I got up early that April morning back in 2004 and rolled over in bed to find two grams of cocaine spilled all over my lap. I was panic stricken and immediately jumped up to recover ever last grain of heavenly powder that I could. I brushed the white crystals from my chest hair and immediately inhaled what I could. I was like a pack of wild wolves who have just surrounded a helpless bunny, ready for the gangbang and the murder. I managed to save most of the cocaine and place it back in my vial. My head was pounding like Neil Pearts drum set at the RUSH concert I had attended just two days earlier.
I lit a joint and hopped into the shower, immediately rendering the joint useless. This was the start of a savagely demeaning morning. But I had to get my act together and quick because I was invited to a taping of The Sharon Osbourne Show that day and was determined to come off less mind-sapped than Ozzy himself.
The day seemed brighter once fresh water hit my hungover body and I was dressed. Two more lines up my nose and I was ready to take on the world. And with a Venti coffee from Starbucks in hand I was off on the 101 on my way to the set.
Anyone who has ever driven the 101 or the 405 will know that actually moving is the miracle, so with that I took my pipe out of my pocket and proceeded to take the edge of the cocaine by smoking some Orange County Kush. I took the smoke deep into my lungs and as I exhaled, the sun got brighter, the smog cleared and I was content.
I pulled into the parking lot of Sunset and with my all access pass in hand I approached the building for the taping. On my way to the door, I happened by Juliet Lewis who looked at me like some uncaring and unforgiving lover who'd left her to pay not only for the cab ride, but the hotel room.
I gave her a hello, but she gave me a, "fuck off creep.", a sentiment I richly derserved but hadn't yet figured out why. It wasn't until I happened by a car side mirror that I noticed one nostril pancaked with white powder and the other trickly the smallest amount of blood. Ok, I was guilty of public display of cocaine abuse, and Juliet Lewis wanted no part of it. I cleaned my nose and continued.
We were led inside the studio with my friend guaranteeing my a front row seat, but I was actually sat in the third row so I made sure to scratch him off my Christmas Card list that miserable bastard. The show began.......
Sharon Osbourne came out looking like she'd escaped from the set of the Wizard of Oz, small and waifish, wearing $300,000 worth of baubles from her hair to down there. She really had no business hosting a talk show, but the Osbournes were hot and there she was. It took her five times to get the introduction right.
There was as small stage set up and Sharon introduced the band, some unheard of group of misfits calling themselves Becky. There was nothing new or interesting about this band until NEO himself from the Matrix walked out carrying a bass. I thought I was suffering cocaine related delusions, but no, Keanu Reeves was standing there looking smug and self assured. I hate that shit.
The crowd suddenly went nuts for Becky as if the Beatles had reunited and had Elvis as their opening act. It was then I heard the ovulating howls of three girls behind me. It was deafening and irritating. My ear drums vibrated and threatened to burst. These three girls screamed so loud for so long, that Sharon was unable to let the band play. Of course the other members of Becky loved it as they'd never been privy to such adulation before and never would again.
I turned to spy these three Hispanic women, 60 pounds overweight, with makeup that looked like something out of Rocky Horror Picture Show, screaming uncontrollably as if caught up in some epileptic fit and seizing. They just wouldn't stop their cattle call, and it was not obvious to them that time is money and they were wasting everyone's time.
It was that moment I looked around to see if someone was serving drinks so that I may order a Bloody Mary, but no such concession was offered and my head was starting to ache. No way I was going to dare do a few more bumps of cocaine for fear that Ozzy was somewhere near and would end up stealing my stash from me. I looked in that vial and could see some of my chest hairs tangled with that wonderful powder.
But the screaming, it just wouldn't stop. So Superboy Keanu decided to be a hero and save the day. He came running over to the audience which sent everyone else into a sort of 911 panic of excitement, confusion, and insanity.
Keanu leaned over and somehow stretched his arms far enough to fit around all three of these immensly well fed Hispanic women. There was only one problem...
Keanu leaned over me in order to hug them and it was at that moment I realized that I had a multi-million dollar crotch in my face. I started to wonder if I had taken the red pill would Juliet Lewis' sweet pussy been jammed in my face instead of Neo's cock, but alas in the world I inhabited I has stuck sitting there for what seemed like an eternity with Keanu Reeves crotch right in my face, nearing my coffee stained mouth.
I couldn't move. It was like I was possessed by his manhood. I tried to look away but couldn't. He was just so close to my face holding it hostage with what I bet is no more than five inches of cock.
He finished hugging the girls and went back on stage. I am sure to this day they are still bragging about getting a hug from Keanu Reeves, but what they'll never be able to say, and something I live with everyday, is that I had Keanu's cock practically in my mouth.
And in case you were wondering, I gargled with mouthwash for three hours when I got home.
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