A Psychedelic Christmas

Pony keg in the kitchen, the turkey has been in the oven for a few hours now and a quaint ladel serves up a warm brew for any and all takers. It was a picturesque calm in the living room where just a good group of friends decided to take this normally depressing and defunct holiday, turn it family, and throw some drugs in the mix to boot. I'd like to call for a little Christmas reform in the world. People. Next time you take off from school or 'life' or whatever you do and go home to see mom and dad and granny and your angry little siblings, please: Just bring a little acid and offer to serve up the nog. I guarantee that even if you regret it you will never forget it. Zap!
Regardless. Mostly it was just a happy little buzz going around nothing to insane. Though I think that one dude with the old vial he was 'washing' had a bit more residue than he'd expected after such a long time. Well hey that's life. And speaking of life I'd just like to dedicate this next sentence to a man that should've taken his place in that big PCP induced nightmare that surely must be his afterlife long long ago. Here's to you James. Your death was almost as played out as your music...But just know that I will always cherish that one time...You know the time...come on. You remember...you were 'the demon', right? And I was all: maybe I should just eat the rest of these. And you were all "get up offa that thing!". And so yes: I got.

As the massive jam stomping up from the basement grew louder I grew quieter. More introspective. I started looking at all these kids around me and thinking to myself: What are we doing? What the fuck are we doing? Sure we all have jobs and some of us go to school, maybe you paint or write or play music or sleaze down at the local bars every night. This is what I came up with in my tripped out little lobe, so I says to myself: Vying for the future. That's right. You and your posse are just copping the future at a front from that corner slanger called God. Maybe you'll come up and pay up and re-up and eventually you'll own that future and be able to push it on the kiddies. But maybe not buddy. Maybe not. You should be careful of how much future you do now, and I know your chick likes that future too. You should watch you back if you can't cash out, cause that front is gonna turn into the back-alley baseball bat of history and you'll just be another sucker trash fad like Eddie Murphy's album or 'Earth Day'. Just beware. And take a moment to ask yourself: What is it you do?
Food count: 36 oz of eggs? Crab cakes? Huge turkey? Some sort of loaf? Brie and crackers? Oranges? Yes. Pie? Of course! Yes. Bacon?! Steak?! YES! The night was delicious.