The kid who lived next to me for two years in college was a huge fan of the Dead, and not coincidentally a complete stoner. He had inherited a set-up in his single room which allowed him to divide his room into two floors, neither of which you could stand up in. Below was his bed, desk and I’m going to see at least 100 tapes of various Dead shows. Probably more.

The upper floor was for hanging out and getting stoned. Because of the frequent smoke my neighbor would put a plastic bag around his smoke detector. I was the fire marshal for our floor, because the prior fire marshal had given me the plastic fire helmet when he graduated. The fire marshal accompanied the RA’s on their twice yearly inspections, and more importantly got advance notice of each inspection.

So I’d find out about the inspection and five minutes before ‘d go to each room and tell people to unplug their goddamn microwaves, hide their candles and goddammit neighbor, take the plastic bag off your fucking smoke detector.

My neighbor would always go “Oh, yeah, I’ll take it right down, Thanks man.” And he forgot to do it every. fucking. time. For three years. All six times. I still can’t believe he never got thrown out of housing, Or that our dorm never burned to the ground.

What I’m trying to say is that the Dead are bad and will rot your brain. or pot it. I forget where I was going with this.