We were somewhere around ..Lexington, on the edge of the meadows, when the weed began to take hold.

I remember aaron saying something like:

-what is that?

And the sky was filled with what looked like huge clouds. Gray clouds that had been passed out in my sky for weeks now, stuck in a seemless hangover.

And a voice – aaron's voice – was screaming:

Holy Jesus, what IS that gotdamn thing?

We were quite sure it was the sun, but weren't positive since we haven't seen it since Memorial Day.

We had

Half a bag of grass

2 slipmats

A vestex mixer

Serato

A Tupperware tub full of CDs

Dirty clothes

A crate of records

A pint of raw ether (no ether)

Shit.

Not that we needed all that for the trip.

But once you get locked into a serious record collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the records. There is nothing in this world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of a digging binge.

And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon.

We were on a very ominous assignment, with overtones of extreme personal danger. Doctors of musicianship.

This is a fucking true story:

**(see 'fear and loathing in las vegas' to understand anything i just typed above)

And it starts on a trip to greenwood, south Carolina. Me (rapper) and aaron (DJ) aka claude 9 when the sunglasses are on. The story starts when the sun comes out. This is why we love the south…except Tennessee.

Driving down the highway making great time. Until Tennessee. I've been warned about your driving, Tennessee. Mainly that you suck at it. And this came from one of YOUR natives, so don't get mad. But it's true. You suck at driving. And I'll tell you why: 2 hour traffic jam right near the (yes, this is real)..Stinky..Creek..Road..exit. We moved one mile in two hours. Why. Accident? Roadwork? What could it be? A sign said merge to left lane, and ten miles worth of cars JUST couldn't figure out this highway rubix cube.

"sooo…do we merge left, or what?" is all I could hear these confused drivers saying in my head.

But..the best part? It was an old sign. There was NO REASON TO MERGE LEFT. Ya coulda just stayed in both lanes. Genius. I love you all.

As the night went on, I got to drive the winding, dark mountains of Tennessee with crystal meth-addled truck drivers who probably haven't slept since Halloween, and had no trouble passing me at terrifying speeds (yet still struggled to merge left).

Finally, after passing a TV guide hotel, we're in range of greenwood, SC, where our houseparty awaited. Though, due to highway 25, finding it was like finding the da vinci code. And since it was an early house party, we missed out on a lot of house-partiers (sorry bout that, thank your neighbors to the north). Yet and still, we had a ball with all the remaining house party attendees. Everyone got down – mission accomplished. Afterword, Kendrick, the promoter, took us to the bar area, where we could finish the evening. First bar – too crowded. We wanted kinda hole-in-the-wall. Enter Jeffs bar and grill. Kind of a sports bar, but with enough regulars to feel comfy. Fifteen minutes to close, and aaron looks at me. Says '15 minutes-I BET we're smoking in here.' I say 'sounds about right'. The bar dwindles down to 3 regulars and the bartenders. Aaron throws out the offer, and we smoke out all of Jeffs bar for the next hour and a half. Fantastic.

Friday starts something like; sunny, 70, top down, drive to Atlanta. Red clay against blue lakes under yellow sun. all the primary colors covered. Aaron added some green to the color wheel. We land at the promoter aka aaron's cousin andy's house. Aaron and I don't party. THESE people party. Welcome to fear and loathing in Atlanta. And just like Grindhouse, there will be some missing reels in this story. Prepare.

The second we go in, we see a couple custom made bongs.

-scene missing-

Ok, now we're driving to kick it with more friends. We all make our way to the club to catch a jazz band. Had a blast.

-scene missing-

Damn, andy's TRASHED. We won't be seeing him tonight.

-scene missing-

I'm tracing this face on her living room window at 3 in the morning

-scene missing-

So by 1pm, everyone is up. We eat at the Flying Biscuit. Great food.

Time travels to the evening. Me and a starving aaron find ourselves down the street from the venue at the Vortex. A restaurant/bar with a huge skull at the entrance. Go here. The hostess dry-humps aaron and shows us to our seat.

We meet up with andy and his girl and eat dinner. Back to the venue so aaron could start spinning. At the venue are 100 plus santa clauses and ms. Clauses drinking and waiting to hear sir mix-a-lot talk about becky's butt.

The party begins.

Newberry jam is an Atlanta funk band that rocked as well. Killed it. More people come.

We ended the night. Had a killer set. Aaron smoked out everyone on stage, as well as himself. People danced, people partied, people took lotsa drugs.

-scene missing-

6pm Sunday – aaron and I head back up north. Hooray.

Bye, andy. Bye, mehgan. Bye, lauren. Bye, Stephanie. Bye, kendrick. Bye, jeffs bar and grill. Bye, crystal-meth truckers.

Hello, ohio.