When I started doing drugs I drew the line at the powders, but there was a few times I crossed that line.  Never the same powder and only the times in experimentation.  One of those times was in San Diego.  I had hitchhiked there with a couple of friends and one of those friends wanted to start dealing.  He was $16 short of scoring some crystal meth.  I provided the money and we went off to Ocean Beach to do some selling.  Along with me and my buddy there was his brother and a woman my buddy was hoping on connecting with.

We got there in the evening on Friday.  The meth and the various parties on the beach kept us up all night.  We managed to sell some probably more than we did that night.  The drugs got us invitations to some of the bonfires on the beach and free beers.  By the morning we were still going.

When we got hungry my buddy would give me some of the profits and send me to get some food.   When we ran out of product me and him ran back to San Diego proper for some more.  While we were gone his brother fell asleep on the beach.  I highly recommend avoiding this, he had sunburn under his arms and on his eyelids.  Can you say ouch?  At one point that weekend I came across another dealer on the beach selling weed.  After getting some cash from my buddy I bought a $20 bag.

Saturday night went much like the first with the exception of me and the woman my buddy was hoping on scoring with going off by ourselves.  As romantic as it seems, I would also recommend avoiding sex on the beach.  Sand gets places you don't want sand and the friction from sex doesn't help.

The next morning my buddy took stock.  He had $14 and three dime bags left.  He didn't know where it all went but for $16 I partied all weekend and had some weed left over to boot.  That was my brief encounter with crystal meth.

I was living in Tucson, AZ and over at woman's house that I knew.  We were grilling up some meat when a couple of recent vistors from south of the border walked down the alley.  They were the kind without a greencard who before the age of political correctness were refered to as wetbacks.  Well, despite the facts that they didn't speak much English and we didn't speak much Spanish we communicated enough to get some basic ideas across.  Namely, if they get us high we feed them.  A mutually beneficial arrangement. 

Thing's went well, we smoked, we ate, and then we were relaxing when the woman of the house came out with dessert.  Trying to figure out how to offer it to them she asked how you say dessert in Spanish.  Always a smartass I supplied, "Punta."  So she asks if they would like some punta.  Then realizing what she just said she turns around and hits me.  Punta means pussy.

I'm probably misspelling it, I know street Spanish (How to ask for a cigarette, a joint, pussy, etc.) and they don't spell too often on the street.

I'll start out by let you in on the nickname...In my group of friends, at least the center "hang out everyday" core, there was two McMillans, a McDaniel and an English.  Well English became McEnglish, then McEnglish Muffin of course, to McMuffin. 

It was McMuffin's birthday.  His 16th I believe.  We scored a keg for the party, along with a big bottle of liquor,  Bacardi I think.  Amongst the guests there was some people from California.  They had come to town selling acid which was known in that town by fry.  Now we were the first people in town these people had met and we were instrumental for the success they were having.  We knew a lot of people who did drugs.  When they heard that it was McMuffin's birthday they said, "Free acid for everyone".

Now I didn't want to seem greedy, I asked for two hits.  For those of you who haven't tried it acid is a progressive drug.  If you take one hit one night, the next night you need more than one for it really to hit you.  Now the night before I had 4 hits.  I had been progressing all week.  With two hits soaking in my mouth I headed over to my friends. Here is an example of what the conversation was:

"How many hits you get?"

"Four, you?"

"five, How about you Bandanaman?"

me,"I'm getting more."

So first I asked for two more than changed it to four more.  Now I've heard your legally insane after 5 hits and I was up to six.  Probably just an urban myth.

As the night progressed we had fun.  I convinced McMuffin to let me have a small drink of his Bacardi.  I, of course, slammed as much as I could before he managed to get it away from me.  There was the continuous trips to go smoke some weed in private.  Being in the center core, when somebody asked McMuffin to go smoke a birthday bowl I went too.  Most of that night was a very pleasent haze, though some parts stick out.  We had a bonfire with tumbleweeds.  For the edifcation of those not from the southwest, tumbleweeds fires shoot twenty to thirty feet in the air when first thrown on the fire. It's very hot near them.  I know this first hand from passing out near the fire three times that night near the fire and having them throw a new tumbleweed on there.  Everytime I came to I would turn my head and see McMuffin had passed out less then 10 feet from me.  We would have some conversation like:

"I'm hot!"

"Me too!"

"I don't want to get up!"

"Me either!"

"But I'm hot!"

Not the most witty conversation, but we had just passed out.  You have to drink a lot of alchol to pass out on acid.  I remember when the only alchol left was a Bacardi bottle full of beer.  McMuffin had it and I talked him into giving me a small drink (Sound familliar?)   This time he had to chase me down and tackle me.  Despite a full force, no holding back tackle, not a drop spilled out of that bottle.  Ahhh...the enthusiasm of youth

We were dogs, after all all men are dogs right?  We lived up to the name, in spades.  But since we were also soldiers, otherwise known as dogfaces, it should come as no surprise.  We were young in Europe and going to have some fun.  I was probably the least of a dog to tell the truth.  I had one girl and I didn't really cheat on her.  I just broke up with her foor the night, and then I happened to get together with another girl that night.  Then my buddies brought my girl by the barraks and we made up, made out, and made love.  That's not so bad, not compared to them.

My buddy Sharp got burned.  He got burned by my other buddy Spike.  Spike should have run interference for Sharp.  He knew he was in the bar with another girl and let his main girl walk right in.  Sharp got burned real bad that night.  It was payback time.  We were at our regular bar, The Fifty-Fifty Club, and when I say regular I mean every night we were there.  Well, Spike had a little company that night.  Two girls too many.  We were going to let him crash and burn.  I mean Sharp's a buddy and you watch out for your buddies.  We weren't going to watch out for Spike, we were going to watch him burn.  Three girls in the same bar at the same time, he was history.

Well, Spike kisses on one girl all night and the others leave him alone.  One takes one look, gets disgusted and leaves.  The next day she was on-post, in his room and all was forgiven.  The last one is staring venom daggers at him the whole night.  When the girl he's been kissing on all night leaves he saunters over to the last of his girls in the bar.  I don't want to miss a moment so I follow right behind.  He get's over to her and says, "Hey babe," like not a thing is wrong.

Here it comes, the moment I've been waiting for.  "Don't you 'Hey babe' me."

"What's wrong?" he asks as he maneuvers past her leaving me behind her back as she turns to face him.

"I saw you kissing that girl."

Then he says something that I couldn't believe he would try,"I wasn't kissing her, she was kissing me."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, I'll tell you," And then he gets this look on his face, like a sly puppy dog look, "she's always had this crush on me and her dad just died.  She looked like she was about to cry, so I gave her a hug.  She took it the wrong way and I just didn't have the heart to tell her the truth."

"Ohhh, you're so sweet!"  As I heard these words my jaw hit the floor.  The bastard had done three girls in the same bar at the same time.  While he's getting a big hug he gives me a little wink.  My jaw is still on the floor.  I walk outside, walk around and come back in.  They're still hugging and my jaw is still on the floor.

Like I said we were dogs.

Ahhh...let me harken back...It was Erin's birthday.  Erin is a boy by the way and one of my circle of Las Cruces friends.  We were all headed up to see the Pink Floyd laser light show.  A road trip in style.  Six pipes were blazing as we headed down the highway.  At least we tried to keep six blazing, they kept backing up at Glynn (pronounced Glen) and we had to keep yelling at him about it.  Now in addition to the weed we had all taken some acid to prepare for the laser light show.  Except for a checkpoint where the cops were stopping drunk drivers everything went fine on the way there.  We saw the checkpoint coming and had enough time to stash everything and air out the car.  When we got there though we found out that one night of the week they didn't have the laser light show at the planitarium and wouldn't you know it was that night.

  As we blazed back down the highway headed home Erin spotted Whitesands to the side of the road.  He wanted to stop and it was his birthday so we all piled out.  Jumping the fence we entered Whitesands.  To those who have never been there I will describe it for you.  Dunes upon dunes of white sand and no plants.  With the CD (A new invention at the time) of Pink Floyd "Darkside of the Moon" blasting we ran around like wild men screaming and enjoying our trip.  Erin said afterward he was glad that we didn't see the show, he had more fun at Whitesands.  I can't hear "Darkside of the Moon" without remembering that trip.