Shine On, You Crazy Moon
In my last article, I promised to write a review on moonshine. I lied. Well, I don’t think this is about moonshine, but maybe it is.
I acquired some, a few months back, and took a swig. I swear to God that I saw hair sprout on my otherwise so naturally hairless chest. It was some strong fucking shit. So I decided to put it in my freezer and save it. And I did. For about a week. Me and a friend of mine, whom we will call Multiple Man, decided it would be a good idea to drink it, and chase it down with PBR, The Working Man’s Beer! We played drinking games and watched shitty movies, and then we tried to crash... No good. I felt vomit coming, so I ran for the bathroom. To my horror, there were THREE DOORS! Not one shifty one, as sometimes when you’re drunk. Not two, as the classic syndrome goes. But THREE fucking doors.
Which one do I take, I thought? Well, drunken logic states that if I try to go through all of them at once, I can be sure of success.
BAM! Right into the door jam. MOTHERFUCK THIS SHIT, I’M GOING HOME!
OK, now this is where the real story begins…
It is cool outside, and the ocean breeze slithering through my quaint, drug ridden, hoodlum infested, Crips owned, family friendly resort town made it cold enough for a coat... it was January after all.
Important information: Moonshine is the biggest thrill of all. Although highly illegal here in the USA, the feds generally don’t care – it keeps poor people drunk and happy. Well, illegal or not, that moonshine does something to my senses. I can control my thoughts, to an extent, but not my actions. And for some reason I will think out loud all those thoughts – and when I say “loud” I don’t mean “in a quiet voice” either. Me being drunk is one thing, me being drunk on moonshine is like listening in on an internal monologue. I also cannot control the tone of my voice. Keep this in mind.
I am walking home, but can’t really remember where I live, which is kind of a problem, but one that can be worked out. All I have to do is just walk down every street I see. Right? This was NOT a good idea. The cold had sobered me up somewhat; at least to the point where I was not stumbling or seeing triplicates of reality, but instead coming off as mildly retarded.
Now it is about 11pm and I am in the ghetto, drunk, looking for my house like a retard, all the while not realizing that I live in ANOTHER ghetto - the RIVAL ghetto. That does not concern me anyway, because I am not into that gang shit. But, see, my neighbor is, and I had been seen toting his dead ass around town a few times. One would not think that would be such a big deal, but apparently it is when you are a rival gang member. Some shaved gorilla spots me.
“HEY CRACKA! I’S GONNA RAPE YOU WHITE ASS! TELL GHOST THAT IT COMES FROM HEP-C!”
Well, I assume his name was Hep C, because after I heard RAPE I am running like Grover, heading west. I get away, obviously, but still… I don’t need this shit. When I am done running, and done jumping at the fact that I am seemingly having a conversation with myself about how much Aquaman sucks, I bump into a local Denny’s restaurant. Actually that is the reason why I stop running in the first place. The order of things can get mixed up when you hit your head on a brick wall and find yourself flat on your back. It does not matter. Never before have I been as hungry as when I see that Denny’s. I go inside and take a seat, instantly becoming drunker and seeing triples again. Notice how sitting down does that to you? And the other way around if you sober up sitting down, and go to stand up. Like your brain is fucking with you. I don’t remember what I order, but to my utter horror I notice that I have left my wallet someplace else. Hep-C must have taken it when he tried to rape me!
No sooner have I realized this fact, when two cops walk in and take a seat. I get up and navigate the (three) hundreds of booths and tables I see. I can feel their cop eyes burning into the back of my head, but know that if I turn to look, I am going to be turned into a pillar of salt, or go to jail. I am obviously wasted, I have no ID, no money to pay for the food that have not arrived yet, and I am sure my speech is slurred as all hell. I try to keep my Aquaman observations under lock and key, and make it outside. Once I get outside I try to walk as straight as possible past the big window, looking like some marching German I’m sure, and then I travel the woods on the side of the road – hiding in the dark.
I know where I am now, the Denny’s did it, but now I am trespassing through a camp ground. FUN FACT: People live there, I did not know this, and with my internal/external monolog going over recent events, and deciding that it can not get any worse, it does. I am wondering what time it is, so I am looking into cars and through nearby windows to spot a clock. Apparently, SOMEONE call the security guard who comes hobbling up the road, with huge flashlights scanning the perimeter and shit. GODDAMN IT! I fucking run, and run fast, into the woods... again.
I know it was not the cops, because they do not have yellow lights, but still, I don’t need this shit. Now, in the present, I can just imagine what was going through that guard’s mind.
Here is a 110 year old retiree, probably from Newark or some yankee shit like that, who comes down here to finish off his platinum years. He takes a shit job to keep him busy, and his first winter here he sees a local hoodlum dressed in black, walking around thinking out loud and looking in windows and cars. Try explaining THAT to the Judge. Not me, but my paranoia is kicking in now, not about the cops, but about a thorn bush hitting my eyeballs as I flee the local constabulary.
I finally get into my neighborhood, and breathe a sigh of relief. Home is just a few blocks away. I get marching, keeping visual alert systems out for coppers and other weirdos that might be out. If I am walking around in the cold ass night, others are too.
I get to my house and a great weight is dropped from my shoulders... but when I close my front gate, I turn around and see COPS!
OH FUCK! I must have thought, because they do not see me and do not stop. When I go inside, once again, the heat makes me drunk as hell. Before I pass out in my bathroom hugging the porcelain idol, I notice that it is 1:30am. And it feels like it.
The next day I had a huge welt on my head, I found thorns all over me, the toilet was beyond any cleaning help, and I vowed NEVER to let myself go into a restaurant drunk again.
