Ingrid Bergman
I guess I could re-cap about my robo-trip last Friday. Robo-trip. Robotrippin'. Robitussin. Get it? Thought you would. Let's make it clear that every stupid act that I commit comes from being excessively bored; I am not allowed to use my car and yesterday I found out that I am not even allowed to attend sleepovers. That is the kind of horrid household that I live in. You could very well learn a lesson that bad parents are the ones who let their children live restricted lives that lead to boredom. Boredom leads to both time to over think, trouble, and drugs. True story.
So last Friday I made mom drive me to Kerry's house because both of us had nothing better to do than bask in each other's boredom. From her house we walked to the pharmacy and bought two 4oz. bottles of Robitussin for only about 4 bucks a pop. Great deal for a cheap high that works wonders beyond anything one would expect. Being that her sister was home, we broke into her dad's apartment on the other side of town to trip without disturbance, knowing that he wouldn't be home from work until midnight.
Standing in his room, I downed my bottle of shitastic-tasting cough medicine in two gulps. Kerry had a more difficult time because she just wasn't used to tasting such shit. Me? Well, you know me and my skill at swallowing poisonous fluids with utter ease. The shit took a long time to kick in. So long, in fact, that we left her dad's apartment to go eat at a pizzeria. Once at the pizzeria, I started getting the shits and for the first time in my life was incapable of eating junk food placed in front of me. After spacing out and sitting in a restaurant fucking high as hell next to a family eating pizza at the next table, decided to call my mother to give me a ride home so that I could puke in peace.
Once I sat down in the car, I puked everywhere, man. Probably from the motion sickness of just fucking walking to the goddamn car. Dude, the car looked like a fucking pink volcano, I puked so much pink shit out of the window and onto the street. I told my mom that it was food poisoning and that I would never eat at that place again. On the way to Kerry's house, she sat in the back seat trying hard not to laugh at my fucked-up hurling. Later she would tell me over the phone that she puked as soon as she got home. The puke fucking stunk so bad, man. I'd never puked something that smelled somewhat I'm guessing, like yak anus.
When I got home, I lay on the couch in the basement fucking sick as hell for about an hour and puked one more time into the toilet. After the tiredness had gone away, the good times finally started a-rollin'. I started out by watching Carlito's Way on the big-screen. The movie was fucking ten times as exciting, man. Luis Guzman is an ugly fucker! Al Pacino with a Brawny paper towel man beard! Holy shit!
So when the movie was over, I attempted to walk upstairs to take a shower, not knowing that I had dried up puke all over my neck while having just watched a fucking movie. Walking up the pitch-black stairs (for night had already fallen), I thought I was Kirby skipping on clouds. I once had a dream before, many years ago, that I was Kirby jumping on clouds and then all of a sudden jumped into hell and died. But anyway, when I opened the basement door to see my mom cutting my dad's hair in the kitchen, the light hit me like a fucking religious spectacle. At that point, I tried to run to my room, being that if my folks saw me walking like a russian dancer they would know that I was on drugs, not having had food poisoning.
While in my room, I started watching Batman instead. Holy shit motherfucker, Jack Nicholson's head was SO HUGE. At the same time while being astounded by the massive size of his head, completely and adoringly admired the perfection of how straight Kim Basinger's hair was. I also blundered at Michael Keaton's perfect 90-degree-angle-arch eyebrows.
I laughed all the way throughout my shower. At what? I don't know. But I thought that the hot, shower, and cold knobs on the tile wall were spaceship controls and thought that I was in Star Wars. Fucking amazing.
After that, I talked to Kerry over the phone, who had just danced with her wall and tried to communicate with her cat. Earlier in the day, she had tried to fly and flapped her arms outside her window. But didn't plunge two stories onto the ground because she said this to herself: "Kerry NO FLY!"
Our side effects were really varied. She had the robo-itch so badly that she felt like she was on fire and had nightmares. I had such bad diarrhea all night that I shit gravel and was dehydrated by the morning, heard voices in my sleep and had restless leg syndrome for some reason. Alas, when I woke up the next day, I felt fucking good.
Does Dave's shirt not rule?
So last Friday I made mom drive me to Kerry's house because both of us had nothing better to do than bask in each other's boredom. From her house we walked to the pharmacy and bought two 4oz. bottles of Robitussin for only about 4 bucks a pop. Great deal for a cheap high that works wonders beyond anything one would expect. Being that her sister was home, we broke into her dad's apartment on the other side of town to trip without disturbance, knowing that he wouldn't be home from work until midnight.
Standing in his room, I downed my bottle of shitastic-tasting cough medicine in two gulps. Kerry had a more difficult time because she just wasn't used to tasting such shit. Me? Well, you know me and my skill at swallowing poisonous fluids with utter ease. The shit took a long time to kick in. So long, in fact, that we left her dad's apartment to go eat at a pizzeria. Once at the pizzeria, I started getting the shits and for the first time in my life was incapable of eating junk food placed in front of me. After spacing out and sitting in a restaurant fucking high as hell next to a family eating pizza at the next table, decided to call my mother to give me a ride home so that I could puke in peace.
Once I sat down in the car, I puked everywhere, man. Probably from the motion sickness of just fucking walking to the goddamn car. Dude, the car looked like a fucking pink volcano, I puked so much pink shit out of the window and onto the street. I told my mom that it was food poisoning and that I would never eat at that place again. On the way to Kerry's house, she sat in the back seat trying hard not to laugh at my fucked-up hurling. Later she would tell me over the phone that she puked as soon as she got home. The puke fucking stunk so bad, man. I'd never puked something that smelled somewhat I'm guessing, like yak anus.
When I got home, I lay on the couch in the basement fucking sick as hell for about an hour and puked one more time into the toilet. After the tiredness had gone away, the good times finally started a-rollin'. I started out by watching Carlito's Way on the big-screen. The movie was fucking ten times as exciting, man. Luis Guzman is an ugly fucker! Al Pacino with a Brawny paper towel man beard! Holy shit!
So when the movie was over, I attempted to walk upstairs to take a shower, not knowing that I had dried up puke all over my neck while having just watched a fucking movie. Walking up the pitch-black stairs (for night had already fallen), I thought I was Kirby skipping on clouds. I once had a dream before, many years ago, that I was Kirby jumping on clouds and then all of a sudden jumped into hell and died. But anyway, when I opened the basement door to see my mom cutting my dad's hair in the kitchen, the light hit me like a fucking religious spectacle. At that point, I tried to run to my room, being that if my folks saw me walking like a russian dancer they would know that I was on drugs, not having had food poisoning.
While in my room, I started watching Batman instead. Holy shit motherfucker, Jack Nicholson's head was SO HUGE. At the same time while being astounded by the massive size of his head, completely and adoringly admired the perfection of how straight Kim Basinger's hair was. I also blundered at Michael Keaton's perfect 90-degree-angle-arch eyebrows.
I laughed all the way throughout my shower. At what? I don't know. But I thought that the hot, shower, and cold knobs on the tile wall were spaceship controls and thought that I was in Star Wars. Fucking amazing.
After that, I talked to Kerry over the phone, who had just danced with her wall and tried to communicate with her cat. Earlier in the day, she had tried to fly and flapped her arms outside her window. But didn't plunge two stories onto the ground because she said this to herself: "Kerry NO FLY!"
Our side effects were really varied. She had the robo-itch so badly that she felt like she was on fire and had nightmares. I had such bad diarrhea all night that I shit gravel and was dehydrated by the morning, heard voices in my sleep and had restless leg syndrome for some reason. Alas, when I woke up the next day, I felt fucking good.
Does Dave's shirt not rule?