A grape soda baby.

Wait not that kind of Grape Soda Baby. The other kind.



Yeah that's more like it.

Freaked out by the traffic of a very un-busy street, I had to make hasty decisions. The clock was on, and I had to get the best of it. Thirst quenching, my emotions in a dark struggle against my mentality. Parched, with nowhere left to go, my hand found the Holy Grail. The Holy Grail of soft drinks that is.

A grape soda baby! Grape Drink…

I never had one before. The only reason I can even think that I purchased it was because of Dave Chappelle. He said that black people prefer it. And today it hit me. What is the one thing that all the black people I've ever known have in common? They all get high. Every one of them. Every single one of them. Everyone of them I’ve ever met smokes reefer. My tongue is definitely in my cheek by the way.



The reason I had this thought was not because I was on my way to bigotry class; no it was because I too, was high. I was time traveling actually. Back to the third grade. I was third grade, eat the glue, mirrors on my shoes high.


So I was high at the grocery store. The store was kind of freaking me out. And I was trying to think about what could cure my ailment. Since they didn't sell amunition there, my brain went another route.

I started thinking about what someone famous would drink, who is always high. Snoop Dog, Chappelle, Tyson, Mr. T. They all smoke weed. I pity the fool. And that's when in my mind I made the connection. Based on four independent sources. HA!

I had just reached that point where the little pussy voice in my head saw his opportunity to speak. Like he does every time when I get high. He's at the party in my brain, and he see's all of the other voices in my head are high and passed out on cheerleaders. So he decides it's his turn to grab the mic to my inner monolouge.

Telling me things like:

“You should call your mother Jason, it’s been two months.”
“Why did you kick that little kid in the second grade for no reason at all? What was that about?”
“Why didn’t our football coach ever love us?”
“There are other things to do on the internet besides porn.”
“When are you going to lose those twenty pounds you’ve been promising yourself fatty?”
“Why are you high right now? What are you some kind of hippy?”
“What was that noise?”
“Is somebody following me?”
“Oh my god a shadow!”
“Maybe we should run?”
“I think we’d better run?”
“Am I breathing?”
"I don't think I am!"
“Oh my god I’m not breathing!”
“Holy shit take a fucking breath dood!”
“Oh fuck dood we almost suffocated!”

And usually I can just smile his little nappy ass away. He realizes I’m not paying much attention to him, and he goes away. But tonight I couldn’t shake him. His words were criss crossing me like a serrated blade.


The only way to calm him down was to grab a nice cold drink. And while I was searching for the cure to all of my paranoia I saw a grape soda. “Grape Drink!”

Grape Drink works! It saved my life.