Sunday, October 10, 2010

Sex and Alcohol and Drugs and Guns and Friends and Writing.

To say I have a few friends with a few quirks is like saying the Titanic has a few problems with a few ice cubes. As someone who likes to think of himself as a writer, I do realize that I am naturally attuned to the weird or unusual because that is where all the fun writing is found. The downside to this is I get people who send me email in the dead of night, which is in the dead of morning for me, and ask me to help them out of situations that quite frankly may be some of the best writing material of all time.
A friend called me from a phone booth once and wanted me to come get him at a convenience store, and he was going to be hiding behind it, and for me to bring some clothing that might fit him and a gun. I weighted about one thirty at that time and my friend was about twice that, and oddly, I just don’t own a lot of men’s clothing that is two sizes too large for me and very rarely do I consider it a good idea to take guns to nude people. But as fate would have it, the local police took an interest in the naked man at the phone booth, and he wound up getting his clothes back, and didn’t need the gun because the police have many of those, and generally speaking, they are the best judge of who might need to start a firefight, and why.

Let’s walk through this kinda slowly for anyone too young to remember how bad music was in the eighties, but alcohol and firearms are a very bad combination. Drinking and driving isn’t as bad as picking up a gun with the intent of doing something you think might be a good idea if you’ve had too much to drink. When it comes to guns, if you’ve been drinking at all, it’s a bad idea, whatever you’re thinking, let it go, let it return to where it came from, and do not put a gun in a hand that is still cold from a beer.

Sex is more dangerous than guns or alcohol, and the first story was related to all three so there was going to be something very bad happen to someone, and some cop woke up on a Sunday morning, got dressed to go to work, went to work, and dammed if stupid naked people weren’t going to make his day more interesting that he generally liked. I wonder how many cops have cuffed how many people and put them in jail because sex was mixed with the two aforementioned subjects, and because of this, good writing material was born, but damn little else good came of it.

Someone brought me a person who had overdosed on some very strange drug and even though the person wasn’t violent, they were freaky as hell, and as someone who was very sober myself, I still questioned the wisdom of trying to get someone drunk to help someone who was stoned. As hard as this is to believe, generally speaking, the more drunk people you have, the less help anyone will be. I was terribly drunk, but I was not going to drive anyone anywhere for any reason, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let the stoned people drive anywhere anymore, and I didn’t like the idea of someone who couldn’t tell who or where they are sitting on my sofa talking about the walls breathing.

Being drunk is a function of blood alcohol content, and you will not become more sober when something odd happens, like when a deer comes through the windshield at seventy-five miles an hour, but you will feel less drunk, and fear is a great motivator.  I didn’t know what to do with the stoned person, and the internet hadn’t been born yet so it wasn’t like we could look anything up and decide how long this might last. Worse, we didn’t know the true state of mind of the person before the drugs got involved, so for all we knew, this was how this person was on their best days. How did this all get started, I wondered aloud, and I wish I hadn’t.

Two of my friends wanted to buy some pot so they went to someone’s house where pot was sold, and there was a small party there, some pot, but not any for sale. They picked up a person who had ingested some sort of drug, and that person wanted to take them to a place pot could be bought, but after the buy, the druggie started wigging out.  When someone starts seeing sparking coming out of the speakers instead of music, it is time to find a place to settle in for a while, oh, let’s go to Mike’s house, he’ll know what to do.

See, I told you alcohol would make you stupid.

There was still sparks coming out of the speakers, and this person was more than a little afraid of the sparks, but we managed to convey the idea the sparks were harmless. We asked for details about the sparks, and it was quite a vivid scene. The sparks were made of the different notes and each key had a color and volume changed the colors like wind fanning a flame.

We went through the better part of twelve hours of music finding out what color each band was.

Anyway, last night someone sent me an email and they’re stuck up in New York because their girlfriend dumped them while they were on vacation, and she pretty much left him with nothing. I sent him a Greyhound bus ticket via email, and even as we speak, he’s somewhere on the road sitting next to a thousand year old man whose drool smells like cheap wine left in a hot car for a week.
I’ll keep you updated on how all this happened, later.

Take Care,
Mike

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