I SMOKE MORE WEED THAN THE MOON WEIGHS.

It turns out, my dick was ripped in vain. My phallus had be fileted for feeble reasons - there had been an alternate entrace to the alleyway, and my fence-hopping was entirely unnecessary. Mike (the hairless methhead) and his woman were crouched in the alleyway, defending their lighters from the wind in a valiant effort to smoke a bowl. I hopped down, pecker held in a protective hands; explained my situation and joined them in blazing a bowl. The smoke hit my mouth like a tsunami of bleached marshmallows; tissues within my throat and lung seemed to peel from the bones they rested on. The hands of the Grim Reaper clawed at the inside of my trachea, damning my cilia and promising them an early grave.

We proceeded out the exit, each yammering about topics that we found far more interesting than they ever should have been. Words tumbled from our mouths but neglected to make their way into anyone`s brains - instead we vomited sentences like verbose volcanoes, witnessing wasted wordplay as it fell flat onto the concrete.

Acid and speed always makes for an interesting combination. The open-eye visuals from the LSD were drastically hindered (doubly so today, on account of acid's merciless tolerance and our experience the night before.) The mindset, however, remained. I was electrified, an energetic enigma, ready to blabber and babble about on-the-spot philosophies that my inebriation convinced me was worthy to rival Socrates.

We returned to the yellow mattress with the rest of our friends and chatted (read: exploded with hyper-fueled conversation fillers) until sunset, until one by one the group began to fall silent. I'd been right - the trip was nothing beneficial. There'd been laughs, there'd been debauchery, that was about it. Not a bad night, but usually on a drug bender I'm at least able to reformat the brain cells that I'm not killing, so they can adapt a new perspective, or absorb some new knowledge. Tonight, they just died.

We began to fall into the sleeplike stupor one finds themselves in after an acid trip, though a few remained awake. I listened to their conversations as I watched a screen of LED lights battle across the galaxies painted on my eyelids; Voyagers struck down Enterprises, cosmoses rose and fell at my will. The conversations outside my world seemed pretty dull in comparison, but I noticed a recurring pattern: the voices seemed to be debating the same views. How could two people argue the same point so vehemently?

"I fucking love drugs."

"No, I LOVE drugs."

The voices continued arguing a series of similar viewpoints until the jaded conversation came to consist of shouts of "I'm FUCKING AWESOME!"  I opened my eyes to see who was flaunting their excellence and was blown away to see tha Tyler had been the only one talking this whole time. He'd been standing by himself in the middle of the street, hootin' and hollerin' with enough vigor for me to believe he'd been an entire gang of retards.

"I smoke weed, so much weed, I SMOKE MORE WEED THAN THE MOON WEIGHS NIGGA."

Baffled by his inflated head, his stupidity, and his insatiable desire to advocate himiself to the world, I lay incredulous until sunrise, when he finally returned to the cuddle puddle and started fondling the only single girl here - Squanch. I gauged the situation before deciding not to intervene - Squanch's chuckled "no's," spoke no ill, they spoke only of carnal desires that couldn't be filled in front of a group of hobos. Stage fright?

Eventually the situation blossomed into more defiant "no's," a flurry of mixed messages, confusion, and not enough punches to the head. Squanch's "no's," combined with her positive body language left a lingering scent of irritation and confusion in the air so the group ignored her and Tyler's malfunctioning flirt session and returned to their dozes. The next morning found everyone clothed, happy (if not haggard) and ready to move on.