I Like Rocket Fuel

Suddenly I felt I had to give a speech, no matter where I was or what kind
of shape I was in.

I got up on a bar stool and then up on the bar and started to address the
assembled patrons with my arms outstretched.

"Friends," I began, but suddenly I was struck by an unanticipated DMT or
psilocybin flashback.

I paused for a second, then pulled it together and launched into my speech -
viciously berating them ("The people") for creating a world where the drugs
just weren't good enough, and often resulted in unanticipated DMT or
psilocybin flashbacks at inopportune moments.

Then I accused each one of them, personally, of inventing my emptiness in a
back room one night, out of their own stupid boredoms.
"And, so," I finished, my anger peaking, "You can take all your prissy
disbelief and ****y neuro-cognitive weapons and fly 'em to Uranus, if you
want, but as for me ...."

But then I just lost it completely and broke down crying and came down off
the bar and was consoled by my stoned constituency.