A Trip in the Woods

We were somewhere around Melrose, in the nearby woods, when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like, "I think I'm retarded. Maybe I should stop drinking and breathing out of a piece." Then all of a sudden there was music all around. I was being pleasantly molested by the sweet sweet guitar chords of Jimi Hendrix. We wandered into a clearing and began to drunkenly dance. We had gone through three bottles of white wine, quart of the Captain, quart of Sir Daniels, thirty cans of the wretched beer known fondly as PBR, several cases of our American hero, Samuel Adams, enough marijuana to convert the current administration from PNAC loving neo-cons to hippies, and several whipped cream cans full of delicious Nitrous Oxide (NO2).

The only thing that really worried me was the nitrous. There is nothing in this world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of a nitrous binge, half covered in whipped cream. The audio hallucinations brought the onslaught of severe paranoia.

And what would happen if we ran into a family or some park rangers? Or worse, the police. What would they say if I began freaking out, begging them to protect me from the various man eating animals I would be hearing loudly stalking me through the woods? My only hope is that they would have brought a large enough caliber rifle to take down the various sorts of pink elephants, biped bears, and fiendish birds out to disembowel me.

Let me get to the heart of this thing: We were relaxing in the fine suite Sam and Sean had made for themselves avoiding our various personal responsibilities. The hour had reached two in the morning. Almost simultaneously we reached the conclusion that we should alter our consciousnesses the following weekend. The advent of warm spring weather, right before the plants began ejaculating their spores directly into the sinuses of the citizens of Boston, made us decide upon communing with Nature in the woods in the form of sights, sounds, smells, and of course, tastes. Our trip was different. It was to be a classic affirmation of everything right and true in the national character. A gross physical salute of everything possible in this country, but only for those with true grit. And we are men and women of true grit, are we not?