For my birthday my friend psydereal (of everything fame) and I traveled to Omaha for a two-day outdoor rave experience known as Playground. When we got there the fuzz was searching cars like we were all Columbian drug lords fresh off a plane from South America.

One guy said they searched his car so well, they folded all the clothes that were scattered around in his back seat.

As a direct result of this intensive crack down, the party was drier than fuck. Plus the mosquitoes were so fierce people were asking for insect repellant over drugs. Around 1am psydereal and I happened upon some Mollies (ecstasy). Having had bad luck in the past with purchasing pills from strangers, we were a little wary. Everything worked out just fine. I ended up rolling really hard, and getting a two-hour back massage from this nice guy, we'll call him Mr. K for safety's sake. He was awesome, and he listened to my insane e-tard speak for hours. Sometime in the middle of the night he asked me if I wanted to go cuddle in his tent.

The little e-tard inside was like "yeah let's cuddle," while the logical rational being in the back said "What the fuck, do you actually think he just wants to cuddle?"

All I could think was "I get to cuddle, I get to cuddle."

E-tards love to cuddle. We'll cuddle with anybody. We'll hug anybody. We'll kiss anybody. We'll tell anybody anything.

Needless to say, I had a lot more fun with Mr. K than just cuddling.

The moral of the story is: most of us have that good little conscience that tries to keep us in line, but we ignore it. We may act stupid, but we really know what's going to go down. I knew I wasn't going to just cuddle, but I went in the tent anyway. So maybe our subconscious is telling us something. Don't do the sensible, rational thing, follow your instincts. Usually things will turn out okay.

If you want to cuddle, cuddle cuddle cuddle.

As a side note, I just want to say the people at Playground were awesome. Mr. K and everyone was just so super nice.

It used to be fun, back in the day, for some of the more fucked-up boys. You'd get them, punters with more pills in their pocket than they knew what to do with, guys that just had enough cash to splash around a few when needed. Some that just went out, not getting too fucked, just a wee bit to keep them awake, but they could spot someone when they were well gone.

It's easy, when you've got some daft wee lassie, her brains half-way round the moon and her body doing all sorts of rushes by itself, never mind with someone touching it.

Maybe her man's not quite so much fun tonight or maybe he's out on the dance floor and she's gouchin'. Most of the E these days is just speedballs anyway, same back then. And if you think a speedball always has charlie in it, you're well dumb. Why mix something into it that costs so much when the idiots at the raves will buy anything. Anyway, the lads get the mix a wee bit wrong or you get over the speed a bit too quickly and the smack takes over. Christ, even that kind of happy buzzy mood still makes it that much easier.

So there you are, spare pills or powder, a little bit of chat. "Fancy going here/there. Doing a little bit of this/that. Naw, not got enough for more than just us. Make it just you and me." I mean, ok, you've got to patter them into it a bit once you get them away from the crowd, but it only takes a few quick words, the magic massage touch (never fails when someones that fucked on pills) and you're away. A lot less effort than trying to pull in a nightclub full of drunks and a lot cheaper than a hooker.

Cool, I s'pose, if she ends up enjoying herself and doesn't mind being used as a quick fuck. Not so cool, sometimes, when she gets back to some place and doesn't get given a choice. Still, best not to tell about that one. Happens quite often, and if it's some dealer that's done it then it might be safer just to keep your mouth shut.

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