They learn quick
I am a non-smoker, being in the armed forces and all, but the same cannot be said for my brother-in-law and his mates. They were over for an evening of video games and drinking, and had decided to go out and get stoned before the evening began.
I like to mess around with people, so the game of choice for the evening was FEAR 2 on XBox 360 which we had just got. When this got too much for them, I made them watch me play a bit of Bioshock in a pitch black room with surround sound. They quickly decided they didn't like this either as they were near shitting themselves.
So we watched Quarantine.

They don't like to smoke when I'm around anymore. :(
(Turtlenuts, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 19:49, Reply)

Shroom with a view
Many years ago my colleagues and I stayed in a Cornish cottage over Christmas. One morning we quaffed mushie tea and set the board up to play Risk. I wandered to the bog but my attention was caught by a picture in one of the bedrooms as I passed. It was a painting of a spaniel in a bosky glade. But it was odd. I looked closer. It was 3D, "Oho! A hologram", I thought. It wasn't. But it was very 3D. By moving from side to side in front of it, I could actually look behind the spaniel. I decided it was an alcove in the wall, painted with a woodland scene, with a china spaniel statuette sitting in it. And with a clear glass frame over it all.

I went to the shitter and returned, with my interesting 3D spaniel alcove tale, to start the game of Risk. The living room was quiet. And dark. And empty. The board had been put away and there were empty wine bottles strewn around. Everyone was in bed.

Turns out I'd been looking at the spaniel for something like fourteen hours.
(judgetheobscure used to sweep in butchers' shops., Fri 17 Sep 2010, 19:21, 8 replies)

I had a soft spot for Poppers during my 'experimental' days...
and generally carried a bottle of Liquid Gold or TNT in the breast pocket of the LumberJack shirt that was like my second skin (I even slept in it).

Anyway, one weekend, I went to the Bulldog Bash (an all weekend biker do) with a bunch of mates. Right after arriving I started getting that horrible post-Amyl Nitrate pounding headache. Normally the headache goes within a mintue or two, but I had it all weekend and as a result I didn't really enjoy myself and stayed off the drink and loldrugs on offer. In fact the whole weekend was a bit of a downer. :(

On Sunday afernoon as I packed up my tent to go home, I started to feel a bit better. Fumbling in my top pocket for a hit of Amyl to celebrate, I found the brand new bottle I'd put in there on Friday was now empty due to having a cracked lid. The bloody thing had been seeping into my shirt all weekend I and I'd been wandering around in a permenant cloud of Amyl vapour, its a wonder my fookin' heart didn't explode.
(Bad Monkey hasn't had an abusive gaz since, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 19:14, 1 reply)

fright night
once a month, i used to host a fright night. it would be me and a few of the lads, an ounce of weed, a tableful of sugary munchies and some of the worst horror films ever made. it was great fun.
a new member to our fright night club got one "free pass", in that he could come once, enjoy his night(or not) and decide not to come again. if, however, he did want to come back, he had to go through The Initiation. this would happen on his second visit and would involve whatever me and my neighbour could come up with. this included such things as:
graham
the see-through mummy ride, which saw us wrapping graham from head to foot in cling film, sticking him in an abandoned kwik-save trolley and pushing him round the streets at 2a.m.
ste
the wicked witch of the north west, meaning we dressed him in a plastic witch's hat with green hair attached, a pair of giant novelty knickers emblazoned with the slogan "big is beautiful", a black pvc halterneck top, a black satin negligee, a pair of 6-inch high red crushed velvet wedgies and clown make-up. then we sent him to the off-licence.
paul
the bus stop chicken, which involved making him climb on top of a bus shelter, sit down, flap his arms and yell "cock-a-doodle-doo!"

there were more, at least one of which involved eating vodka jelly out of my bra, but that's all you're getting for now ;)
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 18:14, 4 replies)

After many years of serious experimentation, I decided to slow down a bit.
About to start a new career/life etc. I suddenly became really mentally ill and have been working my way through some of the weirdest chemicals known to psychiatry since. Along with the codiene I take for the bike injuries, the Duloxetine and Lithium make for an odd outlook. Didn't like Velanfaxine, my old friend Dutonin was withdrawn and not allowed Buproprion (pity).
Self and friends found the listing of 'death' in a lithium side effects leaflet amusing.
Still cannot find the plot.

Edit: Tried others years ago Prothiaden (heavy downer), Gamanil, Zopiclone (odd sleeper), Mirtazapine etc.
( FeralCatMan Unusual disease collector., Fri 17 Sep 2010, 17:38, 3 replies)

I like to think of the whole experience as character forming
I was once round at a mate's house (poly days, for those of you old enough to remember polytechnics) only he was out and his 2 female flatmates were in. we started playing drinking games with a bottle of vodka. neither were especially special if you know what I mean but, frankly, neither was I (I'm dead sexy now btw) and I was sad and desperate and figured 2 girls one guy and a bottle of vodka ... must be onto a winner!

we went on all night, playing silly games, drinking more shots. I got drunk but you know what vodka's like neat, you just keep going. at about 7am I had still had no action (you begin to get a picture of what a sad shite I was as a student) when another bloke I know came round. By this time I was resigned to getting nothing out of this situation and this guy (names escape me) "rescued" me to the local greasy spoon. we laughed about it for months in a "yeah it's like they tied me down and fed me vodka all night" kind of way. I'm blushing remembering this btw.

2 years later I'm at a dinner in london and one of those same girls was there.
"do you remember the time we got really drunk on vodka" I say
"err, yeah, look that was water. erm. sorry" she says and turns away

well, I never spoke to her again, I can tell you

I was going to title this proof of the plebcebo effect but thought that would have given the punchline out a little early
(Freegan Bikefascist, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 17:34, 2 replies)

Whilst still a callow youth...
...I was given a small chunk of hash' by a colleague. I was planning on a visit to the cinema that evening and thought that watching the movie stoned could be amusing. 'Timing' was a bit of an issue and, as smoking dope in the cinema is frowned upon, I decided to eat it on the way home from work - I figured that by the time the film started I should be nicely high. Unfortunately my timing was a bit off and it didn't kick in (with an almighty bang) until well after the film started.

You know that bit in "Apocalypse Now" where Martin Sheen realises that the trees all around him are festooned with body-parts and severed limbs...?

So, that was... 'interesting'.
(minimalist ..., Fri 17 Sep 2010, 17:09, Reply)

Early one morning...
Picking shrooms in the Sussex countryside. A "woman of a certain age" approaches, all pearls and twin-set, walking her dog. As she passes, she smiles and politely enquires as to what I was doing. "Picking wild mushrooms," I reply, smugly confident that this will satisfy her curiosity. "Oh, do you mean Happy Mushrooms?" she says. "Er, yes, that's right."

She continues on her way, and about half an hour later returns. As she approaches, she says, "I found these, are they the kind you're looking for?"

And they were. Bless.

.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 17:03, Reply)

pa-rat-cetamol
at the young age of about 14, still sharing a bedroom with my older brother, i had the 'flu' and dosed myself with paracetamol to take the edge of if and try and be human again.

having misread the warning 'do not exceed more then 8 in a 24 hour period' i promptly topped myself up at regular intervals during the day. come bedtime i was wacked out and drifted off into blissful slumber.

i cannot recount what happend next and was only made aware of it in the morning by my parents, but apparently too may paracetamol are not good for you and i'm my sleepy delerium i was convinced that i was covered with rats and had jumppedon my brother in the middle of the night and started to throttle him shouting that the rats were all over me and to get them off. my dad then burst in and pull me off my brother and pinned me down until i fell back to a slumber.

in the mornig i was 100% better having had a great nights sleep.

remember kids, always read the lable, then read it again and make sure you understand what it says.
( Thor_sonofodin has done things, terrible things on, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 16:44, 7 replies)

I could take double anything you could
(Clerk T Hazarde are all the wine, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 16:43, 20 replies)

DEEP HEAT...
As a young lad I had a terrible aversion to school. Having tried to fake vomiting and ingesting A massive dose of water and salt to no avail I changed my tactics to that of physical injury.

Cue me limping to my mother complaining to demonstrate the terrible strain in my ankle. Mother being as smart as mother do be asked me to fetch the deep heat. As she applied it to my ankle I hesitantly asked about side effects to which she casually replied if theres no injury your leg falls off. Thankfully I still got off school after striking my head off the bath as I fainted.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Fri 17 Sep 2010, 16:40, Reply)

This year i went to LA and Vegas for a stag week,
We had a nice two day stop in LA and the first night we got there went out on the town looking for a club or bar. We eventually found this really classy looking place that had a good mix of people in it. We drank loads and then myself and three others thought we would see if we could score some coke. One guy, i shall call "Norman" said he knew what to do and trotted off to talk to one of the doormen in this club. The rest of us were a bit uneasy about this as this guy was huge and if he turned nasty it could get quite bad for us.

Norman then walks off with this guy through a door that was staff only. We started to worry at this point and were having visions of a gimp and a gay rape... Eventually Norman comes back out the door and comes over to us and explains that its going to cost $$$ much and give him the cash. We all dug deep in our pockets and feeling really concious of who might be watching stuff the green in his hand. He then wanders off into the darkness of the club. Ages go by and we are starting to wonder if he has been done over and lying in a back ally somewhere. I mean, who the hell were we going to tell about it? Finally after what must have been an hour he comes back with a huge grin on his face and says "All sorted boys. What a fucking nightmare".

We leave the club pretty quickly for fear of getting done over or nicked and he later tells us that when he went into the back with this guy he took him into a small room with a desk where he proceeded to open it and show him a vast quantity of coke and assorted other illegal substances as well as a "fucking massive gun". Norman then tells us that the guy says "Lets see your money then" at which point he has to confess to the guy that he has not got it on him and has to go and have a whip round! The doorman is not pleased and starts ranting about how if he is not serious about buying he should fuck off and not bother him and how he has wasted his time etc. So Norman assures him he is serious and asks if he can dash out and get the money. When he goes back in there the bloke is nice as pie to him and lets him sample the merchandise and have a smoke too. Got him some drinks and treated him like a king. The bastard!

The next night we get out on it and the four of us do a gram between us and meet up with the others and have a great night. Next morning we still have a whole gram of coke left and a flight to Vegas in about three hours. We did the only sensible thing and snorted it all before going to the IHOP for breakfast and then a cab to the airport!
(Beaverman Opulence, I has it., Fri 17 Sep 2010, 16:22, 6 replies)

Oncemore a tale of long ago and far away.
Company Jolly out to HampsterJam, because we'd worked our nadgers off getting a game finished and out on the shelves before the publisher could change their mind about what they wanted for the 3rd time.

The trip out there was foul, featuring Gatwick being closed due to fog and a lack of southbound flights out of Heathrow.
So we arrive, 12 hours late, hungry, tired, fed up, and depressingly sober. All of us dump our kit in the hotel and go walkabout looking for something fun in a new city.

Those who were connoisseurs of the demon weed knew what they were looking for and many of the rest of us tagged along almost by force of habit. Wasn't long before we found a sign saying "Rick's Bar. You Can Score Here!", target acquired.

We all went in, I and the other non-smokers sat by the front bar, and got some beers in whilst the stoners headed for the rear bar and bought most of it. A haze of smoke, alcohol and talking bollocks decended upon us for a few hours and inevitabley I started to get a tad hungry.
Thinking nothing of it I bought an immense and tasty looking chocolate muffin from the lovely chap behind the bar, and began tearing into it, not noticing the slightly resinous flavour until i was about halfway through.
"Bugger", thinks I, "this'll be one of those space cakes I've heard tell of" and wander up to have a chat with the barman, who assures me that yes indeed the cakes are loaded with a goodly dose of hash and will definitely get me stoned.
Stop eating cake, have bacon butty instead. Hunger satisfied.

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering around the rapidly darkening city, seeing the sights, avoiding the horrors of the red light district* and trying not to fall in canals. I smiled at the sunset, laughed at some frankly bloody awful jokes and decided that all was well with the world.
Except for one thing, I was hungry again, definitly very very hungry and with no easy food within reach. I was just about to complain to
the chums that I was starving slowly to death when I remembered that
I had half a huge chocolate muffin in my bag. Horrah!

Eat, down to the last crumb...

The rest of the weekend passed in a flicker of blank black memory with occasional flashes of lucidity. Brief moments I can remember include stading in the middle of a busy road trying to avoid death by tram, standing on the parapet of a balcony which was Far Too High^TM above the street and waking up in the hotel half an hour before we were due to leave feeling, and smelling, like a week old dishrag.

Dope, Not good for the thinky brain...
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 16:15, 5 replies)

While deep in rural Ireland ...
First post, so be gentle.

Many years ago now, before I became responsible and boring, I went with a mate for a holiday/to bum around in rural County Kerry on Ireland's west coast. I don't know what it's like now but back then it had the feel of somewhere untouched by the modern world (and idiotic tripping teenagers from England).

With little else to do out there, one evening we dropped a trip each and - as was our habit - decided to go for a walk, in search of adventure and cool things to look at and giggle at. We were staying in the middle of nowhere. The night was dark and moonless. We walked down the narrow country lanes and giggled, in the way you do, at the pulsating chess-board patterns covering the dark surface of the road and the shadows on either side that seemed to swell and recede as you breathed.

We weren't so off our heads that we didn't realise that any the driver of any car driving down the lanes would not expect to find us around the next corner. Luckily we could see the lights of approaching cars winding towards us from miles away in the light mist that had fallen. We made sure that we were well off the road by the time that any car reached us. In our state we found that this precaution we were taking also became something of a game: we had to make sure that passing cars could not see us. This was not all daft as two young lads stalking about the countryside at night would only meet with suspicion from the locals.

So we walked and giggled and dicked about. It was now late. We passed a farmhouse and set the dogs barking but thought nothing more of it. Then some short time later we saw car lights approaching from the direction of the nearest town. We looked about for cover and found a gate with large stone piers on either side. My mate and I hopped over it and, as it looked like the car was approaching, we each hid behind a stone pillar on either side. The car passed us but then slowed to a halt and began to reverse back. Shit we've been spotted, I thought. With my eyes firmly closed, I heard the reversing car stop adjacent to the gate with its engine still running. It seemed like an age. I just crouched there with my eyes shut, trying to breath quietly. I don't know how long it was - five or ten seconds maybe - but I decided to open my eyes. I could see the beam of a flashlight on the ground through the gate. I shat myself and closed my eyes again. Then after what felt like forever, the car pulled away and drove off. As it did I glimpsed that it was the Gardai, the local police.

Now as we were two English teenagers high on drugs in a foreign land, this shat us up a bit. This, with the acid, led to some imaginative worrying (Is this PIRA country? What would they do to us Brits if they found us? Maybe we just avoided an Irish "Deliverance"?) so we decided to end our wander and get back to base quickly.

Next morning, we were driving into town in my crusty old van, feeling rather post-trip and a bit spaced out. We passed the farmhouse. I made a point of looking out for the scene of our scare last night. As we drove down the lane, the hedgerows disappeared and the road passed through an open field with a wire fence on either side. In the middle of this I saw a large stone-piered gate, with nothing at all on either side. My friend had been looking out for the gate as well. It dawned on us at the same time: the Gardai must have seen us crouching behind the pillars from about 100 yards away. When they stopped, they were probably looking right at us, no doubt shining the torch all over us. They must have just thought "two twatty English teenagers out tripping" and left us be. Overcome with shame at our idiocy neither of us said anything until we reached town.

Sorry about length. Next will be shorter.
(Xyza, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 16:06, 2 replies)

Wisdome Teeth Out
I was one of the last in our small group of half a dozen or so poor sods who needed their wisdom teeth pulling.
While waiting for my op, the nurses were wheeling back those who had been done, all drugged up, heads lolling, moaning and bloody faces. I was bricking it :(
Then a nurse came and handed me 2 pre-med tablets to take. They looked like the little chewable vitc tablets I used to have as a nipper. God knows what they were but 20 minutes later I was trying to push my own trolley to the op theatre at top speed with my arse hanging out of the gown.
And after the op, I can vaguely remember a nurse sticking a needle in my arse then slapping it. I Like to think it was something nice.
(Darth Thump, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 16:04, Reply)

the worst sex i (n)ever had
was thanks to weed. i was at my ex's flat one weekend and somehow we had acquired a bag of it. now i hate smoking in all forms, so he was banned from smoking, even in his own flat. as compensation i agreed to bake it into brownies. i didn't look at all suspicious haring it around sainsbury's on clapham high street at 9am, buying nothing but a couple of boxes of chocolate brownie ready mix, oh no.

i am generally pretty bad at all forms of domestication, including cooking, and sure enough i managed to burn these things so they were like horrendous charred rocks. we choked one down each, and felt no different. so we had another. still no different. this was when we made our fatal error. we forced down a third one each, and then he went for a fourth. STILL no different. until we suddenly realised it was 3pm and we were still lying on his sofas generally staring at nothing and drooling at each other. then i decided i wouldn't mind sex.

"shall we go to bed?" i asked.

after about 20 minutes he raised his head. "oh yeah. i am so so hard for you now." there was a long pause.

"you make me so so wet." another very long pause.

"how wet?"

i thought about it. for some time. then i thought about it a bit more. "i don't know. because i can't move my hand inside my jeans to check."

"shall i come over and find out?" he suggested. and fell off the sofa. "tell you what, come over here and suck my cock."

"yeah. great. in a minute," i replied. and also fell off the sofa.

we woke up about 14 hours later having missed (i) lunch (ii) dinner (iii) my friend's birthday party and (iv) breakfast.

rookie rookie mistake… never think it's not working!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 16:02, 1 reply)

my mother
she used to be into drugs in the seventies but curbed it when my brother and I arrived. occasionally i would catch her taking a couple of tokes in the kitchen at new years parties but that was about it for her.

last year when she was tidying my brothers room while laden with the cold she spied a bottle of olbas oil on his desk.

when I came home from work she was sitting at the kitchen table looking both very very angry and very worried, "what the fuck is in this bottle?" she demanded to know.

according to her she took a massive drag on the bottle, made it to the hallway before falling over where she commenced sobbing hysterically that she was "going to die alone while my head inflated like a fucking ballon".

as poppers do she was right as rain within a few minutes, all be it with a slightly sore head, and promptly went down the stairs and waited, coiled like a snake, for my brother and I to come home.
(Raol Duke, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 16:00, Reply)

headology blowout
One sunday morning, in the almost empty first train home. Coming down from a night of relentless debauchery and dodgy footwork. Me fading in and out of the surroundings, between the body dozing off and the mind still bouncing around in its feral state. Voices behind me catch my ear and i casually listen in. They sound rough and creaky, must be fellow punters of Big Mother Night and the Seductions. They discuss some bloke that spent the night with them, taking the piss and exaggerating. But not actually laughing, instead getting into subtle reasoning of how he came to this, compairing blunders he had, deducting.

We all have at one time or the other known one or another phenotype of that guy they introduced to me. He who tries to hard. Wonky grasp upon the concept of his culture, the more eager to shove his half truths in everyones face. The sense of humour that never fails to distress and confuse. Whose social deficiency are clearly visible to all but himself. But also eager to please with free drinks, and certain source for massive ripping of piss as the gurning helpless idiot he turns himself into. And no matter what kind of evil prank you play on him, he will be back, like the inbred puppy he is.

Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night, methinks, as i am amazed at the surgical cold these well-versed youth compete with. Well, what can be done, at least the poor sod wouldn't know. Then the world zooms back into focus in warp speed, as i hear my name mentioned. And sure enough, these people commence to take apart things that have happened to me. Most of which were buried in the cesspit of you-know-what, if not never been aware from an objective outlook. And now my little missteps and what they must imply were related to me and judgement passed.

Fists are clenched, teeth ground, and desperately i scour my bleached-out greasy thinkbox for who might be able to get all this trivia together. These people must have taken some kind of obscene interest in collecting this, through years and subcultures. Which is not too hard, small town, the part that matters. But mostly, they must have been there for all that detail. Those thrice-damned Stasi rotters, how could they, none of this is true, well, maybe is, i surely had reasons, ah, these false pigs, to fuck me over like that, screw you, IT IS GO TIME!

With this, the adrenaline lifts me off the seat and i grumble and creak down the carriage. There, the backs of their heads a few seats further down. Will i try to set stuff straight? Use my razor sharp wits to humiliatre their behaviour . Will i donkey punch the arrogant fuckers in the cunt? Acidic, boiling wrath leaves me too confused and i walk past. As i turn back, there is an indian family on those places, two grown-ups and their little daughter. They chatted languidly, in the same voices, in their language though. But the dialogue must have been entirely fabricated by me then.



That was the day stuff had to change.
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 15:53, 4 replies)

Coming clean to my mum
When I first began driving I borrowed my mum's car a lot. Enjoying the freedom of the road I soon stocked up on indie compilation tapes and sweets and visited friends around the country.

One evening my mum came back from work and asked to sit down for a serious talk. She pulled out a small white tablet embossed with a letter on it and said to me, with tears in her eyes: "I found this in my car. I want you to answer me straight. Is this drugs?"

I took it off her, looked at it (I'd obviously dropped it in the car) and told her the truth in a calm tone of voice.

"No. It's a Smint."
(B3tatimolsky, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 15:51, 1 reply)

I had planned on writing something about drugs being bad for the memory...
but I keep forgetting what I'm about to write.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 15:43, Reply)

Many years ago,
I lived at my grans house for a bit. My Cousin who was a few years younger than me also lived there too. One summer day we were pottering about and thought we should have a barbie. So i needed matches to light the thing up.

Now, my old gran did a bit of cleaning for a local snooker hall at the time and was always picking up leftover boxes of matches, fags, and whatever last nights punters had left behind (Sometimes even the odd tenner!). So in her kitchen cupbord there were LOADS of different boxes of matches that she would throw in there after work.

I went to the cupboard and grabbed the first box i could and opened it up to find about three matches and a big lump of hash!!!

Barbie and a nice smoke afterwards on a hot summers day. One of my favourite times with my cousin who very sadly passed away a few years later.
(Beaverman Opulence, I has it., Fri 17 Sep 2010, 15:34, 1 reply)

The other month I ended up taking a shedload of drugs.
I woke up feeling rough, it was one of those days, we all get them. I was in a right horrible mood and every step I took felt like I had walked a mile. One moment I was sweating and the next I was freezing, covered in a thick layer of sweat and the thought of anything at all entering my body made me want to reject it before it's in; weather it's food, drink or even smoke. Everything ached, from my third-from-left toe on my right foot, to every folical on my head. It was horrific, I wanted to cruel up into a little ball and run away from the entire planet. Let alone go into work.

I decided I had to do something about it, so I put on some clothes, I didn't care if they were clean or dirty, I didn't care at all, I just needed to fix this problem. So I went into Boots, which is just past the weatherspoons on the high street of southgate (the road is actually called Chase Side, 'High Street' is not the main street of southgate, dispite what you might think). I saw the Night Nurse and that dehydrating stuff, and I thought to myself, "Yup, I'm gonna get that", and I did. I didn't have my Boots card on me at the time, so I paid in cash and thanked them and walked out.

On the way home, I thought it would be a fantastic idea to get some lemons and whisky, that way I can make a drink out of cutting some lemons into 1/8ths, add a messure of whisky and some boiling water. The steam helps, and it tastes lovely. I got home and got the kettle on, and guess what? I forgot the honey. So I looked in one of my flatmate's draws, he had some honey but was out. I took some, thinking he wouldn't mind (don't worry, he didn't), and I added the honey to my drink.

I then stripped down to my underpants and t-shirt, put on my dressing gown and sat down to watch jermy kyle and a few cooking shows. I had a few of those drinks and when it came to night time, I took the night nurse, it made me feel so much better.

A few days later, and I was fine, feeling fit as anything, but I still took the rest of the week off work because I didn't want to accidently infect anyone and put them through what I had, nobody should feel that.
( G/PP 💩💩💩💩💩&#128, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 15:27, 5 replies)

Many years back
I was in a Netto-a-like shop when I saw a good deal. Ten packs of three chocolate bars for a quid. "I'm having those" I thought.
They were about the size of a Penguin/Club/Rocky biscuit and were yummy.

I must've ploughed through maybe 8 of them that afternoon. It was then that Mrs Sandettie pointed out that they were sugar free 'Candarel Bars'. I didn't care. For sugar-free they were rather tasty.

Then my guts started gurgling. Shortly after that, my bowels starting moving. Well, I say moving. It was more like sprinting. I sat on the toilet, passing rusty water from my arse which was so thin it actually sounded like I was taking a piss.

I visited that room 6 times in all. Later that evening, my mate came round and found it most amusing that I had to sit on a rolled up duvet because I had a ringpiece like a brakelight.

Don't OD on sorbitol or aspartame, it'll fuck you over for days.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 15:08, 2 replies)

Last night a ketamine-doped hippy saved my life
One Hallowe'en I was invited to a small flat party, and being the dangerous and daring rogue I am I brought with me an entire bottle of Wood's Old Navy Rum (62%; black as tar and slightly tastier) and Ouzo (a weedy 40%) with a view to drinking as much "Oozing Wood" as I could, this being a cocktail consisting of the two drinks and nothing else. It tastes like being hit in the face by a plank.

I kissed three men and a lady that night, went to a pub whilst unable to see straight and got some port bought for me by three perfect gentlemen, and eventually reportedly collapsed on the floor back at the party choking on my own boak. I heard the next day I'd had my life saved by a couple of guys out of their faces on Ketamine who discussed for some significant length of time whether they should do anything about the guy on the floor gagging on vom. Eventually one of them turned me on my side, saving me from absolutely the least dignified death a man could ever suffer.

I woke up the next day with half the rum gone, all the Ouzo drunk, a faceful of stomach chunks and a whole heap of green vomit just dying to get out of my body and into the open air, and no appetite for alcohol for a month. The next time I saw the dude I gave him a fiver as thanks.

Moral of the story? Save someone's life and you might get a reward a la a computer game. I can think of no other lessons to impart from my experience.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 15:04, Reply)

Working at a summer camp this year
I heard an amusing anecdote about a counsellor in 2009. Apparently he had received a parcel about a foot long and six inches wide and deep. The office staff mistook it for belonging to one of the kids and opened it (they do this to check if they're getting sent anything they shouldn't have e.g. money or sweets) and found it to be packed full of weed.

Upon being called to the camp director's office to explain what the hell he thought he was playing at, he tried to clear his name by saying "I wasn't planning on selling it to the kids, just the staff".

They couldn't fire him because it's highly illegal to go through an employee's mail in that part of the world, so there was no legal way they could have known about the gigantic stash on camp, being stored in the same building a bunch of children were living in. He wasn't invited back to work this year, however.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 14:49, Reply)

caffeine come down
I used to work for an IT company doing networks and stuff out on clients' sites. On one occasion, I was working in a serviced office where I was basically sent in and left to do what I needed to do, with the customer's parting words being "There's a drinks machine down the corridor, it's free so help yourself."

11am I'm 9 coffees in, bouncing off the walls, eyes out on stalks, and getting more work done faster than I've ever done before, managing to get a day's work done in half the time.

2pm I'm back at the office on the biggest comedown of my life, just sitting in a corner of the room knowing full well why I "look so sad".

My coworkers showed me so much support by laughing their tits off at me for the rest of the day.
(slocey doesn't get out often, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 14:32, Reply)

I once managed
an entire packet of Trebor Extra Strong Mints at the same time. I could hardly close me mouth; it took an hour or so to be able to dissolve them. Me breath could cool a desert and all I could smell was mint for a few days but by fuck I was flying.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 14:28, 1 reply)

It might be a Lincolnshire ting...
but both my Mum AND my cousin have found spontaneously sprouting (and fucking massive) cannabis plants just growing in their gardens.
Mum reckons it's coz she blows the budgie seed out the back door. But Karen's was out the back of her garage against a fence right down the bottom of the garden and therefore out of budgie seed range.

Whatever the reason, they had some fucking lovely buds on them!!!
( Sallyrsm, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 14:23, 3 replies)

At the age of six I ODd on Haliborange tablets.
Two packs with sixty in each, within an hour. For three days I did brown bum-wees and my ringpiece was like the Japanese flag.
Let this be a lesson to you all.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Fri 17 Sep 2010, 14:20, Reply)