OK, this a true story movie story, and like I always say, all of my stories are true. I don't like weed, and I've probably only smoked about 15 times in my entire life. Part of the distaste was the shkivatz sharing of spit. Um, yuk, no, keep your hippie chit over there. Anyway, it would generally make me untalkative and withdrawn, and most times when a siren went off, the cops were out out to get me, so what's the point? There were a few occasions when I laughed like hell, but I generally stayed away. I almost always got a sore throat, and again, the spit sharing, yecccch, roach clips, more spit proliferation. Plus, bongs have this penis like remindful shape on top of it, I don't know, and it's just not sexy looking at all. Just . . . no.
So anyway, my friend Mark and I momentarily decided to make tea with some Hawaiian he had instead of smoking it because I refused to smoke out of some toilet paper roll contraption that he saw on 'Scared Straight' or some sh*t. Yes, yes, bad idea. Then he tries to go all rolling papers on me, and I say, your spit, the point is the spit, eee eee, no. Then I come up with this brilliant idea. Let's mix it with raspberry jam and toast it on bread. Yep, we ate it, which is a lot more potent. Who knew? We went to see 'Maniac', the Joe Spinell film, but it just wasn't working for me. It was 'I Spit on Your Grave' bad, and I was just getting really disturbed. We were high as kites about half-way through, and I said, "I gotta get the fukk out of here. NOW." We went into the lobby. Mark: "I think I'm dying." Me: "No, you're not. Let's sneak into 'Every Which Way You Can!' " So, yeah, we watched a crap sequel with an Orangutan with Clint Eastwood and Sondra Locke, that we barely remembered on the way out, and then went to the diner.
Story not over, here's where it gets better. Mostly back to earth and shoveling pancakes into our yaps while mainlining coffee, we hear this noise outside. Is that an earthquake? The foundation of this lovely Greek establishment was literally moving right outside the window of our aqua colored pleather booth. Thump, thump, thump! We simultaneously lifted the curtain to see, and one guy with a mullet with jeans up to his neck was kicking the crap out of another guy with a Mohawk and slamming him against the bricks. Mystery solved. I swear to Christ, it went on for about 15 minutes before the owner grabbed a broom, ran out there and starting hitting them over the head. "NO CONTROVERSY!" I was shrieking the whole time, there was no stopping me. Mark put quarters in the table side jukebox. Guess what happened next? "You're not ever going to believe this, J. Here it comes! 'Oh, What A Night', hahahahahahaha!" Perfect. God keep Frankie Valli. What a night it was indeed. Legend.
You can guess how old we were by the movies.