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18:04:20 - 2000-03-23


Sgt. Giddy Bastard reporting for duty, SIR!!

I know I'm not breaking any new ground here when I say....I HAVE NOTHING TO WRITE ABOUT.

And unlike My boy Dlove, my mom didn't choke down a platter of hash brownies last week. So that's pretty much outta the question.


Taking a cue from the man...I just came up with another brilliant essay. This one is entitled ...


Okay's the deal. In 1982, your ol' Uncle Bob experimented with damned near anything that would send him into an altered state of being ...even listening to Barry Manilow. With the exception of heroin and (believe it or not) Valium, I did just about every drug on the market.

I was a college student at the University of Tennessee at the time and had developed quite a rep as a party animal. One weekend, my roommate suggested it was time we "tripped".

(Okay...flat out ...I take no responsibilites for any of my actions throughout the calendar year 1982 and blame my roommate Bill Moulton for every single bit of my drug use. That guy was a walking pharmacy and got laid more than Hugh Hefner which made him a demi-God in my eyes. He's the one that forced me to graduate past the occasional marijuana usage and into the hard core realm of Drugland)

Now then...unlike other Diarylander's drug stories ... I never got so into drugs that they played a major role in destroying my life. I EXPERIMENTED. I did not become a drooling drug addict knocking over grannies for crack money.

...Although ... I did shake down my share of children on their way to school for lunch money. I mean...let's face put up less of a fight than grandmothers these days.

..And they smell better too... day, Bill informs me that we shall be "tripping" on Saturday night.

Ummm...okay. Should I pack some swim trunks??

A group of six of us, five guys, one gal, meet up at Bill and my apartment and take the acid.

No big whoop.

The evening was already planned out. We were going to go see "Pink Floyd: The Wall" and "trip out".

We sat in the theater and I felt nothing.



The movie ends, and my co-horts are all glassy eyed and grinning.

The stuff hit them.

But didn't do jack for me.

.....until we left the theater.

On the way out, one of the guys had to use the restroom before we left.

The rest of us stood in the theater lobby and waited for him.

Behind a velvet rope stood a throng of people waiting to see the next showing of the film.

I, in my infinited, drug-induced wisdom, was under the impression that all of these people were there to "get" me.

"I don't like all those people over there," I warily told Bill.

"Don't worry, man ... you're tripping," was his response.

Uh-uh. This wasn't no acid trip, dammit. This was a hungry crowd of people gathered to attack me and rip me limb from limb for being such a horrible person and I think I see some giant cartoon hammers out in the parking lot and DAMMIT ALL TO HELL....I'M GOING TO DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

I think...although I'm not positive ... but I think that when I screamed "I'm going to die!" in the crowded lobby, that was a sign to my friends that Uncle Bob's acid had kicked in.

...And it wasn't pretty.

We got in the car to leave. Bill was driving and as he backed up out of the parking space, I woulda SWORN he was doing 60 mph in reverse.

I gripped the dashboard and screamed for him to slow down.

...He hadn't even put the car in reverse yet.

So...everyone had a good laugh at Uncle Bob's expense.

Ha ha.

Ho ho.

Look at the fucked-up hippie who's about to cry because he's convinced he's going to die tonight.

We made it to a pizza place near our apartment. By this time, I was pretty in control of myself and just kicking back and enjoying my surroundings.

We ordered a pizza and all sat there and stared at each other.

I was hungry.


And the pizza was taking FOREVER.

So...Uncle Bob decided to make friends.

I walked from table to table in the restaurant, asking diners if I could have some of their pizza. Luckily...this was a college hangout, so my drug-induced shenanigans weren't anything out of the ordinary.

Hell, at least I was dressed.

Which is more than I can say for Danny, one of my partners in crime.

While I sat in a booth, munching down the discarded crusts of a young couple in love and enlightening them with stories of my twisted youth, my buddy Danny had decided to test the "No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service" policy that the restaurant enforced.

So I look over, and there's Danny, beating his chest in the middle of the restaurant like Tarzan.

"Is your friend drunk?" the girl asked as she handed me her crust.

"God, I hope not," I countered back, chewing the crust. "We can't control him when he's drunk."

Management came to the table and informed Danny of their clothing policy. Luckily for everyone involved, Danny was more hungry than he was wasted and the shirt went back on.

We ate our pizza, and I was kind enough to pay the young couple with our leftover crusts, which they politely declined.

Damned mamby pamby non-drug users. Always wanting to cramp the Bob's style...

We got home and watched snow on the television. You know...the staticy feedback crap you get when you're not on a designated channel...snow.

We sat and watched it for at least an hour, all crowded around the black and white TV and trying to "see" things in the snow.

I saw millions of ants racing by at the speed of light. To this day...when I see snow, I see millions of ants racing by.

We then pulled out my copy of Pink Floyd's "The Wall" on vinyl and we drew graffiti all over the cover. I still have the album and it probably has more meaning to me all scribbled on than my high school yearbook does.

All the guys left, except me, Bill and the girl. Bill and the girl had sex in our bedroom, while I tried to sleep in the adjacent bed.

Anyway...that's my acid story. I took acid two more times in my life...both within weeks of the first time.

Then, one night on TV I saw that acid could really screw up your chromosomes and give you some fucked-up potato-headed kids.

And I have NEVER touched it since.

The way I look at it...if a little piece of paper can make you totally annihilated for 12 hours...I didn't want any part of it anymore. Them was some strong, lingering chemicals that went into my brain and I didn't want to suffer any permanent brain damage from any future use.

Them was some strong, lingering chemicals that went into my brain and I didn't want to suffer any permanent brain damage from any future use.

Them was some strong, lingering chemicals that went into my brain and I didn't want to suffer any permanent brain damage from any future use.

So kids...if you're thinking of taking the acid...or swallowing the pot...or smoking the coke rock...think again.

Drugs are bad, mmkay?

This has been a message from the Uncle Bob Society for Old Guys Ruining All Today's Kids' Fun.

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Have you read these?

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That Sinking Feeling - 6:09 a.m. , 2008-10-28

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