How wasted did I get in college? It's hard to explain in a direct fashion. Honestly I feel under-qualified to pen an account of the events of that era. You'd really have combine Boroughs and Kafka In one of those gene splicing machines from "the fly" to get anywhere close to an accurate representation.
Perhaps this completely legitimate anecdote can shed some light on the situation.
Back then I was the leader of a dangerously articulate local motorcycle gang known as the 9th Street Defenestrators who ruled over the southern Indiana Regional Transit hub with an inexpensively gloved fist. As part of my responsibility to the community I would frequently throw large parties, In an effort to supply overtime work to the local police department, who were tasked with shutting down the aforementioned parties several times a week.
It was on one of these notorious occasions that a small group of my friends burst through the door and fought their way through the throng of people towards me, brandishing what appeared to be an ordinary vhs cassette box.
Winded from the effort the leader of this group presented me with the vhs cassette, And yelled at me over the noise of the crowd in a panicked tone "There's another one".
"Where?" I yelled back before reconsidering my response in the light of what I felt was incomplete information.
" Another one of what?" I yelled, feeling more confident that this was the correct response.
"of you" He said, in a tone of abject terror.
I looked down at the box and scrutinized The mesmerizing abstraction on its cover. "Fear and loathing in Las Vegas" was scrawled across the top in a barely legible script, clearly scribed by the inmates of a Sinaloan insane asylum.
"That's impossible" I said and casually handed off the cassette to one of my lackeys for insertion into one of the home's state of the art vhs playback machines.
One of my guys turned off the stereo and the movie began to play. Within a few moments a hush fell over the entire crowd, And even I was speechless. Johnny Depp was driving around in Hawaiian shirt and a boat hat, delivering an exact performance of my personal mannerisms.
I remember the cigarette falling out of my mouth and onto the floor as I gazed slack jawed at the surrealistic nightmare before me. Somewhere behind me I heard a whisper from the crowd "He's exactly like Nate!"
It would shock you to know how much of that story is actually true. It would be a full two decades before I saw myself represented on screen again, This time in the character of Rick Sanchez.
Despite my epic 15 year run of responsible sobriety, I do still remember my disjointed logic from those days, which is to say that I likely didn't read the pizza box at all and simply assumed it was supposed to be cooked for an hour because that sounded like a "round number"