”What do I do? Well, I pass on terrible gibberish that can only be translated by me for three dollars a hit in some back alley flashback of a sixties Acid Culture Center representing some pulsating form of peace and love waltzing with the classic cow boy American Dream.”
“What’s an Acid Culture Center? Well, it’s like any other drug culture center, hell, you’re in one right now!”
“Everything about this, my friend, has to do with The American Dream. This misunderstood, beautifully lucid dream! No one appreciates this ideal way of life molded for the individual and what they care about, not what all the other side show jerk offs care about, even though you’re just a side line, chronic masturbater as well, jerking off other’s successful lives. This is the American Way! An orgy of right hands and left hands and dollar bill wrapped sex toys! For some reason, everyone believes everyone, everyone thinking of themselves, even if they’re being selfless, if they are being selfless,they only want something from you. Everyone’s a damn liar! This pertains to the most truthful, honest, hard working, never-spoke-a-word-about-that-confession-where-you-told-him-you-murdered-your-own-Mother, virgin priest, and the scum bag motherfucker who stole a sheet of high grade LSD from me! They’re all liars. Every single one of them, no matter how much they tell the truth.”
“No, I’m not ranting. I’m trying to explain myself, and The American Dream, but I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m just sore about that sheet of acid still. People like him backstab good, honest folk like us, and just get their claws in your wallets while they twist the knife! Hell, they couldn’t of known that when they pull that sort of stunt that they’re only hurting their own chances at The American Dream! Every stab at me is a stab at The American Way Of Life! They, of course, don’t know this, so they keep stabbing, and stabbing, and stabbing away! They mine as well just nuke the shit out of us now! An entire population of post-hippie-era junkies and tobacco spitting, back water farmers breeding with god damn invasive species and just mixing up the pure white, it’s like mixing a little flour in with pure, grade A cocaine! What type of shit-head, anti-America pig does that?”
“Shit, I really am ranting, aren’t I?”
“Sorry. Holy shit, I’m sweating.”
“Don’t worry man, it’s just the acid. Calm down. Don’t worry about me. Just pass me that red pill right there, the one next to that twenty. Not the rolled twenty, the crushed up one. Were you snorting some of those? No? Well just give it to me…”
“…Thanks.”
“Alright, well, this the most important part. You need to be able to recognize an anti-American Dream pig when you see one. You gotta keep yourself safe. These commies, japs, niggers, spics, desert dwellers, hitch hikers, God fearing Nam vets, hell, even some Iraq vets, bless their America loving souls, moralists, spitters, quiters, the dead, gamblers, chain smokers, hipsters, those back alley homeless types with trash in their beards, sex toy maids that the only reason their master keeps around is to drill behind his wife’s back, every day men and women, hell, even some CEOs who already have attained the classic American Dream, the one that everyone of these bastards came here to find, before it became more individually based, and all of these mother fuckers screamed ‘to hell with The American Dream’, and now, well fuck, hand me another red one.”
“Where was I? Hell, I don’t know. I don’t really even care. Fuck The American Dream.”
“So yeah, you understand now? No? Do you have three dollars so I can translate?”
