"polar bear" wrote in message
> I can't say this enough times: Drugs are BAD.

I recommend a two week course in Bill Hicks. there's tons of Hicks on Youtube.
Btw, you are supposed to say it like this, 'drugs are baaad, mmkaaaaaay?'

> When you've been to enough parties, and seen enough teenage girls
> babbling inchoherently, or scrunched in a corner in abject terror, you
> will realize that what I say is true.

Hah, that's the best part about strong psychedelics, watching pinks melt down. Where the fuck is your sense of irony? Has it gone away with their sense of adventure?
Or were you the one scrunched in the corner?

Scrunching goes with the territory, we've all scrunched a little, nothing to be ashamed of.

circa 1980
I used to keep a bottle of acid, dissolved in soft drink in the fridge, with a big lightning bolt and LSD written on it, to prevent fuck-ups.
1 shot (1 fluid ounce) was about 150 mics.

We had Sundays off, so every Saturday night after work (3AM) , we had an after hours party in our over-sized apartment in Cape May NJ, and would invite freinds and a few tourists, and locals.

Alot of people were coke freaks back then, who are the greediest dopers in the world.

I invited all guests to have some LSD if they liked, there is a shot glass, and a bottle in the fridge, i would say, and offer the following instructions. "All I ask, if you are going to take more than one shot, please wait an hour. I don't feel like baby-sitting any basketcases. You can have all you want, but please follow that one simple rule, or you will likely be sorry."

This was REALLY good acid, and it didn't come on with the normal groggy confusion, it came on like a rush, all tingly and ecstatic, in about 20 minutes. Now when the coke freaks felt that RUSH , immediately their greedy little pavlovian minds would process it: "Wow this is GREAT, I want MORE."

That's all those fuckers knew was:

that's a cocaine constant

And I'd watch them slink back into the kitchen to sneak another shot, the stuff was barely coming on, but some people insist on learning the hard way.

Along about an hour, they were really flying and happy and grinning, then about one hour, twenty minutes in, you could see them getting a little concerned.

They would lose the ability to form sentences around the top of the second hour, they would utter things like, "Ummm this thing , where it was then, ummm, I was going to..it's okay, it's okay, I think... when was I?"

Shortly after, they begin to weep quietly.

HAHA, now it's time to put on Dark Star, or Larks Tounges in Aspic LIVE, or some LIVE Hendrix and crank it, really torture the bastards. They are used to the Eagles and Disco and shit, they never heard this stuff before.


Pretty soon, they are the squalid pinks in the Polar Bear story, all cowering or fetal positioned, and like, "I just want, the place is here, I can see what I felt, it's....ummmm. MOMMMMY!!! MOMMMYYY!!!"

They always ask for their mommy when they melt all the way down.

Once they hit the Mommy stage, it's time to dump them, they're bumming everybody else out. You can't talk to them, because to them, you sound like this... " Blooby yark sling wangy yabba dabba howitzer plank"

It's usually around 5 am at this point. We lived one block from the beach. So I'd get some help, and I'd tell them, "Okay, your mommy is here , she's outside, so we're going to see your mommy."

If you say MOMMY really slow, they understand that word.

they go, "M..mm...mommy?"

"Yes, yes mommy, c'mon"

Then we'd walk them down to the beach, and sit them down, pointed toward the sea, and say , "Look out there, keep looking out there, see out there?.... mommy will be here in a minute, just look out there okay? out there, don't move, okay?"

And then you sort of back off, and when you get about ten yards you run like hell, with the roar of the waves drowning out your hysterical laughter.

About ten minutes later, the sun begins to rise over the ocean, which is incredibly beautiful, drugs or not. And the soothing eternal rhythm of the waves crashing, and the sky lights up like a tye dye Van Gogh, and there's little Timmy on the beach, a fucking amateur with a head full of five hundred mics of his own rocket powered cosmic greed....

HOLY CRAP my....
my MOMMY is GOD!!!!!

And what made it so delicious, was being as fucked up as Little Timmy, except for the extreme cramps from laughing so hard.

Usually they waundered back in around 10:00 AM, when they finally figured out where the fuck they were. By this time the party has wound down about two hundred beers, and folks are staggering out, or had found a place to screw on the porch.

There's Little Timmy, shuffling in, looking sheepish, with a Mona Lisa smile, a marked improvement over his usual grinding grimace.

Usually the same line, "WOW, that was fucking INTENSE !!!"

Now Little Timmy sits down to explain the nature of the true cosmic universal all-one god-vibe eternal consciousness, babbling like the word salad on the side of a Dr Bonners Peppermint Soap bottle.

But it's cool.

For me, the beer and Jack has rusted the rails of the monstrous roller coaster. I'm in that weird space between wake and sleep, drawn out by the lingering buzz. His prattling is somehow soothing, and I can sort of see his little words running around on my eyelids.

Somebody has put Kind of Blue on the record player, and Miles' horn is blowing the sheets in my brain like sails.

The old Timmy, the one from yesterday, would probably take this opportunity to go through our apartment, hoping to find some cocaine he could steal. But the new Timmy, at least new for the rest of this day, gently removes the burning cigarette from my lips, puts it out, and walks home.

I think to wish him well...
but, I'm through.

epilogue: This scenario repeated itself every weekend all summer long. Our old hippy aicd head mentality, clashed sharply with the coke freaks who sold lactose to the tourists, and spent most of their time in bathrooms, so they didn't have to share.

By the end of the summer, half the coke freaks in town, managed to A-Bomb themselves from the free acid in the fridge, exactly as described above.

I'm sure they learned alot more from it than I did, in a multitude of individual ways, but the one thing they all shared from that experience was my personal twist on an old saying about the best things in life.

"The really good shit, is always free."