So to start all cliche: It was a dark and stormy night. Actually, it wasn’t. It was a horrible fucking humid day in New York City. I arrived in Newark which is a bastard of an airport especially if you’re headed to the city. Luckily, a limo-driver who’s fare -dildo with his name on a sign at baggage claim that his paid servant is holding- didn’t show. He gave me a lift to the city for $50. Amazing considering it should be around $100 and probably more. I had just arrived in New York and I was already drunk.
I flew out from Portand at 5 am PST and I was drunk then. Didn’t even sleep. I spent my late hours the night before in some sort of pool hall/health conscious chicken shack drinking all the Fireball and Coors I could buy. I returned to the hotel just in time to pack and sit and drip booze from every pour in my body, awaiting the manager cunt to call with the wake up “Your shuttle is here and people are waiting.” Fuck you.
A good friend of mine travels quite a bit and amassed some millions of frequent flyer miles or however many it takes his kind heart to get me a hotel room for free, and a first class flight to New York via American Airlines. Worst fucking airline I’ve ever flown. Now, to my friend I say thank you. You know who you are. But first class in that shit plane is the equivelant to coach Jet Blue or any other airline besides Southwest. Plus, I had to go through Pheonix Sky Cunt Fuck Airport with only a 45 minute layover. Now, that layoff is amazing in almost anywhere besides fucktown Pheonix where I had to take off my shoes just to have a smoke and be recalled back through the line of horrifying dumb fuck TSA agents that all look like their life is so utterly non-important. Then back to the gate where everyone is sober, I am not, and no longer having any fun. Back to plane. I forgot to say that I was wearing my Mary’s Club, Topless Oregon Tee and a Trail Blazer hat with my face slumped toward the window in first class just so those twitter fanatic douche bags can tweet they saw Steve Blake on the trade move. Back to the booze. The lady who looked like Kathy Bates from ‘Misery’ kept serving the drinks, almost timely, but with always some smug remark like, “You get drunker at high altitude.” Well, that would be because of lack of regulatory oxygen in high alpine areas. Not at 40,000 feet cunt. Jet lag, maybe. Tired, fuck yeah. But, me drunker ’cause I’m in the sky? You don’t know me.
So back to arrival. I arrive drunk. In fact. I’m drunk now and tired. No more drugs. Gotta catch up.
This is more of a personal reminder than anything else but coming up next episode:
*Going away party, end of party video
*LSD and the subway
*2 dudes invite me to their Trump Tower Hotel room for a joint, and then try blow me.
*While at a bar in Hells Kitchen a bar owner steals a cane off an old crippled guy and proceeds to hit him with it, while yelling at all of us smokers, “You see, fuck you.”
To be continued….Fred Savage