So I get picked up by my friends Kyle and Beau. We always asked beau to score the drugs because he "had people". What we were into back then was pot and acid. Beer and liquor had its place and that place was house parties and BBQs. We were out to get twisted and boogie down. There was no time for getting drunk.
So Beau reaches into his pocket and pulls out three pennies with foil taped onto them. That's how the acid always came packaged. We would always drop the acid as we were leaving. That way by the time we got to the club it would just start to kick in and we could effortlessly merge with the party crowd. We smoke a bowl on the way to the club and appropriately listen to Lords of Acid as the soundtrack to our current voyage.
We arrive at the club and aren't feeling a thing. We get into the spot and sorta wait around for something to happen... nothing.
"BEAU! YOU GOT US SOME BUNK ACID!!!" Kyle exclaims. "Go find us some more."
We were mildly annoyed, but we each lost out on $5 so who cares? Whatever. He comes back about 15 minutes later with some acid with a picture of Felix the Cat on it. It looked pretty legit, so we all dropped at the same time.
By the time it hit my tongue, I immediately began to trip. That was odd... very odd. We all immediately headed to the dancefloor and got busy for what I think was around 30 minutes. We all sorta stumbled off the dancefloor at the same time and looked at each other. We all seemingly had the same crazed looks on our faces.
"WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!" we all shouted in concert over the pumping electronic music.
"What in the hell is happening?!" I asked.
"I don't know. Fuck it. Let's party!!" replied Kyle.
We then headed back to the dancefloor and got lost in the music for hours until it neared 5am as we all collected ourselves in a corner somewhere.
"I don't know who's driving home, 'cuz I'm fucked up." said Kyle.
That had become the customary sign that it was time to make our way home. Whenever Kyle was too fucked up, it was ALWAYS time to go. I looked around and there was plasma shooting through everything. All solid forms were turning into liquid. I could see all of my friend's skulls through the skin on their faces. So, of course, no one bothered to draw straws, play paper rock scissors or cast a vote as to who was driving home. I was automatically assigned with this task as I had many, many times in the past.
I was always the most level-headed and "together" of all my friends plus I was an ace at driving style video games, so I was always the natural choice. I strap myself into Kyle's metallic blue Honda Civic hatchback, pop a quarter into the slot and begin the long journey home. I was done with electronic music at this point so the obvious choice was punk. I believe for this trip it was Bad Religion's "Recipe for Hate" album. This severely altered everyone's trips. Now instead of plasma, everything became weird H.R. Geiger-esque bio-mechanical forms. We were laughing like mental patients the entire trip. We stopped at a red light next to a gentleman and his "old lady" on a Harley Davidson motorcycle made out of bones and steel.
"HEY MAN, NICE HOG... AND I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT YOUR BIKE!!!!!!!!" I screamed out the window.
That did it. We laughed until we cried all the way home. The next evening when we all woke up, I called Beau to ask him what in the hell happened to us. He made a couple of calls and and he found out that that first "acid" we dropped turned out to be mescaline. That explained it all.
Hello mescaline... It was very nice to meet you!?!?