I have been so caught up in the nuanced and terrifying world of Spice Gold that I totally failed to notice that weed (actual plant-derived weed) might soon become legal in California. Not just for people with made up anxiety disorders but for everyone over 21, and not only legal but taxed like hard liquor!
Every time someone names their heroin 9/11 or Bin Laden or Obama, the news goes, "Tut tut, can you believe the audacity, capitalizing on our suffering and/or our president?," as if the average heroin buyer is going to be like, "Ooh Obama, I'll pay extra for that bundle," or some non-drug user is going to be like, "Harry Potter heroin? Well shit, I guess I might as well give it a try." The news thinks these drug stamps are some kind of disgraceful marketing ploy, like it's a pair of sneakers, whereas actually branding heroin is like branding cattle. If the brand gets identified as consistently good it may sell better, but nobody's buying it purely on the design (except maybe rich daytrippers). In his mind some junkie sees an empty bag and calls his guy, "Hey, you got any of that Obama smack I heard about? No? Forget it, I'm calling someone else. [click]" The news is dumb.
Our favorite death metal drummer/recovering speed addict/telepathene hallucinogen hobbyist/manic genius Nondor Nevai gives a lesson in astral semiotics...
I almost left my body the other night. Deliberately. Lots of the tingling as my nonphysical began to separate from my physical. I was phasing between R.E.M. and consciousness for a spell, and at some point soon after I began to dream without noticing the transition: I am driving my truck north on Route 66 at night...approaching a green traffic light I accelerate...it turns yellow. "You're dreaming," I think, receding back to body in the same gesture as my truck braking to a stop. Years ago during meth psychosis I had reflected that semiotically the yellow of the traffic signal was somehow profound and now I knew why...
"You're under arrest for possession of a suspected Class A drug," she said. I can remember hearing that and looking at the chick (who was wearing an NYPD T-shirt, and honestly I thought she was joking) and thinking, "Yeah right." So I continued doing bumps out of the bag until she clapped a pair of handcuffs on me and started spouting the usual cop spiel. By this point I'd done four or five bumps of what was the best yay I'd had in a long time, so I was pretty fucked. If I'd not been so fucked I'd have spotted them a mile off, they were dressed like backpackers circa '97 that had to find clothes in a bin when they'd run out of money in Romania, or something. They even had goatees.
We knew the ancient Chinese were way into herb administration, but we had no idea they were into weed until some scientists found the world's oldest marijuana stash in a 2,700-year-old grave in the Gobi desert. Still-green, according to this boring report, it was found along with some super valuable and weird shit, including an earthenware pot, a horse lash and bridle or halter, a leather medicine bag, archery equipment, a rare harp, a wooden wimble tool, leather make-up bag, leather ring, and a wooden implement. Oh, and a white man's head in a basket.
Today is a sad day for stoned tourists hoping to score legal shrooms in Amsterdam. With the Dutch mushroom ban taking effect December 1 (check your calendar; it is today) all Dutch smart shops will be forced to stop selling magical fungi, and all commercial mushroom farms and greenhouses will be forced to close their humid dung-stained doors. Shroom police will patrol the streets cutting off the hands of anyone seen ingesting a sacred mushroom, and then forcing them to smoke conformist cigarettes.
Septic Surge is the Bastard. Not that you can blame the mother. At 19, in a shitty Sunshine Coast hotel room, it’s easy to confuse a 39-year-old penis for something more. They grew up amid sunshine, Sunday congregations full of tanned people, and condos with 85% occupancy rates. They dealt with it by smoking mad bongs and listening to dark carnage. The result is an electro hardcore punk squall, rough as fuck vocals, and low tuned guitars all blasted through poxy amps in front of 30 crossed-arm cunts. Later they go outside and over turn cars.
Juan Carlos Gomez was sweating, disoriented and dizzy as he arrived at Miami International Airport from Bogota, Colombia. When customs officials asked him what was wrong he said he'd been drinking liquor all night. Because his breath didn't smell like alcohol they suspected he might be smuggling narcotics within his body. Gomez suddenly collapsed and was rushed to hospital. In the ambulance he confessed to swallowing capsules containing cocaine, but by then it was too late. At the autopsy the medical examiner extracted 48 intact pellets from Gomez's intestines. They also found an additional pellet which had burst, leaked into his body and killed him. See photos after the jump. WARNING: GROSS
To get these pecs this 21-year-old German jock didn't care that the steroids were shriveling his balls and ruining his sperm. But I doubt he's dealing too well with the horrific acne that broke out across his prized chest and left him permanently scarred. See photo (Warning: gross).
Some people say if you just do tiny bumps of it at a time, ketamine can be a really good vibe and not the vile, pitchblack psychic prison it normally is. Um, try telling that to Snickers over here.
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