Friday, November 05, 2004
I Lied...
...but it was your own damn fault for trusting me in the first place.
Over the past couple of months I have made many wild and varied claims about what I would do if Bush won the election. Most oft repeated amongst these was that I would either get heavy into dope or move to Canada, neither of which I have done - at least yet.
I had also promised - on a number of occasions - that I would be in the streets, throwing bombs in the revolution, if Bush was declared the winner on Tuesday. Since I ended up passing out around 10:00pm, I guess I slid by on that one.
Tuesday was tumultuous, to say the least. By then the coke and most of the speed was gone, and we were left with nothing but booze, weed, and a handful of Vicodin. My memories of the day are vague and intermittent at best, but I do vividly recall that at one point I had a bottle of "Two-buck-Chuck" in one hand, and a plastic pint of "Black Velvet" in the other, and I was taking swigs off both with gusto, only pausing occasionally to pop another pill into my mouth.
By 5:00pm this bullshit was definitely taking a toll on me, but somehow I managed to gather myself enough to go down to some pizza place, where Mr. A's Political Science was gathered to watch the returns. I don't actually remember being there, but apparently some kind of "scene" was involved, which doesn't really surprise me.
After the pizza place, we went to the fairgrounds, which I do remember - probably because I had taken the rest of the speed.
As the night wore on I became increasingly pessimistic about the outcome, and I conceded victory to Bush long before many others were willing to take that step. However, red wine, whiskey, cheap beer, amphetamines, and downers are not a cocktail that will encourage its taker to go gently into the good night. To that point, I recall offering, quite forcefully and on multiple occasions, to "fight any Republican in the room," and I am sure that I made many other scandalous/felonious declarations before the night was through.
Wednesday dawned rotten as hell. I awoke lying in a room more closely resembling something from Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas than I have ever seen before in my life. Empty wine bottles, beer bottles, beer cans, liquor bottles, coke bottles, coke cans, about half-a-dozen pizza boxes, pizza crusts, rotting food, wet clothes, empty baggies, and all manner of other filth were pilled high around the thin mat on the dirty floor where I was sleeping, huddled - sick and shivering - under a thin blanket, like a dying animal crawled back into its nest after exposure to a disastrous chemical spill that has just destroyed everything it had ever known and held dear. For about three hours I tossed around on the floor, trying to get just a little more rest, and gather enough energy to drag myself to the toilet and vomit.
The only real highlight of the day came when a high strung neighbor stormed into the room wearing an American flag draped over his jeans like a diaper, and launched into a speech about how this symbolized his desire to "shit on the American flag," which is a sentiment that I can certainly sympathize with.
Over the past couple of months I have made many wild and varied claims about what I would do if Bush won the election. Most oft repeated amongst these was that I would either get heavy into dope or move to Canada, neither of which I have done - at least yet.
I had also promised - on a number of occasions - that I would be in the streets, throwing bombs in the revolution, if Bush was declared the winner on Tuesday. Since I ended up passing out around 10:00pm, I guess I slid by on that one.
Tuesday was tumultuous, to say the least. By then the coke and most of the speed was gone, and we were left with nothing but booze, weed, and a handful of Vicodin. My memories of the day are vague and intermittent at best, but I do vividly recall that at one point I had a bottle of "Two-buck-Chuck" in one hand, and a plastic pint of "Black Velvet" in the other, and I was taking swigs off both with gusto, only pausing occasionally to pop another pill into my mouth.
By 5:00pm this bullshit was definitely taking a toll on me, but somehow I managed to gather myself enough to go down to some pizza place, where Mr. A's Political Science was gathered to watch the returns. I don't actually remember being there, but apparently some kind of "scene" was involved, which doesn't really surprise me.
After the pizza place, we went to the fairgrounds, which I do remember - probably because I had taken the rest of the speed.
As the night wore on I became increasingly pessimistic about the outcome, and I conceded victory to Bush long before many others were willing to take that step. However, red wine, whiskey, cheap beer, amphetamines, and downers are not a cocktail that will encourage its taker to go gently into the good night. To that point, I recall offering, quite forcefully and on multiple occasions, to "fight any Republican in the room," and I am sure that I made many other scandalous/felonious declarations before the night was through.
Wednesday dawned rotten as hell. I awoke lying in a room more closely resembling something from Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas than I have ever seen before in my life. Empty wine bottles, beer bottles, beer cans, liquor bottles, coke bottles, coke cans, about half-a-dozen pizza boxes, pizza crusts, rotting food, wet clothes, empty baggies, and all manner of other filth were pilled high around the thin mat on the dirty floor where I was sleeping, huddled - sick and shivering - under a thin blanket, like a dying animal crawled back into its nest after exposure to a disastrous chemical spill that has just destroyed everything it had ever known and held dear. For about three hours I tossed around on the floor, trying to get just a little more rest, and gather enough energy to drag myself to the toilet and vomit.
The only real highlight of the day came when a high strung neighbor stormed into the room wearing an American flag draped over his jeans like a diaper, and launched into a speech about how this symbolized his desire to "shit on the American flag," which is a sentiment that I can certainly sympathize with.
