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New Years Eve With Weed McBonghit


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Hilarity as always!

My New Years Eve With Phish

By Weed McBonghit


So after two years, the greatest band of all time, Phish, returned to the stage this past New Years Eve, and yours truly was there to see it all. Sort of. You might all remember the trouble I had this past fall with Phish Tickets-by-Mail and TicketBastard, but if you even think a little thing like not having a ticket was gonna keep me from getting into Madsion Square Garden for such a historic event, well, then you probably have roughly about as much THC in your system as I do.

I had been checking out the outrageous ticket prices from on-line brokers for the last few months, but was weary of getting scammed by some internet huckster like those dumbasses who sent thousands of dollars to that dude in Spain. No siree, that was not gonna happen to me. I was gonna march on over to MSG a few hours early and buy my ticket from a real fan of the band. Not some cold hearted businessman looking for profit, but somebody who actually cared about me and was into the same music and recreational drugs.

The whole “showing up early” part of my plan was ruined the previous night when I discovered the answer to the age-old question “How cool would a New York City stoplight look if you ate a half ounce of mushrooms and chased it with a twelve pack of Harpoon Winter Warmer?” The answer is “Cool enough to stare at it without blinking until 7:30AM the next morning.” I regained consciousness on New Years Eve at 6:30PM, only an hour before showtime. Was I too late? Luckily, I woke up only ten minutes away from MSG, so I showed up at 7:15 sharp (I had to check out that stop light just one more time on the way over to make sure it was still breathing)

When I arrived at the corner of West 32nd Street and 7th Avenue, I began to feel nostalgic (or was it just an acid flashback?) My phellow phishheads were milling about in their tie dyed hats and hemp socks. Now all I had to do was find out which one of them had my extra ticket. It didn’t take me more than a minute to realize two things. First, if there’s a recipe for pot brownies, there must be a recipe for pot S’mores! And second, there was a hell of a lot more people looking to buy tickets than looking to sell. For a moment, I thought that my plan to buy from a real fan instead of an on-line broker had come back to bite me in the ass. But then I saw Him.

This guy looked like he had been on tour since the Burlington days! His hair was dirty and clumped together in unintentional dreadlocks, his socks had worn away to nothing more than anklebands, and he was groovin’ to some tune in his head that only he could hear. In short, he was THE MAN! Now if there’s one thing I know about-- other than how to turn any vegetable on Earth into a makeshift hookah -- except a tomato, which is technically a fruit, I’m told -- it’s how to play it cool when scalping a ticket. The whole area was crawling with cops, and I was not about to spend the night in jail with some drunk who threw up on Dick Clark in Times Square.

So I approached the guy slyly and whispered “you selling?” as I walked by. An even cooler customer than I, he didn’t say a single word. First rule of business: don’t let on that you need to make the sale even if you do. Well played. So I walked by again, nonchalant, and whispered “I’ll give you four hundred dollars.” Once again, he didn’t utter a sound, but then he wandered off down 32nd street away from the crowds and I took my cue to follow. I was so excited I could already hear Trey ripping through the opening guitar riff to “Tweezer” in my head. I never got to hear the end of it, however, because the Real Fan turned out to be more of a Real Homeless Crackhead who held a rusty nail to my throat and took all the money I had in my wallet.

So there I was. Not exactly the New Years Eve I was planning. I had no ticket and worst of all no money to buy one. Sure, I could have wasted the evening and headed home to cry myself to sleep, but I refused. But I just couldn’t give up on the one night of the year where public intoxication is not only acceptable, but encouraged. So I headed out to, where else, the stoplight! The hours passed slowly as I stared and stared at that beautiful red, green, and yellow piece of art, and then, well after midnight had rang in 2003, the strangest thing happened. Or, at least it may have happened. I’m still not really sure. You see, on the way over to the light, I stopped by my apartment and grabbed a pretty big bell pepper out of my fridge along with a bag of kick-ass hydro sitting on the shelf right next to it…

The hazy memory I think I have is, one by one, all four members of Phish joining me on the curb in silence, gazing in wonder at the marvelous light. First Trey, then Page, followed by Mike, and then Johnny B. Fishman himself. And, what was the final indication that 2003 would indeed be a Happy New Year? He was wearing the donut dress!

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