Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012, May 20, 1980, Page 5, Image 5

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    mike lee
Cheshire fortnightly
Qoo Goo A’Joob.
John Lennon and Paul McCartney
9. Fantmtyiand
”Do you have your 'E"
coupon, Michael?”
I looked up from my desk. I
thought some ankle-biter was at
the door asking for bottles, but
instead it was a little fat man
with a bushy mustache and hair
down to his shoulders. He was
dressed in white, but his eyes
were distinctly red.
"Who are you?” I asked.
‘‘My name is Mister M,
Michael. I’m here to introduce
you to the Drug Culture. Have
you forgotten?”
It all came back to me. The
other day I was telling my
friends that I somehow missed
out on the drug scene while I
was in high school. "Here I am,
just turned 21, and I’ve never
been high,” I joked at the time.
The little man coughed. "Al
low me into your mind, Michael,
and I shall show you a whole
’nother world.” He disappeared
in a cloud of blue smoke. In an
instant, I was gone, too.
Like in a wild amusement park
ride, scenes passed before me.
To my right, a bunch of frat
brothers waiting in line for a
dirty movie, washing the mar
ijuana smoke down with cheap
beer and singing sophisticated
college songs...
I wish all the girls were
diamonds and rubies,
If I was a jeweler I'd polish their
To my left, dormies listening
to “The Wall” while toking away
in a drug-inspired room: giant
Rocky Horror lips graced one
wall, and someone had
scrawled "Don’t O.D. on Midol
— please don’t O.D. on Midol”
on the other. From the ceiling
hung dozens of Play-Doh
stalactites, dripping on the floor.
Below, jocks in a nondescript
motel room. They had lost a big
game and were trying to escape
the pain — against team rules.
"Can they get away with
that?" I asked.
"Don't worry,” Mister M as
sured me. "If they’re stupid en
ough to toke in their motel room,
they deserve to get caught."
9. Rex Morgen’s Rebuke
Now there was only darkness.
I felt an envelope in my pocket
and pulled it out. It glowed — on
the cover it was signed, "A
Friend.” I opened it and found a
recent Rex Morgan, M.D., comic
strip inside. Using the light from
the envelope, I read it...
VIKI (an upperclass widow in
her early 40s): I suspected that
Sara (her daughter) would oc
casionally smoke marijuana —
dux i xnougnt tnat since it isn t a
hard drug, it wouldn’t do any
real harm —
REX (grim-faced, as always):
No one knows how much harm
it does, Viki — particularly on a
long-term basis! But what it
does is put youngsters into the
drug culture!
And, with or without their
knowledge, they start using
hard drugs — drugs like PCP,
also known as “Angel Dust” —
and LSD, sometimes called
"Acid”! It can be devastating!
I crumpled the comic and
tossed it to one side. I had made
my decision.
"I want to get high, Mister M.”
9. A Night In the Life
And so we found ourselves in
a hallway, Mister M and I. His
white suit was a little dingy now,
his eyes a little more red.
"Just walk into that room,” he
said, and vanished in another
puff of smoke.
I opened the door and walked
into — my own room. All my
closest friends were sitting in
side, smiling blankly.
"You have met the Drug Cul
ture," they said, "and it is us."
Smoke clouded the room,
burning my eyes. Some awful
acid rock music pulsed out the
speakers, hurting both my
stomach and my ears.
"Turn me on, dead man,”
someone said, handing me a
Not wanting to ask silly ques
tions about how to use the
thing, I took it ever-so-casually,
placed my mouth on top, and
blew into it. The pot shot out of
the bowl, hitting someone in the
“Wrong way,” he said. "Suck
on it, Lee.”
And so I did. The smoke
rushed down my throat, irritat
mg the back ot it. I coughed
violently. I felt sick.
"Again,” he said. "And again
and again.”
I did and did and did. And
nothing happened.
“What a crock,” I said. “I'm
not feeling a damned th—”
My head suddenly shot
through the ceiling, pulling my
hands and feet up with it. My
eyes rolled a few times in their
sockets — there was so much of
the world they hadn't seen
before, they couldn’t take it all in
fast enough. And, my God, the
music — I mean, that guitar
player, the way he understood
the complexities of — of —
"Yes, yes," I said. "I feel it —
I'm high!”
Everyone immediately broke
from their catatonic state into
wild fits of laughter. ''Lee,
you're so gullible," they howied.
I looked at that green
substance again and sniffed it.
Those cretins.
It was parsley....
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Jazz Lab II Concert: Tues. May 20 8 PM
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Jazz Improvisation Clinic: Wed. May 21,1:30 PM
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Jazz Lab I Concert: Fri. May 23 8 PM
Beall Hall $2 and $1
All tickets are available at the UO School of Music
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