Getting off lightly...
To be honest, I'm not very into drugs, or boring drugs stories for that matter, however...

While a fuckwitted student wanker (hard to beleive I know) one day my friends and I decided to make hash cookies. Tesco supplied the cookie mixture, the dodgy Greek in halls supplied the MASSIVE DRUGS (actually not that massive, just laced...). After a little cookery magic, the two have been spliced and tasting may commence. Sharing a plate between four everybody took one to get going. Nom-nom-nom-nom-nom. At this point everyone decides one is enough for now, best not push it and all that. Everyone except me, who completely overlooks the forbidden fruit lurking inside these cookies and scoffs the lot down like the greedy little piglet I still am today.

Around an hour later my best friend starts to feel decidedly odd. Odd in the sense that he's convinced his face isn't real. Much laughter ensues at his expense, especially when he demands to be driven down to the nearest hospital like a complete lightweight, before a thought strikes me... I have eaten rather a lot more than he has... And sooner or later it's going to kick in.

Fast forward half an hour so and we're in the waiting room at Lewisham General and I'm still fine when three things happen simultaneously:

1) The entire hospital tilts at a 45^o angle
2) A man with no head is pushed past in a wheelchair
3) My appointmant comes up

There's only one thing to be done in a situation like this, and that is to not freak out like a wuss and just ride the wave, maaaan. Easier said than done with a pulse more befitting a particularly hyperactive gerbil, but here we go.

The doctor can barely contain his mirth and asks me in the broadest (quite possibly hammed up for effect) patois possible, "Why the hell you wan go EAT it for, huh? Why you can' jus' smoke it like everybody else!?" After a little check over, we are sent, heads hung in shame, back to the student hovel whence we came.

The downside being that while the rest of my mates had sobered up by the end of the night, I was still walking around doing my best Garfield impersonation for another THREE SODDING DAYS, during which time I conclusively proved that no, you don't make better music when stoned, you actually make tedious, unfunny shite that seems hilarious at the time.

As the title suggests though, my lost three days were getting off lightly. My sister did the same thing and discovered the music of Pink Floyd.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 16 Sep 2010, 20:58, 4 replies)

I'll have to sit this one out, I've had no experiences with drugs whatsoever.

( broadsword w⚓, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 20:28, 13 replies)

this mostly happened, and i wrote about it as it did cause i was all 'inspired' and whatnot. up to you to decide if you think i'm a pretentious wanker or not ;)
I'm in the toilet at another pre-drinks pissing away another rum and
coke. A rousing rendition of 'happy birthday' begins - it's always
some one's birthday - I don't join in.

I should at least try and get into the spirit of things now we're at
the event of the evening. I order vodka. £3.80 can fuck right off.
This'll be my last snifter and I'm gonna need to find something stiffer.

Poor stuff, Bournemouth.

A familiar scent drifts into my nose. Like tobacco with a bittersharp
edge. What fuckin' prick's toking weed, this is a no smoking area.

Drop something, don't even look at the symbol. Man, I'm fuckin' cool.

I'll gargle magic smart phrases with these gargoyles. Power struggles.
Growls at my jowls from these foul sour muggles, so I don't snag
huggles. It's all so unnecessary.

This is the advantage of living with a fittie making mittens, hopefully it's for the
shits and not kids she's knitting for.
You don't want to get fucked.
But fucked I am, so chronological order basically means nothing to me
right now.

At least one person iterates what we're all thinking, 'alright lads!'
he gets a bit irate, 'only birds piss about at the pisser. Fuckin',
come on!'

Vikki the fittie dares me to snog a fattie in return for a heathen heaving quickie.
Jokes, she's well fit. 'Fit?' I ask, 'she doesn't even FIT in her baggy
winter dress!' Sorry Vikki, too tricky.

Mate, I got a fuckin' abrupt little angle, date with bangles. Goes 'caw
blimey' like cockney seagulls. I'm not entirely sure why I think that
means something.

A kid asks for hydration like herpes doesn't happen. I send him off
with a splashing. He says I ain't so dashing, I says, mate, it ain't
fuckin' rationed, crash on over at the barzilla if you want your fill
in a similar, but not quite, fashion.
He looks confused. He must be deaf by now because I've said it loud enough.

This e I've taken better be top quality cause I don't yet feel it
kicking in.

I wonder if it could be so good that I'll be coming up some time next
week, mid-lecture. Yeahhhh bwoiiii!! Fuckin'! Narrative! Yeah! Teach me
the fuckin' hero's journey, biatches!

Oh. There it goes. Now I've got the feel of the schpiel, the real thing.

Gotta find that hotter kind of prime heiny. Ahh fuckit she's long gone
like a last harsh pass, the long one from the bong.

I've seen some of these people before.
'That girl's a prick but I'd still give her a thirsty session.'
'nah man, she's cool.'
'well she don't give a good first impression.'

A pile of stilletoes by a pillar though? How peculiar. Toes heal where
clothes don't I guess.

Well that was worth it, 20 minutes of buzz and now it's fading like
ultimately pathetic rainclouds. I hope this is the eye of the storm.
20 minutes at the top like Jade Goody til she dropped, and I ain't
talking pills, that lady was ill so it ain't cool to pull the piss even
though she made a mill... somehow.

I'm trying to spot my friends but the smoke machine isn't helping.
It's like I'm in a thundercloud, only the thunder sounds a bit better.
Actually, a lot better. Staying up late to listen to a storm coming in
is definitely for queers.

I go into a side room, half expecting to find someone. Who the fuck
would be in here anyway.

Some nutter asks me if I've got anything good. I tell him I ain't got
shite like a guy who got diarrhoea til he died. He looks upset. Cheer up lad, s'only a joke.

I chat at the bar to just any that's there. Guy springs into action,
'she's with me' I'm like 'yeah, I got a girlfriend, man. I don't wanna
fuck her she's fuckin' rough anyway.'

Ow, my eye.

Mmm. Time for a smoky.
A case of misspoken mistaken identity gets me talkin to this fella from
Middlesbrough. He thinks I've had a mission getting here from nearly
Wales, not knowing I've long since taken up residence down south.
Bleh, dry-mouth. I says to him it must not be a mission for him to
get anywhere cause he's from the middle. He says to me he's gotta go, gonna
take some more drugs. Fair enough I says.

Some racing raver says I'm racist. I'm like, hey, what's your drum n
basis?
It's that time of night. This place is full of girls who aren't
looking where they're Fuckin' going. Got me wondering if this night is
ever going to end or just stay in stasis watching this lot chew to tunes until they're faceless waste-heads.

Is for me, I'ma spliff n split.

I'm rolling and some chop line chappy comes over strolling telling me
the whole thing.
Oi. You. Not so hilarious.
Get out my face before I get nefarious.
Now, now, now, this is no place for irony.

I bump into my new mate Russel and it kicks off again. This night could
actually last forever, but I'm pretty sure that would be terrible.

This MC's either super skilled with his clicking tongue trends or he's just
making up nonsense. Ahhh well. All's well.

I lose Russel in the tussle of the last minute crush, but it's OK.
We'll all be in the same spot of bother in ten minutes. Outdoors
without our hella main fellas or umbrellas.

Mmm. Music.
I wish I was higher.

Actually, I kinda just want this to end, send me home. I've been fed
bedlam when I should been in bed like a lamb.
Time to peep sheep in my sleep, I think.

Taxi as it weeps for our departure. Aw, don't cry, Sky. We won't
forget tonight if we try.
But still, there's no time for chivalry as we jump into a yellow cab
at a red light.

Girl to my left tells me that Apparently the killer whale that's
(shocker) killed again, it's wrong what's happening to it. Like
slavery. Made to entertain when it shouldn't.
Well, I says,
Maybe we should let loose Robbie into the wild, he's had his time.
He asked us to let him entertain, but, yknow.

Bored.

'Out the taxi, son, you're holding up traffic.'
'Really? Cause I'm pretty sure we're the only car on the road.'
Sass is not often a welcome tip.

Fuckin', still 1.2 miles from home. Cheers Googlemaps.

Nice little place, but it ain't mine. They've been watching Style Wars?
Not quite as good as Star Wars, but at least they're well dressed.

It's walking time cause, Fuckme, I'm just saying what I see now.

Good thing I'm home alone now no work to be shown to the crowds.
Ugh. Fuck off brain.
(quibble, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 20:26, 8 replies)

Nightclub toilets
Whilst working as a bouncer a few years back, I regularly worked with a truly psychotic, but genuinely very intelligent and funny individual. One night, doing a routine toilet check, we heard two guys inside one cubicle, obviously indulging in the devil's dandruff.
He started banging on the door with his fist, and shouted, "One of you had better be sucking cock in there, or you are both in a world of shit!"
(madoda, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 20:07, 2 replies)

Jog
At school, I was friends with an asian lad referred to as Jog. He was the kinda guy who was alright as long as you didn't have to trust him with any of your possessions (they would most likely be sold to buy bud).

During year 11 especially, a small group of us would be found spending our lunchtimes ensconced in a local abandoned garage to partake in a bit of a session. There would usually be four or five of us but because a couple of the regulars had a GCSE exam on that day, this particular occasion saw only myself and my asian rudeboy counterpart occupying the derelict, piss-soaked construction that had become our regular lunchtime hangout.

The combination of the fact that there were only two of us and that Jog had a particularly nice bit of Thai Stick in which we could indulge meant that we were a bit more 'out of it' than usual. Our spliff had made it down to the roach so we decided to head schoolwards to grab a bit of lunch before period 7 (English, if I'm not mistaken). In order to make it back to the school grounds, we had to cross a road. Our chosen crossing point was about 50 yards from a blind corner. As we approached the kerb I looked to my right to check for oncoming traffic and saw an approaching car. Needless to say I stopped and waited for it to pass...but Jog didn't.

You know when you hear people's stories of things they have witnessed and they say 'it all happened in slow motion'? I was always a bit skeptical but after this experience, I understood.

As Jog stepped out into the road, the car that I had seen approaching rapidly made it's way to where he was making his advance, no doubt lured by the promise of munchies upon his return to school. The bumper of the car struck his legs so that he sat on the bonnet. He then slid upwards and bounced off the windscreen where he shot about four feet into the air, coming back to cause a huge concave oval of cracked glass above the passenger seat before sliding back down the bonnet to the road below.

I froze. Visions of ambulances and police and expulsions and other bowel-loosening concepts ran through my mind. 'Shit' I heard myself say. I needn't have worried. As I looked on I saw Jog, visibly shaken but scratch free (I mean it; to see the impact you would have thought he had at least a bruise, but no. Not a scratch) stand up, brush himself off and utter the word 'motherfucker' before resuming his crossing of the road.

All of this was witnessed by the school caretaker, who was just up the road in his car. After realising that Jog was OK he tended to the woman in the car. She was a bit shocked, but pretty much OK.

And that was it. No-one ever got in trouble and we even resumed smoking the next lunchtime. Last I heard from Jog he was a dad and was running a credit card scam in Birmingham.

Apologies for length, and the fact that I got a bit bored halfway through typing this up (it's been a long day).
(ConanTroutman thought we would free the vulture, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 19:58, Reply)

I can't remember the last time I was in Amsterdam
Went on a Stag do in the Dam. Was a pretty subdued affair really went to a few coffee shops and smoked a bit of white widdow as you do. Then we decided to go for some food (well cake actually) for Tea. I remember being quite cheap and pretty tasty but nothing happened.

About a hour later feeling a little fed up bcause nothing had happened we all tramped off to a pub for a beer, maybe we'd smoked too much and it wasn't working anymore we thought. A Round was bought and we all sat down at a table for 6. It was a nice family pub full of people eating with their kids and stuff.

About half an hour passed and we were chatting, taking the piss out of the dutch for their love of sour milk and bread and it was time for the next round. My mate started looking around at everyone as we suddenly all began to feel a little stange.

"I can't stand up" he said. I couldn't move. Nobody could move. We were all stuck to our chairs. "We've got to get out of here" someone else said and we all agreed, but no-one could move. Paranoia hit big time.

I swear it took us another hour to slowly stand up and crawl out of the bar and onto the street. Except it can't have as no-one in the pub seemed to take the slightest bit of notice.

I can't remember getting back to the hotel. I re-gained conciousness 500 miles away at work on Monday morning.
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 19:52, Reply)

Look, there's a naked girl.
Not mine, but happened to some people setting up a shop in an industrial park. Look, there's a naked girl! And there was one, on the street. I guess she had swallowed too much MDMA and had the reaction where your body temperature goes out of control and she pulled off all of her clothes. The authorities took her away in an ambulance and I never knew whether she survived the experience.

I did have a penicillin reaction once. Broke out in hives.
(uncle_bud is not the jelly roll king., Thu 16 Sep 2010, 19:32, 1 reply)

barnyard noises and near-drowning
back when i was still seeing the Creepy Thin Man(CTM), he and i would often go for a smoke with my cousin down to the local pothead hangout, burbo bank. it was little more than a carpark, with a slope leading down to the sea. we'd usually park at the top of the slope, so we could groove off the waves when we were monged.
one night, i was sitting in the passenger seat, my cousin in the driver's seat and CTM was in the back. now, as i never know when to shut up, i had a bad habit of letting the joint go out, which is just what happened.
"CTM", i said, looking towards the back seat, "pass me the lighter". CTM looked at me as if he were in a daze, then said "baaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
ordinarily, this would just be stupid. as i was stoned, i laughed like a tit for a good ten minutes.
when i calmed down, i again asked him for the lighter. again, he gave me that odd look and said "baaaaaaaaa!" again, i burst into fits of laughter.
after another calming down session, i said "CTM, give me the lighter. if you baa at me again, i'll slap you." he stared at me, grasped the back of my seat, leaned forward and said "MOOOOOOOOOOO!"
i almost fucking choked. my cousin laughed so much, she didn't realise she'd knocked the handbrake off until we'd rolled halfway down the slope and the front wheels were paddling in the icy sea water.
he's such a tit.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 19:29, Reply)

Footing hell
I used to know a fella who somehow managed to succumb to an ailment not unlike trench foot. He had sore feet and did absolutely nothing about it for months and months, he was a tough old bugger and wasn't prone to moaning. But he really needed to sort out his feet so off he hobbled to the Doc's. His feet looked like two prolapsed rectums. He was given two creams, one to be applied just to the infected area and one to be applied liberally to soothe his pedal nightmares. So one cream stung and one cream soothed. The only day I ever saw him cry was the day he muddled the creams, all the skin fell off one foot.

Hmmm, this story is hilarious, it really is. Read it again but put in some funny bits, some screaming and some laughing and make tears appear in your eyes when you remember it fondly in your old age.
Or just fuck off what do I care ya bastards ... come back ... i didn't mean it ... nurse, I'm cold.
( spingers, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 19:00, Reply)

Shiny Disco Balls
December, a few years back. I had met up with a mate to do some chrimbo shopping in Guildford, and we decided to enhance the experience with some primo skunk. Suitably loaded, we tottered off to some home-ware high street shop, were my glazed eyes were drawn to the delicate, hand-blown mirrored glass decorations. I pick one up, mouthing, "Pretty!" in my best mong tone, before catching my mate's eye, whereupon we both started singing the lyrics to "Shiny Disco Balls" which was then followed by a finger spasm which saw the shiny glass ball drop from above my head straight down into the rest, smashing to pieces and taking several others with it. I stood there, aghast, whilst my pitiless mate laughed his arse off, even more so when a shop assistant came up and told us not to worry, as people had been breaking them by accident all day. We made a swift exit before I did any more drug-induced damage!
(madoda, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 18:59, Reply)

So...
I'm doing some temp work in a car showroom and this particular day I'd had to get the bus to work so one of the sales reps offers me a lift home in one of the cars he's test driving after a bit of repair work.

"Bonza" thinks I so I park my butt in the passenger seat.

Next thing I know the sales rep is speeding off, picks up a fairly pretty hitchhiker then rocks up at a corner shop, twats a chav holding the joint up then dives into the back seat with a carrier bag overflowing with cocaine, snorts a pile of it and starts fucking the hitchhiker.

I got out and walked to the nearest bus stop. I start at a VW place next week now.
(Sahara Desert http://www.twitter.com/thesaharadesert for swears, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 18:37, 6 replies)

no, not the triangles!
i'm a bit dull when it comes to drugs. i used to smoke a lot of weed, but paranoia put a stop to that. tried tablets with my mates a few times but, when they were all off on one, i was sat there thinking "is someting meant to be happening?". for some reason, they just didn't seem to affect me.
except for one particular time.
my then-boyfriend, the Creepy Thin Man, had bought an ounce of weed off his mate, who'd also given him 4 mitsubishis. i turned quite a bit of the weed into cakes, whilst CTM got busy making the spliffs. the plan was to have a cake each, then share a spliff, then have a cake, etc.
after we'd each had our second cake, CTM says "look what i've got!" and pulls out a little plastic bag containing the 4 mitsubishis. "why don't we have a couple of these each?" now, as i've already said, these things had never really had any effect on me before, so i thought what the hell, let's do it.
half an hour and half a spliff later, nothing was happening. i wasn't surprised. i chalked it up to another failure and had a cake.
ten minutes after that, i started to notice something strange: the corners of my vision were being overtaken by triangles. lots and lots of little, multicoloured, interlocking triangles. before i knew it, triangles was all i could see. i couldn't focus on anything without it seeming to be overlaid with damn triangles.
well, i may have freaked out a bit at this point.
curled up on the chair, clutching my knees, i screamed at CTM "GET RID OF THESE FUCKING TRIANGLES! STOP LAUGHING, YOU CUNT, HELP ME!" he didn't help, he couldn't even move for laughing. feeling angry, paranoid and more than a little scared, i stormed off to bed.
i lay there for over an hour, staring at the triangle-infused ceiling, contemplating spending the rest of my life in a mental hospital, due to having fucked my brain good and proper. i could hear CTM in the living room, still laughing, the bastard. i decided i'd had enough of this colourful angular nightmare. i tried to envisage a dog, something simple to focus on, to get rid of the triangles. it took almost two hours before i could close my eyes and see that dog clearly in my mind but, when i could, the relief was overwhelming. i went straight into the living room and gave CTM a kick in the arse for being an unhelpful prick.

that was the last time i ever had tablets, but if i ever hit the weed heavy after that, i could see triangles starting to appear again at the corners of my eyes, which i took as a sign to leave the weed alone, too.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 18:01, 6 replies)

Constipation
I had to score some laxatives when working in Africa a few years back, as I'd been on a diet of red-meat and little else since landing, and hadn't shit all week.

So I get them, neck one - no effect within 30 minutes. So I have another. Still no effect. "They must be duff" I think. "May as well finish them".

I forget about this until later on when they eventually start to go to work on the impacted mass of dead animal sitting in my colon. Cue crippling pain, really unlike anything I've felt before or since, and a desperate urge to shit. Only I couldn't - for an hour or so. Then the world fell out my arse, head-first.

If you've seen the scene in Trainspotting where Renton gives up heroin, gets constipation and shits in the worst toilet in Scotland? That was me. I had an arse like a japanese flag for two days.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 17:50, 5 replies)

Pigeon
Same friend from my last post (maybe she's just frightened of animals) except this time it was prescription pain killers after she had, had an operation on her ears.
I went round to visit and found her sat on the couch in the conservatory staring into the garden the whole time she was talking to me. So I asked her what was so interesting and got the following:

"See that pigeon there... yeah that big fat one well it's watching me and has been every single day since I got back. It waits on my window ledge and looks in at me while I sleep.
Never leaves. Its mocking me...LOOK! SEE! DID YOU SEE THAT!"

Throughout my visit she was pointing at three different pigeons that were all in her garden at the same time.
(FootOfTim, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 17:39, Reply)

Legal drug problems
Back in '91, when I was ten, I had an asthma attack that did not subside. This caused a trip to the ER where after two breathing treatments I was no better. They tried epinephrine(made it worse), caffeine(worse), coffee(tasted awful, no change), and then aspirin 1000mg of it.

We learned I'm allergic to aspirin that day as within minutes I felt faint. I bled from every single orifice that day, even from some hair follicles. I was not awake for all of the goings-on, but I'm told I was near death as my blood was way too thin from the reaction.

It was horrible, and to make it worse, I was only supposed to have been given 325mg of aspirin which they said would not have been as bad.
As for the illegal shit, that's another story.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 17:31, 5 replies)

Aceeeeed.....
Glastonbury, mid 80s. Nicely chilled out on the Friday afternoon, camped on the rise looking across the main stage when the familiar cry rings out. Just what we were looking for. We wave a lazy arm and over stomps one of the travellers, bedecked in crust as was their wont. "Got any beer?" We had a couple, as it happened, so handed him one and he squatted down for a spliff and a very entertaining chat, while we bought a couple of tabs each. Every so often he'd leap up in the air and shout "Aceeeed" at the top of his voice - something my mate found a bit disconcerting, since we'd spotted a couple of the (blindingly obvious) plain-clothes variety pretending to wait for a mate at the crossroads, while scanning the passing crowd up and down. Ah, fuck it. As everybody knew (or thought, or said), the best acid came from the traveller community. Fill yer boots.

He'd been there about ten minutes when seemingly from nowhere appeared a tall, gangly figure who looked like he'd stepped out of a 1950s Boy Scout review - big shorts, neckerchief, Charles Hawtrey glasses etc. All three of us stare at him blankly, until he finally says, in a deep and stereotypical Teutonic baritone "Yoo haff ell ess dee?"

"Yes," says our guest. "I haff ell ess dee".

"How much iss yoor ell ess dee?" says the happy camper.

"Five pounds a tab" (let's say. Dunno, really).

"Oh. How many doo I take?"

"Have you had it before?"

And upon receiving a reply in the negative, and without blinking an eye, our man (who I seem to recall was named something to do with a duck), said "Four".

Slight pause. "Then I will haff eight of your ell ess dee".

We watch as Duckman sorts him out, trousers the cash and the boy scout tromps away among the tents. Through a slightly spliffy haze I was wondering if perhaps we would maybe need more (we'd bought two each) when Duckman leapt to his feet.

"Good chat", he said. "Ta for the beer." And as he walked away, he turned back and said "Watch it with these - they're fucking lethal. Do a half and then another half a few hours later if you need it. You won't, though." And disappeared among the tents.

And he was right. Best acid I've ever, ever had. And ever since that night I've had this mental image of the boy scout (and his mate, probably) necking four blinders and wandering among the lights and sights of the Glastonbury experience, wondering what hit him. He's probably still there, somewhere.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 17:31, Reply)

Best place I've ever smoked a joint
setting up lights for a corporate job in a huge marquee , the one used for the Slam tent at t in the Park as it happens , a few of us climbed up the kingpin and out onto the roof of the tent , skinned up and sat and marvelled at the view and the springiness of the tent , until someone remarked how thin the skin was , and how we were about 100 ft off the ground and how a bomber from the joint would be a disaster . Paranoid and in danger , winning combo .
( horace wimp needs more than 49 characters to fully express hi, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 17:30, Reply)

My first really bad experience...
was last night actually.
I haven't smoked in 2 or three months, and have just arrived at college.
So last night, two of the boys upstairs introduced me to a gravity bong. 2 hits and I was fucked out of my mind and feeling good for a little bit, until about 10 minutes later. I had the worst near-halluctinations you have ever felt. My mouth went dry and felt like a caterpillar, I could feel my eyelids dragging across my eyes, I was becoming aware of my skin in a polka-dot pattern, and the room was definitely spinning through the universe. My head started beating in time to something I couldn't figure out and if I held my hands flat against the sides of my head it felt like I could play pong off my brain. My hands weren't connected to my body and I started shaking and twitching uncontrollably... every muscle in my body was contracting. In my attempts to breathe through the dryest mouth I'd ever felt I kept swallowing tiny bits of air by accident which I could feel travel through my throat and convinced me that I had blown out my lungs and was dying. Finally the boys got worried and sent me downstairs to sleep it off. I lay in my bed just twitching and freaking out for about an hour before falling asleep. It's the morning now and I still feel kind of detatched from my body.
I'm not really sure if there was something in the weed or not - the boys smoked the same amount that I did - but that was the most frightening sensation of my life
(Miyoka, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 17:29, 7 replies)

I drank some Night Nurse once
the fucking stuff put me to sleep
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 17:29, 4 replies)

Mushies straight from the fields
a couple of times i've picked mushies straight from a field. after waiting the 20 minutes, i'd usually piss myself laughing, get 3D type vision, and then finish off by emptying my churning stomach contents into my underwear!
i couldn't get my jeans off in time
(slipmatt Thats sooper dooper, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 17:15, 2 replies)

As my previous non-story
stated I realise now I was addicted to speed. I must have clean blocked this from my memory but I was traveling abroad by myself with about a hundred quids worth of it shoved up my flange. what was I thinking? And what am I thinking telling you lot?
To cover my tracks I wrapped it in cling film, sprayed it with hideous perfume then wrapped it again, so if there where sniffer dogs they wouldn't smell it. What a tit.

(I suppose it serves me right but I lost it after 2 days in a restaurant toilet)
(Bababoon, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 17:04, 7 replies)

OMG - these people have got a story to tell - when they eventually get out of jail
www.thisislondon.co.uk/news/article-23436226-briton-jailed-for-four-years-in-dubai-after-customs-find-cannabis-weighing-less-than-a-grain-of-sugar-under-his-shoe.do

These people are mental
(TwinkleFuckingToes Has a ingrown toe nail, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 16:55, 7 replies)

Utter, utter FAIL (this one's dedicated to Armorous Badger, and all who sail in him):
Amsterdam, November 2007.

I'm the only smoker in a party of 4, and two of them have never taken hash.

By default I am therefore elected Minister for Obtaining Omgdrugs.

However, the party is mainly a drinking one, including an alcoholic, so much time is spent drinking.

However, on the final evening, it is pointed out that one shouldn't really return from Amsterdam with just tulip bulbs and a hangover, so tonight let's sort it out.

A few pints under, and it's decided that now is the time.

I say a few pints under, we'd started drinking at two, and it was now about 9pm.

So I wander out of the door and within two steps am facing a girl behind the counter in a coffee shop, who is on the business end of a fat spliff. At the end of the counter are some cup cakes.

"Hi" she says, bored. "How can I help?"

Looking at the cakes, I reply, cunningly, "Are those cakes?"

"Yes," she says slightly too condescendingly for my liking, "Those are cakes."

"Cracking!" say I, "I'll have four, please!"

"That's two Euros please." GOD I love this country.

We return to the boat we're staying on, with a few bottles of beer and wine, and I advise everyone rather pompously that considering Neil's behaviour last time, to go easy and just have a few bites initially.

Three minutes later and him over there's desperate to feel something and makes a grab for another piece, but "NO" I direct firmly, "Give it half an hour at least."

After an hour, everyone's fucking whinging at me "What's it meant to feel like?" "I don't get the excitement about it." "I just feel a bit pissed."

Turns out they were actual cakes. Nothing clever. They were just fucking cakes.



Now - before you start throwing things, pause awhile and perhaps think about choosing something a little heavier.

Amsterdam, March 2008.

We're in a party of four - this time all of us smokers, and keen ones at that.

Three nights in and we decide to head back to the boat for some beers.

Considering I am the one who's always up first thing in the morning for a walk and an explore, and thus I'll probably know where to purchase it, and definitely not because I'm the bitch of the party due to my kind and unconfrontational nature, I am duly elected Minister For Getting Beer.

I go to the supermarket, find the Amstel aisle, and proceed to purchase my own bodyweight in beer, which I bring back to the boat with triumphant glee.

A few cans later, and someone asks for another beer, but it does taste weird.

Turns out I'd got alcohol-free beer.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 16:52, 3 replies)

The last patient I gave one of those to won the Kentucky Derby.

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 16:41, 2 replies)

On drugs...
First came across dope/weed in my late teens, not long before leaving for uni. Party in the sticks, with six of us crammed into a mate's Austin Allegro. Two in front, three on back seat, with one small girl (later to front a pop band that had a couple of decent hits) lying across the laps of the back seat passengers. Much fun had, couple of tokes on a communal spliff being passed around. Ted, the Allegro driver, was being quite responsible on the beer front (i.e. nursing a single bottle all night so he was sober enough to drive safely) but, for some reason, thought that a spliff or two wouldn't affect him. On the drive home, the right-angle bend we'd negotiated safely on the way there simply ceased to exist for Ted, so he just kept going in a straight line, through the hedge and for about 50 yards into the ploughed field beyond.

Popgirl, lying across the back, lurched forward, hitting her head on the back of mine (and giving her a nice bruise) as I was in the front passenger seat. We all got out, giggling away, completely anaesthetised by booze and dope from the brush with death we'd all just had. Even Popgirl thought it was funny, at least until the next morning. The Allegro was barely scratched (it's tank-like handling was usually a reason to take the piss, but it had probably saved lives that night), so we helped Ted get it back to the road, piled back in, and he drove us all home (rather gingerly).
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 16:35, 2 replies)

I've got several
Someone had the bright idea of boiling up mushrooms with coffee - result - an almost irrestible urge to get up out of the seat I was in and start walking, if I had done - god knows where I would have ended up - I was holding on to the seat in a deathgrip so that I wouldn't get up until it started to wear off.

Speed - I used to work in a rave club - but spent the day getting pissed with my mate before work and needed the billy to get through the evening in an attempt to appear sober/competent - funnily enough most of the staff were on drugs - probably more than the punters.

LSD - never again!
(twoheads Is currently broke on, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 16:31, 3 replies)

Sniffetty
A guy I knew was in a club wearing a coat that smelt oddly of poppers. A friend and I spent much of the night surreptitiously sneaking up behind him and sniffing his coat, whilst trying to look like we weren't following a guy around and sniffing his parka. Despite the strength of the smell it didn't seem to have any effect.

(Shut up. No, it's not "drugswise, one step less sad than sniffing glue. It's 3 steps less sad)

It turns out cognac smells a lot like poppers
(teebie jeebie, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 16:24, Reply)

I used to take drugs in the nineties
Now I don't care what temperature it is
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 16:22, 1 reply)

Pearoast from personal injuries
Enjoying my birthday by queueing for the toilet at a music festival in the US of America, I was stang off of a bee, right on the tip of my index finger. No humble bumblebee was he, this was a big ol’ American Apoidea Bastardus, like the one who takes over as mayor in ‘Family Guy’. It hurt a lot, like someone pressing a lit cigarette to my fingertip. ‘Look at this!’ I exclaimed to my friend, and we both marvelled at the pulsating venom sac, clearly visible as it pumped poison into my swelling digit like a set of demonically possessed Polly Pocket bagpipes. Oh, did I mention that, being so cool, I was under the influence of hallucinogenic substance LSD at the time? Yeah, cheers counterculture, that was a big help. Hearing us slowly coming to terms with this momentous event, the guy in front of us in the queue turned around and pulled out a big fucking knife. ‘Looks like we’d better operate,’ he said, waving the big fucking knife under my petrified nose. ‘Maybe,’ he grinned, ‘WE BETTER AMPUTATE!’ It didn’t help he was wearing mirror shades, so all I could see were reflections of my own terrified face and the glare of his ludicrous knifeblade. Honestly, it was like something Rambo would do the topiary with. Then, while I was paralysed by fear, the guy took hold of my hand and sliced the sting right out of my finger with his big fucking Rambo’s landscaping knife. I have to say he did a great job – the pain stopped almost immediately and there was very little bleeding. My mystery field surgeon went for a piss straight after that, so I didn’t get the chance to thank him properly, but the experience scared me straight, and I took a vow that day to never again get stung by a bee, a promise I have kept – even through the hard times – to this very day (although I have been stung by wasps two or three times, but everyone gets stung by wasps so that’s ok).
(electricteeth, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 16:20, 1 reply)