The GIFs make the story.
It’s okay, cats! 
@tropo found this. It helps.
I imagine this is much worse than the time someone I know went to the Anne Frank museum after eating mushrooms.
Reviving democracy …
I think more bizarre would be going to a mushroom museum after eating Anne Frank.
I love the kitty doing acid.
Not exactly sure that LSD is really a necessary component of this story.
I’m pretty sure that a tRump rally is pretty much a freaky tangible manifestation of bad vibes with or without acid.
Well, that beats my ‘fucked up at Christmas dinner’ story and no mistake.
I would like to hear that story!
The great Dan O’Neill comic “Odds Bodkins” (back in the 70’s?) had a strip where the main characters thought it would be good to give the control-freak police dog a “magic cookie” to enlighten him and mellow him out. But the moment he ate it he turned into Adolph Hitler.
Some things are best avoided in such conditions.
On acid, dinner eats YOU?
I just went off zyprexa so I soon may be able to enjoy tripping out.
Me. 18. Still living in family home. Just discovered drugs and techno. Out all night taking all the drugs. Realise it’s the next day. No buses, taxis are non existent. Need to get home, promised I’d be there. Start to walk. It’s snowing. It’s been snowing for several days. Everyone else is inside and warm, only I am this stupid. At least 5 miles to walk out of town into the Scottish countryside. Fuck it, I can do this. Distracted by the falling snow and the street lights. Entrancing tunnels of falling snow every 100 feet or whatever try to suck me up into the sky. Get quite far, maybe a mile, outskirts of town. Magic Taxi turns up straight out of the 70’s. Beat up Cortina, worn down, rusty. Looks like the guy has just driven it out of some lock up after leaving it since last year. The guy looks like he spent all year in there with it. Wild hair matched only by his wild eyes. For sure this guy is on drugs too, I’m just so fucked up I can’t tell what. He might be drunk but is too animated for that to be all. Doesn’t care one iota that my pupils are the size of dinner plates or that I’m trying to chew my own eyebrows. We pass the outskirts of town and eventually leave the dual carriageway into the country. Now he starts to take the corners weird. And I mean 360 drifts around each corner. I’m laughing like a drain so he ups his game. 720! Almost make it but still on the road, he corrects and tries again at the next turn. These are two lane country roads now, not much space for error but he aces the next one. If there are seatbelts in the back, I couldn’t find them, to be fair, I didn’t even look. So I’m sliding from one side of the car to the other with every corner, laughing my ass off like a drugged abacus. Eventually we get to my house and I give him a 200% tip. He drives off into the blizzard like the ghost of Christmas past from Scrooged. Probably looking to save the day for his next victim in need. I still wonder about that car and the driver, if it was really a taxi, if he maybe decided not to kidnap me because I gave him so many props throughout, encouraging him to take chances and bleating like a goat when he did.
Anyway. Home now. And the gravity of how truly fucked up I am descends on me like the heavy snow falling out of the sky. All of the adrenaline I’d loaded up on throughout the taxi ride has sent me into hyperspace and I take a couple of minutes to try and calm down before breaching the threshold. This doesn’t help at all. The warmth and the decorations and the… insideness of it all is way too much for me. I grab some clothes and retreat to the bathroom and take a long-ass shower, maybe that will help. No. Of course not. I’m actually about an hour or two early so decide to try and sleep off some of the effects of the course of hard drugs I had proscribed myself. Sleep comes, but fitfully. I wake up for the first course fully dressed and everything is moving except me. The room is spinning, my hands won’t move where I tell them to, but I somehow manage to get through the broth and the prawn cocktail, picking at it just enough to give the impression that I’m actually taking part. Only direct eye contact with everyone there is avoided. I have kind of long hair at the time, so it’s mostly in the way of my dinner plates and my dinner plate. I’m in sniper mode, choosing my conversational shots, trying to make the most with the little that I have.
Now, it’s kind of a tradition that we take our time with the meal so there are breaks between the courses for TV and drinks. I fall asleep on the sofa. It is a deep, black sleep of the dead. I wake up once the main course has been served, everyone else at the table so I have to stand up whilst everyone else is sitting down, affording full view of my crazy eyes. Luckily, by now I’ve drunk a bucket of wine and my eyes are also bloodshot. “Jesus, you look rough, been drinking all night?” A godsend! Yes! Drinking! That’s why I’m acting so weird. All that drink and no sleep. The rest of the meal is a haze of 4 types of potatoes and many meats. I nibble expressively throughout, my whole world is the next bite. Everything around the fork is breathing in and out, the table sometimes seems a hundred miles away and sometimes part of my face. I arrest the problem with more booze. Glugging glasses of wine like water and I’ve just escaped the desert. The colour in the world starts to recede and amplify with the breathing motion of the dimensions of the room. I’m paying way too much attention to the candles on the table, people have to ask me questions several times before I’ve got an answer but I totally just make the ‘I’m thinking super hard’ expression. That seems to work. Literally as soon as I’ve eaten the final bite of desert I stand up from the table, announce that I’m tired and tumble out of the room into bed.
I sleep for 20 hours and wake up on boxing day to open my Christmas gifts. The first thing my mother says to me is “What the hell were you on yesterday?”
Damn.
Where exactly is that first GIF from? The one with the Muppet-like creature?
I’ve seen it before, but was never able to find its source.
oh wow. No. I mean. No. Wow. No. I could not. No. That guy. no. what was he? no. for real? no. no. no.
#YES
no. and yes and yes. But no.
Aaaaand you’re a character in the novel “Travelers Rest”.
I had friends long ago when I lived in Southern California who thought it would be a great idea to go to the busiest mall the day after Thanksgiving and drop acid and wanted to know if I wanted to take the trip with them. No, yeah, massive no, not ever.
Going to a Trump Rally would be like 100x worse than that.
