Oh the Terrible Joy 6 comments

Posted by grampa in I am full of love (Friday July 14, 2006 at 9:30 am)

I’ve been noticing for some time now (in conversations, in movie dialogue and song lyrics) a disturbing trend to put down acid.  You know, the ole L.S.D?  Personally I feel that this shit has to stop.

I hear these kids talking about how tripping is “for teenagers” and “oh, it is so hard on your body” and “I just can’t do it anymore” bullshit time and time again.

Man up, you pussies.

I’m only going to say this one more time: you people feel used up after a night of tripping not because acid inherently causes your body to collapse but because YOU STAYED UP ALL NIGHT, SMOKED THREE PACKS OF CIGARETTES AND DRANK 36 BEERS, YOU DUMBASS.  That is why you feel like shit.  Accept it.  Deal with it.  And lay the fuck off Vitamin A.

If you think your spines hurt now, you’d better pray to Almighty God that Grampa Acid never comes out of retirement.  The last thing you little bitches want is to be punched in the tongue by me.

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Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules For Living, Vol. 5 7 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Wednesday July 12, 2006 at 1:22 pm)

Sorry, I’ve been under the weather.  I’ll try to get back into form as soon as I can.

(Taken from King Tonga’s Book of Happy Optimism)

Rule #43:  We’ll all be compost in the end.

I don’t know about you, but I take great comfort in that.

So, g’head, make it a double cheeseburger.

And smoke some cigarettes.

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The World Keeps Getting Dumber 10 comments

Posted by grampa in I am full of love (Thursday July 6, 2006 at 4:40 pm)

Quick, someone dump some bleach in the gene pool.

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No One Here Gets Out Alive 4 comments

Posted by grampa in the real shit (Monday July 3, 2006 at 7:59 pm)

Happy Independence Day, everyone.

When I was a young boy, I had a friend.  His name was James A. Jones, Jr.  We called him Jay Jay.  He was, for lack of a better term, my godfather.  He was much older than I, probably by twenty-five years or more.  He was a tall black man, a war veteran and, like my father, he smoked a pipe.  The only photo that I have of him is a black and white photograph my mother took in our kitchen one Fourth of July.  Jay Jay dated a woman who was my godmother and thus became my de facto godfather for several years.  We shared a love of fireworks and three years in a row, on the fourth of July, we put on a large fireworks display for the entire neighborhood.  I would save money all year for this event.  Whatever I had saved, he would match and we would buy a big shitload of fireworks, have a bar-b-que and blow some shit up.

For whatever reason, and I am certain that he had them, Jay Jay chose to take his own life.  I believe I was twelve.  I have never forgotten him.

Every year on Independence Day I would always raise a toast to his memory.  This is only the third year that I have been clean on this holiday, which was once my most debauchery filled weekend of my using life.  Last year I called my brother in Texas and had a quiet moment with him on the phone recalling our old friend.

This year, to honor his memory, I will go to the beach with some friends and celebrate life.  I will remember him and cry, as I am doing right now.  I will remember him, untainted by booze or drugs, as the beautiful man who helped shape my childhood.  And I will miss him deeply. 

For my friends that are out there, raise a glass to those far away.  To those of you who do that sort of thing, offer up a prayer for the fallen.

And, while you’re at it, offer one up for those of us who have to carry on without them.

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Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules for Living, Vol. 4 12 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Saturday July 1, 2006 at 10:49 pm)

Rule #86: Expectations are merely premeditated resentments

This is one of those sappy, Hallmarky NA things that my sponsor told me early, in the beginning of my recovery.  Hearing it made me just want to slap him in the ole beaner. 

Life, however, has proven to me that this is, in fact, true.

For instance:

You get up at 4:30 in the morning and have to drive about 65 miles to the airport to catch the red eye to Honolulu.  You should have awakened half an hour earlier, but you must’ve turned off your alarm in an Ambien inspired haze.  You are therefore running late.  You decide to forego your stop at the ATM because you can reasonably expect (Expectation #1) that there will be one in the airport in Honolulu.  In fact, you know this to be true and you have used it before.  It is even an ATM from your bank, so you don’t have to pay that stupid service charge.

You are flying on a new airline in the Islands, one that has special, super-low fares in an effort to drum up business.  You reasonably expect that you will save some money by using this airline (Expectation #2). 

Aside #1: On the airplane there was this guy who was so unbelievably gay that it hurt to look at him.  The thing is, I don’t know if HE knows that he is gay.  Everyone else sure as fuck does.  He’s this Pacific Islander dude.  Now, in case you don’t know it, in general the Pacific Islander, notably the Filipino and Hawaiian, usually exudes this uber-masculinity.  It’s like a land full of alpha males, all pissing everywhere to mark their territory.  Anything that even remotely smacks of gayness is shunned in an attempt to posture more strongly in the hopes of being the next great Head Clubber.  Anyway, this guy is in his late forties or early fifties.  He has short, spiky hair, gelled to all hell and he has long hair in the back.  Complete fucking mulletude, my friends.  He is wearing a white T-shirt and carpenter pants.  The white T-shirt has the sleeves cut off.  It is also cut off about an inch above the belly button.  Here he is, swaggering like a matador, love handles poking out of his Elton John half-shirt, Captain Mullet, ready to piss all over the world.  Truly, it hurt to look at him.  I almost felt sorry for him for a second.  It passed.  Apparently the airline couldn’t let it go, though.  Security met him as soon as we landed and he was escorted off the plane.  Apparently he was too gay to be on their plane.  He was last seen playing hide the nightstick with four TSA agents. (more…)

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