Mucha Lucha

I decided not to try X this weekend at the Rave we were going to in Baltimore. Afraid I would be one of the unlucky ones. Found sprawled out in some back alleyway or laid out on the technicolor dance floor, neglected by friends too dense to recognize my brain was cooking itself to the bone right now. I should have known better. i had seen cult-classic 'SLC Punk' enough times to know that some people just shouldn't fuck with pills and it was usually always the one everybody said would tweak out if ever they tried. Heroin Bob in alot of ways became me this weekend. Surly on the outside. Rockin on the inside and I wanted to mohawk spike my hair just like him as an ode to the narcotic martyrs of the social pariahs of recreational drug users who should really stick to their own drug of choice that the FDA has already approved to kill you slowly: tobacco, alcohol, NyQuil, and marijuana. Though the latter may still be awaiting approval. It would still be a slamming weekend. Road trip. Amusement park. Party. Friends. This formula is fool-proof and even if it's not I can get "regular" drunk--and by that I mean "Spanish drunk"--and the weekend can still be bitchin. I think I'm excited again.