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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)
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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)

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