The Crazy Train

by Fielding Goodfellow

 

Drug induced psychosis is what the doctor said. Hell, we didn’t even know that was a thing. Drug induced psychosis. The more we heard those words, the more ominous it seemed. But I guess it was a big deal, I mean the doctor said he’d never really be the same. All they could do now was give him some pills that would mess around with his brain and settle him down and everything, which we found insanely ironic, I mean but that was exactly what got him into this mess. I guess life can be like that, sometimes. As we watched him in his bed sedated and strapped to his bed on the seventeenth floor, it was obvious that  Pauly Herman was pretty well fucked. I suppose it was bound to happen to at least one of us, I mean we were pretty messed up most of the time, riding the ebb and flow of the peyote express. Pauly was always up for the ride. We all were. We’d hang out for what seemed like days at a time, listening to ‘Tales From Topographic Oceans’ over and over again, as it carried us across deserts and oceans of mind blowing melodies catapulting us to the top of the mountain from where we were pretty sure that we could see the future. It was just what we did then. We’d invite Mindy Kessler and take turns with her in the bathroom.. She wasn’t very pretty, but there was little she wouldn’t do at the drop of a pair of pants.

Things got pretty weird sometime after side ‘A’. We were used to the flying monkeys and the singing grapes and everything, but this was a completely different kind of weird. Pauly met God, or so he said, right there in the kitchen. He didn’t stay long, but he told Pauly that there were only two truths. First, there are aliens living among us, and second, Paul McCartney was, in fact dead. I was already pretty sure that beings from another planet were living in my neighborhood, but the McCartney thing, well that was a pretty big deal. I can’t verify it or anything I mean, I didn’t hear God say a word.  By the time the sun came up we had all come down from the mountain top, although Pauly was still up there, convinced that we needed to sacrifice a virgin, even though not one of us knew of any. We thought he was just stuck in some kind of bad trip or something, but Mindy was sure that he had lost his fucking mind. We had to believe her I mean, she was a psych major and everything.

Pauly had always been a fairly normal guy, despite having only one testicle which, I was assured by a nurse, had absolutely nothing to do with his mental breakdown. I wasn’t as certain though, I mean I think anyone would be a little fucked up if they was missing a testicle. He didn’t lose it or anything, I mean it was just never there. It seems that it was stuck somewhere inside, although I have no idea what use it was to him there. From his stretcher in the E.R., Pauly reiterated all of the clues that existed in Beatles lyric and album covers that clearly noted the death of the famed musician. We had been over this before and the truth was none of us really cared. They were still The Beatles, and to be honest, we didn’t really think that McCartney had written anything of substance since well, forever. Pauly saw it as a great conspiracy, the grand cover-up that scammed a planet. He became loud and animated and was eventually subdued by two rather large security guards and a syringe in his ass. He was moved to the locked unit on the seventeenth floor, where he remained for twenty-three days. We visited him a few times during his stay and he was pretty much out of it most of the time. Whatever pills they were giving him seemed to have turned off his mind completely, but I suppose that was the point. I don’t think he knew we were even there. We took Mindy with us once in the hopes of cheering the poor bastard up I mean, who wasn’t happy getting a blow job, but Pauly wanted nothing to do with it. He pushed Mindy away every time she tried to touch him. After a while we just stopped visiting, I mean there seemed to be no point to it, really.

While he continued to have his mind reprogrammed, we were just hanging out for what seemed like days at a time, listening to ‘Dark Side Of The Moon’ over and over again, fucked up on peyote, watching the flying monkeys devour the singing grapes. Mindy was on her knees, honing the skills that had made her a legend when we got the news. Pauly had died. They said it was sudden and inexplicable, but we all  knew that they were full of shit. Pauly just gave up, I mean there was still enough of him left to know that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life uninterested in blowjobs. With no desire to live, he simply slipped into oblivion and found his way back to the deserts and oceans of mind blowing melodies that carried him to the top of the mountain from where he would be able relive the past.

 

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The Old People’s Club

My youngest daughter wanted to talk to me, and so, entered my bedroom. The first thing she noticed were some hard candies that I had left atop my dresser. “Why do old people always carry those candies?”. she asked.

“Its one of the rules.”, I answered.

“What rules?”, she inquired, eager to hear more.

“Well”, I said, “When you turn 55, you get this letter in the mail. It explains this organization, designed only for old people. There are a set of rules we must agree to follow, and a list of where to purchase the things you need to join.”

“You’re making this up.”, she stated.

“Am I?”, I replied. I held up my C.A.R.P. membership card. “This is the membership card.”

“But you’re not retired.”, she informed me.

“No, I’m not.”, I answered. “Its just a clever rouse to throw the young people off of the real purpose of the organization. You think its for retired people, but its just old people getting shit the young people can’t find.”

“Like what?”, she asked.

“Like those candies.”, I replied. “And the best places to eat dinner at 4 o’clock, and lessons on being mean and cranky. Its all part of a wonderful conspiracy to keep you dumb asses away from our stuff.”

“I don’t believe you.”, she stated.

“Well, then,”, I said, “Its working perfectly.”

“I don’t know why I talk to you.”, she said as she turned away to leave my room.

“Oh, honey,”, I told her, “I’m doing everything I can to get you to stop.”

“So I see you found the old man asshole store.”, she said.

“About 5 years ago.”, I replied. “Pretty sure I have it mastered by now.”

She left the room. I was proud of myself.

“Why do you have to screw around with the kids?”, my wife asked. The pride quickly vanished.

“I just can’t help myself.”, I said. “Every time I touch this membership card, it just happens.”

“I think you like being a crazy old man.”, she stated.

“Oh, I do.”, I informed her. “And I am quite fond of the crazy old bitch living in your head, too.”

“Thanks.”, she said, as she gave me a hug, just as my daughter returned to my bedroom.

“Ah, no!”, she stated emphatically. “You’re not gonna get into that old people sex stuff now.”

“”No.”, I answered. “We’ll wait until you leave and close the door behind you.”

“You’re very bad.”, my wife said as my daughter left, closing the door behind her.

“Its true.”, I said. “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Me either.”, the crazy old woman stated. “Me either.”