» It's not me, it's the drugs talking

hmmmm
After two years on every cannabis filled occasion, some compadres and I are still trying to figure out who would win in a fight between 50 duck sized horses and one horse sized duck. There are good arguments for both, but I firmly believe in the latter. (he’s got massive wings!)
(Mon 19th Dec 2005, 11:43, More)

» It's not me, it's the drugs talking

crippleland was born
Many moons ago, a few fellows trotted round to mine for some shrooms. Twas all good, especially as in my house, my step father is in a wheelchair (him not being their) and my house has all manor of gadgets to facilitate a good acid trip. Including the electric wheelchair which took massive chunks out of the wall, and the ultimate; a stair lift. My house was a theme park for the evening named ‘crippleland’ and tripping out going up and down on a stair lift was awesome. So awesome that my friend was on it at one point, dropped his fag and set himself on fire. Yet the ride was so good, he refused to move out of the chair! Needless to say the next day I spent some time clearing up the damage and re-wiring an almost burnt out stairlift.
(Mon 19th Dec 2005, 14:59, More)

» Shame

aaahhhh, the memories....
One night after a particularly hefty clubbing session up town, I found my self waking in someone’s front garden in the morning. To be honest, not that uncommon for me back in those days, but this time it was with a nasty sense of irony. Not only was I woken up by a very angry woman, not just for sleeping in her garden but also chucking up in her pond and leaving a large dent in her otherwise beautiful flower bed. But by bizarre fate I noticed her daughter staring at the window at me in bemusement. Purely coincidental, but it happened to be the front garden of some munter who I’d met in the club the night before, who relived me of some of my man relish in the toilets, and then I proceeded to scarper. It’s amazing how quick you can run with a chronic hangover.
(Fri 25th Nov 2005, 10:44, More)

» It's not me, it's the drugs talking

on my lonesome!
Going to the dam on your own can be fun. Earlier this year, I went out there on my todd for a cheeky chill out weekend. Off the train station I decided to head for a coffee shop (still with holdall) and find my hotel later. Bit of a mistke as after a lot of weed, and stepping of a fairground ride in dam square, I toddled off realising I didn’t have a clue where I was, where my hotel was, the name of it or anything. Sitting on a wall for an hour trying to solve this conundrum, severe paranoia set in and I think I began to sob.
(Mon 19th Dec 2005, 15:26, More)

» It's not me, it's the drugs talking

ah yes, and this....
Deciding to have a sesh on some shrooms one night, I decided to step it up a notch and gets some uber strong shit. It was pretty naughty as not only did I not know my own name, I physically couldn’t speak at most times. Anyway, someone suggested, do not know who, to go into town. So here I am at 11oclock at night in Canterbury town centre (full of pissed students) staggering around trying to make sense of it all. After a small discussion with the packets of crisps in a nearby off licence about the economy, I wandered out into the main road mesmerised by the lights, and welcoming the friendly cars who were either swerving around me or making use of their car horns. Somehow managed to get back where I proceeded to stare at a blank monitor with ought blinking for about 2 hours. Good shit I tells ya.
(Mon 19th Dec 2005, 14:31, More)