the dead

so my first night back in colorado I ran into that fucked up hula-hoop freak curtis at the same bar he was at doing the same shit he was doing talking the same game he was talking, 5 months ago.

I got into a conversation with some drunk at the bar who was hitting on my sister. he thought that I needed a pick up so he gave me a nice bud of some kind weed (why the fuck dowsn't anybody do this in chicago?). he told us that he had followed the Grateful Dead from 1984 until 1995, and then he paused and stared at us for effect and to let that settle. for some reason, these circles seem to think that following around a band that plays the same 15 minute version of the same songs everynight is worthy of some form of respect. I think it's kind of pathetic, but bloated drugged out Jerry Garcia's death was neither a suprise or a big deal to me, so who am I to judge? fuck... I'd like to drop out and stop showering and be high all day long and mate with a woman as ugly as a man and hitchhike to the next venue (assuming my trustfund wasn't tapped or my father hadn't purchased me a bus after I dropped out of college to follow jam bands) and beg for a free concert ticket ("I need a miracle") and join up with drum circles with my bongos and eat vegan and get into conversations about postivie and negative energy radiating from the stars while I'm zoning on acid...

anyways, the drunk with bud quickly let us know that he was looking for a good woman to be a step mom to his young son. he had met his wife on tour and she told him she loved him, but like most gold digging bitches, she didn't mean it. she was also a witch and she wanted him to study to become a warlock (you know, like Harry Potter), but he didn't want to be a warlock, so she left him and took the kid.

sucks.