Cats, Jail, Sex, and LSD

The picture with me and a cat on my back all fucked up on drugs
This saga goes back to 1990 when I first moved to Atlanta. I was in the midst of an on-again, off-again relationship with my first real girlfriend from Connecticut. We would break-up and get back together every three months, almost like clockwork. We had a crappy little apartment in the Atlanta suburb of Norcross, three cats, and not much else.

One day, I came home from my job at UPS and couldn’t find our cats. My girl having just graduated from Hooters (stripper training camp) to The Pink Pony (best strip-clubin the ATL), said that they were outside when she left for work. I looked around forever with no luck. Finally, I called the leasing office and the bitch told me she had called Animal Control for letting them outside. I then drove to Lawrenceville (in the same courthouse where Larry Flint was shot) and sprung them out of Kitty Jail, and was issued a ticket along with a court date. Later that night, she thanked me for getting our animals and promised to take care of the ticket.


That was the last I thought about it.


Not long after, my girlfriend and I had our scheduled three-month break-up. I started hanging out with this busty blonde and one of our favorite pastimes was to drop acid and bang for hours. One night, I went to pick her up with four tabs in pocket. The plan was simple. Go back to my house, trip, and fuck like wildebeests.

Romantic, no?

I had a stroke of genius, “Let's take these now and by the time we get to my place — we will be tripping balls and won't have to wait for it to kick in!”

It all worked on paper.

We ate the acid and started our 45-minute drive. En route, a police car starts tailing us. My tag was a few weeks expired, so this Asian cop pulls me over. I thought I'd just get a ticket. He returns to my window and says there is a warrant for failure to appear for the cats and arrests me. I guess my ex never did handle that ticket….

So, here I was headed for jail, not yet tripping, but knowing it was in the mail! I was driven to the police sub-station in Norcross (which is where they transferred prisoners to take them to jail in Lawrenceville) and they slammed me in the back into another police cruiser with the drunkest, fattest, sweaty black dude with no shirt on. It was summer and brutally hot. I was handcuffed. He was also handcuffed, thrashing about, sweating, and crushing me against the door. I could slowly feel the hallucinogens taking effect. He twisted psychotically in the narrow space screaming, “I don't care whose dick I have to suck, let me out of this God-damn car!”

Meanwhile, I see the Asian cop was chatting with a female cop, who is leaning against the car. She was the one that was supposed to take us to jail. The two pigs started kissing on the side of the car. She finally got in and started to drive away, when the other cop runs up and knocks on the window. She exits. Now the two cops are tangled in an embrace, making out, and groping each other!

Meanwhile, the 400 lb. black man is becoming increasingly belligerent, pinning me further into the door and screaming his “fellatio for freedom” mantra. I can't describe how terrified I was as I started to peak. Claustrophobia, panic, and suffocation were coursing through my brain. From my past experiences with “bad trips”, I was trying my hardest not to panic. By definition, “bad acid trips” are amplified panic attacks that 500 Xanax can't suppress. If you allow it to take hold of you, there is no coming back and you plunge into the psychedelic abyss for hours.

After another 30-minutes of frottage, she gets back in and starts to drive, but the Asian cop runs up and stops her, knocks on the window and the same shit is happening. I thought they were going to fuck on the side of the car! BY NOW I'M TRIPPING MY BRAINS OUT and I'm smashed farther beneath his sweaty fat as he continues his dick sucking tirade.

It took all of my mental stamina not to lose my mind. I knew everything could get worse if I did, they would know I was on drugs and charge me with a DUI. I was doing my best to remain calm. They hadn't figured out I was tripping and I was trying to keep it that way! My mental Kung-Fu must stay strong, or this would end very badly!

This process repeats over and over. The Asian cop must have been trying to bust a nut. I wished he had, because by this time I am nearly suffocating, dehydrated, smothered, and covered like Waffle House hashbrowns. Surely, the universe was playing a bad joke on me or this was a nightmare and I'd wake up soon.

Finally, after about an hour, she is back in the car, and we drive to jail. Somehow, I arrive in Lawrenceville; I complete the entire intake process without the police recognizing that I'm higher than cotton in June!

Five more hours pass and they set my bail, which was only $85 for the tickets my ex didn't pay. My friend Scott, who would later become my bandmate in Dick Delicious, bails me out. The busty blonde had explained I was probably fucked from the beginning. I thought so too. Somehow I managed to keep it together until I was released….just as the drugs were wearing off!

That's how I went to jail on acid for cats while trying to have sex!

Still a proud cat owner,

Published by

Jason Quinlan

Internet Marketer, Musician, ex-adults Exec - the most notorious guy you never heard of.