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Nobody believes me when I tell them that

  • Nobody believes me when I tell them that I remember being born, but I was in that womb for five years. When I finally burst out in a display of gore and liberty, my (maybe) father
  • couldn't walk for several months. It's been fifteen years now and (s)he still looks like a cowboy missing his horse when (s)he walks, but my momdad (as I call it) has always been
  • both kind and understanding to me regarding my drinking problem. I've spent many a night passed out on a couch, or atop a lawn ornament, or under the car, or wrapped around the TV
  • . They would wrap me in a down comforter, brew me a cup of Tension Tamer tea and turn the TV to the Antiques Roadshow. As the spiders from my DTs passed, we would play pinochle.
  • Which was a silly game that old washed drunks claimed to like but was really just another in a long line of excuses to get totally smashed and let the bills pile up. So
  • I threw in Super High Me again cause I still couldn't remember if I'd seen it or not and fired up a monster doobie. Charles was on his way over and I wanted
  • him to be the guinea pig for my experiment on the effects of second-hand Maui wowie. The results were staggering. As soon as Charles stepped into my copious cannabis cloud,
  • he was suddenly able to talk: with a squeeky voice he claimed he saw purple elephants with yellow wings that were attacking him with candy canes and cotton bullets. Then he started
  • to run while he ducked out of the way of the quick-moving candy projectiles.
  • But a moment later he gathered his wits, his strength, his qi and his mojo, and he shielded everyone from the candy damage. They had all stepped aside, but still, how brave!

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