I don't do drugs because I don't need them to have a good time because I'm better than all of you, actually,
you pathetic, nasty little shits.

I am also so arrogant, yet - oddly - insecure, that I feel a need to constantly inform you of this on an internet messageboard.

In other news, nothing about me is in any way interesting, and, instead of doing anything interesting, I prefer to put others down as outspoken, attention-seeking, or as pricks, instead of just going for the ride and enjoying myself. I do this because it's the only thing in my life I feel I have any control over.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 14:15, 9 replies)

Couple of days ago
I had massive bad flu. I had got stuck into the paracetamol/codeine as soon as it started, and didn't feel like I was dying. However, on day 3 I had this really, really, really bad headache (proper bad), so on top of the max dose of paracetamol/codeine, I took 2 aspirin.

Didn't work though. So I played Tower Defence and listened to music.
( Sextant goes to him is emotionally erect, on this day, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 14:15, Reply)

I once took more than nine active substances in between lunchtime and breakfast
Including, in roughly this order:

Alcohol (beer & tequila)
Cocaine
MDMA / Ecstasy
Speed / Aphetamines
Cannabis (hash and skunk)
Acid/LSD
Poppers / Amyl Nitrite
Mushrooms / Psilocybin
... and a nice cup of tea in the morning.

and I had a perfectly lovely time, thanks.
( Bootsthealchemist is barred from the Masterchef Facebook page, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 14:14, 4 replies)

One week I read a load of dubious stories about all the WACKY things people do on drugs...
...and it made me fall asleep.

I dreamt of massive super models
( Snappyuk gets BIGGER with free sample., Thu 16 Sep 2010, 14:08, 2 replies)

Pearoast!
Reposted from the festival QOTW

The foot
We Went to Reading festival in 2007 with a guy that had lived next door to me for years who was a bit green when it came to drugs. This was to be his baptism of fire (quite literally) to a world of druggage to which he would never go back...

Got there on the thursday and set up camp with about 15 others, did the usual in getting everything set up and the fire going which was all good. Being the impatient lot we are, we bosh the acid on the first night but my aforementioned friend decided he did not want acid as it would be too heavy. Fair enough.

After a couple of hours he was getting a bit bored of watching us all stare at the fire making funny noises and laughing so unbeknownst to me asks another of my friends if he can have an E.

he has the E then after it does not work he asks for another, then another, then another.

In the space of an hour. AN HOUR. This man had never taken drugs before in his life. He came up and couldn't speak for about 2 hours, his face looked like it was about to explode and foam was coming out of his mouth. Any attempt to communicate was met with a wild stare and a growling noise through the clenched teeth of a madman, I feared for his life.

After 2 hours of trying to get the poor fucker to tell us what he wanted he shouted in the loudest possible way:

JOOINNT!!

after getting the joint sorted he decided that his feet were cold and wanted to to put them in the fire. Despite this obviously being a bad idea and everyone trying to discourage him from doing so, he kept putting his bloody feet in the fire!

On waking up in the morning it turned out that his foot had actually cooked inside his wellington. Like properly cooked. The flesh had come away from the bones and all you could see was meat and tendons, it was disgusting. I am at work now and don't have the picture, but when I get home you are all in for a treat!

BEHOLD THE FOOT!

This was about 3 months after the date in question. I can't find a more sickening one than this I'm afraid


(Jimmy Large Is huffing Jenkem on, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 14:02, 1 reply)

Hookers - the prequel...
One evening, a group of us went out and got into a tangle. We'd spent the evening dancing, talking and attempting to chat up girls, all of which left us feeling remarkably horny by the time we got home. We attempted to sate our appetite by using diversionary tactics; we put a box on Slim's head and lit it, managed to set fire to the kitchen, but it was all in vain. We itched for nubile and easy women.

Slim had had an obsession with prostitutes for many years; his girlfriend was chaste, they had been together years and had lost their virginity to one another. Slim though, had always wanted a whore, and had never had one. At about 3am he said "Guys, who's up for going to a brothel?". Immediately Whelan acquiesced, on the condition Slim paid. I said yes too, on the same terms. Slim was that fucked up he agreed, and we called a taxi.

After trying to get admitted to the two "massage parlours" we knew of and finding them closed we asked the driver for his recommendation. He took us to Attercliffe (recognisable as the area sung about by the Arctic Monkeys in "When the Sun Goes Down"), and we found it... After being charged £10 each as a cover, we were escorted to a lounge area, and encouraged to pay a fiver for warm coke and other soft drinks; being wrecked and chewing my face off, I was grateful for this.

For our enty fee we were allowed to use the showers and sauna, before choosing a whore, paying extra, and doing what we pleased...

We went for a shower (which was blissful, and I took the opportunity to double drop again), and before long Whelan and I were sat chatting, debating whether we really wanted to fuck a whore. During this conversation Slim bounded enthusiastically out of the shower, bollock naked with balls swinging about, before drying himself in full view of us and yelling "Come On! Let's go fuck some prozzies!" Whelan and I looked at one another and thought, "OK!"

We went back into the lounge, where the employees were sitting, and took stock. There were, I think, between 5 and 7 women sitting down in lingerie having very mundane conversation; one struck me as being really cute, a short brunette with a lovely figure and pretty face. I nominated her. Slim chose the Madam, a fattish, filthy looking blonde dressed in leather, and Whelan chose a relatively nondescript woman; we all avoided the older woman, aged 50+, looking hideous, with a scrawny figure that would disgrace a crack whore.

Whelan and I took £50 off Slim, and we all retired to separate bedrooms. My whore asked what I wanted, and, faced with the possibility of shagging her, I froze; I didn't really want to have sex with her (knowing she was a hooker!) so I said I'd give her £20, for nothing, and keep the rest of the cash myself. She said fine, and we went back downstairs.

I had a laugh with this girl, and we did a few lines together sharing some jokes and a spliff. About 20 mins later, Whelan walked out, looking a bit underwhelmed; he joined us and we continued our relaxed banter until a futher half hour later Slim came out, looking the worse for wear and a bit sheepish.

He rushed us out of the brothel, and we made our way home, all being a little quiet. Whelan asked why I'd been so quick, and I confessed that I hadn't fucked her. When asked why, I confessed; I'd bottled it, and the idea was a turn on but the reality wasn't. Whelan agreed; he'd got nuts deep in his slut, but her pornstar moaning the minute he was in her was a turn off, and he'd gone floppy, having to resort to having her wank while he wanked onto her tits to come.

We laughed, and asked Slim if it had lived up to his expectations. He ummed and aahed, and was generally evasive. Sensing an embarrassment we continued to push him, and eventually he confessed; he'd gone with the dirty bitch, and couldn't get it up, even when she tried sucking him, stroking his balls, and even shoving her fingers up his arse.

Poor Slim; cost him nearly £200, and he didn't even get to come; his hooker dreams were thwarted for a few weeks more...
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 16 Sep 2010, 14:01, 1 reply)

Ecstasy affects your judgement 2 - Prostitutes ahoy!
On the theme of prostitutes and my mate Slim, another story sprung to mind. My role in this was relatively peripheral, but it bears recounting.

It was a usual evening; we had been out, got trashed and were continuing the process at home.The group of us, totalling about 8, were sitting in the living room; tunes blasting out, playstation being caned, beers being drunk, a bag of pills on the table and people smoking, chopping out lines, inhaling pipes and generally adding to the low-lit, warm, fuzzy, smoke wreathed atmosphere.

Naturally, conversation was flowing, and we covered all manner of topics: from mundane topics such as clubs through to somewhat more esoteric material, including girls, fucking and whores; I'm certain that we may have recounted the above story, laughing enormously...

At this point Slim got to his feet, said loudly and clearly "I'm going for a piss" and staggered out of the room.

About four hours later we began to wonder where Slim had got to; none of us had seen/thought of him for some time and we began to wonder what had happened. As we pieced together the events leading to his disappearance we concluded we should go and look for him.

Shortly after this search had commenced (his phone was switched off) he came in through the front door looking sheepish, red in the face, sweating profusely and with his eyes rolling. Thinking he may have scored some crack, we fell upon him with queries as to his health, offering drink and generally being solicitous and trying to get him to share.

He hadn't scored, but unusually he remained tight lipped; saying nothing and trying to change the subject. I disappeared into the kitchen with Niall, and a plan was born; we'd drug the truth out of him.

I racked up a load of monster lines of coke, but cunningly substituted one for ketamine. The result was 7 people buzzing, chatting and focussed on geting the truth v Slim, fucked out of his brain and experiencing a different reality.

The truth came out, and it was better than we could ever possibly have hoped for...

Our talk of whores had reignited his desire for paid-for skanklove. He'd gone to the toilet, where the idea had continued to gnaw away at him, and had stolen Ben's car keys, and subsequently his car, having decided to trawl the red light district. He drove around for an hour, many times the limit and clearly drugged (bless him, he never had any ability for concealing the state he was in). He had found a whore, and asked politely how much she'd charge to suck him off. She said twenty quid, and he unfolded the cash from his pocket. She then told him that she needed to give the cash to her pimp before she did the deed.

Slim said OK.

Then the obvious happened. She fucked off with the dosh. He spent two hours searching for her off his head, in a stolen car, in a red light district! As you'd expect, he didn't find her and eventually returned home.

We understood why he hadn't told us, and gently mocked him for many months.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 16 Sep 2010, 14:00, Reply)

It was a mate's 21st birthday, and he was having a party at his house.
My team arrived at about 10pm, by which time proceedings were well under way - a packed house, booming tunes, flashing lights, etc.

In we go with our beer, and bump into said mate.

"Joe!" say I, "Happy birthday! How the devil are you?"

"Yeah man, I'm good" he replies, "Really good actually because I went to my dealer today to get some speed for tonight and we got chatting and I told him it was my birthday so as a present he let me have the gramme I was buying for free and then he sold me another gramme which was really nice of him so I did them both right but I haven't come up yet but it's a really good party and I'm just going to get a beer do you want a beer come on lets go and have a beer, right, and ... "

"OK ... " I said, moving away slowly but surely and allowing other people to get in the way.

I proceed to have a jolly good fun time at the party, and a few hours later bump into Joe again. "Hey man" I say - how's tricks?

"Yeah man, I'm good" he replies, "Really good actually because I went to my dealer today to get some speed for tonight and we got chatting and I told him it was my birthday so as a present he let me have the gramme I was buying for free and then he sold me another gramme which was really nice of him so I did them both right but I haven't come up yet but it's a really good party and I'm just going to get a beer do you want a beer come on lets go and have a beer, right, and ... "
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:58, Reply)

The Bomb, Plod, and mistaken homosexuality
This starts in much the same way as all my other tales of woe and excitement... we'd decided to go out. On a big big big one. To Nottingham. 10 of us. Some who barely knew each other. There was me, Welsh Matt, Peculiar Neil, Darren, American Neil, Welsh Tim and some dudes from Leeds who were American Neil's mates and bonkers.

The group was of mixed ages, 22 (me) to 40+, American Neil. We met up early on, and sorted out who wanted what. I chuckled as I folded up all the cash from the pills, stashed it at Matt's (other than what I wanted for the night) along with the excess pills and skunk, got dressed and we were all ready to go! I was particularly excited as we had a new variety of mitsi!

We had to stop off at Jordanthorpe first of all in order to allow one of the party to get himself ready so we pulled over at a convenient green, he ran to get changed, and the rest of us stood at the roadside, tunes belting out and us in our clubbing finery. Then the police drove past; I have never seen a group of men simultaeneously put hands in their pockets, pull out plastic bags and drop them on the floor before. The police slowed to a crawl, gave us a knowing look at rolled on. We all bent over as one, picked up our bags and called American Neil, desperate for him to hurry up so that we could leave there.

We eventually left, and moved on to Nottingham. Tim, Welsh Matt and I were sharing Tim's car and following the guys from Leeds and Yankee Neil. We were discussing the erratic driving of the car in front, and as we began to do laps of the Nottingham one way system we called them. It seems that the driver had decided to eat a couple of trips rather than drop them on the floor when the filth turned up, and consequently was getting a little confused. We looked at one another and began to pray for them as they weaved from lane to lane. Eventually though, we parked safely, abandoned the cars (Tim whimpering gently as we were leaving his beloved GTI in an unlit and CCTV free car park) and did some pills before meandering down to The Bomb...

We entered, and fuck me it was ace! Sophisticated, cool, affordable with great ddep house playing and with an incredibly happy house room in a Hawaiian style, and a ferocious room of intense, paranoid drum and bass. Mega! Best of all though, was the enclosed courtyard at the back of the club. It was a balmy (and barmy) evening, and Matt and I were sitting outside on a low wall, embracing ocasionally and muttering loved up comments about how wonderful the world in general was; despite this being 6 or so years ago I remain convinced I was admiring the dragon on his trousers. In hindsight, perhas my admiration of his trousers caused what happened next.

A girl came up to us and said "Are you friends?" We replied positively; of course we were friends or we wouldn't have been out together. "Close friends?" she said. "Well, yes" we said. "OH, HOW SWEET! LOOK EVERYONE, THERE'S A QUEER COUPLE HERE!!!" she bellowed, garnering the attention of almost everyone in the courtyard. Matt and I protested, but these were drowned out by cries of admiration at our courage. We left the courtyard and went to find the others... I found Tim, and Sasha turned up and played an unannounced set. Matt found Darren, who was mid freak out, but seemed ok on the way home.

The journey home took 25 mins. Terrifying...

We got back about 4am, and a party ensued... a great time being had by all. Except Darren, who went to have some time alone. We all continued to get trashed upstairs, getting more and more caned until we heard a knock on the door at daybreak. We looked out of the window and began to panic; Dibble was here. There followed minutes of non-comprehension and people running around like headless chickens before Welsh Matt, who also lived there, displayed significant bottle (especialy seeing what state he was in) to go and investigate...

Thank God he did... Darren had let them in and they were heading our way. Peering through the ajar door, the black dude from Leeds organised us. We ate our stash, many pills and trips were done, the window was thrown open, ashtrays were hidden. This took some time, but Matt was downstairs putting all his experience of sheep-worrying to good use, and buying us enough time to do what little we could.

Soon enough though, Plod came in, and smoke wafted into their faces; they knew the score instantly from the smell of the smoke and the terrified expression on all our faces. They knew however that there would be a lot of paperwork if they nicked 10 people, and also they'd have to call vans in and left us with a warning.

I went downstairs to find out what the hell had happened. Darren, hallucinating wildly, had thought we were invading the house and called the police to help him. He was very concerned. I was amused, but this was unusual for Daz. Still, he was fine, as were we all until an hour later when the stash we'd eaten kicked in.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:56, 1 reply)

This is where you'll end up
Once upon a time one of my less fortunate friends was jailed for a year after getting caught in possession of a substantial amount of pills. Silly bastard. Well, long story short his brother and I went to visit him a few weeks into his sentence. Incidentally he was looking great, fitter and healthier then I'd ever seen him.

When you arrive at the nick (Doncaster in this case), you have to park up, go into a locker room, fill out your details and present a Visiting Order. We did this, and in the process Danny found that he had some pills in his keyring container, and I discovered some K in my back pocket and remembered some trips in my trainer.

We swore urgently and taking great care not to be seen we put them into the locker, praying they would remain indiscovered. After this we had to go through security; a horrendous process whereby you're searched, have metal detectors passed over you and are sniffed by sniffer dogs. We set them off barking something rotten and were searched again; obviously the dogs had picked up on our Aroma - we'd been out the night before and residue obviously still lingered.

Eventually we were let through to the visiting area. We had an enjoyable hour with Matt, and saw Zammo off Grange Hill sitting visiting across the way. We'd seen him in the queue but were undecided as to whether it was him. Matt's sudden enthusiam was conclusive - it was Zammo!

We spent some time singing the Grange Hill tune and generally trying to annoy him/get his attention. We failed, but were right behind him on the way out, going through gate after gate after gate, before ending up next to the sniffer dogs, but on the other side of the corridor. They went berserk again, and we were taken into another room and searched again. As we were dragged off, Zammo turned round and looked at us. With comic genius, I said "Just Say No!" Sadly the silence was deafening.

Anyway, we were released shortly afterwards, and we collected our things from the locker room. As we left a phalanx of bodyguards surrounding a diminutive woman went passed. I didn't recognise her but Danny instantly went "Fuck me, Princess Anne." I wonder what she'd been convicted of.

As an aside, we bumped into a couple of mega-gyppoes who Danny had gone to school with. Silly sods had made a "bomb" out of a watch taped to a shoebox with some wires inside. Obviously a joke but in the post 9/11 crisis this was not deemed funny. They each received 6 years a few weeks later.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:55, 2 replies)

Amphetamines are bad.
I danced like a loon for five years and my skin was awful.
( girlinthehole, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:53, 7 replies)

Life & Death on Acid
So there I was, enjoying the sunshine with a group of friends on the beach at the mouth of a river, celebrating my birthday in fine style. I'd had a swim, but had now come out of the water as the acid was really kicking in.

After a while, I noticed that the happy laughing and splashing noises seemed to have changed, and raised my vibrating head up to see what was going on. It seemed that the tide had turned, and the two girls who were still in the water were being pulled away from the shore by a strong undertow. They were beginning to panic as they couldn't seem to make any headway, however hard they swam.

Everyone else seemed to be flanging, so I had a moment of clarity where I thought "So, just what kind of a person are you?" and then (somewhat to my surprise) jumped in and swam over to the one furthest out, and helped her back to shore. Someone else was spurred into action and pulled the other one out too.

After that we decided we'd had enough of water, and headed back up to our tent, which was in the fields attached to my girlfriend's aunt and uncle's farm. By now the combination of drugs and adrenaline meant I was completely fucking spangled, and barely capable of coherent speech. Which was rather a pity as, at that moment, the (rather straight-laced) aunt and uncle popped up out of nowhere with a large cake, singing Happy Birthday to me...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:53, 1 reply)

Extra income testing drugs
Whilst at uni I was looking at ways to make some money with minimal effort (wish I'd seen last weeks QOTW back then). So I considered clinical drugs trials after I heard a nifty advert on the local radio.

Thinking I'd get loads of money for spending a few days with my feet up I eagerly enquired.

Turns out it pays about £45 and you don't know whether you're the control group who get a placebo or the recipient of a new and not yet proven safe anti flu etc.
I considered it seriously... then 6 people doing the same thing ended up in intensive care and had bits of them amputated as a result of the effects.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/4807042.stm

Seriously not worth the risk!
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:50, 4 replies)

As a child
3 seperate times I drank a whole bottle of Calpol. After the 3rd My parents were completely disniterested.
I have been totally hard and cool at 15/16 smoking weed, which just made me feel paranoid and fidgety. Peer pressure....
I was unfortunately and stupidly, I now know, addicted to 'speed' although at the time I didn't realise it. After nearly 2 weeks of not being able to poo, taking 6 laxatives the night beafore then sitting on the toilet straining so hard I nearly pass out and throwing up because nothing is coming out my poop chute, I still carried on taking it.
I tried Ketamine once with my boss (working in a restaurant is just a hive of sex, drugs and more sex) we are sitting on his couch, he tells me he loves me I tell him I love him and then realise the couch is eating me.
So the moral of the rather disjointed story....some drugs are bad and make you seriously constipated, some make couches eat you but Calpol is fucking aces.
(Bababoon, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:48, 4 replies)

Bad trip number two:
Vomiting in the corner, suddenly noticed pipes coming out of my mouth and felt like robots had arrived from another dimension to steal my vomit.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:47, Reply)

A story to scare the kids
Massive drugs in their place I'm sure are fine. Massive legal drugs are even worse. If there's anything we all know it's that long and involved drug stories are boring especially to people who don't partake, so I'll keep this short and sweet.

A hospital stay that incorporated two months in ICU, also meant that I was on pretty much the safe maximum of morphine for a month, which was then replaced by fentanyl. The most prominent feature of these apart from painkilling, was hallucinations.

Imagine lying there, and believing that you have extra limbs lying on top of your own, that you can only control by pure willpower, and that everytime you relax your vigilance, they crawl up and start choking you, and that you have to concentrate every cell in your body to forcing them back down to your sides. So real, that all you can blink to other people is 'extra arms' and wonder why no-one else in the room can see what's so obvious to you. For three weeks.

If that's what legal drugs are like, fucked if I'm going anywhere near proper massive drugs
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:47, Reply)

Drugs can ruin your life
This question is quite appropriate for me. I spent years taking and selling massive drugs, and a good time was had by all whilst I stuck to pills, acid, ket, weed and so on.

Unfortunatey I graduated into heroin and crack and spent a while away from society, and had a lovely spell in a residential rehab.

Drugs cost me my wife, my health, my son, my home, my clean criminal record (no drugs convictions but many associated with them).

I have all these things back, but it was a close call.

I know a lot of users still, and a lot of heavy people in London. I've had a couple of slip ups but, when I found myself in a flat in Stokey bagging a load of heroin and crack, sitting with a few friends who were discussing some horrific brutalities and with guns in the room, I remembered what I was risking, and, after that day, have kept clean.

It's not easy, but I don't wish to lose my family or career again.

Just say no kids.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:47, 3 replies)

Tripping? On cannabis?
A mate had one of those electronic pipes - essentially an exhaust pipe that poured smoke out continually until the stash in the bowl was burnt.

I got back to mine, and in the toilet, at the sink, stood staring at myself in the mirror.

I had his Ray Ban-style shades on, and, having a long, thin face, this looks ridiculous even when straight.

After a brief consideration, I threw up violently into the sink, resulting in all my teeth falling out. Concerned by this, I tried to pick them out, hoping the dentist would be able to fix them back in.

After a fashion, it dawned on me that I was merely dabbing and splashing my hands around in my own puke.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:43, Reply)

Legal high
The first time I went to Africa with work, they said it was a hotbed of malaria, and I had to take Larium.

The side-effects list for Larium, as you may well know, fills two sides of A4 paper and ranges from "mild sweating" to "Actual DEATH, your soul stalking the Earth, screaming for all eternity".

For me, it was "Creating a bit of a Hullaballoo".

I saw the work doctor, and took the first pill during my lunch break.

Then, I returned to work (then - the control room of a major broadcaster), where I was told that I "started to make noises like a cow" whilst racing around the room on my chair.

After none of my colleagues joined me in a rousing rendition of The Blacksmith's Song", I sat in the middle of the floor, rocking back and forth like one of those bears you see in animal welfare adverts during Countdown.

I'd like to say it took three grown men to hold me down, but I'm a weakling, and they got a nice nurse to lead me away.

Larium: Best taken just before you go to bed. That way you only have the Hullaballoo in your sleep.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:43, 2 replies)

Bad trips
Bad trip number one: Felt like my head was polarised with the earth's core. Like a magnet just behind my skull was pulling me into the floor.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:43, 3 replies)

Took mushrooms
Went shopping in Rusholme. Too shiny. Lost mind.
(Gertcha_cowson NAH MATE, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:42, 2 replies)

Ecstasy affects your judgement
It began in the usual way. I'd got a big bag of pills, and around teatime we decided that perhaps, in lieu of tea,we should maybe eat some. So we did. Later that night we were to be found in the Leadmill, on Tuesday's "Hell" hard house and trance night, Nialll doing his usual top-off, Elvis glassed, on the spot stomping routine, me in a pair of shorts and skinny top making shapes, skipping and basically looking like a big gayer. I always looked tremendously gay when dancing.

As the evening wore on, Niall and I left reality further and further behind, and by dint of being the two most fucked people there we began to attract attention, not least from a young girl (quite nice looking) and an older woman; stringy, ratty and not really my type of person before. The girl kept talking to me, cghttering away, and I was civil and chatty, and very polite. She began to dance like a twat too, and we had lots of fun. Then the older woman joined in... drunken old slappers not being my thing, I was civil, but short, and evaded her to go back to my friends. Suddenly, there she was, lying on the floor making obscene and gruesome pelvic movements. It turned my stomach, so I turned away, and told the younger one that I was busy. She copped off with my mate Fat Tom, and the older lady attacked me. She was removed, and overhearing the fight between her and the bouncers I began to understand she was the young girls' mother. Christ.

Anyhow, the night ended and the next week I was back again, smashed out of my brain, dancing like a twat, and having a competition with Niall to see who could ingest the most chemicals without passing out. We were both going great guns, when who should I spy but the young girl, without her mother. Fat Tom, being cool (!), wandered over to chat her up, resume where he left off and hopefully get his end away. She said "Fuck off Fatty" and made a beeline for Niall and I.

I doubt she was fussy as to which of us she might get, but I ended up succumbing to her. We had a chat and snog. I gave her a little squeeze to ensure everything was present and correct and up my high standards, and she asked if she could come back to mine. I would have obliged, but I had Little Beki coming over for an afterparty and was already on a promise so we fixed up a date for two nights hence. This proved to be a mistake.

Two nights later we met up, and went to a nice clubby bar. Immediately she looked out of place. She was also a little younger, a little commoner and a great deal stupider than I had anticipated. I worried a little, but thought I should give her chance, perhaps I was being a little harsh.

I wasn't. Within half an hour she had told me that she had had an abortion at 16, her mum was on the game, or had been, and a whole host of other stories that I was fairly confident were bullshit. I didn't doubt she was a bit rough, however. Eventually she went for a pee, and I called Niall, explaining my predicament. Well, he said, perhaps you should double drop. SoI did. Half an hour later, I was having a wonderful time, ripped to the tits!

Whilst I spent most of the night laughing at her, she was nice enough, we had a nice time together and then I took her home and gave of my best! She was an attractive girl, and pleasant enough too.

Anyway, the next morning came, and I was overcome with a feeling of grottiness. I put her on the bus home, had a shower and went back to bed, feeling seedy, yet satisfied.

This was a feeling that didn't last long. Within hours I was receiving text after text after text. Within days she was pestering me with calls, demanding my attention. I had to change my mobile number, and being as I used it for business too, this proved to be a pain in the arse. Then she began turning up at the door. I became frightened to open it in case I was attacked by a 17 year old nympho with the stability of a ferry with the loading doors open.

Then the letters began. All addressed to my nickname. She never knew my real name thank God, or doubtless she'd have followed me up and down the country.

Eventually I stopped going to the club she met me in and moved to a new house. Then it all went silent. After a week or two I missed being stalked, so me and Niall began a campaign of prank calls, just to hear her lunatic northern voice.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:42, Reply)

Mushrooms and Ketamine...
I woke up. My eyes were as yet unopened, but sound was creeping into my ears and a headache was enthusiastically making itself known. I shook my head and buried it further into my pillow. It didn't work; I was conscious and loathing it. I began my daily routine, thrusting my hand into my boxers and having a fumble. "Yup" I thought, "two of them, one of those, all present and correct" I forced my eyes open, struggled to recognise my location, and looked down at myself. What I saw shocked me... how the hell had I become covered in mud? Why had I only one shoe? Why, in the name of God why, did I have an enormous cuddly horse enveloed in my arms?

The answer wasn't long in coming. My friend Oli heard my coughing upon awakening and appeared with a spliff.

"Urgh" I said. " Why does my mouth taste like something has had a shit in it?"

Oli replied "Because we did loads of mushrooms, and ketamine, and you didn't brush your teeth before bed."
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:40, Reply)

A long night
In a house in Lincolnshire, and various things running through the system. Nothing too lively, smoking something or other, but we made up the body of the smokables with the contents of the herb cupboard. Cloves, coriander, basil, whatever was around. Then we barbecued some bananas, and shortly after that, I drove to work.

I'm still not sure if it was the cloves or the tiredness, but when I got home from work, I switched on the TV, and sat with my arm holding the remote, stretched above my head. Every now and then, I'd nod off, and the remote would fall on my face, waking me up. After about 20 minutes of this, I looked over at the fireplace, and it insisted on going up and down in gentle waves.

Odd.
(sabre-tooth monkey, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:40, 2 replies)

I have a feeling I'm going to be on MS Paint a LOT this week.

( __, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:39, 3 replies)

I once took a lot of drugs
and it was crazy
lol
(meepmeep is, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:36, 1 reply)

I used to have some great times on drugs
The stuff about them affecting your short term oh shiny!
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:35, Reply)

Massive
off of a super model.

Man! I floored that cage fighter.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:35, Reply)

first?
Alas. The drugs have dulled my reflexes.
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:34, Reply)

lots of, in my time
but given them up for a life of family and kids (and beer)

Will have a think and come up with a ever so slightly more interesting story!!

(I'll resist the urge to say 'first' - oh, bugger)

....

Anyway, had a think.

My first pill:

Having left the Army due to breaking my foot 'a lot' (6 months rehab and an Medical Discharge at the end, my life that I'd planned was over) I was back on civvy street with a few quid in my pockets, a thirst for beer and a serious mental attitude problem.

I'm good mates with another user on here 'Ambiguous' (A) and one night we were down at the local having a jar or 5, I was in my usual mind set of 'are you looking at me' etc (being a tool effectively) 'A' decided he'd had enough of this and went over to one of the locals and got me a nice little Mitsubishi, Hmmm, first time for everything I thought and necked it and waited... and waited... and waited...

Not good, it's been a good 40mins and I was told 20 max, so I went off to the the juke box and put on some tunes, 'The drugs don't work' seemed quite apt, I looked over to the dealer and he was shuffling nervously in his seat.
It was time to get me out of there and 'A' knew this so he pretty much dragged me out before things got out of hand and we got a lift to another pub, still nothing was happening, we pulled into the car park of the new pub and I opened the door and wooooooosh... it hit me, my legs want to jelly, the feeling was immense, all the feelings of rage just disappeared, it was amazing but these words do not come near to how I felt at the time, I had one of the best nights of my life that night and there were plenty more to follow.

I'm really glad I did the tablet that night, even though later on it and other substances took me to places I regret going to, cause not one of them compared to how I felt about my life before, I lost a lot of friends before that night, In fact I'm fairly sure I was on a last chance with 'A', nobody wanted to be around me because they had no idea what I would do next.

So thanks buddy and as far as can tell, you saved me from destroying my own life and possibly other people's too.

(P.s. I'm not saying the way I was brought out of it was the correct thing to do, but I'd seen doctors and ex-army were/are just put to one side and left to deal with it.)

No super models or Accords I'm afraid, just the truth.
(Kip, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 13:34, Reply)