Turn on. Tune in. Drop out.
Tonight we opened our third eyes and traveled the mindway to another level of consciousness.
14 pilots, 4 maggots, and one spy departed the Somerville System in search of three locations to achieve increased elevation with much success, KAPLAH! Three Speed got "high" by Z Axis augmentation and was almost denied descent due to the mysterious detonation of a series of radiation mines. He escaped relatively unscathed. Star Hustler suffered minor damage to the aft sensor array after an unfortunate incident where Epoxy's knee became temporarily attached to the helm. Zenith was awarded a medal of injury for abandoning ship in front of a sandworm.
*Guest reporter Boyle along for the ride doing a piece for Vice/Motherboard.
*Every time we stop, pilots get as "high" as possible
*Lechmere Canal Park, North Point Park, the Charlestown bandsaw, Seven Hills Park
*Wombat and Red Squirrel put the ATM back in ATM Machine
*Mongoose knighted after spinning several tree-related tall tales
*Acehole awarded Medal of Chic for his excessively tacky and trippy 70's-era polyester shirt.
With aplogies to Hunter S. Thompson:
Skunk was in the bathtub when I returned. Submerged in green water -- the oily product of some Japanese bath salts he'd picked up in the hotel gift shop, along with a new AM/FM radio plugged into the electric razor socket. Top volume. Some gibberish by a thing called "Three Dog Night," about a frog named Jeremiah who wanted "Joy to the World."
"Music!" he snarled. "Turn it up. Put that tape on."
"The new one. It's right there."
I picked up the radio and noticed that it was also a tape recorder -- one of those things with a cassette-unit built in. And the tape, Surrealistic Pillow, needed only to be flipped over. He had already gone through side one -- at a volume that must have been audible in every room within a radius of one hundred yards, walls and all.
"'White Rabbit,'" he said. "I want a rising sound."
"You're doomed," I said. "I'm leaving here in two hours and then they're going to come up here and beat the mortal shit out of you with big saps. Right there in the tub."
"I dig my own graves," he said. "Green water and the White Rabbit ... put it on; don't make me use this." His arm lashed out of the water, the hunting knife gripped in his fist.
..."OK," I said, turning the tape over and pushing the "play" button.
..."Let it roll!" he screamed. "Just as high as the fucker can go! And when it comes to that fantastic note where the rabbit bites its own head off, I want you to throw that effing radio into the tub with me." ...."Just tell them I wanted to get Higher!" ...
I thought for a moment. "Okay," I said finally. "You're right. This is probably the only solution." I picked up the tape/radio -- which was still plugged in -- and held it over the tub. "Just let me make sure I have it all lined up," I said. "You want me to throw this thing into the tub when 'White Rabbit' peaks -- is that it?"
"Are you ready?" I hit the "play" button and "White Rabbit" started building again. Almost immediately he began to howl and moan ... another fast run up that mountain, and thinking, this time, that he would finally get over the top. His eyes were gripped shut and only his head and both kneecaps poked up through the oily green water.
I let the song build while I sorted through the pile of fat ripe grapefruit next to the basin. The biggest one of the lot weighed almost two pounds. I got a good Vida Blue fastball grip on the fucker -- and just as "White Rabbit" peaked I lashed it into the tub like a cannonball.