My friend Adam told me this story, about fifteen minutes ago. Legal marijuana was involved. I typed it up on my phone, as he was speaking. It’s gold.
In the three months I was kinda in a band, we were playing in the garage and Danny Morse, our shithead drummer, gets up from his kit, to go to the bathroom.
He comes back holding a stack of coffee filters, in one hand, out in front of him.
He said, “I shit in this. Let’s go rub it on a pay phone.”
So we drive to the nearest Payphone, which was like fifteen miles away (this is in rural Oregon, Willamette Valley). We’re all in this 1960’s Dodge van, with this fresh turd, and we get to the Plaid Pantry, and he just picks up the handset and just smooshes it in the shit, and hangs it back up.