Yallis-in-chains/Got weed?

We went for the more despairing parties and merveilleusly lost contact during its time. 5 hours into the tease when it was at the crest before disintegration, I would find myself, negotiating on tiptoes among the ruins of limbs, some inanimate, in the dark. All the while clenching the 11th batallion beer, peering at the more interesting remains. When I peered too close and found a stud staring back I would grab some tray or glass lying around to make it look like hard business. I would gratify myself with the common sight of boys/men kissing inert, stunned girls. They would go no farther than that if they had only come this far by now. What's this? A copy of 'Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams'. Rohit kicked my foot and held out a fresh joint with 'always clockwise stupid'. Lifted my beer trophy to tell i would stick to that tonight, had to teach next morning. Unexpectedly he tripped me with a martial move of malice. And I was down beside him, my beer foaming quietly on the carpet and paper. Heaving myself on the elbow, I got up on my knees, picked up the bottle still warm from recent grip, and bonged it with felicity on his cocked knee. He crumpled and howled dimly and sorrowfully, crouching pathetically to his side. I was sorry. I stroked his dear head and nape, put my nose in his hair and ear, delicately releived him of the reefer, took it to the balcony, and smoked it myself.
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In other news:
Offering 500 buxom bux to anyone who can correctly identify that piece of Palace Grounds outer wall that carries the graffiti: 'Alice-in-chains' 'Got Weed?'.