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Drug Ballad Well,   My last entry was deleted by traumatic means. I had saved my web page update on a jump drive and then decided that it was important to accidentally drop the jump drive on the ground and watch it shatter on the pavement. It was an important moment in my life. As the blue plastic drive shattered and splashed over the parking lot surface, I realized that God watches over me. I realized that the data on the jump drive would probably be my financial salvation and that God, being true to all past course of action, would ensure that every possible route to success is made sufficiently impassable and that I would die lonely, broken, and incredibly pissed off.   Honestly, I shouldn't complain. I don't have some incurable disease, my kids are great, and I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by canceling it and driving around uninsured.   Wheee......   I have no idea what to write about. I have a little piece of paper on the wall that has tons of ideas to write about and all of them suck. I write stuff down on this piece of paper in the heat of the moment and usually find later that there is no context in which these "funny" ideas are placed. What seemed like a good idea at the time is usually lost to the fact that I neglected to put them into some sort of big picture against which to contrast the idea.   Here is a partial list of "good" ideas: Platypuses and latex rocks (4 times, ha, ha!) The time I sold my bicycle to an ugly kid (remember to talk about the busted shingles...) Dogs (LOL! Kill me...) I stole a broken violin. (illegible)grandonk (Tuesdays) fucking goddam assholes.   Needless to say, these "ideas" are utterly useless to me since I have no idea what the hell they mean. It's kind of like getting drunk and laughing wildly at a stupid idea only to discover the next day that you were laughing at a broken stick on the floor. At the time of the laughter, it seems obvious why the event is funny and that the "joke" will remain understandable when a decent level of sobriety is reached. Sadly, even in context, the inebriated jokes are utterly worthless. Of course, like the story "Flowers for Algernon," once a higher level of intelligence is reached, one sees that he or she would have just as likely laughed at blunt trauma as they would have anything else. (Ok, that really isn't part of "Flowers for Algernon," but it sounds good.)   It's funny how things do so poorly after some time has passed. Seldom do things do well once some of the details are lost. There are a couple of things in my life that I still find funny after many years have passed. What's weird is that all of these "funny" things happened when I was brain-fried on LSD. I think the reason that this stuff is still funny is that it is nearly impossible to lose the context in which these events occurred... The context is this: Frank Emsley is the retardedest (yes, I said retardedest) person on the face of the planet.   LSD Story #1: Frank and Dan Need to Buy Bubble Gum.   WARNING: Using LSD is stupid. A stupid idea when one is sober (e.g., Doing a DNA experiment by mating a metal fork with an electric wall socket) is equally stupid when one is on LSD. The difference between the two states is that one is very likely go ahead and conduct the idiotic experiment when on LSD.   Dan and I were in the middle of a great buzz when we decided that it was time to walk to the store and get some bubble gum. One of the main problems with an idea such as this is that one's ability to speak on acid is greatly hindered by things like lightbulbs, curtains, and the second hand of a large clock with a picture of an armadillo in the center of it. The distraction aspect of LSD produces wildly insightful conversations such as the one below...   FRANK: Hey, uh.... (12 minute pause) DAN: Oh, wow, paper cli.... (Another 12 minute pause) FRANK: Whoa...   Anyway, after staring at a beanbag chair for six hours, Dan and I decided that we were in serious need of bubble gum and decided to walk to the nearest Circle K and get some gum. After walking a few minutes in the snow, Dan and I decided that it might be a good idea to put on shoes. We went back to the apartment and spent the next two hours putting on our shoes. We headed out again and got to the Circle K.   Upon arrival to the Circle K, the cashier greeted us with a friendly "Hello" and we immediately responded with a kindly "Grazzleflumber." (Loosely translated, Grazzleflumber means "Hi, I wish you were either a hamburger or a stand alone Space Invaders video game.) The clerk smiled and immediately reached for the phone. He apparently dialed 9-1-1 and found that the entire Grand Junction emergency crew was out having sex with their relatives and then hung up the phone. The clerk watched warily while Dan and I became mesmerized by the bubble gum section of the store.   All of the gum packages were brightly colored and gave us the sense that we were either floating or eating massive quantities of brown stuff made from retarded road-kill (the two sensations are nearly impossible to differentiate when one is on acid). After about 25 minutes of staring at the candy section, we decided to purchase the pineapple flavor of bubble Yum. Because the wrapper was bright yellow, Dan and I decided that the package must be radioactive and handled it with care. We wrapped our arms in paper towels, gently picked up the gum and spent the next ten minutes walking fifteen feet to the store counter.   The conversation that follows is a transcript from the Circle K security videotape...   CASHIER: That'll be thirty nine cents. FRANK: (Reaching into pockets) Uh, Dan? DAN: (after 16.5 minute pause) Uh... Y-yeah? FRANK: Uh (after 13 minute gap in consciousness), do you have, uh (another lapse), money? DAN: No, uh... (Universe collapses and reinflates several times.) Do you? FRANK: Uh... Huh? CASHIER: Listen guys, you'd better go home and sleep it off, ok? FRANK: Well, uh... Ushmushterglab. DAN: (Falls to ground laughing). I was thinking the same, uh, ha, ha, ha, thing....   We eventually figured out that the whole exercise was in vain and staggered back home. We didn't learn that much from the incident so we did it again the next week. After a while, it was a routine that was followed religiously for the next three or four months. The whole thing ground to a halt when the clerk produced a gun and shot himself in the head upon our arrival.   Our shock was displayed in the following conversation...   FRANK: (Reaching into pockets) Uh, Dan?   DAN: (after 16.5 minute pause) Uh... Y-yeah?   FRANK: Uh (after 13 minute gap in consciousness), do you have, uh (another lapse), money?   DAN: No, uh... (Universe collapses and reinflates several times.) Do you? FRANK: Uh... Huh?   Honestly, I have no idea what the point of this entry was, but is was fun to write.   Uh, yeah...... Copyright 2005 by Frank Emsley