A highlight from Janis Joplin Episode 1: Getting the Dead Drunk, Passing Jimi by, and Hanging with Austin Outlaws

27 Club


Incomprehensible voice like words have been thrown into warring blender and set on the qualify phil. Crane is neck as long as it could stretch and squinted desires from behind his oversized glasses. Couldn't believe what he saw. Some sort of multi headed hydra or scraggly months servers itself just lumbering along losing. It's balance drooling snarling. Snoring banging from wall to wall as the train rocketed through another stretch of lonesome. Canadian countryside got closer closer. From when he started to panic he was alone and he wasn't about to step out into the card or with some unidentified subterranean creature from hell closing the gap between a six foot plus lanky frame and certain data and then the creature made a sound that he recognized. I need a lobotomy. Said in one of those trademark california hippie draws fill squinted. His is tighter and then took his glasses off and rubbed his face at the back of his fist. Glasses back on his face he back over to the corridor was it could be shit. Wasn't some health span. Canine slithering serpent after all. It was as bad jerry garcia shoulder to shoulder with rick danko bassist for the band. They were crawling on all fours like a couple of god damn lunatics. Which of course they were. Phyllis shook his head toward off the huge headache. He could feel coming from a mile away. He cursed the three gallon bottle of canadian club that they were all drinking from the night before. This must be a drunk though. Like thi- waterlogged. Heavy headed nauseous. Blurry being stuck on a moving train he wasn't helping. He was drunk wasted. But alcohol wasn't the grateful dead attraction of ozzy's finest tabs from the depths of the san francisco acid factory. Now that was their speed. This booze business shit. That was a different trip altogether. They all drink so much. This canadian tour that they ran out of alcohol and how to make an unscheduled stop in saskatoon some tiny liquor store that was like a mirage. Tonight they pass the hat around. Slapped eight hundred dollars down on the counter and bought the place out phil jerry and the rest of the dead getting a crash course and getting ridiculous hammered courtesy of whatever this tiny saskatoon outpost hat on its shelves. There was all her fault. She got from drugs. She passed the ball around. She told drink up. She was armed with her hip flask. One hand and a handful of southern comfort. And the other you planning on having a relationship with that glass. She yells the long red feather boa in her hair flapping in waving. It was each friendly insult. You don't sip whiskey in the morning you knock it all back. Fuck off with that hippy. Bullshit

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