…but where’s his g-d jacket???

Starring: Marco, myself, Steve Senyk, Jared, Andrew Hurysz, Mike Muehlherr, Paris Hilton & Nicole Ritchie.

And we were on a hovercraft boat, Andrew at the helm, Marco, Mike & I gripping the ropes along the side of the raft as we flew, quickly, over the clear grassy glades. Destination? To find Steve at this mansion on an island – because Steve had the drugs we wanted. The plan? To pick up & head to the last night of Lollapalooza, followed by an outdoor all-day-night rave the day after. {of course}

The sun was setting in the sky, I would guesstimate it to be around 8pm, summer season…somewhere. The island loomed into sight, impressive, tropical, and beautiful. On the cliff face was a siiiick mansion, jutting out in modern directions, oozing wealth. We’d arrived.

Andrew, Marco & I climbed out of the boat. I turned & scooped up Mike…who for all obvious reasons, was only about 9” tall…about the height of a regular bottle of beer. Anyway, I scooped up Mike & deposited him in my cardigan pocket (deep enough that he could sit down, hold on & peer out as we ventured).

Inside the mansion, everyone was sleeping. Turns out, the owner of this place was some kind of Hollywood kingpin drug lord homosexual. Everyone there was passed out, sleeping off the previous Lollapalooza night’s party destruction. As we went room to room, it was hard not to notice that everyone there was gay, in various states of undress and compromising positions…asleep.

Finally, we came to the last bedroom & found Steve, standing beside a bed, covered in jackets (presumably those of the people passed out everywhere). Jared lay snoring underneath the jacket mountain, oblivious to the weight of stylized fabrics upon him.

Steve gave me a hug, told us he had “the stuff” and asked us to toss our coats onto the Jared-pile; we obliged. At the time, I remember watching Mike remove his teensy weensy leather jacket & it crossed my mind that his jacket may get lost…

As the night progressed, the house came alive. Creepsters, Queens & Skags awoke and started partying it up, pulling on clothing, puffing on joints, snorting up everything in sight, guzzling booze from every filthy glass. Steve offered us some beer, which we gulped enthusiastically. He even had mini-beers for Mike to enjoy.

I put Mike on a shelf-top with his mini-beers, turned around and was disgusted to find Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie had arrived. They were standing on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by a pack of adoring Putos, oozing stupidity. Mike became incredibly nervous, sweating profusely from his every tiny pore. He told me that he wouldn’t (didn’t) know what to say to them, that he didn’t want to talk to them. I assured him that I wouldn’t be talking to the likes of them and not to worry about it. Then I picked him up, greasy with sweat & put him back in my pocket for safe-keeping.

Shortly thereafter Steve announced that it was time to roll & ushered everyone to the Jared-pile to get our jackets. One faux fur by one snakeskin leather, the pile diminished, everyone adorning their outer shells, stumbling off into the night. Jared roused, shook off his twitching & followed suit.

Andrew, myself and Marco pulled on our jackets and then realized that Mike’s little leather jacket was nowhere to be found. Anxiously we split up, looking on, under and around the bed…nothing. We scanned the floors, furniture and every room…that little coat was gone-zo. Mike was devastated. No amount of mini-beer would console him over the loss.

And I woke up thinking I should tell my younger stepbrother, Mike, that he played out as a “little brother” literally in my head. That Steve & Jared would probably find this dream funny. That Marco would listen, as I babbled this out to him. We would probably both wonder why Andrew was in this dream…and who the hell invited Paris and Nicole into my sacred brain space?



1 comment
  1. jenny said:

    too funny. that sounds like a classic “you need to go rip it up” dream

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