Past Blasts Vol 1: Mad Dog GBH

I'm going to start an ongoing series here where I talk about little snippets of my past. As I get older I will probably completely forget this stuff so I figure, blog it, and thus keep it around, if it's worth telling. Worth it to me that is. And if anyone else likes it, cool beans.

Today's snippet: Mad Dog GBH.

Mike was my mentor in high school. He was the cat who was the coolest. He liked all the cool bands before they were cool, and bands that no one else even knew about. I guess you could refer back to him as a "hipster." I don't know why he liked me at all, I was a total loser. He was a year older. Perhaps he wanted to be someone's mentor. And I was that guy. I liked the same music and had the same sense of humor and before you know it, we were both getting yelled at for playing 3-D tic tac toe in Spanish Class. I idolized him, he taught me the ropes on 'being cool,' and anytime he wanted to do anything, I jumped at the chance. Symbiotic-wise we had a great thing going.

Well, we went to some cool shows, and it was his goal to get me drunk and himself high. I was scared of the 'bad mamba jamba Mary Jane,' so I didn't want any pot (yet). And he had stopped drinking at that point, he had racked up too many bad experiences with booze so he had moved to pot. But he could buy, so he was not merely a hero to me, he was a SUPERHERO. We both agreed that going to shows "bombed" was the only way to really enjoy them. I supposed Jim Morrison smiled down at us and our so called "wisdom."

That night Mike introduced me to Mad Dog 20/20. He said it was a cheap wine, and that he got me two bottles to gun while heading to the show. I was a complete idiot, I didn't think anything of it. I slugged down those two pints or quarts or whatever they were as we cruised down Fort street to the show. We were going to see "Charged GBH." I remember we had some Gothic junk jamming on his stereo on the way down with the windows open. I was enjoying seeing all the dilapidated buildings as I slugged down this nasty ass shit and heard this depressing music. It had a certain karma to it all.

We got there and I was complaining.. man that shit tasted harsh! Really fucking harsh. Mike was laughing. He said "Wow, I'm impressed, I didn't seriously think you'd actually drink em both." So we get out of the car and head over to the place, and there's a line of pure punk rockers outside waiting for the doors to open. I start to feel a little drunk and we get in line. I'm checking out the Mohawks and skinhead chicks with ripped nylons and feeling warm.

My next memory is of falling constantly through the world, which is confusing to recall. And as I fell eventually things started to crystallize and finally my right eye hurt. And out of it I saw blurry brown while out of my left eye I saw a sideways view of the world from ground level. Yes, I was laying in a puddle, my one eye submerged. I struggled up and Mike is sitting there on a cement curb smoking a cigarette.

Apparently I got so drunk I sat down, then I fell over in the puddle. Mike thought I dropped dead. He dragged me off to the side of the line and I sat up, then fell sideways into a puddle, but he could tell I was breathing. And he waited. It was 2:00am when I came to. We obviously missed the show and he obviously stayed outside with me.

He said he was sure he had killed me and it scared him so bad that he threw up, he was paralyzed with fear until someone came over and looked at me and laughed and said I just needed to lay there until I came back around.

I dunno, maybe I got brain damage then and it explains how I am today.

At the time I couldn't get mad at him, I could tell he put himself through Hell for talking me into drinking those two Mad Dog 2020 bottles.

Looking back, I'm only sad that I was such a dumb ass. What the heck. What an idiot. Hey, don't check the alcohol content, just drink it down. Hey dumb me, here's a clue, if it tastes that fucking harsh, maybe it IS that fucking harsh.

To this day I remember exactly what that stuff tastes like.

And yea, um, no thanks, dude, I don't want a sip. Really.