Fear and Loathing…in Denver (Part 2)
I apologize for the tardiness of Part 2 – I came down with the swine flu. For realz. Anyway, here we go:
We left off last time with our friends eating at the aquarium for dinner and heading back to the hotel. Pre-gaming was necessary for this show, after all. After a Big Red bowl and a few beers, we headed to Red Rocks Amphitheater. If you’ve never been to Red Rocks, it needs to be on your to-do list. The walk up to the stage is a fucking bitch – winding trails along the side of a mountain in a mile-high city is hell on a group that has been smoking constantly for two days. According to the Red Rocks website, tailgate parties are permitted but no open alcoholic containers are allowed. BULLSHIT! Ten feet out of the car, we were approached by two dudes with a cooler, playing frisbee and selling beer. Since we couldn’t purchase any in the venue, we took advantage. Sadly, the beer was pretty bad, but beer is beer. We continued our hike up the mountain and took our seats and waited for the first band, The Whigs.
During the opening band, which was good, the dude to my left kept jumping down a few rows to talk to another guy. It was clear that he was borrowing a pipe and coming back to his seat to smoke with his wife (while their young daughter sat on her lap. Not cool, in my opinion, but whatever flogs your log). Eventually, he turned to me and asked if I smoked. We all know this answer, and he asked if we had a piece on us. Again, we all know this answer. Apparently, the guy was from California, had his growing license (but no piece on him, and had never seen a steamroller – I question whether or not he was legit) and we offered to let him smoke out of Sneaky Chinaman later.
Oh, I almost forgot – while The Whigs were playing, a storm was rolling down over the mountain, threatening us all with rain. Fortunately, for us, the storm settled over the city, allowing us to watch the lightning behind the stage without getting a drop of rain on us. The weather was perfect, we couldn’t have asked for a better night. When the Kings came on stage, we all lit one of the two joints we had each brought with us and the show started. Soon after they started, some chicks came and kicked us out of their seats (we had no idea it wasn’t all general admission) and we trooped towards the back, a little disheartened. The show was fantastic nevertheless. 2 hours of pure ecstasy, no joke. They may have played longer, I’m not entirely sure, but every single minute of it was incredible.
Since we had to change seats, we never got to smoke with the California folks, but I managed to load Sneaky Chinaman anyhow. It was a tricky process, although it needn’t have been – there was practically ZERO security in the entire place. When it was my turn, I sat to take my hit, but when I turned to look at G taking his, he was standing, his long hair hiding the pipe. He blew out the smoke and passed it back to me.
After the show, we each bought a t-shirt or two and headed back to the hotel, the car filled with conversations of how amazing the day had been. We picked up a few hookers on the way, snorted some blow off their tits once back at the hotel. 
Day Two Rating:
# of bowls (approx.) – 12
Fun level – 10
Overall rating – 10/10
Day Three:
We woke up fairly late (too much blow the night before), got breakfast and hit the road. Instead of stopping as frequently as we did on the way out, we only stopped 3 or 4 times on the way home, but didn’t hesitate to smoke every hour. It seemed as if just when I started to feel even the slightest bit sober, I would hear the squeak of the grinder and the entire process would start all over again. In Nebraska, probably during bowl number 6 or 7, a cop passed heading West. A had apparently smoked himself paranoid and yelled at D to throw the pipe out the window. This didn’t happen, but it didn’t help that we passed mile marker 420 a few minutes later. Soon after, A realized how ridiculous he was being and we continued the bowl.
A had the right idea though. We got picked up going 10 over (bullshit), as soon as we saw the red and blue lights we freaked the fuck out! Luckily, we had a protocol as to what to do with all the weed – in the backseat, an armrest sat between me and D and the top lifted off to reveal cup holders. We stashed the stuff in there and proceeded with the being pulled over routine. The cop was a tall, gorgeous thing but had a redneck accent. I needed to take one for the team and ensure that we weren’t going to get a ticket. It started with a wink, and then he asked me to step out of the car. I tried to stifle my nervousness with sexuality, swaying my hips and pouting my lips. I feared he was going to make me do a sobriety test, put a bullet between my eyes, or rape me on the hood of the car. The pouty lips must have seduced him, because he wrapped his arm around my waist and swept me into one of those movie-romantic kisses. We went back to his car and you can infer the rest. Needless to say, my lovin’ got us out of getting a ticket, cuz it’s just that good. I got back in the car and we pulled away and D loaded another bowl.
The rest of the ride was a blur of giggles, ridiculous conversation and a haze of smoke swirling between the windshield and dashboard. We made it home at about 10 pm, and after I made a visit to my Marine friend who was home from Cali, I went to bed.
Day Three Rating:
# of bowls (approx.) – 10
Fun level – 8
Overall rating – 9/10
It was the best weekend of my life and the best concert I have ever seen. I doubt I will see another concert that is better – nothing beats a natural amphitheater. Whenever we’re together, the three guys and I always talk about our vacation, reminiscing about how amazing it was, and how lucky we were that we didn’t smoke ourselves to death or get caught.
You were AFRAID he was going to rape you on the hood of your car?!?
First, you can’t rape the willing and second, talk about one of my deepest fantasies! Getting it on on the hood of my car by a man in uniform! Tell me more!
That said…I call bullshit! Even I haven’t fucked to get out of a ticket (although, I’ve done my share of flirting to do so)….
Seattle, he had a redneck accent. That was the deal breaker. It all would have been different had he not said “ya’ll.”
I don’t understand why the fuzz had to show up. But we all played it cool. And by that I mean goddamn was I stoned. Fortunately for us, not all pigs are as quick as they’d have you think.
Would’ve worked the opposite with me…I would have said, “Did you mean-YOU ALL? …I’ll take that ticket now.”
Now, if he had said, “Wait, I have my guitar in my car-do you mind if your friends and I rock out for a bit?”, then I’d have jumped him right there….in traffic.
That said…still bullshit.
Sounds like a nice relaxing road trip, everyone needs one of these once in a while to unwind. People reading this might think its a little light on adventure, and i think i know the reason why. Unlike most of my road trips in which we load the trunk with booze, on one (because of a different set of friends), we loaded it with weed. What that does is lend itself to a different type of experience. When ur drunk all the time testosterone and endorphins are through the roof, and you want to do wild and crazy shit. When your high the entire trip, you’r paranoid and dont really do anything. In the road trip when i was high for a week, we didnt really do shit. But the actual experience of being high for a week is an adventure by itself, just not one that lends itself to a wild story in the written form, unless you tell it spectacularly. Thats why ill never write about it. Oh and Trudes i believe that bit at the end is meant to be a humorous aside, not fact, just like the hookers and blow bit.
Ok that was good cop, here comes bad cop. This might seem like nitpicking but i feel i have to say it. I dont like the title. It distracted me in the first part, and nothing changed here. Hunter S Thompson is one of my heroes, basically because he was a badass and he lived everything he wrote about, which is the anti-thesis of what the norm is for authors. When you link your post to him, i expect some real hardcore shit. Im talking meth, coke, people dying, shit blowing up, hookers crying. I dont have a story that even comes close to this – thats why i would never put a title like that on one of my posts. I realise its just something you thought of on the cuff for a title and it sounds good, and it may not affect anyone else that reads it, but for me personally it was jarring and stopped me enjoying it fully.
@Ano- Well, of course I know it wasn’t a ‘truth’…come on-even I wouldn’t do that…
Haha Trudes “even i wouldnt do that”. Did you call yourself the head nurse in the sluttery? Because thats AWESOME
@Ano- Again, I didn’t know an alcoholic whore, such as yourself, could be so observant.
(is that like the pot calling the kettle black?)…hmmm…
DID YOU JUST CALL ME BLACK? YOU INSULT MY HIDDEN SAMOAN HERITAGE? IM GOING TO CALL THE ROCK AND HES GOING TO FUCK U UP YOU BIATCH!
I think I did. Damn…I’m good.
Pssshhtt… The Rock. I’ll put him up against Chuck Norris. We all know about Chuck Norris…but, in case you didnt:
When Chuck Norris does a pushup, he isn’t lifting himself up, he’s pushing the Earth down.
You damn racist cracka you just like Chuck because hes pale white.
And because Chuck Norris counted to infinity – twice.
Fuck you JCC. That is all.
fuck you.