Thom Acee: Night Tripper

THOM-ACEEThe second to last time I did LSD was a fucking insane night... It should have been the last time I did acid,  but for some reason a particularly nasty break up and a Type O Negative/ Butthole Surfer concert made for a perfectly good excuse to eat some old paper a friend of mine had uncovered in his mom's fridge a few months later. 

But that second to last time was a fucking doozy...

It started out in this hippie Mike's driveway, the long haired teenage slacker digging aimless in his pockets as he handed me various foil wrapped packets. We had purchased fifteen hits of double dipped gel tabs (to be split between myself and my two other friends, Tony and Joe). The word around the halls of the high school was that 11414-lsd-tonguecartoonthis batch was a must buy; cooked from a recipie out of Dr. Leary's cookbook (or so he said... Ain't never met a drug dealer who didn't have  an interesting backstory to sell his various wares). We bought the hits and went back to. Joe's house to get weird. 

Real weird. 

We ate the acid- five hits a piece- aiding the paper's absorb acne by taking long swigs out of an orange juice container and sat back; settling in for the next twelve to fourteen hours. But somewhere around hour two, just as things were starting to get interesting, everything went sideways. 


And it was all William Shatner's fault... 

Damn you Kirk… Daaaaaaaaamn you… 

11414-lsd-shatnerFor some reason, we had settled the television on MTV; their movie awards going in full swing (it must have been a replay though, as it was day time when this trip happened). And we sat there, three blind melons melting into furniture as meaningless moon men were handed out to the pop culture superstars of my day. And then it happened...

A video aired, featuring William Shatner recreating the final scenes of the movie Se7en, with the Freeman, Spacey, and Pitt roles being portrayed by Kirk, TJ Hooker, and Shatner himself; the three bickering mindless among themselves. Now for whatever reason, this little piece of comedy really confused the living fuck out of the three of us. Tony and I were convinced that what we were seeing was some stupid bit (which, thanks to YouTube, I can now prove it in fact was), while my friend Joe- sweet, dough headed fool that he was- was certain we were actually watching Se7en, and that Tony and I were fucking with him. 

As things tend to do while under the influence of extremely powerful drugs, things got unreasonably out of control quickly with weak headed Joe losing himself in the trip (no doubt aided when Shatner, who might have been either hosting or presenting immediately after, appeared again on the screen). He kicked us out of his house, calling us Shatner headed dicks as he slammed the door. Tony and I struggled to pull it together lo


ng enough to make it to my car, knowing it was a bad idea to drive but seeing no real other choice in the matter. 


We climbed into my car, turned the keys and started down the road. We drove slow, keeping to back roads and neighborhood streets as much as we could (in the hopes of avoiding the Fuzz, but never once worrying about running over some idiot kid). And we were getting along pretty goddamned well, of I didn't say so myself... Navigating along the house lined roads with an expert's touch. 

We had one last major obstacle to pass... Crossing 41 (the main artery in our little Florida village). We gritted our teeth and stared intently, each of us breathing fire as we smoked our Marlboro 100s in deep, long puffs as we waited for the light to change. It took an eternity before it changed from red to green, my aging Ford Tempo racing across the four laned highway, barely able to keep straight. 

Crossing the street successfully, Tony and I cheered mightily, slapping high fives as we sped along the road towards his house. That's when we heard a sickening slam. 

11414-lsd-badtripI stopped my car and the pair of us got out and walked to see what I had hit. I remember my blood running cold, hoping to the God of Idiot Teenagers I wasn't gonna find a pair of little pink shoes under my tires. And thankfully it wasn't... but that's about where the happiness ends. Splayed out before us lied a little dog, his Grey end trails coating the street. Tony cried, dropping to his knees and crying "what have we done?", while I stood silent and watched. I knelt down next to my friend, trying to console him. 

It was an accident, I said. We hadn't meant to do it. 

"But we did it," Tony said; emphasizing our culpability as he knelt by the creature, trying to push the guts back into the splayed creature. 

But it wasn't our fault. It was Joe's, I said, my voice filled with confidence. 

He had sent us off into the world in this condition. He had the weak head. It was his fault!, I decried. 

We could see people starting to notice us, two grown men Kneeling by a splattered dog surely to arise certain suspicions. Knowing we were in no condition to answer questions, I suggested that we start making our way. 

But Tony couldn't be swayed; he insisted on staying with the animal. I eventually convinced him to just bring it with us, for some reason the idea of making sure we left no evidence seemed really important. He picked up the broken dog, bits of his innards tumbling out as he carried the pulverized mass. He tossed it in my trunk and away we sped off back towards his house, the sky bursting like a kaleidoscope as we raced to the horizon. 

We got back to Tony's place and called his girlfriend, Sheryl. She worked at a vet's office, which- by our thinking- made her the most qualified to help us in dealing with the matter of the dead dog. She said she would be over in an hour, leaving it to our own devices for the time being. 

11414-lsd-tonguetwoNaturally, we spent rather wisely... Smoking cigarettes while we melted knotted up strands of black garbage bags (we did this because when a trash bag burns, it burns a neon blue and makes a laser sound as the liquidating plastic oozes off the strand).

Sheryl eventually arrived, finding us jumping on a trampoline as we listened to Blind Melon. We told her what happened, the explanation seeming endless as we digressed again and again to stop for a second and really enjoy that sweet sound of Shannon Hoon's haunting vocals. Finally having heard our entire tale of woe, she asked for my keys to retrieve the dead animal. I handed them to her and followed her as she led us out to the car. She popped the trunk, recoiling in horror as the stink from inside escaped. It was rancid... The stink of days old flesh left out to rot in the Florida sun. Due to our inebriated conditions, Tony and I had mistaken a days dead dog hit by some other traveler as a dog we had hit when I bounced over the corpse as we headed to his house peaking. 

Tiny flies rushed to her face as the grey knots of decaying flesh boiled with maggots feasting inside my trunk. She cursed us, storming off back into Tony's house; leaving it for us to deal with. And deal with it we did, carefully taking hold of the rotting animal as we lifted it out of my trunk; dropping it callously into a cardboard box we have found to store it in. Then we vomited... A lot. 

Tony and I swore to never speak of this moment to anyone (going so far as to make Sheryl swear to our blood pact), and as soon as I got sober enough to drive home, I did. But the party had been ruined long before that. 

My car reeked of dead flesh, the rotting dog secreting this rancid green oil into the carpeting in my trunk. It took weeks of me scrubbing and shampooing that grease spot to finally eliminate it. As for the dead dog, Tony and I disposed of it properly; leaving it outside of  Joe's bedroom window a few nights later, after a long drinking and motherfuckering session after our shift at Checker's got a bit out of hand. (We used this chick Liz that we work with's truck to bring the carcass over; leaving the spilled innards to bake in the sun for an entire day before returning the vehicle to her. I am pretty sure we justified this because she wore glasses... Dead serious.) 

Wheel of Morality

I don't like to leave these drug tales without a moral... Mainly to not feel like some junkie Tucker Max (only not full 11414-lsd-kirkof shit) celebrating my self destructive past. 

I'd like to say to not abuse psychedelics (though this is hardly the stupidest thing I ever attempted with acid... That title currently falls to the "Month of Expansion", where my friend Larry and I attempted to drop acid as much as we could for a month straight... It wasn't a great idea...), but it's not... 

If anything it's perhaps to avoid the company of weak headed doofuses who get freaked out by William Shatner. 

I think that's what I got out of it at least... 


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