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Drugs Aren't Always That Much Fun: Real Life Stories

  1. Phungushead
    View attachment 33073 It's Friday, so chances are you'll be ingesting some kind of narcotic at some point within the next 72 hours. And it's likely that some of you are going to have an awful, soul-destroying experience that'll put you off drugs for the rest of your life. Or until next weekend. To bum you out and hopefully ruin your night, here are a few stories of when that's happened before. Who knows—maybe one of these will even happen to you this evening?


    I was at Bestival one year, hanging out in the campsite, taking ketamine for breakfast and generally having a hell of a time. The one problem with taking ketamine for breakfast, though, is that—by lunch—you can't move and your brain is like a sponge that's been slowly soaking up a vat full of Ernest Hemingway's ancient, 100 percent proof urine. On this particular day, I was pretty lucid, could communicate absolutely fine and didn't have nearly as much of that weird brain detachment thing you normally get on K. Only, I couldn't move any of my limbs.

    My friend sat me down on a camp chair, fed me some water and helped me smoke a cigarette by lighting it for me and placing it in my mouth every time I wanted a drag. Everything was going OK, all things considered, until I felt a rumble in my stomach and remembered the bowl of festival chili I'd eaten the night before. Call it a sixth-sense, a power for premonitions or just being a human for 22 years, but it was at that point that I knew I was going to shit myself and there was nothing I could do about it.

    I whispered this to my friend in the hope that he would escort me to a cubicle or, at least, zip me up in the privacy of my tent. Instead, of course, he gathered as many of our friends as he could and lined them up around me. I could feel my sphincter release and contract but couldn't do anything about it. So, staring at eight people dead in the eyes, I gave in and soiled myself in the midday sun.

    View attachment 33074 THE MAGIC SCHOOLBUS

    I was 15 years old and on my way into school with my friend, Chris. Chris's parents are an epitome of the hippy hangover, so he was raised to think that psychedelic drugs, incense, and sandals were totally normal things that every functioning member of society regularly partakes in. Chris had been mushroom picking with his dad and, like it was the most normal thing the world, munched a few at 8 AM, just as he was getting on the schoolbus. I'd never done shrooms before, but Chris seemed absolutely fine, so when he offered me a handful I figured I may as well get involved.

    My first lesson was interesting. I spent the majority of it red-faced and giggling at everything the teacher was saying. He was in his mid-60s and was clearly far past the point of caring about what went on his classes, so he just ignored me and left me to chuckle away at absolutely nothing. The next lesson is where things took a turn for the worse. Sitting down, I felt like someone had tied my feet to the floor, which was a bit alarming. I remember my teacher asking me a question and just staring at her blankly with my mouth open, before letting out the kind of noise I've only heard pigs make during a slaughter when they emit their final squeal before being turned into bacon or pork chops or whatever.

    Then I threw up. All over my desk. Bizarrely I didn't get in any trouble whatsoever, but I did learn that taking mind-altering drugs at school really isn't the best idea.

    View attachment 33075 SAD MUNCHIES

    I recently smoked weed for the very first time at a huge Halloween bash (I know—I'm about 15 years late to the party—don't judge). I was wandering around in a bit of a daze and found myself in the stairwell. I spotted a half-unwrapped, stepped on, crushed candy bar on the stairs a flight down. My boyfriend—who had also just smoked weed for the first time—sprinted towards it at full speed, before stumbling over himself and falling down the stairs into a crumpled heap. I screamed, not for my boyfriend, but for the candy bar. He reached out to grab it and I started bawling my eyes out, screaming at him to let me have some and racing down the stairs to try and grab the bar for myself.

    I looked up to see a good 20 or 30 people I didn't know staring at me—some bemused, most laughing and pointing. I turned bright red and realized what the whole paranoia hype surrounding weed was about. I literally felt like all of my friends and family would here about it and leave me to spend the rest of my life being plagued by voices in my head and eventually die alone.

    I spent the rest of the night alternating between laughing hysterically and sobbing uncontrollably, holding the uneaten candy bar the entire time. It was very confusing and incredibly embarrassing, but hey, at least I can say I'm probably the only adult in history to cry over confectionary.

    View attachment 33076 TENT INVASION

    I was at Reading Festival one year with a bunch of my friends and we'd all taken this really trippy MDMA. Like, really trippy. I thought the campsite was a multi-storey car park and the sky was its grubby ceiling. It was weird. Anyway, I also had this incredible, balls-to-the-wall coke on me and we'd all done a couple dabs, then I reached for it to do another and realized I must have dropped it somewhere while we were walking around. For whatever completely retarded reason, I figured it would be pretty easy to find a small, white wrap in a massive field covered in trash.

    I went off looking for it, leaving my friends to go back to the campsite. Shockingly, I couldn't find it, so I ended up trudging back towards my tent, too. Because I was tripping balls, I had no fucking clue where I was, so spent the next two hours opening random strangers' tents and trying to get in, before they shouted at me and kicked me out. My friend has a recording of a phone call where he's directing me back to the site that I really wish didn't exist. You hear me say, "OK, OK, yeah, I think I've found it." Then another voice go, "Fuck off. You've tried getting in my tent four times now and I've told you it's not the right tent every fucking time."

    Then you hear me stumble along to the tent right next to it and try to get into that, too, before the sound of a shouting man and me crumpling to the floor as he pushed me over. Top tip: If you're going to take drugs that make you see shit, it's probably best to stick with someone who can see reality for you.


    A couple of years ago, some friends and I were getting ready to go out to the beach and had every intention of making it a relatively calm trip, because we all had school the next day. That somehow turned into every single one of us drinking at least a bottle and a half of wine each and picking up a few grams of MDMA. We stumbled into town and spent an hour or so in the smoking area of some terrible dubstep night club, before realizing we were all far too fucked up to spend our night standing around in a gated area, so decided to head to the beach. Two of the group said they were going for a walk and we left them to it.

    The next morning, we woke up and the pair were nowhere to be seen. We joked that they'd probably got arrested and were stewing in a cell somewhere, but figured they'd just gone back to one of their houses to sleep off the gargantuan amount of intoxicants they'd consumed. We all turned up to college and dry-heaved our way through the morning. At lunch, when none of us had heard a peep from our two lost friends, we began to worry, so we called around to friends, hospitals, and police stations.

    It turned out that the pair had walked past a hotel, spotted a cab driver running inside to get a client, leaving his keys in the ignition. Because doing dumb shit is always a good idea when you're fucked up, they decided to take the taxi for a spin and drove for a couple of miles along the seafront. The driver eventually realized how incredibly stupid they'd been and pulled over, leaving the engine running and darted off to jump over a fence to safety.

    The police had been tailing them for pretty much the entire journey, after getting a call from the hotel's reception staff, so when the pair tried leapfrogging the fence and got stuck half-on, half-off, a couple of coppers helped them down and into a cosy cell for the night. The driver was put on probation for three months, lost his license, and given community service, while the other lost his license and had to spend 80 hours washing graffiti off walls. Moral of the story: Don't steal a fucking taxi.

    November 02, 2012

    VICE United States
    Images: Sam Taylor


  1. Phungushead
    Drugs Can Also Be a Lot of Fun

    [IMGL="white"]http://www.drugs-forum.com/forum/attachment.php?attachmentid=33078&stc=1&d=1369114190[/IMGL] You might remember we had a Real-Life Stories one week titled Drugs Aren't Always That Much Fun. And we were right – they're really not always that fun, especially if taking them leads to you shitting yourself in public or a three-month tag for auto theft. But they can also be a lot of fun, which I guess is why you take them. Here are some stories about people taking drugs and having fun in ways that aren't just sitting in the bath together and telling each other how much their friendship has grown.


    I went to sixth form college in a small countryside town, where there was very little to do but hang out with the stoner guys and sit in the park all day. Or go bowling if this guy with a crush on me was working and would give a load of us a free round. Anyway, in our second year this weird older guy started pulling up to the college gates in his Peugeot 106, blasting euro-trance and trying to chat up ever girl doing their best to ignore him.

    I was having a cigarette outside one day when he pulled up and started his usual spiel on me. I remember him mentioning something about a rave that made my vagina seal up for about a month, but then he started bragging about this bottle of acid he'd just bought off some guy in Swansea. I don't know why Swansea was supposed to impress me, but I ended up talking the guy into giving me four tabs for free, with the promise that I'd come back and buy a lot more if it was any good.

    The boys were all beyond excited when I told them, despite the fact that none of them had ever taken acid before. One of them did the gentlemanly thing and said he'd go without and look after the rest of us, leaving us with one tab each, which was convenient. He was a total pussy, though, which I think probably had more to do with his decision than any kind of desire to make sure we didn't start trying to peel our own skin off.

    We each dropped our tab in the park and sat around waiting for something to happen. As soon as the giggles kicked in, we all hopped up and realised that the best possible idea would be to walk around and interact with strangers. Sadly, the night was drawing in and it was one of those towns where the only people you see past 9PM are commuters desperately trying to get home before their dinner gets cold and people who gaffa tape newspapers round their feet and wear them as shoes. Luckily for us, there was a petting zoo nearby. For whatever reason, the owners clearly didn't value their livestock too highly, because the only piece of security was an iron gate – padlocked, but about three feet high.

    We all clambered over and spent the next two hours stroking lambs, chasing baby pigs and trying to not to freak ourselves out while looking at the llamas and debating whether they or dachshunds were the punchline to evolution's joke. I think one of my friends also got butted in the balls by a rampaging goat, but he was having far too much fun to care. That night, without a doubt, beat any nightclub, gig or rave I've been to since.

    [IMGR="white"]http://www.drugs-forum.com/forum/attachment.php?attachmentid=33079&stc=1&d=1369114190[/IMGR] BASE LOVE

    They say you're always chasing the rush from the first time you took something, but the second time I smoked crack was actually a lot better than the first. I was living at home in Brighton through the summer while all my friends were away travelling before they went off to university. To make the situation even more of a blast, my girlfriend had just broken up with me, so I was left to spend most of my days getting bored of video games and arguing with my mum.

    After a month or so of that, I decided I had to chase down some kind of social interaction, otherwise I'd have ended up buying a pillow partner and wasting the rest of my life on Omegle. I'd never been out alone before, so to bridge the glaring gap of not talking to anyone for a month and spending my whole night trying to socialise with complete strangers, I figured I'd take a pill to perk me up and get me in a slightly chattier mood.

    The great thing about ecstasy is that it always works, because queuing for a club I immediately met a group of friends who were down from London for the weekend. One member of that group – Holly – blew my mind almost instantly. She had the body of the imaginary girl I think about when I masturbate and a face that has since become my beauty benchmark against any girl I see. We stuck around with her friends until around five in the morning, or whenever it is that the birds start their fucking choir of hatred, when we decided to sneak off together down to the beach.

    Now, I'd smoked crack once before and hadn't really enjoyed it. It instantly made me feel dirty and agitated, and I knocked it off as one of those "tried it but never agains". Of course, as soon as Holly told me she had some and did I want a hit, I became Brighton's prime freebase aficionado. We sat in one of the old rowing boats they have propped up on the beach, shared the pipe and felt magical. I then had the best sex I've ever had and jittered until the sun came up. When I woke up, surrounded by pensioners and children, Holly had gone. I didn't take her number or her last name and I haven't seen her since. So if you're reading this Holly, leave a comment and we'll hook up again for the most romantic crack-smoking evening you can imagine.

    [IMGL="white"]http://www.drugs-forum.com/forum/attachment.php?attachmentid=33080&stc=1&d=1369114190[/IMGL] A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN

    I came out when I was 17. I think the most shocked person in the room was myself, staring in disbelief at the knowing faces of my relatives. I guess that's what maybe made me go full queer instantly and drop any pretence of heterosexuality I'd clung to through my formative years. Anyway, the first time I tried cocaine was a couple of weeks later when one of my older friends suggested we all go out to Heaven. Only it was ketamine, not cocaine, and I did a huge line because I was overly keen to impress everyone I was with.

    That sounds like it would be terrible, I know, but what can I say – me and ketamine turned out to be a match made in heaven. (A very bad pun that I wheel out any opportunity I get.) I spent the whole night discovering what it was like to not have to pretend to be somebody else, which I'm pretty sure didn't have anything to do with the ketamine, but at the time seemed like the key to the real me. In retrospect, that's the lamest thing I've ever thought.

    When the lights came up, I was still ready to keep on going and followed a crowd through Trafalgar Square, up into Soho and on to someone's roof. I have no idea what time I eventually passed out, but when I woke up I was lying next to the man who I've been with for the past five years. So while it may be a bit schmaltzier than your other stories, I can safely say that the best night of my life was down to a mistaken line of cocaine.

    [IMGR="white"]http://www.drugs-forum.com/forum/attachment.php?attachmentid=33081&stc=1&d=1369114190[/IMGR] SWIMMING IN ECSTASY

    I got hugely into ecstasy when I was younger. I don't know what it was – the fact that it's cheaper, lasts longer and is a lot more fun than alcohol, or just because I never really got coke, K or any of the other drugs people were taking at the time that inevitably steered the night towards tense, boring conversations or absolutely no conversation at all.

    One Friday night near the end of the month, my friends and I were all broke, but we did have a bunch of pills left over from the bulk-buy we'd done the previous week. Of course, we all dropped a couple and rode the familiar wave to clenched jaws and nonsensical babble. But another evening spent massaging each other and jerking around to a discman played through computer speakers was becoming less and less appealing.

    One of my friends at the time worked at the local swimming pool and had a key the manager had given him to lock up after his shifts. After a little persuasion, he agreed to take us all there and let us in for an hour to have a splash around. Obviously that hour turned into six and full use of all the toys, lilos and noodles in the cupboards. Pills essentially turn you into a toddler – hyperactivity, short attention span, lack of self-awareness, loss of volume control, etc – but it's funny how quickly you can revert to your finger-painting self when presented with some cheap pool toys.

    Before we realised the time, one of my friends burst into hysterics and pointed towards the front window, where there was a group of elderly people clutching towels with their noses pressed up against the glass. My pool employee friend immediately began shouting at us to clear off – I suppose in some vague attempt to trick the people outside into believing that they'd completely imagined what they'd just seen.

    He lost his job about an hour later and struggled to find work for just under a year, but at least he had the knowledge that he'd give us the best drug experience of our lives to keep him tiding over throughout those 11 months of miserable poverty.

    [IMGL="white"]http://www.drugs-forum.com/forum/attachment.php?attachmentid=33082&stc=1&d=1369114190[/IMGL] CANUCK CARNIVAL

    I went to college in Canada and lucked out with a shared house right near campus. We became the de facto party location if there was nothing else going on, but we'd never had a particularly wild one because people were normally either going off somewhere else or slinking around after a night of far too much fun.

    Me and my housemates were doing a load of coke one night and noticed crowds of people traipsing back from a college hockey game. I'm almost certain it was the coke doing the thinking for us, because we all assumed that the only sensible thing to do was to start blasting music out of our windows and beckoning everyone in to join us.

    Soon enough we had what seemed like half the campus in our front room. It probably helped that someone turned up with a sound system hooked up to their car, but we maintain that it was our arm gestures and beautiful calling voices that enticed everybody in. After an hour or so, there were fireworks being let off in our front garden, people racking up lines on smashed pieces of mirror, beer bongs running from our inside balcony down into the front room and, apparently, a raccoon terrorising everyone in the kitchen.

    I wish I'd filmed it because it would have made a much better movie than any dumb Hollywood college party film stacked to the rafters with actors old enough to qualify for a bus pass. But memory is enough to tell me that it was the best party I've ever been to, and that cocaine is only ever a good thing.

    March 07, 2013

    VICE United Kingdom
    Images: Sam Taylor
  2. Alien Sex Fiend
    the munchies candy bar story was hilarious... sorry, one liner
  3. Zaweht
    Hahaha these are just excellent.

    Great examples of how drugs can show you the best and worst things in life.
  4. MrMunchies
    These stories are great, best attached thumbnails ever.
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