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Saturday, May 26, 2007

Drugs Win War on Drugs 

Image hosted by Photobucket.com I'm sure you have already heard this recording of the cop who calls 911 because he fears he has overdosed on pot brownies, brownies he made from marijuana stolen from the evidence locker. Ever since my days at the Sheriff’s Office I’ve maintained a special fondness for cops, especially slightly dirty ones, but this guy – what a hypocritical fool. That old saw that cops always having the best shit is true, and this pilfering cop and his wife got in way over their heads and boy does it serve them right. I can’t help but feel some pity for them, though. Everyone has a tale of the perils of ingesting rather than smoking due to the fact that it’s so much easier to overdose when you’re eating. There’s no way to gauge the potency until way too late. Marijuana suppresses one’s nausea and gag reflex (which is why it’s so wonderful for chemotherapy patients), but this effect makes it difficult to rescue yourself from your own idiocy by vomiting up anything undigested. Overdosing on ingested marijuana is like childbirth in the days before modern medicine – you had no choice but just to ride it out until it was over. But unlike childbirth, you won’t die from overdosing on pot, even if you are convinced (or wish) you will.

Some tales of cannabis eating woe -

A friend who wishes to remain anonymous was a bridesmaid and at the reception one of the groomsman gave her a brownie. Time folded in on itself and instead of dancing, enjoying herself and attending to the bride, she holed up in the bride’s closet hidden among her stuffed animals like E.T.

My friend who sent me the story was wasted at a fraternity party and wandered in the kitchen, where she spied a pan of brownies. “Hello, sailor,” she said, and ate about half the pan, not realizing that they were ‘special.' She spent the next three days tripping alone in her apartment, in complete agony. Each night she would go to bed praying she would wake up sober and each morning she would wake up as high as the night before.

From another friend...
I remember in Amsterdam, we ate some brownies and went to a square at night where we saw a half-naked, short Italian guy (think Kevin Kline in a Fish Called Wanda but in a leopard pattern g-string) do an amazing acrobatic routine on a pole with a t-bar extension. After it was all over, our friend Joe broke out of his stupor and asked us if we just saw that. Of course we said no and asked Joe to describe it for us. He went through a complete detailed description for about a half-hour, at which point the guy re-appeared and did his routine again. We said “Joe, you called it. That’s amazing!” He freaked out and ran off and we found him at the end of the night back at the hotel totally paranoid and delusional.

One time at my old job a colleague dropped off some pot fudge as bon voyage present for a long trip I was about to leave for. I had pretty much wrapped up my career in pot smoking by then except for rare occasions when I used it as a surefire cure for a blistering hangover. I have a weakness for fudge and my colleague had wrapped it up so artfully in a bow and tissue paper. It looked like something that Martha Stewart would have made if she were a guest columnist at High Times. There it sat on enticingly on my desk until I finally succumbed, right before I was leaving to go home. “A little taste won’t hurt anything. I won’t even feel a thing until I get home.” It was so delicious that I had another bite, and then another, until half the piece of fudge was gone. Before I had swallowed the last bit in my mouth I knew I was in serious trouble.

Usually pot ingested is a slow creeping buzz but this was terrifyingly immediate as if I had somehow freebased it or injected into an artery. I broke out into a cold sweat, my hands went numb and felt waves of heaviness like earth’s gravitational pull had increased ten fold. I walked to the bike room to retrieve my bike and I had to sit on the floor for about ten minutes before I could face the impossibly complicated task of unlocking my bike.

I then had to ride my bike through one of the roughest neighborhoods in town, a refugium
for open vice of all varieties and the people who practice them. Smoking pot typically is like gently pick locking open the doors of perception, but this felt like I had blown open the doors of perception with a grenade. My poor suppressed amygdala was incapacitated and sounds and sights I normally, healthily filtered out were blitzing my brain. I felt like I could hear every noise, every whisper of each drug dealer's conversations, each nodding junkie's snore.

The night was foggy and cold. Because I had a sunblasted youth in Texas the fog in this city usually is like a cool compress on a fevered brow but that night the fog and wind seemed like something out of the Hounds of the Baskervilles or Jack the Ripper’s London. Strange looking people would materialize out of the fog like ghosts and then disappear back into the fog just as quickly. The streetlights were blinding and had a psychedelic rainbow aura.

A guy hissing into cell phone strode down the sidewalk past me. “You want to see violence? I’ll show you violence.”

I passed a strip club. A man stumbled out the doors, weaved toward the gutter and spit out a mouthful of mint flavored mouthwash, almost striking my tire. He then wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand and went back into the club, fresh and ready to talk to his favorite stripper.

A tranny prostitute checking her makeup in a car window whirled around and gave me the once over.

Then a firetruck blew by and I pulled over, leaning against a car. I could see the whirling, flashing lights even with my eyes closed. I could feel the vibrations of the sirens on a cellular level. It felt like the noise was blowing apart my DNA.

I finally made it home. I was supposed to pack for a big trip but spent the rest of the night useless, curled up on the couch whimpering, “Never again. Never again.”

By the way, I ripped off the title of this post from The Onion. Here are some more of my favorite headlines:

Hanson Sweeps NAMBLA Awards
Plan to Trap Boyfriend Aborted
Like Boxes of Shit in your House? Get a Cat.
Unread stack of New Yorkers Celebrates One Year Anniversary.
Ringo Next (this was right after George Harrison's death)
Trophy Wife Mounted
Harvard Educated Texan can't Decide which to Mention First
White Foragers Report Black Looters (Dateline New Orleans)

Comments:
Love those Onion headlines. Favorites of mine from the historical issues:
From a 1948 edition, New Nation of Israel Eager to Meet Neighbors
Subtitle: Jewish Homeland Nestled Between Egypt, Syria, Lebanon

From the 70s:
American Troops Withdraw from Vietnamese Peasant Girl

1933: Stalin Announces Five-Year `Everybody Dies' Plan.

Plucky Canada has Own Laws, Currency.

--Pete
 
Foxy- When I injested an unhealthy dose of marijuana back in the day ( I'm talking so much pot we had to use a coffee grinder to grind it all up) I ended up running around looking for Freddy Kruger, stealing a suit, walking around Melbourne for two days, climbing atop tall things, getting hit by cars and ending up naked on a train before the cops arrested me and finally declaring the the world is a constant cycle of Death and Re-Birth. That's me not the Fuzz. Fun times with fun repercussions (i.e. never being able to use heavy machinery or babysit children under the age of 35.)
 
Perhaps this shows my extreme immaturity, but I am actually jealous of your experience of going through the scary neighbourhood. I don't know if my tolerance level is incredibly high (pun not intended, I swear!) but pot-via-food has yet to work on me, and it's too expensive to keep on trying..... my last attempt at chocolate pot (I tripled the amount my much smaller sister had) just made me fall asleep. No giggling, no 'more real than reality' visions or experiences...perhaps for the best?
 
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