grapes, coconuts, kiwi, potatoes and tomatoes, all the wondrous gifts bestowed upon us by this amazing and generous planet. And then I started thinking about life, and giving life away. It dawned on me that in every direction, the earth is giving me everything I need. And it’s giving unconditionally. My existence alone is enough return on the favor. I breathe the tree’s oxygen, and it in turn breathes in my carbon dioxide. I feed off its fruit, and it feeds on mine. I know that may sound foul, but if you think about it, fruits and vegetables can be viewed as the excretion of vegetation. It’s the way of all things: A mutual cooperation that requires no special service for either party: A perpetual, communal benefit.

And then I thought about animals. I thought about meat vs. murder. Perhaps it was the mushrooms. Perhaps it was the presence of so many hippy-dippies that I felt the need to be at one with these people’s way of life. Perhaps I was so overwhelmed by the concentrated stench of patchouli and Nag Champa that my senses were decaying from the core out. But sure enough, I suddenly felt that I understood what I refused to see before.

I’ve always known vegetarians to force-feed their principles on me, telling me that meat is murder. Some claim meat a sin in the eyes of god. I can’t understand this. I love meat. It’s good stuff. And I like good stuff: Simple as that. This may seem at first glance, I don’t know, evil. And who knows, perhaps I am an evil man. But the idea of meat = murder doesn’t bother me. The way I see it, death is an inevitable part of life. In fact, death is the ultimate goal of life. So I won’t be found mourning it as if it weren’t supposed to happen. My sudden expansion of philosophy has nothing to do with murder. It has to do with ungratefulness. I suddenly felt ungrateful. I mean the planet is giving in every direction, a plethora of gifts that I could never tire of. And nothing had to die! It was simply gifts to us. And why? I suddenly realized that with all these presents being given to me, I never had to take anything. And by eating meat, I was taking a life away.

I know that sounds like the murder aspect was getting to me, but let me be clear about this. I feel that the slaughter of an animal in today’s factory-driven world is a gift to the animal! How is it better that these creatures be living in boxes, pushing bars around in circles for exercise, having metal contraptions pulling on their utters, never knowing what it is to be free? It is for this reason that a vegan lifestyle would be ideal to me if it weren’t for the fact that I am simply not that strong. I bow to the noble vegan, for you are truly a mightier being than I. But if I could make it so, we would all live animal-product-free, and free the animals would be as well.

However, it is also my understanding that these animals could not survive in the wild. A cow has no concept of hiding or self-defense. If set free today, a cow would stand in a field munchin’ away on grass, and wait for a coyote or other predator to come and annihilate it. It’s the fault of the human race. We domesticated these animals so heavily that they are totally defenseless and completely dependent on us. This cannot be helped. So it is my opinion that it is a blessing to take its life away.

Nonetheless, the matter at hand is not the nurturing of a noble species vs. the harvesting of its meat. The issue here is that I have seen the light! It is at this moment that I make a promise to myself to make a serious attempt at vegetarianism, because I felt I owed it to the planet. I was looking a gift horse in the mouth, and now that I’ve seen my selfishness for what it is I will no longer turn a blind eye to my crimes against nature. I am reborn: A new man. I have seen the error of my ways.

The amazing thing is that I never even touched the banana.

I feel renewed now. That stream of thoughts honed my lost scrambling mind and vision and for the time being I was centered and focused. But now that path, that illustrious path which awoke a great warrior of change in my heart has now settled back down to rest and my perceptions of the outside world are now once again fully awakened. The colors, man. The colors!! Visual effects spiraled away from me, toward me, and through me once again.

I am drifting along in the long song of summer
When summer meets winter and fall falls behind.
Rewind this missed blissfulness; cease the unwinding.
The binding unbound since the sense left my mind.

A whirling array of light and sound, long wide trails off every motion, I can see the particles in the air… I can taste them. Behold the grin stretching from ear to ear on the mandolin player’s face! It’s drawing light from my soul! I feel warm, cuddly, and foolishly wonderful. The band is climaxing now. The music grows to a peak, and I think I’m peaking as well.

I look over at the Deuce. He’s a tornado of dance, and I can feel the energy flow off of him as his limbs rush past me and back. I stop him. He looks paranoid, and I soak up the paranoia and am as well feeling the fear creep in. We observe each other for a moment motionlessly. Give it a minute. Let the motion of our faces steady themselves and right our features to those we were once comforted by. A moment passes, and we embrace. We throw our arms around each other and dance shoulder to shoulder to sounds that make our eardrums beat out their own unique tribal rhythms. We boogie. We get funky. We cut loose.

There’s something very precious about dancing. It frees the spirit, reminds us that we’re not prisoners within our bodies, but instead free to do what we please with these wonderful machines. It’s organic. It’s orgasmic! It’s something that cannot be expressed in words: Only by the body. And we are free. Blinded by the music, the lights, the tidal wave of hippies spinning and leaping with their hippy-guns shooting into the air (for the reader that’s not familiar with the infamous hippy-guns, this is when you make gun shapes with your fingers and throw them frantically into the air as if shooting off a storm in celebration of Cinqo de Mayo).

String Cheese Incident finish off their set magnificently and the crowd was well prepped for the following act. Moe stepped to the stage and everyone’s hands and arms flew into the air as if to catch manna falling from heaven. Deuce and I were ecstatic. To the reader that hasn’t seen Moe before, I highly recommend it! Feel free to browse their music, which can be purchased online or at any major music store. However, there is no comparison between a recording and a live performance. And these guys can rock!!

The Deuce and I jump uncontrollably, trying to outdo the height of our previous bounds to the clouds. Bouncing, we cheer and sing along… “God is light, light is good, yeah, god is good!!” We’re at the height of accomplishment. We came, we saw, we conquered. And we… are… gone!! My entire body is vibrating with joy. Moe had brought my trip to stability, and with it brought bliss and wonder. I lean in to the Deuce’s ear and I scream trying to topple over the music, “Deuce!! These are some good god damned mushrooms!!! Now, who’s driving home??”

It takes a minute for the question to soak in. We marinate in it, seriously contemplating the journey ahead. We survey our surroundings, or more appropriately, our perceptions of our surroundings. Nothing around us will make the slightest bit of difference to our quest home, short of a little traffic. However, what needs to be determined now is how well we can maintain our composure at highway speeds. Our eyes wander through the grounds aimlessly, and eventually find their way back to each others. Then we simultaneously erupt into a storm of laughter. No, no, no… this will be no easy venture home. But no doubt in either of our minds… it will be quite an adventure!