ASS-id Flashback: A Tale of Two Shitties PART I

I was recently having "coffee" with a pal of mine and I was sharing a story with her about another pal of mine, concerning his last dance with LSD. She chuckled. We paid the tab for the drinks and parted ways.

On the snowy, fog-ridden, drive home I realized that I had actually melded two stories into one. At first I felt silly, but since BOTH stories involve a pal that took way too much acid and consequently had issues with bowel movements, I forgave myself for the melding.

So here is the correct retelling of both accounts, conveniently broken into two parts.

PART ONE

It was 1995 and I was en route to the "Hemp Fest" celebration in Rainbow Valley, an actual "working" -used here in the loosest possible way- hippie commune just outside of Centralia, WA. After getting lost for about 3 hours, we finally found the mythical Valley. When we saw the brightly painted, non-working buses along the road we knew we had arrived.

I was with my girlfriend Jenni, my cousin Bobby, and one of my best pals, Jayson. I was 20 at the time and hadn't smoked pot since I was 15 so I brought a case of Schmidt Ice. Let us pause now for a brief collective shutter. Schmidt Ice................

Anyhoo, once we found a nice parking place in the mud, we walked around looking for the "Rainbow Ceremony". Supposedly a spiritually moving event involving fire-eating and boobs. There was a midget with fire red hair leaning against a small rock near the entrance gate.

"Hey, man. Where's the Rainbow ceremony?" Jenni asked the midget.

My cousin Bobby mumbled " Oh I s'pose you'd like to know where me pot o' gold is too!" in his finest Lucky Charms accent.

Jenni glared at Bobby. Jayson and I were nearly pissing ourselves. The midget must not have heard the joke because he wasn't laughing. He just pointed at the gate.

Inside the gate was a large horse pasture filled with hundreds of creeps. Ok, not all of them were creeps but they all sure as shit GAVE me the creeps. There was no real ceremony going on, just rampant veggie-friendly mingling and plenty of the usual hippie stink wafting through the air. We pitched our tent near the edge of the field for easy escaping if need be. I learned this little trick the hard way.

We hadn't quite put the last stake in the damp ground when a 4-wheeler approached us. Atop this decidedly un-earth-friendly steed were two men. The driver had a green grunge-cut and the awkwardly positioned passenger was sporting foot-long dreads.

"Hey brothers. I'm Captain Good Times. Dig?" said the be-dreaded passenger, still hugging his chauffeur. "What do you need?" he asked.

Jenni, never one to miss a drug cue, stepped out of the tent. "Got any 'sid?" she asked.

Captain Good Times produced a laugh that caused me to look around me to see where the baby goat was. "Gotcha covered, man." the be-dreaded goat said as he pulled out a baggie filled with paper blotter acid.

Jenni and Jayson opted for seven hits each. Bobby and I chose to pass on the tempting offer. They paid the goat, dosed their score and we walked around looking at shit. Bobby got bored and headed back to the tent to eat some of the pot brownies Jenni had baked.

After a couple hours of mingling with creeps, the three of us headed back to the tent. Jenni and Jayson were getting pissed because they were not feeling their high, and they were thinking maybe they had bought junk drugs. Back in the tent we saw a ridiculously smiley Bobby and one empty pan of pot brownies. I don't know how much pot was in those brownies, but judging from the look on Jenni's face upon realizing that it was all gone...it was a lot.

Bobby and I started drinking the warming beer whilst Jenni and Jayson went to get their money back from the fake drug-selling goat. When they returned, they said the goat was amazed that they were not fried out of their brains. He stood by the quality of his product, but offered more hits of acid in lieu of a refund proper. 7 more hits each to be exact, which brings the grand total to 14 hits each.

About the time they had dosed the new hits, the old ones kicked in.

A half hour later Jenni was too high to stand up and she rolled into a ball in the tent, mumbling something about cotton and Jim Morrison. Bobby's eyes were jet black with pot-induced coma and he was going nowhere anytime soon. I was about 10 beers into it and bored so Jayson and I went walking around. He was having trouble speaking but other than that, he seemed fine.

All of sudden he fell to his knees and shoved his ass toward me. "Dude! You gotta help me out!" he yelled. " I think I just shit my pants! Put your hand down there and check!"

I scratched my chin. "Uh.....couple things here, chief. First of all, even if you didn't shit your pants, I would not want the unique experience of pawing around in your trousers. Second, if you DID shit your pants....see where I'm going with this?"

He really could not understand how I could be such a heartless dick. After all, we were buddies, and here I couldn't just fulfill this one simple request. He kept asking me but I stood my ground.

"But...my legs.....the veins are on the outside of my legs!" He yelled.

"Ok, I tell you what....I will feel your legs to check if that's true. If it's not, we can assume that you also have not shit your pants. Make sense?"

He pondered for a second. "My legs!"

I knelt down next to him, rolled up his jeans and grabbed his legs. To my relief, the veins all seemed to be safely inside where they belonged. "Good news! No veins, sir. All tucked away in a cozy bed of.....flesh and.....tissue." I assured him.

He immediately got up and started walking as if nothing had ever happened. "Dude, thanks for making sure I didn't crap myself." he said.

"No, no I just checked your legs, see?" I replied, slightly worried about they way he might recant this story. "But it's all good."

We finally came upon an outhouse where Jayson could do a full-on inspection. He cut in front of about 30 people in line, darted inside and before the door had fully closed, he came back out. His pants were around his ankles and I remember being amazed how he had taken them off so quickly.

"Dude! How the fuck long was I in there? Straight up!" He cried.

"Uh...like 2 seconds. Tops." I said. The crowd began laughing at the strange, panicked, pant-less man.

"No! I was trapped! For like...hours!" Jayson said. " There was a pyramid of shit...and bad a man.... and it was...oh it was just fucking awful!"

I did what any good pal would do in this situation. I joined the crowd in laughter.

Eventually, Jayson shed the unpleasant effects of the drug and we made it back to the tent with little incident. I was relieved that fecal matter never really entered the picture.

The same can not be said of the next story.....