Pothead Poltergeists
Shoplifter
This is nice. Three sips in and I already feel more relaxed. I don’t get beer very much. It’s a bit easier to steel out of Mom’s open wine bottles then a full bottle of beer from Dad even though he drinks a least four a day. No, he’s not alcoholic. He’s Italian. Very high tolerance and has it throughout the afternoon.
Anyway, I finish one of the cans and look through half the Playboy, and I think it’s time to go do something else. There is a little buzz here and I know I get antsy when I get buzzed. I can’t focus on one thing at a time. Not because I don’t realize it, I just get bored really easily, and I’ll half to go to the bathroom. Speaking of which, I have to go to the bathroom.
Here, it’s a McDonalds. They always have a bathroom. On the way out I really really want a hamburger, so I run over inconspicuously and grab a Big Mac off the trays from behind. Then I run over and grab some fries. There, this is just a pig out day. It tastes so good. It really does. Vegetarians are missing out. They are a hell of a lot smarter health wise than I am, but this is just like a little slice of heaven sometimes.
This is a nice little outing. I’m goanna have to do this again before I go. I break out the second tallboy. Hell, now I am really pretty up there. Oh look! A black squirrel. Me and my sisters and my brother like to call them black death squirrels. Yeah, good times. And for future reference, when you see a squirrel all black with a brown tail – that’s a Devil Squirrel. Watch out for those little mother fuckers. They’ll sneak up on you.
You know, when I’m drunk, I know it, and I feel happy, but not much different than otherwise. I just tend to bump into more things. Shit, like that trash can. It’s ok, no one noticed. Didn’t see that shit coming. Also, I swear a bit more, or at least out loud when I’m usually thinking it, and I don’t say it. Now, no one can hear me, out here at least. I wonder if there are more people who have seen me other than Billie, and they just don’t know I’m a ghost. I really do look like normal other than Billie said I was see-through.
You know, when I’m really drunk, I get antsy, fidgety – I can’t do anything and I don’t like it much. Don’t worry, I’m not at that point. This is feel good drunk so there’s not a big hangover afterward. In the other way, as in real drunk, I find that I never have fun anymore and I end up wishing I was just back to normal so I could go write a story or a poem, or else work on my crocheting or making jewelry. I love that kind of stuff. And you can’t do it when you’re drunk. You’re kind of useless.
So I decided to listen to Billie and Gerard (as well as my government teacher, Mr. Rogers – he’s funny) and not drink that way anymore. At least until I’m with some friends, and by then it will probably be legal. But I don’t mind anymore.
So, I didn’t do much after that. Just sort of wondered around. It’s probably just the alcohol talking too, but I want another beer. No, this is enough. I know now when to say that’s enough. Well, I knew it before, I just didn’t listen that one time. I think I will go crash in front of Billie’s TV. The day goes by so fast when you’re wasting your time.
~~~
A little later when the buzz is completely gone and I feel back to normal, I make my way home. Ha! Home, no not really, it’s Billie Joe’s home. But anywhere I stay for awhile seems to become home like that.
I find Billie already lounging in front of his TV, but instead of watching the news, and I don’t know why that was on, he had a guitar in his hands. I walked into the room and he looked up, “Hey, haven’t seen you all day.”
“Yeah, sorry, I’ve sort of been out wondering around. Is anyone home?”
“Nope, I can look like I’m talking to myself all I want.” He looked back to the strings on his guitar. He was tuning it. I was taught how to tune a guitar once, but now I don’t remember. “I sorta got used to having you around,” he smiled, “Almost missed having my ghost come to band practice.”
“I missed it too. Can I come tomorrow again, now that you mention it?”
“Sure. Don’t know about the guys, but I think it’s pretty damn funny. Mike came in today talking about how he though someone was playing Chopsticks in the other room, and no one was in there. That you?”
“Umm…yeah,” I gave a corny guilty smile.
“Ha! I figured, and I was trying my ass off not to laugh. Maybe I am crazy, but that was just funny.”
I started laughing too, “Well, come on, my economics teacher once played Chopsticks on Beethoven’s piano in a museum in Vienna when no one was looking. Then he ran away when the guard came. I had to do it on Green Day’s piano.”
“Beethoven’s piano, no shit. I need to do that.”
“Oh, I can just imagine it.”
“Yes, Green Day, we leave shit on your door steps and balconies, strip in your yards and play Chopsticks!” he said in this announcers voice that sent me rolling around on the floor laughing. Mostly because the first parts were true and Chopsticks in Green Day is the least of what the international public needs to worry about.
“Yay! How to make Chopsticks punk rock!”
“Exactly,” and then he started strumming it out dramatically on the guitar and that just made me laugh my ass off harder.
Anyway, I finish one of the cans and look through half the Playboy, and I think it’s time to go do something else. There is a little buzz here and I know I get antsy when I get buzzed. I can’t focus on one thing at a time. Not because I don’t realize it, I just get bored really easily, and I’ll half to go to the bathroom. Speaking of which, I have to go to the bathroom.
Here, it’s a McDonalds. They always have a bathroom. On the way out I really really want a hamburger, so I run over inconspicuously and grab a Big Mac off the trays from behind. Then I run over and grab some fries. There, this is just a pig out day. It tastes so good. It really does. Vegetarians are missing out. They are a hell of a lot smarter health wise than I am, but this is just like a little slice of heaven sometimes.
This is a nice little outing. I’m goanna have to do this again before I go. I break out the second tallboy. Hell, now I am really pretty up there. Oh look! A black squirrel. Me and my sisters and my brother like to call them black death squirrels. Yeah, good times. And for future reference, when you see a squirrel all black with a brown tail – that’s a Devil Squirrel. Watch out for those little mother fuckers. They’ll sneak up on you.
You know, when I’m drunk, I know it, and I feel happy, but not much different than otherwise. I just tend to bump into more things. Shit, like that trash can. It’s ok, no one noticed. Didn’t see that shit coming. Also, I swear a bit more, or at least out loud when I’m usually thinking it, and I don’t say it. Now, no one can hear me, out here at least. I wonder if there are more people who have seen me other than Billie, and they just don’t know I’m a ghost. I really do look like normal other than Billie said I was see-through.
You know, when I’m really drunk, I get antsy, fidgety – I can’t do anything and I don’t like it much. Don’t worry, I’m not at that point. This is feel good drunk so there’s not a big hangover afterward. In the other way, as in real drunk, I find that I never have fun anymore and I end up wishing I was just back to normal so I could go write a story or a poem, or else work on my crocheting or making jewelry. I love that kind of stuff. And you can’t do it when you’re drunk. You’re kind of useless.
So I decided to listen to Billie and Gerard (as well as my government teacher, Mr. Rogers – he’s funny) and not drink that way anymore. At least until I’m with some friends, and by then it will probably be legal. But I don’t mind anymore.
So, I didn’t do much after that. Just sort of wondered around. It’s probably just the alcohol talking too, but I want another beer. No, this is enough. I know now when to say that’s enough. Well, I knew it before, I just didn’t listen that one time. I think I will go crash in front of Billie’s TV. The day goes by so fast when you’re wasting your time.
~~~
A little later when the buzz is completely gone and I feel back to normal, I make my way home. Ha! Home, no not really, it’s Billie Joe’s home. But anywhere I stay for awhile seems to become home like that.
I find Billie already lounging in front of his TV, but instead of watching the news, and I don’t know why that was on, he had a guitar in his hands. I walked into the room and he looked up, “Hey, haven’t seen you all day.”
“Yeah, sorry, I’ve sort of been out wondering around. Is anyone home?”
“Nope, I can look like I’m talking to myself all I want.” He looked back to the strings on his guitar. He was tuning it. I was taught how to tune a guitar once, but now I don’t remember. “I sorta got used to having you around,” he smiled, “Almost missed having my ghost come to band practice.”
“I missed it too. Can I come tomorrow again, now that you mention it?”
“Sure. Don’t know about the guys, but I think it’s pretty damn funny. Mike came in today talking about how he though someone was playing Chopsticks in the other room, and no one was in there. That you?”
“Umm…yeah,” I gave a corny guilty smile.
“Ha! I figured, and I was trying my ass off not to laugh. Maybe I am crazy, but that was just funny.”
I started laughing too, “Well, come on, my economics teacher once played Chopsticks on Beethoven’s piano in a museum in Vienna when no one was looking. Then he ran away when the guard came. I had to do it on Green Day’s piano.”
“Beethoven’s piano, no shit. I need to do that.”
“Oh, I can just imagine it.”
“Yes, Green Day, we leave shit on your door steps and balconies, strip in your yards and play Chopsticks!” he said in this announcers voice that sent me rolling around on the floor laughing. Mostly because the first parts were true and Chopsticks in Green Day is the least of what the international public needs to worry about.
“Yay! How to make Chopsticks punk rock!”
“Exactly,” and then he started strumming it out dramatically on the guitar and that just made me laugh my ass off harder.