Sarasota Story

[CampinWithaMissingPerson 2,025]

It was around six in the morning and I was holding the steering wheel as the drummer from my old band shoveled into a dime bag of mostly cut cocaine bought an hour earlier in some ratty trailer park off Fort Myers Beach.

 

 

We were on our way to Tampa where he lived but we were to stop off in Sarasota on the way so he could meet up with friends and pawn off some acid he recently re-upped on. This kid was the worst drug dealer ever — which for druggies meant he was also the best drug dealer ever. His friends lived on campus of a liberal arts school called New College of Florida. Apparently High Times magazine ranked it the “#2 Counterculture College” six years ago. There are no grades. Even if you don’t graduate you’re still considered an alumnus. I’m getting all this from Wikipedia because the students were way too high to tell me any of this.

 

See, I come from a working-class family, so in situations like these it’s always funny to see how out of touch with reality most of these kids are. This dirty hippie with dreads whose name was Maui or Spirit or some shit wanted to buy acid from the drummer. He thought he was a bad ass because he knocked some guy out at a music festival before — and we all know how bad ass festival kids are. Florida hippies never wear shirts and they always have a scraggly dog named Trips or Jerry, you know: typical hippie conformist bullshit. But he did invite us to go with his surprisingly beautiful girlfriend and her friends to a strip club later that night while he ate seaweed and something made with weed butter while I read some book on his table called the Cannabible.

 

Before that we went with the drummer’s friends to this 80’s dance party in the courtyard of the campus, which had free booze. It was cool but when the drinks ran dry everyone started to shuffle off to do more drugs. Out of boredom the drummer gave us two hits each of acid. That’s when the Maui kid called saying they were ready to go to the titty bar. It was one of the girls’ birthday and none of them had ever been to a strip club before. The drummer threw me thirty bucks of his profits for the night and we headed that way.

 

We made our way to the girl’s dorm across this big field when a blinding light hit us from the right. The drummer started to shit himself because it was campus police and he had three sheets of LSD in his backpack along with the beers in our hand (he also might have been on more acid than me.) I reminded him we were both over twenty-one and the alcohol was provided by some group on campus. Growing up where I did I had tons of experience dealing with real cops (being a white dude in the ghetto wins you an automatic crack rock search), so campus police were about as threatening as Justin Bieber. When I had run-ins with cops when younger I was like most kids, defensive—which never ended well. You have to look them in the eye like this was always supposed to happen, answer their questions smoothly and be so fucking sure of yourself that they have no reason to dig further. I’ve gotten pulled over while drunk. I have zero DUIs. Why? Talking to cops is going to WAR, confidence and being on top of your shit is everything. Even if you reek of alcohol, if you have your wits about you they'll usually only give you a field sobriety test and once you pass that they let you go. They questioned us. I took the lead and told them we were on our way to ride with friends to the titty bar. Your blunt honesty always hits them in the face like a smooth-bore tank round. They asked for our guest passes, told us not to drive, let us go, and told us to have fun.

 

I had someone else's money. The acid was starting to kick in and was fresh off Jedi mind-fucking the boys in blue. I felt pretty good. Everything is enhanced on acid, so if you’re feeling awesome, everything is AWESOME. If you feel weird, everything is WEEEEIRRRRD, etc. It was by far the best time I’ve ever had at a strip club. We met with a huge party of people I didn’t know in the V.I.P. section and I guess one was the birthday girl. All I know was there were girls grinding on each other everywhere (including girls in our party.) At one point I ended up sitting by the stage armed with one-dollar bills and whiskey in front of the biggest, juiciest ass in the world. The girl was twerking it in my face when her leg suddenly punted my glass of whiskey off the stage as it shattered into pieces. I looked around and everyone was staring at me like I just got slapped in the face. All of a sudden I felt pressured to respond strongly or else I'd be a bitch. So... I tapped her. She stuck her ass out for more dollar bills, so I leaned in and said, “Hey…you kind of kicked my drink off the stage.” She tried to play it off replying, “Oh, no I didn’t honey” and went back to shaking. I tapped her again, “No…you KINDA did.” That’s when a waitresses stepped in and told me she saw the whole thing and asked me what I was drinking — telling me the stripper had done this before. The waitress then offered her up for a free lap dance. I told her I was drinking a more expensive whiskey than I actually was, took the offer, and got the most apologetic lap dance in history.

 

I was still tripping as we got back to the girl’s dorm and all her roommates were in the living area waiting (there was no TV because having a TV is too normal for New College.) After chatting for a while, one of them started talking to me exclusively and pointed me to her room. All of a sudden my dick was out and she was moaning way too loud it seemed. She was all about being degraded, which threw me off for a second (still being on acid and all), until my dog-like instincts kicked in. After I left, the hippie’s girlfriend told me about one of the other girls liking me and that’s why the other one raped me in her room and none of it made sense because girls are fucking insane (except any ones reading this, you’re perfectly normal...)

 

We were walking back to the friend’s dorm and stumbled upon a human-sized chess game. They had a huge chessboard with these big ass pieces. This was way more impressive than it sounds while intoxicated on hallucinogenics. There was some dude in a dress playing and apparently he was the campus genius and in the end the immortals were just dummies and it turned out the movie was just a movie within a movie and the alchemist told us that real life awaited. But I still couldn’t believe they turned shit into gold. WHAT THE FUCK!? Hippies be crazy y’all.

 

OK, that very last part (except the chess game and dude in a dress) is a joke, but everything else is true.

 

 

 

—GOAT SAMPSON[/center]

Edited January 18, 2013 by Barracuda
Good story, but picture better suited for our NHB forum.

[Guest Phailadelphia]

A++ story. Would read again and I'll definitely recommend this one to my friends and family!!!!!