God Damn Fairies -001- "Pixy Stix"

     They might as well be insects, really, except they're dumber -- the kind of dumb you actually need to have a brain of some sort to be able to pull off. Imagine, if you will, and endless stream of them wrenching your mouth open and climbing down your throat because the other ones that have done it are obviously having too much fun to have ever come back.
     In fact, that's how I got involved with the "fair" folk. God damn pixies. God damn fairies. Oh yeah. God damn peyote, too.
     Pixies, I have been told, will not increase one's karmic burden if you kill 'em. By the truckloads. Gandhi could have had a bowl of them with milk every day for breakfast and still been a saint.
     Except then he'd have the same problem I do.
     Pixy dust, in fact, is actually made from dried and powdered pixies. And it's the best use yet for pixies that anyone's discovered. It only mixes well with the "green blood" drugs though. Turns an average, everyday blunt into a weekend under a table in a Vegas strip club, view lit by military-grade roman candles -- without getting your clothes all sticky. Or caught on fire. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
     It's really tough to believe in this sort of shit, I know. I'm not really asking you to, because I know better. If I didn't have firsthand proof for myself, I wouldn't believe either -- and half of the time I'm sure I'm just nuts. In fact, having to deal with fairies really just is another kind of nuts, treatable with Valium. and Thorazine. and Prozac.
     No shit. But those are the same drugs you take to ignore more real-seeming facets of your life, like having to endure sexual abuse and domestic violence and having to be responsible for a homosexual dog-raping housecat.
     I had something else to say here, but I decided not to. One of those need-to-know things. But I know firsthand about the cat.
     Psychiatrists have lots to say about people who claim to see and interact with fairies. Usually the things they have to say is, "Why don't people claim to see fairies if they are from a culture that has never heard of fairies?" and "What? You sure you don't mean space aliens?"
     Tres fucking helpful, psychiatrists.
     My mother had tons more useful things to say about fairies. She'd say, "Leave 'em the hell alone and they won't bother you or screw with your stuff." My dad, of course, said only, "You're not one, are you? Don't know what I'd do if my only son was a fairy."
     So I went back to mom.
     "Mom," I said, "someone sprinkled pixy dust on my peyote and now the fucking fairies won't leave me alone."
     Mom, smacking flour (I hope) off her ample bosom looks me dead in the eye. "Goddamnit, Pint. Normal kids your age are doing crank. X. Crystal. Horse tranquilizers. That floor-buffer crap, whatsit." She waved a floury flurry of fingers at me, leaving a perfectly mundane cloudy trail. "Oh yeah, GHB. Weed. Acid. Thank God you're not goth enough for smack."
     She wasn't done yet. "Pixy dust. What the hell is wrong with you, Pint? You went to public school. You're not in the recording industry. Why can't you be normal, Pint?" As an afterthought, she added, "Oh yeah. We're Catholic."
     I could tell she was winding down. "You haven't been sneaking off to MGM/Universal, have you? You stay away from them screwball weird fucks. They think Florida is Hollywood."
     Time to put her back on track. "My problem's fairies, Ma, not movie producers."
     "Thank God," says Mom.

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