Forget the Acid Flashbacks, It's in the Pudding

So there I am, in lower Manhattan, coming out of a weird sort of meeting concerning the Rockefeller Drug Laws, and how to repeal them. Lots of interesting folks there, I even got a chance to meet Jack Cole of L.E.A.P. Yeah, work related ish. The meeting left me feeling all fucked up.

Rode Chupecabra down there, mission given to deliver "No More Drug War" stickers. Almost got blind-sided by the police along the way, tried to tag his car with a sticker, but he burned off before I could put the slap down.

Reminds me: once I'm off this paper, I'm going back to hooliganism. Stickers and utter contempt for the state. Well, let me fix that: continued contempt for the state. Mixed with a little bit of fear, because they are indeed out to get me. Not personally, of course, they're impersonally out to get everyone. It's what states do, just ask the Palestinians. States are kinda like Chupecabra: wanting to destroy individuals, just on a larger scale.

Chupecabra is my bike. It has a habit of hurting individuals, if not myself, then random strangers. At least it hasn't hurt one of my friends... but this might be in its infernal future. I just don't know. Friends: steer clear of Chupecabra, he ain't no good.

Totally fucking sidetracked. So, Chupecabra takes me to this venue, local union 339 or something like that. I'm bad with certain numbers. Locked up and chillin', I help myself to some yams, some salmon, and finish off with some banana pudding.

Let me backtrack: walking into this place was fucking creepy. It looked like a goddamn detention center, thick metal doors, with that thin slice of safety glass to view in and out of, stone walls, the whole nine yards. I was totally ill-at-ease, while my brother blithely led me down the corridors. Not fucking fun. Good thing I trust him, or I would have broke into a run in the opposite direction.

Anyways, there's another aside here: I worked at a dairy, and part of that process meant a lot of shit got diverted... we made banana pudding. Using the cream I would process. I also made ghetto-prison-ice-cream on the side, but this is a different story, but a funny one - in prison, I really was "the ice cream man." I would make all kinds of flavors, and fuck with the other prisoners with it. My flavors would go from the regular chocolate, vanilla, and so forth, to Frenchy Fluff (lemon french vanilla), Choco-Loco (a really rich mocha), and the favorite, but never ordered by name, "Deez Nutz" (a peanut butter and maple syrup ice cream). What can I say? When you're the ice cream man, you can get away with just about anything.

But, I was talking about the pudding. Banana pudding, and it tasted exactly like the ish they were serving at this event. So I'm sitting in a place that reminds me of prison, eating food that reminds me of prison, and talking to an ex-cop, who still carries a bit of the "cop" demeanor.

Can you say, flashback?

It wasn't the LSD, it was the fucking pudding that did me in.