Five! Minutes! To Wriiiiiiiiite Something...

(Eddie is never not awesome in any context. Also, I know a guy who knows Iron Maiden's drummer. So, yeah.)

Sammy Hagar's jamming with Chickenfoot, playing Deep Purple's "Highway Star." Sammy's awesome. I met him once at a NASCAR race. I have three celebrity meeting stories that all start with "I was at a NASCAR race & running to (wherever), when I ran passed (celebrity)." Sammy Hagar (which I'm about to tell you), ECW wrestler Al Snow (which I write about HERE), and Charlie Daniels. Which is heretofore known to none but me.

Anyway, I'm running out of the media center at the track in Fontana, Calif., and I see Sammy. The following exchange takes place:

"Holy cow, you're Sammy Hagar!"

"I know!"

"You're awesome!"

"I know!"

"I gotta go, it was great meeting you!"

"You too!"

The Charlie Daniels story was very similar, except when I said, "Holy cow, you're Charlie Daniels!" his response was "Yessir!" His response to "You're awesome!" was "Well, thank you kindly!" The Al Snow story is better, but Charlie was a nice man. A little, um, different, these days, but he was a nice man. So now you know the Charlie Daniels story.

Anyway, George Thorogood is singing about drinking his rent money in the form of bourbon, scotch, and beers. I love him, by the way. It's amazing to me that I haven't seen him live. So there's that, me & BatBong just had a chat & there's five minutes on the timer.

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She had a beaver that just wouldn't quit. Her boyfriend's little brother had been force feeding it meth for the past hour.

It was disturbing in that they had just watched it gnaw its own tail off, shrieking between fevered nibbles, but they just couldn't look away. Mostly, because they had been force feeding themselves meth for the past three days. I can't tell you what they were seeing through their eyes at that point, but I can tell you it was...unusual.

Prior to this tale of self tail-decapitation or whatever you would call it, Chet the Beaver may as well have been called Chill the Beaver. Because he was pretty relaxed.

For Chet, a normal day consisted of laying around, taking second-hand hits from his person's hot-boxed bedroom while listening to his favorite group, the Beaver Brown Band. It had nothing to do with the name; he genuinely liked them, respected their background, and admired their never-ending-tour work ethic.

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We're now watching Lynyrd Skynyrd doing "Freebird," pre-crash. I met them, too. Many years post-crash. The live version of "Freebird" my wife & I saw that night included a woman dancing who also looked as though she had been force-fed some meth. The video I'm watching is in the hey-day of the 70s mega football stadium shows. Seeing this crowd of tens of thousands of people getting into the music, that's pretty incredible. That's your stereotype stoner "Profound" Moment of the Day.

If You Can Dodge a Wrench, You Can Write For Five Minutes

(Why am I not actually using this time to work on my book? Look, a bison! #SmokeBomb)

Hoo boy, we're having fun now. Digging the five-minute word sprints. Now on YouTube is Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It." First, RIP Neidermeyer, and second, I have nothing but admiration & respect for the fact Dee Snyder admits that song was brilliant marketing on his part & he planned on selling out from the beginning. It's a great song & they are a solid band. Nothing wrong with using your talent to create an anthem that's easily monetized.

Whatever. High's starting to wear off (but there's always more) & the timer's set for five minutes.

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He walked through the door more pissed than I’ve ever seen him.

Fred wasn’t a big man; he didn’t fill the door. Didn’t come close, actually. Standing at around five foot, four inches, Fred wasn’t an intimidating presence. A hint of a pot belly hung over his belt. A double chin spilled over the collar of his t-shirt. Male-pattern baldness was stealing the already-whispy hair upon his head. So no, he wasn’t intimidating.

Except for the massive horn in the dead center of his forehead.

It was massive. Remember Berkley’s dream monster from Bloom County? Remember how it had a giant single horn coming out of his head? That’s what Fred’s looked like. A little more proportional to his body, but incredibly massive and more than a little distracting.

The horn had mysteriously appeared one day around mid-afternoon. He was at a bar, flirting with a woman who you could kindly say was out of his league. Usually, Fred stayed in his lane, but hours of day drinking on a Tuesday had given him the kind of courage where rejection is just the first no on the way to a yes. He excused himself to use the restroom. When he came back, the object of his temporary affection was gone and he had a large, curved horn coming straight out of his head.

He didn’t see it in the restroom as he was splashing some water on his face. In fact, in the years he had the horn, he had never felt it. There was no weight to it, despite the size. It was brought to his attention only after the bartender, a young lady of 21 who had led a reasonably sheltered life, screamed and pointed at Fred.

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Greta Van Fleet's on YouTube now. That voice just shocks the shit out of me every time I hear it.

Another Five-Minute Sprint

(This has nothing to do with nothing, except I saw it & started giggling.)

Watching the video for Diamond Dave's "California Girls." Takes me back to the sixth grade. That was a solid year for me. Plus, his videos around this time are incredibly creative & still hilarious. Anyway. Still high, still watching videos on YouTube. Got the timer set for another five minutes. Let's see if we can catch lightning in a bottle.

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So Eddie's fucking crazy, right?

Jesus Christ.

You know he killed that guy. He totally fucking killed that guy.

I don't know, man.

I mean, OK, yes. I suggested that Tony was a guy that I would love to see dead. And maybe I kept texting him that if he killed Tony, maybe I would be his best friend. And alright, I may have given him $700 and told him I was giving him that money as a reward for killing Tony.

But sonuvabitch, I didn't think he'd actually go through with it. I know I drove him over there. You don't have to keep interrupting. I was there. I remember how it went down.

Yes, I held Tony down while Eddie shot him. Fifteen times. In the thigh. In front of his mom. Tony's mom. Had he done it in front of his own mom, that would've been weird. I guess no weirder than being the one getting shot in front of your mom. And the thigh thing. No idea.

Dude, I know I'm the one who told him to shoot him there because I wanted to see his dick explode. And I wanted him shot there because he may have banged my high school janitor. I'm a deep guy.

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Huh. That went in a rather unexpected place.