I had taken one bottle of Delsym, one bottle of Zicam and periodically toked throughout the trip. I had stolen the bottles of cough medicine from Wal-Mart. I was on approximately 1500 mg of dextromethorphan hydrobromide, usually referred to as Dex, or DXM. This was a tier 2 trip of a possible 4 levels of inebriation. My partner in crime was going for the next level. This meant I was the decision-maker, the leader, and above all else the driver. The rest of the group who had decided to take a night off from dexing had ditched, unsure of my ability to drive while tripping. If those weak bitches only knew how often they had ridden with me while I was curing my cold.
Dark Side of the Moon on repeat was blasting through my car speakers. It was about 2am, and I was driving down Taylorsville Road, headed to the house that the two of us would eventually crash at. We still had a good two hours left of tripping, but had run out of weed. Some drug culture veterans have described the combination of marijuana and DXM as the closest thing you will get to shooting heroin without using a needle. As far as we were concerned, the fun was over. Once we got to our destination, we would spend the last stages of our night comparing the battle tactics of Napoleon and Alexander or discussing what we would have included if God had chosen us to write a book in the bible.
Just as the climax was hitting in the song Time, the steering wheel locked up and the pedals had lost their pressure. I had run out of gas. I coasted to the median and found a temporary parking spot, where the outer fences of Bowman Field were visible. My friend, never having driven a car before, was shaken, and needed reassurance that the car had not committed suicide. In the most comforting voice available I informed him that the car was just hungry. There was one problem; we only had five dollars and did not have a gas can.
We started walking to Speedway to investigate what our options were. A friendly taxi driver recognized our predicament and gave us a free lift. We took ten minutes thanking the man for his generosity. He had only driven us about 300 yards; he tried to explain this, but we weren’t having it. We knighted him as family and as an angel. Once inside, the clerk regretted to inform us that there was not a gas can we could borrow, and that the cheapest one was ten dollars. I imagine our faces looked as if we had just returned to our home on Tattooine to find our family massacred by Stormtroopers.
The time we spent in the candy aisle of that gas station felt like an eternity. With my knowledge of the duration of dex trips, and how I felt once we eventually got home, I would say it was about 45 minutes. Trying to act normal, we stood in poses we thought would seem inconspicuous and tried to talk in whispers. The first idea was to call one of my older friends who also had a car, and see if he could bring me a gas can or some money to borrow. I had to muster up the bravery to ask the clerk to use their phone. I walked up to the counter, started to say something and then retreated back to our special bubble in the candy aisle four times. The eventual phone call was a failure. I guess I had done something uncool. Again we were heart broken. We discussed that if we died tonight, we were glad it was with each other.
The physical effects of dex are extraordinary. I preferred them to sex, honestly. Imagine a tingle that runs up and down your spine. Suddenly you get a subtle itch all over your body. It isn’t one that you feel like you have to scratch, it is almost pleasant, like when you put on a wool sweater when you are cold. After a few minutes of that, you stop noticing the temperature, you stop noticing your skin, your muscles, and your vision. You soon feel like your brain is floating in a tank of water, and you have inspiration as if you have been a witness to everything that has ever happened in the universe.
Your brain secretes heavy amounts of dopamine and serotonin while on dex, so there is an intense feeling of euphoria. While dexing, no fucks are given. Nothing can bring you down. The whole world can be burning around you, and you’ll smile at the fireworks. When you go out into the world and interact with it, things can get a little bit more complicated. This night being an example; there are hiccups in your on-top-of-the-world mentality, but like I said, we had accepted death as a possibility. We were OK with that.
The very emotional and dramatic responses to all of the things that had happened so far are typical of most highs. Most drugs have a tendency to make little things seem very significant, and make you completely miss and ignore the things that are actually significant. There are a couple of side effects that distinguish DXM trips from others. It is sometimes called robo-tripping for two reasons. Robitussin is one of the more popular brands of cough medicine, so it was a natural title. Robitussin is coincidentally one of the worst choices if you want to trip. You either have to swallow sixty pills or drink four bottles. Very inefficient and unpleasant. The other reason for the slang robo-tripping is that you walk and talk like a robot. Your movements are very sudden, jerky, and stiff. Your hearing is distorted so you can think you are shouting when really you are muttering to yourself. You can also think you are being quiet while in reality you are yelling. You also have a tendency to freeze in very weird positions for an extended amount of time.
I’m pretty sure we were yelling in the candy aisle. We were discussing all our options. These included trying to get a job at Speedway so we could earn a gas can, offering a strip show, robbing the register, and others I can’t remember. Eventually a man and a woman wearing trench coats walked up to us with a gas can in hand and told us to follow them. Our frowns went upside down and we hurried excitedly outside.
We jumped in their old-school minivan and were zooming out of the parking lot. A few moments later we were flying past my car. My friend and I had a shocking realization at the same time, turning towards each other with the “OH SHIT” face. I mouthed the word Matrix to him. He nodded. It was clear that we had finally broke through our computer program boundaries and were being taken to be evicted from our pink goo pod. As soon as we had accepted our role in the eternal fight versus agents and sentinels, there was a wide U-turn being pulled at a ridiculous speed and we were burning rubber in a fast break right next to my car. It seemed that we had jumped to conclusions.
When we opened the door to get out, five or six empty vodka bottles rolled onto the ground and shattered. We were trapped in an endless loop of apologizing for breaking their bottles and thanking them for their generosity. The man said the bottles were his fault, and to not mention the rest and to be careful. He said this in a voice that disturbed me with the likeness it had to Hunter S. Thompson’s. We waved them off, and got ready to finally head home.
The saddest part of this story is that I couldn’t figure out how to work the gas can. For the third time, a person noticed our situation and kindly came to assistance. I’m guessing this cool guy was having a late night drinking and had gone outside to smoke a cigarette. He jumped the fence, came over and showed me the key step that I had missed. I tried to laugh it off, which turned into a very awkward and creepy snort. I then started slurring words about how stupid I was. Again, the response; no worries and be safe.
These kind of events became my life. We became experts on everything dex; kingpins even. We learned which brands to mix to get different effects. We knew when Wal-Mart, Walgreens, Kroger, Rite Aid and The Dollar Tree restocked their pharmaceuticals. We knew where and when it was most likely to catch heat. You only hung out with us if you liked to dex, and if you liked to dex, you were cool. It was all a game to me. It was a dark and dangerous replacement for the innocent cards I was prohibited from playing with. I pushed the limits of how much I could take and remain in control. The people who threw up first were weak. The people that couldn’t hold a conversation were weak.
I was strong. Not only could I hold my drugs, but I could drive on them too. That made me a valuable resource. I felt needed and wanted. The loneliness and isolation had returned once I stopped going to Something 2 Do. I would leave the world behind, a few hours at a time. School became a distant thing. We didn’t even talk about school. All of our money went to weed to supplement the trips. Our lives were dex. It was everything.
As distraught as I was with my home life, drug addiction was not my intent. The friends I was allowed to hang out with started drinking, so I followed suit. It was difficult to get alcohol consistently at our age. Someone had caught word that you could get high off of cough medicine. At that time, anyone could buy cough medicine from the store. I started smoking weed to make the dexing better. I still can’t help but chuckle at the irony of the results of my parent’s decision.
Everyone who has seen The Wire knows that eventually you lose the game, or you die. The demons were dragging me towards hell. I couldn’t recognize this myself. In my head things were awesome. To quote Louis C.K.: “Drugs are so awesome they ruin your life.” I really needed something magical to happen...
Unrelated Shout-Outs:
For all of the magic-playing readers, there is a legacy tournament at Something 2 Do tomorrow. It is unlimited proxies, so you can play any deck you like. The first place prize is an Unlimited Tropical Island. It is there annual, end of the year event, so there will be door prizes, side events, and just an all around great time.
https://www.facebook.com/events/260381764020082/
Fight the Stop Online Piracy Act!
Today Congress is debating this bill. If you use social networking sites like reddit, or 4chan, the passing of this bill could kill these types of websites. Not to mention it is a direct violation of freedom. Let’s do some last-minute flooding of email inboxes!
http://paul.senate.gov/?p=contact
http://mcconnell.senate.gov/public/index.cfm?p=ContactForm
http://yarmuth.house.gov/contact-john2/
Dark Side of the Moon on repeat was blasting through my car speakers. It was about 2am, and I was driving down Taylorsville Road, headed to the house that the two of us would eventually crash at. We still had a good two hours left of tripping, but had run out of weed. Some drug culture veterans have described the combination of marijuana and DXM as the closest thing you will get to shooting heroin without using a needle. As far as we were concerned, the fun was over. Once we got to our destination, we would spend the last stages of our night comparing the battle tactics of Napoleon and Alexander or discussing what we would have included if God had chosen us to write a book in the bible.
Just as the climax was hitting in the song Time, the steering wheel locked up and the pedals had lost their pressure. I had run out of gas. I coasted to the median and found a temporary parking spot, where the outer fences of Bowman Field were visible. My friend, never having driven a car before, was shaken, and needed reassurance that the car had not committed suicide. In the most comforting voice available I informed him that the car was just hungry. There was one problem; we only had five dollars and did not have a gas can.
We started walking to Speedway to investigate what our options were. A friendly taxi driver recognized our predicament and gave us a free lift. We took ten minutes thanking the man for his generosity. He had only driven us about 300 yards; he tried to explain this, but we weren’t having it. We knighted him as family and as an angel. Once inside, the clerk regretted to inform us that there was not a gas can we could borrow, and that the cheapest one was ten dollars. I imagine our faces looked as if we had just returned to our home on Tattooine to find our family massacred by Stormtroopers.
The time we spent in the candy aisle of that gas station felt like an eternity. With my knowledge of the duration of dex trips, and how I felt once we eventually got home, I would say it was about 45 minutes. Trying to act normal, we stood in poses we thought would seem inconspicuous and tried to talk in whispers. The first idea was to call one of my older friends who also had a car, and see if he could bring me a gas can or some money to borrow. I had to muster up the bravery to ask the clerk to use their phone. I walked up to the counter, started to say something and then retreated back to our special bubble in the candy aisle four times. The eventual phone call was a failure. I guess I had done something uncool. Again we were heart broken. We discussed that if we died tonight, we were glad it was with each other.
The physical effects of dex are extraordinary. I preferred them to sex, honestly. Imagine a tingle that runs up and down your spine. Suddenly you get a subtle itch all over your body. It isn’t one that you feel like you have to scratch, it is almost pleasant, like when you put on a wool sweater when you are cold. After a few minutes of that, you stop noticing the temperature, you stop noticing your skin, your muscles, and your vision. You soon feel like your brain is floating in a tank of water, and you have inspiration as if you have been a witness to everything that has ever happened in the universe.
Your brain secretes heavy amounts of dopamine and serotonin while on dex, so there is an intense feeling of euphoria. While dexing, no fucks are given. Nothing can bring you down. The whole world can be burning around you, and you’ll smile at the fireworks. When you go out into the world and interact with it, things can get a little bit more complicated. This night being an example; there are hiccups in your on-top-of-the-world mentality, but like I said, we had accepted death as a possibility. We were OK with that.
The very emotional and dramatic responses to all of the things that had happened so far are typical of most highs. Most drugs have a tendency to make little things seem very significant, and make you completely miss and ignore the things that are actually significant. There are a couple of side effects that distinguish DXM trips from others. It is sometimes called robo-tripping for two reasons. Robitussin is one of the more popular brands of cough medicine, so it was a natural title. Robitussin is coincidentally one of the worst choices if you want to trip. You either have to swallow sixty pills or drink four bottles. Very inefficient and unpleasant. The other reason for the slang robo-tripping is that you walk and talk like a robot. Your movements are very sudden, jerky, and stiff. Your hearing is distorted so you can think you are shouting when really you are muttering to yourself. You can also think you are being quiet while in reality you are yelling. You also have a tendency to freeze in very weird positions for an extended amount of time.
I’m pretty sure we were yelling in the candy aisle. We were discussing all our options. These included trying to get a job at Speedway so we could earn a gas can, offering a strip show, robbing the register, and others I can’t remember. Eventually a man and a woman wearing trench coats walked up to us with a gas can in hand and told us to follow them. Our frowns went upside down and we hurried excitedly outside.
We jumped in their old-school minivan and were zooming out of the parking lot. A few moments later we were flying past my car. My friend and I had a shocking realization at the same time, turning towards each other with the “OH SHIT” face. I mouthed the word Matrix to him. He nodded. It was clear that we had finally broke through our computer program boundaries and were being taken to be evicted from our pink goo pod. As soon as we had accepted our role in the eternal fight versus agents and sentinels, there was a wide U-turn being pulled at a ridiculous speed and we were burning rubber in a fast break right next to my car. It seemed that we had jumped to conclusions.
When we opened the door to get out, five or six empty vodka bottles rolled onto the ground and shattered. We were trapped in an endless loop of apologizing for breaking their bottles and thanking them for their generosity. The man said the bottles were his fault, and to not mention the rest and to be careful. He said this in a voice that disturbed me with the likeness it had to Hunter S. Thompson’s. We waved them off, and got ready to finally head home.
The saddest part of this story is that I couldn’t figure out how to work the gas can. For the third time, a person noticed our situation and kindly came to assistance. I’m guessing this cool guy was having a late night drinking and had gone outside to smoke a cigarette. He jumped the fence, came over and showed me the key step that I had missed. I tried to laugh it off, which turned into a very awkward and creepy snort. I then started slurring words about how stupid I was. Again, the response; no worries and be safe.
These kind of events became my life. We became experts on everything dex; kingpins even. We learned which brands to mix to get different effects. We knew when Wal-Mart, Walgreens, Kroger, Rite Aid and The Dollar Tree restocked their pharmaceuticals. We knew where and when it was most likely to catch heat. You only hung out with us if you liked to dex, and if you liked to dex, you were cool. It was all a game to me. It was a dark and dangerous replacement for the innocent cards I was prohibited from playing with. I pushed the limits of how much I could take and remain in control. The people who threw up first were weak. The people that couldn’t hold a conversation were weak.
I was strong. Not only could I hold my drugs, but I could drive on them too. That made me a valuable resource. I felt needed and wanted. The loneliness and isolation had returned once I stopped going to Something 2 Do. I would leave the world behind, a few hours at a time. School became a distant thing. We didn’t even talk about school. All of our money went to weed to supplement the trips. Our lives were dex. It was everything.
As distraught as I was with my home life, drug addiction was not my intent. The friends I was allowed to hang out with started drinking, so I followed suit. It was difficult to get alcohol consistently at our age. Someone had caught word that you could get high off of cough medicine. At that time, anyone could buy cough medicine from the store. I started smoking weed to make the dexing better. I still can’t help but chuckle at the irony of the results of my parent’s decision.
Everyone who has seen The Wire knows that eventually you lose the game, or you die. The demons were dragging me towards hell. I couldn’t recognize this myself. In my head things were awesome. To quote Louis C.K.: “Drugs are so awesome they ruin your life.” I really needed something magical to happen...
Unrelated Shout-Outs:
For all of the magic-playing readers, there is a legacy tournament at Something 2 Do tomorrow. It is unlimited proxies, so you can play any deck you like. The first place prize is an Unlimited Tropical Island. It is there annual, end of the year event, so there will be door prizes, side events, and just an all around great time.
https://www.facebook.com/events/260381764020082/
Fight the Stop Online Piracy Act!
Today Congress is debating this bill. If you use social networking sites like reddit, or 4chan, the passing of this bill could kill these types of websites. Not to mention it is a direct violation of freedom. Let’s do some last-minute flooding of email inboxes!
http://paul.senate.gov/?p=contact
http://mcconnell.senate.gov/public/index.cfm?p=ContactForm
http://yarmuth.house.gov/contact-john2/
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