First spliff = hash cookies.
Buckle yourselves in folks, this is going to be a long one.

We were in the first year of Uni, living in halls of residence, and I'd bought some cookie mix to make some nice, wholesome Christmas cookies. My mates had other ideas, and bough a quarter of an ounce of hash, laced with ketamine, and added it to the mix. This was going to be a learning experience for the lot of us.

After turning to gas mark five and leaving to bake for the alloted time, we retrieved our spiked baked goods, and decorated them with red icing, leaving them to cool for a while, before returning to my room to munch in peace. My best mate at the time, Alex, decided to have the first one, and declared them to be quite tasty, but with a slight bitter aftertaste. Great! We all piled in...

Some time later, Alex nips off to the loo, and doesn't come back for ages. Just as we're starting to worry, he turns up again, pale and drawn looking, like he's seen a Roy 'Chubby' Brown video or something, and he begins to explain:

"I went to the loo and I was fine, then I turned round to wash my hands, and as I looked in the mirror it was like my face wasn't real. It was moving around really weirdly, and it was really dark. I think I want to go to hospital, I don't feel well."

He'd had one cookie. By this point, I'd eaten a whopping six. Oh fuck.

So, we persaude a mate with a car to drive us to Lewisham General, and we sit in the waiting room while he tries to persuade me that it's going to kick in for me soon, and I've really got to see someone too or he doesn't know what'll happenandohmygodI'msofuckingscaredthisisallreallyunreal

While I'm still stone cold sober, thinking what a twat he is, he goes in to see the doc, taking said other mate with him - at which point the horizon tilts by 45 degrees and I'm left on my own, surrounded by sick people, clinging to the arm of the chair so I don't fall off it and into the side of the reception desk ten feet away... Then a guy gets pushed past in a wheelchair. Sober, I'd think he was just slumped and THAT'S why I couldn't see his head... but in this state?

Thankfully, the doc calls me in, and I decide that I'm not going to look like Alex, I'm going to play it cool and ride the waves of terror and try and enjoy this thing. So he takes my pulse (150 relaxed and breathing slowly!!!!), has a look and says to me in a thick Carribean accent:

"What de hell ye wan go eatin' it fwa? Why ye no jus' smoke it like everyone else ha?"

Ace. I like this guy. Obviously we're both fine and he sends us packing back to halls. By the time we get back Alex is back to normal, and chatting away happily about how weird it all was. Another of our mates who'd had a couple of cookies in the meantime was giggling like a loon but otherwise fine. I, meanwhile was walking the decks of a particularly shabby cruise liner in a raging ocean storm and the world around me swayed, pitched and awed...

My swaying pitching nightmare lasted for THREE BASTARD DAYS. When I woke up on the third day, I briefly thought it was finally over, then I got out of bed and it started again. THREE. DAYS.

It was awesome.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 20 Mar 2008, 10:35, 3 replies)

Oh no!
Hahah I can't believe you actually WENT to the hospital, that's gold! My first time was similar, although I had cookies AND spots so I was pretty fucked. I thought I was going mental, like I could think perfectly fine but I couldn't express myself properly, and I was screaming TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL! My boyfriend at the time and his friends just thought it was fucking hilarious :P
(kadee may or may not be a nymphomaniac, Thu 20 Mar 2008, 11:52, closed)

To be fair...
I got off pretty lightly. When my sister did this she discovered the music of Pink Floyd.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 20 Mar 2008, 14:15, closed)

I've heard this twice before....
..but this version made we weep tears of heavenly joyeaux..! There were moments i couldn't continue reading: my eyes were screwed up so tight due to the sheer level of pure unadulterated mirth.

Me on the other hand: don't know which drugs/smoking related story to tell. T'may not be as beautiful as this one is - even on repeat..
(Grandma Phone Argh, my squeegally-spooch, Mon 24 Mar 2008, 23:24, closed)