Alan Alda On Acid

I've always wanted to be drugged without my knowing. It's not because I want to be violated in my sleep, or anything like that. I guess I just enjoy that "what the fuck is happening to my head?" feeling. Some of my favorite days are uneventful other than the fact that I feel really messed up for no reason. Working 16 hour shifts is basically your company supplying you with free drugs. I've done 'shrooms once or twice in my life and I dabbled in pot for awhile, but I haven't done any of these, or anything else in almost ten years now, unless you count the occasional ant hill and that one time I sniffed the ashes of Keith Richards' father.

But on those days where I already feel that natural high at about the 13 or 14 hour point, if I was slipped a mickey or roofie or whatever silly fucking name people are calling these things nowdays, I'm sure my high and insanity level would be multiplied substantially.

As long as what you put into my bottle of Fiji water or Cherry Coke is not going to kill me, then go ahead and throw a tab of acid or some X in there and watch me go cuckoo while I watch a M*A*S*H* marathon.

I've always wanted to see Alan Alda on acid. No, not while I'm on drugs. I just want to see what Alda is like when he's on acid, because Flirting With Disaster was just too small of a dose for me. I would have no major problem settling for simply being on acid myself while watching a totally clean Alda, but I would prefer to take a gander at Hawkeye while he's cockeyed.

Steely Dan can't buy a thrill, but I admit I'd get a cheap one from watching Jamie Farr prancing around in women's clothing. I'd like to see if I get the same tingly feeling that Garth would get when watching Bugs Bunny in drag.

But I've seen so many episodes of M*A*S*H* over the years, I might actually prefer to see Farr in plain old guy clothes. Atten-hut, indeed, mithter. Party on, Cpl. Klinger.

My next step would be listening to "Bohemian Rhapsody". Besides, I've always been curious as to whether Flavor Flav's grand experiment of seeing whether the motion picture version of M*A*S*H* lined up perfectly with Queen's A Night at the Opera LP and what better time to find out than after being drugged? (What an abortion that last paragraph was. Something's already kicking in. I wish I knew what it was, so I could have a specific excuse for sucking.)

By the way, fuck that Wizard of Oz bullshit. The Pink Floyd thing is pure coincidence, but I do have it on high authority that Ozzy's Blizzard of Ozz was inspired by a viewing of Wizard of Oz mixed with a bad acid trip which concluded with the yellow brick road flying off the tv screen and landing smack dab in the middle of Ozzy's basement. Osbourne immediately vomited on it before screaming "Frazzle bizzle smash hammuh!" and passing out, but I probably didn't need to tell you that part.


Don't hesitate, folks. Spike my Bloody Mary to your heart's content, but just make sure I have a safe ride home. I don't want to be stuck in some smoky lounge in Vegas, listening to Styx cover songs and wanting my mommy. I'd rather be at home tripping out on Green Acres or the Big Lebowski. The dude may abide, but I won't really give a shit when I'm hopped up or drugged down. I just can't wait to see what those ferrets look like in the bathtub when I'm hanging upside down from my ceiling wearing nothing but my Starbury sneakers. You're welcome, ladies.

I'm pretty cool with any scenario that involves me being taken advantage of actually, as long as the other party has no STD's or abandonment issues. I don't want the person who deflowers me in my sleep to get all clingy afterwards. Unless it happens to be Scarlet Johansson or Christina Ricci, of course, but with my luck I'll probably get double-teamed by David Johansson and Lionel Richie. It would be great if Stephanie was to violate me as well, but I've been trying different variations on this for years, all to no avail. I even tried bathing in tofu, because she's a healthy eater, but instead I was mauled by a vegan bear. Or maybe it was just a really hairy hippy.

I would prefer the violating party to be female, but hey, let's face it, it's the 2007's and if Johnny Depp wants to set sail on my pirate ship, who am I to say no? The customer's always right. And Johnny is fucking money. I'm sure he'd make it a memorable experience.

It seems to me you lived your life like a candle in the wind. Oops, sorry, I was looking at the wrong piece of paper.

It seems to me that guys don't have a huge problem with stuff like this. Not the way chicks do, anyway. Men find it flattering when they're stalked because most women won't give us the time of day. Women, on the other hand, can't go anywhere without getting pestered, so they'd prefer not to be bothered while showering or having a cup of coffee, those shallow, selfish bitches. (The preceding line was a joke, for all you sensitive types. I apologize to any stalkers who I may have offended. I know it's hard work and I did not intend to demean your thankless profession) {That was another joke in the parentheses there. Now I'm using the fancy bracket things. I don't know what they're called. Sorry. And yes, stalking sucks. It is a very bad thing. Especially when the chick you are stalking will not give in, no matter how many times you hide in her closet with her underwear on your head. Sorry to break the bad news to you, fellas, but chivalry is dead.}

I guess that's where that whole men from Venus/women from Mars thing stemmed from. Everyone knows, especially those who are drugged while reading this, that in Las Venus, everything goes and that Mars Meadows is like a rotating feminist rally where things such as toga parties, boxing, Spam, infidelity, bacon grease, orgies with weird old dudes wearing creepy masks, midget pornography, kung fu movies, buffets and of course, fun, do not exist. Okay, so it's not THAT bad. I think I'd rather go to Mars Meadows than Oklahoma, for instance. (No offense, Gerald) But Las Venus is the shiznit. It's so great that you don't care when you say things that haven't been cool for years (or ever) such as transforming the word "shit" into "shiznit". But I guess the good ol' U.S.A. will have to do for now.

That's why I need your help on planning my next trip. Next time you're having a drink with me, put a little something extra in there and at least one of us will be allowing the good times to be done rolled and what not. If it's as funny watching me as I think it will be, then bring a camcorder. (Do they still make those and are they still called camcorders. I'm a little bit behind the times. I'll be right back. Someone just beeped me. I'm going to call them back on my rotary phone.)
I'd like to see the footage the next morning. I'll need to know where that strange pain in the backside came from. It could have just been the onion rings I had at the bar. Or maybe it was that sword fight I had with Mr. Depp. We can call the video 69 Hump Street.

Fin.

(The thoughts and ramblings and whatever the fuck this idiot was talking about in this blog do not necessarily--no, fuck that, they definitely do not--reflect the views of anyone with a working brain. We apologize for wasting your time with this palaver. The author has been detained and is in a padded cell being violated in ways that even former pets of Michael Vick would find to be a tad bit inhumane. Please go on with your business and forget this ever happened.)