Parrothead Ramblings

Now THIS is how to launch a water balloon.

All this talk about old albums makes me think about old times and old friends that I used to hang with back in the day when we listened to this stuff. I remember plugging Toulouse Street into the 8-Track, cranking up "Rockin' Down The Highway" as loud as it would go, and haulin' ass in my '65 Dodge to the Bottomless Lakes, or the river, or whatever drinking grounds we planned that night. Me and the guys I hung out with, Jimmy, Billy, and Marvin, could pound a case of beer with the best of 'em. It was usually the cheap stuff - some nasty shit they don't even make any more, but it was all we could afford: Lucky Lager, Burgermeister ("Burgie"), or maybe the Hamms that we could get for $4.99 a case. Of course, you had to add another $2.00 or so pay some lowlife to buy it for you. That was the "Hey Dude" tax, so called because you waited outside the bar, and hollered "Hey, dude! Buy us some beer?"

One night, Jimmy's folks were out of town, so we hammered out a case of brew at his house. I remember it was actually Bud that night, so somebody must have just gotten paid. I recall the brand because I scattered it to the four corners when I tripped running it into the house after seeing headlights pull in to the driveway. I had visions of parents coming home early or cops busting us for underage drinking, but it turned out to be a couple of girls we were dating. One of them was destined to become The Fetching Mrs. Crime Dog a few years later, I might add.

Anyway, we were in the midst of disposing of said beer when somebody discovered some balloons in the house. Applying the reliable formula of:

(Youthful Indiscretion + Alcohol) X (Balloons + Water) = Massive Trouble,

the natural result was to make water bombs with the balloons and fling them at the cars hurtling by on Garden Street out front.

Now, Marvin was the eldest of the bunch, so he started training us on how to recognize an approaching police car just by looking at the arrangement of head lights and running lights. Having prepared and trained us, he ventured out to the curb to show us "how this shit is done." We watched as he lurked beside a bush at the curb, water balloon at the ready. The telltale reflection of headlights began to glimmer on the fence, so we knew the time was near......Marvin stepped out, wound up and.........tucked the balloon under his arm and sprinted back into the house. "That's a cop car!" he yelled. We watched out the window till the car finally passed.

"Liar! That was no cop! Get back out there!"

Dutifully, Marvin took the balloon back out to the curb. Waiting, waiting, ahh, the adrenaline flowing, the moment of truth, here comes another car and......and.......

Marvin tucked the balloon and ran again into the house. "No shit, man. THAT one's a cop car!"

It wasn't.

Stinging from the numerous slang gynecological epithets hurled his way, Marvin went back out to the curb, determined to nut up and get the job done.

Lurking. Waiting. Balloon at the ready. Ah, here come the headlights again....closer.....closer....Marvin is up now, out of hiding, steely determination and ice water in his veins......the moment of truth, the car arrives, and Marvin releases a lovely underhand toss directly into the path of the vehicle. The windshield smashes it doing 35MPH, looking like a fucking Tsunami on Garden street.

Direct hit! Perfect!

But what's those flashing red things that just lit up the whole neighborhood? SHIT! He finally gets the huevos to throw the balloon, and this time it really IS a fucking cop! The cops slam on the brakes and whip on the spotlight. I've never seen Marvin move that fast, we're talking Bullet Bob Hayes fast. Uh oh! No time to run up the driveway, make the turn, open the door, get inside, and close if before he's seen! Marvin passes the door running like a striped-assed ape, hurdles the 3' chain link fence and into the backyard, covers the backyard in like two seconds, hurdles the back fence, into the alley, hurdles the neighbor's fences, and disappears into the night like some felonious Olympian. Maybe a gold medal steeplechaser, or perhaps Edwin Moses, only with a shit stain.

The cops searched with their spotlights for a few minutes, but by the time they had managed to turn on their wipers and get their shit together, Marvin was halfway to Artesia.

We stayed in the rest of that night, probably playing one of those vibrating electric football games, or maybe Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. Marvin worked his way back an hour or two later, convinced that every cop and bloodhound in Chaves County was out searching for him, rubber hoses and electrical cords at the ready. Fact of the matter was, they probably moved on to bigger and better things about the time he reached the next block.

Damn, I miss those guys and those days. Excuse me, but I've gotta go put on my "Grand Funk Live Album" and kick back with a Lucky Lager for a while. Catch you tomorrow.
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