b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » It's not me, it's the drugs talking » Popular | Search
This is a question It's not me, it's the drugs talking

They make you do stupid stuff and say stupid stuff. Drugs ROCK! Old-time B3ta person Fraser says, "I remember turning to a flatmate once, after getting stoned and sitting through an episode of Casualty, and proclaiming "Wow! Those actors are *so* talented!". And really meaning it."

What do you regret doing under the influence?

(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 11:19)
Pages: Latest, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, ... 1

This question is now closed.

At Leeds festival a couple of years ago
we were standing towards the back of the crowd, watching The Strokes. I say 'watching'; I couldn't really see as I'd been viciously tricked into ingesting heroic quantities of mushrooms and pills and was spending most of the gig screaming incoherently at the top of my lungs whilst failing miserably in repeated bids to line up a can of cider with my dribbling cake-hole. I overheard a woman behind me berating her fella for not having brought any booze from the tent, so I turned round to offer her a delicious swig of apple heaven. She looked at me really oddly, and said "piss off, will you? I hate that fucking stuff!" She sounded really offended, so I turned round again to try and make piece with her. My welly stuck in the mud, I lost my balance and went crashing down on top of her.

Lying there 'missionary' in the slurry, I realised I had one filthy hand gripping her nork, with cider leaking all over both of us. The only thing I could think of to say to her that might appease the boyfriend towering over us was the first thing that popped into my head: "I'm not trying to pull you!" I shrieked, slurring terribly. "Christ, you look just like my sister!"

I'll never forget the reply, and I'll never do drugs again because of it. "It is me, you spazzy cunt. We're staying in the same tent, remember..?"
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 17:21, Reply)
not me but a friend
(as all the best stories start)

Friend of mine was in a club and was looking to err 'heighten his enjoyment'...

Ended up paying 15 quid for some small pink pills - and to all intents and purposes was having a great time.

Obviously being a bit of a mover on the dance floor, he was soon aproached by a lovely lady asking him he if wanted to go off to the toilets and 'give her one'.

Thinking his luck was in, he was promptly led away by this saucy minx and soon got down to business.

Unfortunately, the effects of the little pink items he had recently obtained were now starting to wear off and before he knew it, my friend realised he was in fact standing on the dancefloor still, with his trousers round his ankles masturbating furiously (much to the sheer horror and amazement of onlookers)

It was then that i my friend decided to go home.
(, Fri 16 Dec 2005, 15:44, Reply)
It's hard to pick a winner
These sort of stories are very hard to write about without sounding like a boasty twat. Still that's exactly what I am so here goes.

One of the most memorable was when I travelled to Birmingham to pick up a batch of Hoffmans, some high strength blotter acid. We got home, and from then on the night is a blur. I awoke the next afternoon in the airing cupboard, clutching a flowerpot with a telephone taped to my chest.

I clambered out of my cupboard to survey a scene of devastation. Every door handle in the house had a carton of orange juice pushed on to it, with large puddles on the floor. Raising my eyes heavenwards I saw, instead of God, a variety of pizza packaging and canned food and drink gaffer taped to the ceiling.

Cursing, I made my way downstairs, and opened the balcony windows to let some fresh air in. As I did so I looked down, and there, twelve stories below, was the tv out of my bedroom, along with the contents of my freezer (mainly belonging to my housemate).

Sighing, I took a stella out of the fridge, rummaged through the kitchen ashtray to make a butt spliff, chuckled ruefully, and made an adult decision to clean up later, after a bit of shuteye.

I entered my bedroom, and all thoughts of a nice sleep left my head. Lying atop my bed, snoring manfully, was my friend Pete, with whom I'd gone out.

He had become a home made mutant hero turtle.

With the shock arrived some flashbacks - the gaffer tape fun had continued and with the aid of glowsticks had made him some nunchucks, a gaffer tape eye-band (which later removed his eyebrows), a wok as a shell (it was never the same afterwards) and some t-shirts as knee pads.
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 12:45, Reply)
Strike it Lucky on Mushrooms
After a gentle walk in the countryside one september, my friends and I collected some mushrooms to make some tea with. On getting home to my friends house, we made some tea with a couple of healthy fist fulls of mushrooms and a couple of tea bags to add flavour. Then my friends parents came home (after saying they would be away for the night, and they weren't) and asked us what we were doing, to which we answered 'having some tea'. They asked for some and remained in the room.

We all proceeded to drink the mushroom tea (including his parents who were unaware)and then we all sat down, about half an hour later and watched 'Strike it Lucky' with Michael Barrymore (in the show, not the room with us - now that would have been weird.. watch that swimming pool..). We all (my friends parents included) absolutley wet our collective pants in hysterics at the show and when it finished my friends Dad turned off the TV and said he thought no other TV show would ever be that funny so there was no point watching it ever again. Then my friends Mum decided to try and hoover the pattern off the carpet for 2 hours. Whilst we watched in awe and not saying anything apart from giggling and laughing uncontrollably at stupid things like using glass coasters as glasses.... oh dear.

When the parents worked it out, I was banned from their house for nearly 2 years. My friends parents were Police officers. Even though it wasn't my fault they labelled me as the 'ring leader' and made my life hell for a while. I don't see them any more, so what do I care? Pigs on Mushrooms watching Strike it Lucky.... marvellous!
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 14:27, Reply)
Tits N Bits
When I was a student I spent a few happy summers working on a fruit farm. This place was great with around 100 students from around the world working there with a continully revolving new bunch arriving and departing every week. As a Brit, I was part of the permanent crew who was there for the whole summer. The pay was crap but it was enough to eat,smoke and drink on so all was well with my world.

I'll cut a long story short but I ended up spenfin one summer with a stunning Irish lass called Helen. She was deeply tanned from working in the fields in just a bikini and I was the envy of the the rest of the fanny-rats - I had the fittest bird on the farm.

One night I'd managed to get a hold of the only tab of acid on the site - it'd been sitting in a guys wallet for two years so we weren't sure if it was still potent - and i dropped it just before going to the pub with Helen.

In the pub, I was taking it easy, waiting for the acid to kick-in so I wasn't drinking much but, after an hour, nothing had happened so I gave the acid up as duff and started drinking at my normal pace. At kicking out time I was quite mellow and, putting my arm around Helen, we headed out into the night.

Show Time! When the fresh-air hit me I could smell the incredible scent of roses and then the sky started to flash on and off in muti-coloured hues. The trees as I was walking down were morphing into incredible shapes -dragons, giants, dwarves and scurrying through the grass I kept catching glimpses of little elves and pixies. I spellbound, enthralled. I was keeping up a running commentary to Helen about what I was experiencing and then had the bright idea that we had to screw while I was off my head on acid. Helen was up for it so we dashed for my tent and tore our clothes off.

Now this was where things started to go slightly wrong. In my tent it was pitch black and all I could see was a pair of white, disembodied tits floating eerily in the darkness. Helen was so tanned, apart from her tits, that she just faded into the background and left these enourmous boobies floating tantilising in front of me.

I got the fear. I just couldn't cope. In the end I had to leave the tent and sit by the fire for a few hours until I came down. But even to this day I can still close my eyes and see these magnificant breast floating in the air all by themselves.

Thank God they didn't try and talk to me.


Legless - P.S. Mods? - Any chance of having my name back?
(, Fri 16 Dec 2005, 14:38, Reply)
Fried fookin breakfasts...
I didn't regret going to glastonbury in 1997. I certainly didn't regret taking the biggest stash i'd ever owned up to that point: a hefty bag of grass, a sheet of 20 nice acid, 20 or so pills, few grams of whizz, a little chunk of opium, and in true Fear and Loathing style, about a pint of ether purloined from college...the only downer was a lack of mushies, but we managed to score those within 5 minutes of sitting down and asking a chicken and mushroom pastie i'd brought to give us a hand and sort out a meeting with its more hallucinogenic brethren.

So we ate, and drank, and snorted...and came up smiling on Friday night, where we decided to pick up the pace. Mushies, pills, fat spliff with a bit of opium, good huff of ether...was all going swimmingly but i started to come up, hard. I needed to come down a little, and toking as hard as i could on the j wasn't helping. I was letting it get a bit flaky, but i'd just managed to reel it in, calmed down a bit and maaged to convince myself the sky was still attached to the groud, my mates hadn't actually turned into piles of bones. That's when the Tofu Love Frogs (quality festival regulars), decided to bring out their 'dancing vegetable squad'. Here was I, 17, with a head full of narcotics, being confronted by 4 blokes on stage dressed as, mainly, carrots and broccoli.

Bit much.

So I ran. Far, up to the green fields, clutching nothing but a bottle of ether and a couple of spliffs. After an interlude of tryign to stop myself lifting off by holding on HARD to the ground, i managed to calm down and passed out for a little while. What i didnt noticed was i'd spilt ether all over my legs. Someone must have dropped a fag end near me, because as i awoke, peaking furiously, I seemed to be on fire, and trying to put me out was some performance art troupe dressed as a full english breakfast.

The last thing i remember was kicking a bloke dressed as a fried egg in the nads, and hightailing it from the stone circle with my trousers on fire, screaming about brunch.

Top fun. Did it all again the following year, without the ether.
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 21:58, Reply)
On pills
Back at my flat after a large dnb session at the End, all chilling and not having a clue what was said 3 seconds ago. One mate is eating a banana, about 5 seconds later he turns to another a mate, tries to speak but can't. 'What's this in my mouth?!' he asks, confused. 'You're eating a banana' another mate replies.
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 12:23, Reply)
Not me, but..
One of the funniest things I remember seeing was my mate, getting stoned for the first time (aged 21), leant against a wall. He started slowly sliding to the floor sideways, bent at the waist, until his wrist was lying on the floor. We aasked him what was wrong: "My watch is reaaally heavy".

We took the watch off for him and he slowly returned to his original position. Lovely.

Oh, and I played a He-man cartoon on telly with a playstation controller for 20 minutes before passing it to my mate saying, 'This games too hard, I can't get the hang of it'.
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 12:06, Reply)
"It's a fair cop......"
Another one from my mis-spent 20's.

1995 - Clubbing in a Stoke on Trent repetive beats, strobes and fog sweat-pit. 5 of us all off our mash on E. A pretty non-standard excursion from our usual bonging and playing cards. Top night.

3am - on the A500 D road heading towards the M6 from Stoke - all 5 of us have a spliff each, all 5 of us are carrying varying "cognitive enhancers" - doing 70, still off our mash and listening to loud tunes in the smoke filled car.

The smoke in the car turns blue.
We all look at each other
The smoke in the car goes blue again.
We all look at each other again.
The smoke in the car goes blue and we hear a siren.
We panic - Tim starts eating his stash, swearing and pleas to the Lord fill the car,

I stub my doobie out on the sole of my shoe - showering hot blims into the carpet.

Steve (the driver) starts to slow down and we are screaming, asking him what he's doing - we're in trouble and we fucking know it.

Steve was suddenly replaced by Harvey Keitel from Pulp Fiction and in the calmest voice I've ever heard said - "Chill out, crack all of your windows open a touch - I've got this!"

We did what he said and sat in silent terror - he pulled over into the layby. Engine turned off, Dibble pulled up behind us and we heard the heavy footed clomping of impending arrest walking towards the car.

Steve wound down his window and Dibble got the door post of the car with his torch out - shining it in Steve's face and then it happened

"It's a fair cop officer - the drugs are up me arse!" blarted Steve.

The copper lost it, burst out laughing and said "Fuck off home lads - drive safely"

We did as the man asked and erupted in the car, I have never laughed so hard.

Steve took his place in my pantheon that night, right next to Chow Yun Fat.
(, Wed 21 Dec 2005, 12:46, Reply)
Mysterious appearance of chairs
A few years ago, I went to Brixton Academy one new years eve.

Over the course of the evening, I managed to consume enough pills to reach the usual end result of being a bit of a mess.

I also ended up painted in bright orange body paint, because it just felt sooooo nice.

After dancing all night, the paint had started to run, making my face completely orange.

Towards the end of the night, I decided to have a sit down to sort my head out a bit. I retrieved my jacket from the cloakroom, and staggered across the room, and spotted a free stool just off the dancefloor.

I walked over to it, covered it with my jacket, and then sat down. It was at this point, I realised that it wasn't a chair at all. It was some guy who was probably also trying to sort his head out, sat on the floor with his legs tucked in to his chin.

I jumped up, picked my jacket up, said "sorry mate, I thought you were a chair", and then dissappeared off in to the night.

I always look at the incident from the other guys point of view. He is having a moment to sort his head out, when suddenly a bloke with an orange face, and quite possibly wild staring eyes, walks over, the world goes dark, and then someone sits on him, then promptly dissappears.

Having been in a similar state on many occassions, I really do feel sorry for it. If you are still in therapy, sorry mate, I really did think you were a chair!
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 13:51, Reply)
Diazepam Fun
My mate John (24) who's now becoming quite the regular on this board via my stories, recently had to go to hospital for an endoscopy (the camera down throat thingy). Its a quick in and out proceedure, both the camera and the visit to hospital but there's an option of getting diazepam to make the whole ordeal a little easier which John chose to have. Now to do this procedure they blow air into the stomach to expand it so everything is more visible. It was this, combined with the slight mental instability the drugs gave him to cause John to wait until they finished and loudly proclaim "Eeeeeeeee I did a little pump!" to the assembled doctors and nurses. The smooth talking bastard.

He followed this up by ringing me when he got home. I could tell he was still under the influence just speaking to him as he kept repeating the word spatula and giggling. I thought I'd take advantage and started telling him to do stupid things. This was why he hung up and turned to his mother (who had to watch him for 24 hours in case he did anything silly) and called her a 'lily livered bastard' before turning round and farting at her.

Go, John, go!
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 11:58, Reply)
Drugs are bad
While attending one of the Last Greatful Dead shows back in the mid 90's I ingested around 6 or 7 hits of acid. After many long hours of intense visuals I realized I had to pee. I found my way into the middle of a large group of trees, whipped out my cock and merrily started pissing. About 5 seconds into it, I start to hear voices. Then I notice the trees are moving around an awful lot for trees. Suddenly I had the horrific realization that I was standing in the middle of a crowd of fellow concert goers, wang in hand peeing without a care in the world. People were just staring at me.
(, Fri 16 Dec 2005, 21:55, Reply)
Smoking Kills
I am very badly asthmatic. And I smoke. Bad, I know, but there we are.

After a particularly heavy e/speed session I was at a house party kicking back and enjoying a bit of weed - taking the edge off - and chatting with friends.

It was my go on t' spliffage but the bugger kept going out. I persisted in my own little world for about 10 minutes, wasting about half a lighter in the process, when my darling friend turned and asked me what was the matter with my face.

Bearing in mind the amount of stuff I had done I considered this a rather unnecessary question, and said as much, but it turned out I had smoked about three quarters of a kohl pencil and missed my mouth so many times I had drawn a moustache/beardy stubble type mess around my mouth. Like a child playing pirates.

Those were the days.......
(, Fri 16 Dec 2005, 13:28, Reply)
Best drug story I ever heard?

Comes from a friend who dropped acid one night clubbing and started to fall into one seriously bad trip.

Wisely, he decided to ditch the club and head home as quickly as possible. The closer to home he got, the worse the trip and he eventually fell into a complete psychedelic meltdown.

He had one particularly harrowing episode when he was convinced he was being chased by Daleks and ended up cornered by them in an alleyway. Despite falling to his knees and pleading for his life, they still kept coming for him. So screwed up was he that he didn't leave his flat until Monday morning.

Funny thing was, that the Dalek episode seemed real... Must have been bad acid.

Our hero's confusion is resolved when he picks up the local newpaper on his way to work.

Upon reading the headline it all became clearer.... The shortcut past the back of the town hall... Being trapped in an alleyway by Daleks...

Turned out he'd had the misfortune to be running past the back of the town hall whilst tripping, just as the exhibits from the weekend's Dr Who convention were being loaded into the back of a van.
(, Fri 16 Dec 2005, 10:22, Reply)
I was once so stoned
I ate my way through a packet of prawn cocktail crisps, the whole time tasting salt & vinegar.

The last time I dropped, I just stayed in with my sister. We spent the evening naked in her front room, comparing bits, giving each other oily massages, & brushing each others hair, while repeating 'you're so fucking ace' 8 bazillion times. And then at 6am we went to Rufforth car boot in our pyjamas.

True story.
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 13:59, Reply)
Cousins - Pffffttt
I once had full penetrative sex with my cousin after taking lots of Ecstacy at Shelleys Nightclub in Stoke in 1990.

She screamed like a fúcking banshee, mind you I would if I was having my back doors banged like a screen soor in a hurricane.

Drugs eh? - who'd have em
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 12:10, Reply)
"Shepherding" is where you're the experienced tripper, and you've got one or more mates with you for whom it's all a new experience. The idea is, if they find it all a bit much, you'll be there to tell them they'll be alright.

So I was the shepherd when I took some uni mates for their first trip. We went down to Avebury in Wiltshire, camping. This is a gorgeous area of countryside, filled with stone-age sacred spaces. We drop our tabs in mid-afternoon and go for a wander.

The stone circle is very cool, of course, but there are too many people about. So we wander off to Silbury Hill, which is basically just a big ol' artificial hill. You're not supposed to climb up it, but we did. It's a great place -- you can get into the whole sacred space thing if you want to, but if you don't, you can just stand up there watching the weather roll across the plains and over you. We got lucky -- we had sun, then rain, then sun, then rain, then sun again. Lots of clouds and shafts of sunlight and so on, for all us tripped-out people to get amazed by.

After a few hours, once the rush has passed (but, as all you trippers know, there are still a few more hours of weirdness to go), we decide we've had enough of being out on a wet and windswept hilltop, and decide to head into Avebury proper. We head for the village's only pub, so we can get warm and dry and so those who want a pint or some food can get some.

One of the guys I'm shepherding is my best mate. He's been doing well so far, and had a great time. But in the pub, paranoia starts to set in. He thinks maybe a bit of food will calm him down; I advise against anything heavy; he orders some soup. Stilton soup. When it arrives, he's horrified by it. Says it smells of wet, dirty socks. I can't argue, because it does. So I suggest we go out for some fresh air. He says he can't, he's been leaning against this pillar too long and half his brain has now leached into it. I spend some time trying to convince him this isn't the case.

The gist of my argument is: come on, you know you're tripping, all the things that seem so weird now aren't really that weird after all, we aren't seeing things that aren't there any more, all is cool. So I say, what around you seems weirdest to you right now? Thinking, of course, I can explain how whatever it is is perfectly normal, and calm him down.

He doesn't have to think about this. He points at a fork lying on the floor of the pub. "What's that doing there?" he says. "What's it for?" I look, and it's just a fork. "Somebody's dropped it," I say, "there's nothing to it." "But it's right in the middle of the floor," he says, sounding a bit panicky. "That's no accident. It must mean something. They must want it to be on the floor."

I can handle this, I think. Just convince him that there's nothing going on, and I will calm him down, and I will be a good shepherd. I'll get him back into the good head space, and we'll all carry on having fun.

And at that moment the waitress passes by. She steps on the fork. She notices it. She frowns. She picks it up and looks at it. And then she steps to the side, and She Puts It Back Down On The Floor, and she walks off.

We look at each other. We look at the fork. We get the fear. And I am no longer a good shepherd, I too am a gibbering paranoid scared of forks and waitresses with mysterious ways.

We leave the pub in a hurry, wild-eyed and barging through people and leaving everyone else behind.
(, Thu 22 Dec 2005, 19:18, Reply)
i once did a shift on the milk aisle at sainsbury's on E
got so into it, i was actually standing with bottles in both hands, waiting for someone to take one so i could replace it.
(, Wed 21 Dec 2005, 8:37, Reply)
Not me but a mate
He used to deal pills out in New Zealand a few years ago. One day he started drinking at about noon, and carried on for a good 12 hours. He may have popped a few as well; I forget.

It gets to midnight, and he decides to drive (yes drive) to an out-of-town rave a few miles away. He pulls into to the venue's car park - cue a jam sandwich flashing its blue lights in said mate's rear-view mirror. It's obvious to the NZ rozzers that he's pissed, so they bung him in the back of the squad car and drive him down the local nick.

On the way to the police station, he remembers that his pockets are full to the brim with pills and tablets. Not wanting to be caught red-handed in the cop shop, he decides what he thinks is best in his drunken state and stuffs all of the pills down the back of the seat. In a police car.

He gets to the nick, they take his details, search him, and all the other usual formalities. After a couple of hours, they decide he's free to go, and being good-natured antipodeans, agree to take him back to the rave (minus his car keys of course).

So he jumps in the back of the car, and after a mile or so it suddenly hits him that he's in the same police car as before! So he sticks his hand down the back of the seat - lo and behold, his pills are down there. He stuffs them into his pocket, goes to the rave (albeit 3 hours late) and sells the lot.

(, Fri 16 Dec 2005, 13:50, Reply)
off to a warehouse for a party, in the taxi, had couple of pills - should really get some water - stop at the next garage.

so as I'm at the window I start thinking: it's a warehouse, there'll be no taps... we might want a bottle each, or maybe three between us... no, hold on, there'll be other people there... shit, they might want some too...

I bought seventeen.

the taxi driver couldn't drive for laughing.
(, Fri 16 Dec 2005, 11:04, Reply)
Right then...
My mate and I did a trip in Blackpool and we'd just come out of the hall of mirrors in the pleasure beach. We'd seen ourselves as giants and, more importantly, as dwarfs. As we exited (I had to ask a slightly worried kid to lead us out because we were too confused) a group of young people walked past. One of them was a dwarf. I didn't connect that this dwarf was a 'real person' and dropped to my knees in front of her, pointed at her and shouted "Pete! It's a dwarf! A fucking dwarf!" As the whole crowd stopped and stared at me, I realised what I'd done and we scarpered.
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 19:42, Reply)
The ULTIMATE get rich scheme
One evening, back in my acid-taking days, we were all sitting around talking shit when one of us came out with the following theory:

On average, every human weighs around 50 kg, and there are 6 billion of us, meaning about 30 billion kilograms of human on the planet. Given that the human population is increasing, this means that the earth is getting heavier. The heavier the planet gets, the harder it will swing around the sun, meaning that our orbit will slowly become wider and wider, leading us into a new ice-age. To combat this, once every hundred years we will need to rally hundreds of millions of people to a particular spot, so that they can simulatenously jump at the right moment and push the earth back towards the sun. If we were to start a business that could orchestrate these jumps now, we would have a monopoly that would make our families rich for generations to come.

We spent the rest of the night (6 of us) simultaneously running through the house (west to east) and hitting the wall at the end, to make the night last longer.

Yes, we felt like twats in the morning.
(, Sat 17 Dec 2005, 3:00, Reply)
drugs make you creative
once i showed another man my cock.
'put that away' he said.
(, Fri 16 Dec 2005, 14:50, Reply)
Gypsies and weed do not mix
I was 18 when I first tried out cannabis. I'd just decided that I wanted to get it out of the way before I went to University, so I know what to expect. Being good friends with Dean, a guy who was very heavily into any drugs he could get his hands on at the time, this meant I thought I'd be in safe hands.

The night was planned for the day my parents and sister went away on holiday, leaving the house very much to myself.

As a precursor to the main event, Dean and I ate a small amount of resin he had in his posession, and proceeded to have a rather strange conversation about Ant's Cocks, which we'd both reasoned had to have been pretty damn big given the size of the Queen Ant. I would just picture a normal-sized ant with a human cock dragging between his legs.

Anyway, the main event drew closer, and a day or two before another friend of mine, Dunk, decided he wanted in as well, so we dispatched Dean to go and get a nice quarter of squidgy black for us all, which he happily obliged, returning with a couple of bonus trips.

The fateful night arrived. Dunk and Dean turned up, armed with drugs, and given that only Dean smoked at that time, Dunk and I set about Mollying some of the weed. In this case, trying unsuccessfully to dissolve it in warm milk on Dean's instructions. Having no scales, and no real prior experience, it was a little difficult to work out how much to put in there, but I would estimate that maybe just under a 1/16th went into my milk, which I drank with all its resiny goodness.

A couple of hours later, and nothing had really happened. Dunk had opted to try a bit of Dean's acid, who had in turn necked the other 1 1/2 tabs. I thought "fuck it", and necked the remainder of my 1/8th. This turned out in retrospect to be a fatal move.

Some other friends of ours turned up, and we wandered up to the local playground to sit, talk, and have a beer. All was still good, after over 3 hours from taking the first drink. Dean, however, was now feeling the effects and had gone off to sit on the concrete circle where there had once been a merry-go-round.

Upon going to try and talk to him, he just kept going about being a "fucking cabbage" and not to try talking to him due to his cabbageness. I left him to it for a while, then dragged both him and Dunk back down to my house.

On the way back down the hill, it was obvious that the trip had hit Dunk, who was now giggling like an utter loon, and convinced that he was on the biggest rollercoaster in the world. Dean just kept muttering about the floor being made of cabbages.

Back in the house, still stone cold sober, I decided to put on some music, and being a bit evil to the others went straight for Dark Side of the Moon, and sat in between the speakers watching them both spack out.

And then it hit. A little way into "On the Run", a wave of utter fuckedness washed over me as the THC started to course through my brain. I couldn't keep stable on the armchair at all; I kept feeling as if I was going to fall backward through it and just keep on going. I held onto the chair for dear life as the trance-like music eminating from the speakers felt as if it was electrocuting me. I didn't dare move, but knew I just had to stop the music before those fucking alarm clocks on the next track cut in.

After that, the fear set in something chronic. Dunk had discovered where my crisps were, and happily munched through almost 20 bags of them. Dean had wandered out of the house as he wanted to commune with the cabbages on that concrete circle some more. He returned about three minutes later unable to remember where he was going, and promptly just went to sleep.

I did all I was capable of to prevent me from going over the edge; washing up. When I'd finished I washed it all again for good measure. Then I went to bed, unable to sleep as every time I closed my eyes I was getting strong visuals, and felt like I was falling through space and time, and whenever I had my eyes open, could just hear short bursts of music. I briefly considered jumping out of the window to make it all end, but convinced myself that it would be better just to throw up and try again.

Time dillation then hit with avengance. I was capable of moving anywhere in the house in the blink of an eye, like a speeded up movie. I ran to the bog, and chundered in record time, and then ran around the house a bit for good measure like a hummingbird on crack.

Then I passed out.

The following afternoon when I finally woke up, I found both friends had gone home. I meekly tried to get on with tasks, only too aware that the cannabis was still coursing through my veins. Time had gone the other way now, and things were going very much in slow motion. I could watch the individual droplets of water fall from the watering can onto the plants my folks had instructed me to keep moist. I attempted to cook a roast. It didn't work. I only tried cooking it for about 10 minutes.

And then the real fun started. My neighbour and both her young children popped round with some sweets to pass onto my parents as a thankyou for watering their plants whilst on holiday. I sat there, reddened and droopy eyes, trying to comprehend these tiny people who had invaded my house and were now asking me the most pointless questions. Their mum in turn asked if I was alright, and to my great relief managed to blag that I was coming down with the flu or something.

That was enough to dispense with them, but didn't prepare me for the next visitor, who turned out to be a rather old and craggy gypsy who reminded me of a cross between Noddy and a partially decomposed corspe. It seems had decided to knock on my door to get some money to buy some petrol, as he was skint. My brain was almost oozing out of my ears as I listened to his tale, and it didn't even occur to me that the closest petrol station was well over half a mile away, with about 80 houses in between. Why he chose my door, I have no idea. I can only assume he was some form of stoned pillock fairy.

Once he finished spinning his yarn, I realised I had no change at all, so, for some inexplicable reason I staggered two doors down to another neighbour and got her to break up a £20 note so I could give him a couple of quid and get rid of him.

After that, I locked myself in the house, and made a fort out of the chair cushions to protect myself from any further harm.

I think I stopped being stoned about two days later, and was mentally exhausted for weeks afterwards. But it did the trick - I knew pretty much the worse that cannabis could do to me, and treated it very much with respect from that moment onwards.
(, Thu 22 Dec 2005, 1:48, Reply)
I've never really said anything crazy on drugs. Not that I can remember, anyway. But I've said some silly things when drunk.

My favourite was on Christmas Eve a few years ago. I was in the local and it was packed out. I was having a drink with some friends including one of my best mates and his fiancee, Claire. I'd been out all day so I was pretty fried. Towards the end of the night, I put my arm around Claire and, in a moment of overwhelming festive passion, told her, "Claire, I love you! In fact, you're like a sister to me. So I'd just fuck you gently."
(, Wed 21 Dec 2005, 14:31, Reply)
Not said, but done...
I was so mashed at Glastonbury this year I went to see fucking Coldplay.
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 15:21, Reply)
LSD + the Curry Shop
One Saturday evening around 1991, me and a mate, i'm once again sporting my global hyper colour t-shirt, drop a purple ohms and a couple of 'strawbs'

Skip forward 2 hours, after being kicked out of the pub for staring at some poor girls jugs for 1/2 an hour cause we both thought they were 'inflating like footballs' we head to the local curry shop for some pakoras. We have to go in individually as we're laughing so much we can't speak. i peer thru the window see my mate crying with laughter as he gives his order.

My turn in the curry shop. Thru near hysterics i make my order and go and sit on the B&Q elcheapo garden bench they've got for customers. Being a big lad, i feel the poor quality bench flex a little which my brain IMMEDIATELY transforms into YOUR BODY IS MELTING.

I sit there for a good 10 mins, shitting myself cause i feel like i'm made of wax and i'm melting, bits of my body dripping thru the wooden slats. I Look up to see the guy who served me looking in horror as i'm 'trying to keep myself from dripping on the floor', at which point i say : "I'm sorry for the mess on the floor, Can i have a bag to carry these body parts?" in my posh-est/butler/high society accent i can manage

They gave me a bag, looking a bit worried, and my pakora and i left them in a state of bemusement as i wandered off into the night laughing hysterically.
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 12:45, Reply)
Dorset Dots
I stayed for a weekend with an old friend of mine in Southbourne back in 1993 and on arrival found his flat full of the motley crew of his bikers club all smoking and playing Sega.

He opened a peppermint tin and offered around these nasty looking dark brown pills - microdots. We all had one each apart from his lodger who had a couple of Es.

The evening degenerated rapidly and my friend's fiance who seemed sat in fear and disgust in the corner of the flat for most of the night, finally flipped as the vibrations in the room got nasty and twisted. The lodger was loved up and getting very touchy feely - the rest of us were prickly with paranoia and anticipation of the uncoiling and imminent peak.

We were kicked out of the flat into Southbourne high street - and made a quick B line straight for the sea to get away from the dibble, drunken townies and concrete.

There was something big building - we could feel it and after 4 hours at the beach with the others jumping around in the sea, me meeting god and then finding myself sitting on the beach with the tide washing up around me and all of us covered in sand and gibbering like monkeys at the sights and sounds we were imagining - we decided to go back to the flat.

On the way back through Fisherman's Wharf, I took point to distance myself from the others and reflect on what had just happened to me - from out of the trees appeared a park bench to my right with a man being straddled by a girl riding him like Seabiscuit. I carried on and then saw a Fisher Price Telephone and then one of the others out of the group to whom I commented on the weird things that I was hallucinating. He and a couple of the others all said that they had seen the same bench with the same couple shagging - so we went back to see if it was real.

My sincerest apologies to the couple on the bench. It must have been most offputting to your stride to suddenly have a group of wet, sandy, disrevelled and tripping bikers come out of the darkness to surround you and poke your girlfriend's bare arse with a stick.

We ran when the screaming started.
(, Wed 21 Dec 2005, 12:21, Reply)
Mashed on something. The four of us stumbled accross a lake in the middle of a field and went skinny dipping. It was fantastic, all the water moved in slow motion. We spent hours swimming, rolling in the mud. We eventually fell asleep in a tree house some kids had built.

When we woke up we were in my mates house. There was no treehouse and the nearest lake was 30 miles away. After "remembering" we had walked home, it dawned on us we'd never left his front room.
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 16:55, Reply)
I watched Ghostwatch on the BBC when it was on live
whacked out of my gourd on super skunk and did a wee in my pants from fear.
(, Thu 15 Dec 2005, 13:24, Reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Latest, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, ... 1