it was a tuesday. i was on my way to school when my beeper went off. it was T's number followed by "150", our beeper code for LSD. if my friends could've seen what i did next, they'd have been rolling on the floor laughing. i slammed on my brakes hard, spun the wheel, and floored it in the opposite direction. to T's house!

i arrive within minutes, immediately informing the people gathered there that they'd better not be kidding. i'm told that indeed, they'd found the hard-to-get drug (at least in my area) an hour away at a nearby state university. i volunteered to drive. three hours later, we were in possession of 6 sugar cubes sopping with liquid LSD. the date was set: thursday night.

that thursday, we all lived our respective, responsible lives, in anxious anticipation of what the night may bring. at about 8pm, we converged upon our friend S's apartment. four of us were tripping. S wasn't. her and her friend had other plans involving copious amounts of both alcohol and cocaine.

we all ate a cube and sat down to wait. C and i decided we should set up the nintendo now, while we're still functional and coherent. i remember him saying to me, "wouldn't it be funny if i got called for a job right now?" C is a courier, but usually doesn't receive new jobs past 5pm or so. a few moments later, his beeper goes off. we stare at each other in disbelief. it's dispatch, and they've got something for him.

both T and i are trying to reason with C, saying that he just ingested LSD, and that driving wouldn't be too prudent in, oh, 20 minutes. he refused to abandon responsibility and recruited B to take the drive with him. none of us really wanted to admit to ourselves how bad a situation this was and we simply let it play itself out. i gave C my cellphone and told him to stay in touch with me and T, the trippers they were leaving behind. (note: driving under the influence of anything is wrong. don't do it.)

T and i sat on the couch, watching a muted E! television and listening to The Doors when it hit us. i saw his leg twitch just minutes before mine started going. 5 minutes later, we were both experiencing what Hunter S. Thompson called, "the first rising vibes of an acid frenzy".

we both took off our shoes, stretched, then decided we should check in on "the mission". i called my cellphone. C answered. it was obvious both he and B were experiencing the same thing. he told me they were lost, but that they'll be back soon. meanwhile, T, who is still without a driver's license convinces me he should go for a spin around the block. we take my car. i ride shotgun.

looking back, everyone was using poor decision-making skills at this point. i think the only reason i agreed to letting T drive was to put everyone tripping out into the same "plane of reality"; i felt that if they were risking their lives, by god, we should risk ours, as well.

T navigated traffic superbly for someone who'd only driven a handful of times up until this point and had a head full of acid. we returned to S's apartment in one piece. S and her friend N were there, along with a new face. it was the coke guy, i knew it right away. it was like i could see the evil associated with that drug radiating off him like stink lines from Pepé le Pew. he gave us a knowing (or maybe it was imagined) look as he left.

T and i smoke a few bongs to ease the tension. suddenly, the door flings open. a noticeably upset C and B arrive with stories of screaming trains, weird gas stations, shady cops, and staring people. we all smoke a bong and agree that we're starting to "settle in" to the trip, as the body load has decreased significantly. i'm stricken by the similarity between acid's coming-up period and the launch of a rocket ship: all this turmoil, shaking, and trembling ends in a sudden burst through the atmosphere and out into space. we had broken through.

C enters the bathroom and we all sit watching the TV. suddenly, out of nowhere, B shoots up as if he was just electrocuted. he launches out of his chair and his head collides with the overhead light fixture, which shatters into a billion tiny fragments. suddenly, everything is dark and we're all left wondering in the blackness if we're now going to have to take a trip to the hospital to get B some stitches. no one says a word for 5 seconds as we all quietly meditate on the situation. from the bathroom comes, "there better be a good reason why i pissed myself." the tension was immediately broken, light bulbs were replaced, damaged was assessed. no one was bleeding. *whew*.

C asks me if i'd like to play a round of Contra after the first blunt is through. i agree, and we both simultaneously repeat the mantra that was burned into our brains long ago: "up up, down down, left right, left right, B, A, select, start." the Garcia y Vega is disassembled, removed of tobacco and reassembled in the traditional fashion, shotties are blown to one another, and then we give the roach to the gods. C and i settle in on the couch and start our game.

i'd say within 20 minutes, Contra had us. it was our world. slowly but surely, language lost all purpose as C and i merged into something different, something unique. we operated as one, destroying anything that moved. items were divided equally without a word being said. it was our third time through the entire game when i said it: "dude, we have become an efficient KILLING MACHINE."

i stood up, lit a cigarette, and went off on one of my typical acid rampages, where the volume of my voice rises and i become more and more animated. i went on and on for a good long time, informing everyone in the room that C and i were not ones with which to fuck, as we were functioning on the same operational plan, and nothing, NOTHING could stop us.

i eventually calmed down and retook my seat and again everything resumed to normal. Contra was replaced with Bubble Bobble and we went to work to save our dear reptilian girlfriends from the clutches of some liquor-bottle-throwing monk-thing. if you've ever played Bubble Bobble for more than 15 minutes, you feel like you're on drugs. when you're on drugs and you play Bubble Bobble, it begins to seem like the only truth. your brains stops asking questions and stops looking for answers. it's satisfied with what it's got. my friend T would occasionally try to understand the art of Bubble Bobble but would be left stupified. "So let me see if i get this straight: you blow bubbles, trap monsters in them, pop the bubbles, then get french fries and jewelry?" he'd ask. "Exactly," we'd reply.

every aspect of Bubble Bobble revealed a deeper, inner truth about the world around us. we decided the different "drafts" on different levels represented the challenges handed to us by everyday life. we also decided that the "shoe" item represented drugs, as it gave you extraordinary speed, but made it extremely difficult to "bubble jump". this went on and on as C and i efficiently ripped through yet another nintendo game.

more weed was smoked, more levels beaten, and eventually, the nintendo was turned off and banished as certain aspects of the game seemed to be weasling their way into our reality. i would occasionally catch a bubble floating by out of the corner of my eye, and for a second it would make perfect sense, and that was freaky.

as night broke into day, the acid died, and we all began partaking heavily in the cannabis. we went from trippin' face to being blown out of our heads. and then some idiot decided to open the blinds. and we saw daylight. and we went apeshit. nothing is scarier than daytime when you're still partying. eventually, we all passed out.

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