the jupacalypse
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- flossyB
you were drunk early. when we got to the beach you went off on your own--for that is what you do in such moments, get detached, philosophical--and when you returned you played sublime on your guitar, and when you spoke afterwards there was black crust in the corners of your lip, and tiny green particles in your teeth, and when it was quiet, you began yelling, chanting about the great one, and JJ Evans, and then you put on that flannel shirt (the one worn for elks lodge meetings and hamburger mary dinners) and lit your first newport, and the reflections began, about your father, and his gangbanging days in the hot el segundo heat, and how, when that first blotter of acid seaped through your skin pores, you saw Kirkpatrick in the back room channeling the ghost of billy ocean (why else was he yelling Hey hey You, Get Out of My Car), and when you put those natural fruits and berries in your hair you looked like eddie murphy in coming to america (minus the african ponytail)...