Why it's not safe to drink

His marine corp. accent was thick.
It woke me from my drooling slumber.
"BAYHEAD-BUDDY!"
-"God?"
I let loose a slow growl that drove the poor man to cower back into the vestibule.
I had missed my stop again, this time however I was at the end of the line with no way home and a belly thick with upheaval.
A revolution of the gullet, led by general Pepperoni and the great idealist, Fosters 32oz can (trademarked of course).
I have heard of these gentlemen before, but I never encountered a problem with them separately.
Now that I have introduced them together in my sovereign, they have staged a military coup and are now free to roam the Bay Head area at will.
It's no bother however. My brother is on his way to pick me up... So I'll just sit here... and.......wait....zzz
A ringing woke me for the second most unpleasant time tonight. I have no idea where I am... -" Hello?"
It's my cell phone.
"Where the hell are you!?" Oh it's my brother.
-"At the Bay Head station"
"Yeah... BUT WHERE!?"
-"Uh, I don't know... but there's some asshole driving straight at me."
"That would be me, so, get in?"
-"Right."
"Yo! You S-T-I-N-K!"
-"Yeah... I just threw up... Penn Station Pizza..."
"Newark or New York?"
-"Newark."
"J-E-S-U-S C-H-A-R-I-S-T MAN! oh... you can leave the Fosters outside."
_"I'm gonna lean back a lil..."
"Yeah just go ahead[zzz] Andrew?[zzz] don't puke in the car[zzz] Hello?[zzz] parakeets [zzz] religious hierarchy [zzz] Napoleon [zzz].

Sweet Baby!

Those dark eyes penetrate my leather soul
My heart reels with anticipation.
I know you can feel me shake and shutter,
My lips quiver within my steel disposition.
Follow my lead, lean in.
Let my lips caress yours.
In this sea of drunken stooges I have you alone.
All alone on this dance-floor
The upper-east-side nightlife drips off of us as we linger.
They are sweeping up now, should we go?
Just a bit longer then, it's already 4am.
I can't break myself from this clasp.
I almost melt as those dark eyes penetrate my now softer soul.

What you think of on the train to NYC Part 2

Extreme apathy fills me, my blood cooly boils.
I passionately hold feelings of indifference to the people around me.
These people swarm around me like frantic Sloths.
Growling snarling and gnashing with their dull fangs.
They keep talking without saying anything.
I look blindly at them.
Their ignorant education has succeeded in failing them.
We celebrate, this month of days, the unjust justice we have come to hate.
The old dead thinkers are alive and well. Their philosophy sits in no one's head.
Aristotle sits in the corner working with Playdoh.
A doctor practices surgery while an historian foresees the future.
Up is up and we make new cliches.
This is the reality of my dreams.
My fantasy real world.

What you think of on the train to NYC Part 1

In the morning I awaken next to a slumbering beauty.

What treasure is this?!

Her hair, oh her hair!

A golden mess of silk.

Her lips quiver and tremble as she dreams.

Her bright red lips compliment her as she smiles.

She opens her eyes, looks deep into mine and says "Hi. I'm Meghan."

Flogging Bacon

The epitome of pity have I seen.

It's name is frightening, it's name is me!

Why do I fight Myself? Oh Woe Woe is me!

From the distant hall of torment comes a voice.

It shatters the silence.

It's purity and sweetness stick the flesh and open a wound no mortal man could mend.

She alone is responsible for my bleeding soul.

I scream for her, for that voice, but the darkness hides her.

You may call it unrequited, but neither soul knew each other.

The voice disappeared into the abyss .

Darkness of silence came and swallowed everything up.

It swallowed the distant soul and brought order back to the hall, my hall.

Beelzebub's lip

My boat no longer floats,
my river hath dried.
My land is all but lush,
tumble weeds and dirt.
My plow brings forth no fruit,
my horse has become fertilizer for nowt.
My legacy has dwindled to whispers of failure.
My life scrambled,
my hands are dead.
My wagon lay useless along the road,
no horse to pull it and no where to go.
There is no escape from this awful land,
save walk or death.
My prayers have fallen short of the deaf ears that await them.
I realize now that I have settled upon Beelzebub's lip.
The brim of my hat has gone limp with sweat.
and I must leave this place,
Before the sun set's my house a blaze.

Tribute

I slipped into the warmth of fourth gear right around Oklahoma City. The raspy growl of "Spacegrass" flowed from the cd player, I am so glad I installed that six cd changer... now I will never stop going... The night was cold and the rain had just left me on the side of the road after spinning me around six times... rain tires my ass... This Cuda can't handle the rain but it's faster than hell leaking in through the open veins of society. This road is pure and benevolent... I couldn't be bothered with trying to stop the destruction of the front fender but that's the price you get for doing eighty on a road through "Bum Fuck"... it's been four days since I left New York, I don't miss it yet. They say I will, but all I'll miss is the Chock Full Of Nuts stand in Greely Square. I could use some coffee, but unless that cow's got a capuchino machine I'm shit out of luck. My head wanders into the epic space journey that is Clutch... Speaking of which... I gotta switch gears... both mentally and physically... The cd's done and I forget which one is next... Ralph calls it an obsession, I call it a perfect fit. It's like someone took my personality and made a band around it... of course I'm gonna fall in love with the music... That's what I do... fucker created a monster and then started ragging on me about it... dirty hippie...
I'm tired of the plains and I am glad to be coming up to the mountains... the next stop... Santa Barbara... or the next gas station I see... you know which ever comes first... I haven't been west of the Mississippi in years and it makes me feel good... I think I'll go south instead... Ride through the painted desert and the Rocky Mountains. The best funnel cake in the world is at the four corners but I can't eat that crap anymore... I gave up trying to get people to take this trip with me... I can't get people to travel more than a couple hours away from home until they panic and want to turn back... I'm too indifferent for my own good. And these cigars are running low... I must stop and pick up some... maybe a local brand...
try something new for once...

I stopped around ten a.m at Slide Rock in Arizona... I remember this place from when I was a kid... it's still kinda cool and I'm the only one here... it's a little to cold to be reasonable so I plunge into the water off of the twenty foot cliff... Invigorating... Enchiladas come next... There is a great little Mexican restaurant where the waitresses spill doctor pepper on you... It's happened all three times I've been there... So I order the pale ale and it stays on her tray. The women out here are amazingly gorgeous... Makes me feel like giving a shit...
I pass the mission at Santa Barbra and know I'm going to take route one north from here... I'm now one week and three days from home... five thousand miles... maybe I should change to oil at the next gas station... I'm gonna need some fresh blood if I'm gonna make it to Anchorage.
It gets colder as I pass the Sea Lions on the cliffs of California. I've been eating nothing but enchiladas for the past few days and I couldn't be happier... at least no one else is in the car with me... the stench is amazing and pure. It makes me happy not to have to impress anyone but myself and I couldn't care less what I look or smell like for that matter.

My faithfull cuda bit it in San Fran... ...right as I was pulling into the Fishermans Wharf... I fit in in northern California... in appearance that is... there are a lot of bums out here all year round... they are fed and clothed and it stays reasonably warm... It's good to be the king of the peasants here. If you ever want to study the divergence of society go to Berkely and look at the yuppies drinking lattes infront of some college hippie wannabe asking for pot money and some vagabond sharing his neighbors loaf of stale bread. They all suck! Each greedy in his or her own way. They want everything and are willing to give nothing... the poor give to the poor everywhere else... here they wait for someone to feel obligated to drop a shiney nickle or two into their Starbucks cup... I wouldn't be surprised if these assholes someday get credit card machines so you can feel good about yourself while not having to carry cash for the unneedy fucktards.
I leave as soon as the car is fixed... usually I wouldn't shell out the cash for someone else to fix my shit... but I know Alex from highschool and he's not even charging me for labor... which is cool cause he owes me a couple hundred bucks already... fuck... now we're even... fuck.
I never made it to Alaska this year... but I make my way back east through Montreal and Toronto... I stopped in the Thousand Islands and the river of battery acid they call the St Lawrence... the local fish up there is a tire. But the people are nice and my buddy's got a shit hole I can crash in before making my way home... but who knows where I'll end up from here... I can tell you it won't be Florida... cause Florida SUCKS!