Jonas Does Portland: That Time I Took Six Hits Of Acid For My First Time

Hello there, loyal readers. Usually, I wet your loins with anecdotes about horrible chain restaurants or regale you with tales of dick pill adventures. But, April is The Drug Issue and I’m in recovery. So, this time, we’re talking about some of the horrible drug adventures that I’ve been on. In my mind, the best way to keep your past where it belongs is to accept it and talk about it. Too many addicts are ashamed of their past and it ends up haunting them into a relapse. Well, I’m not one of those people. All of my drug-fueled fuck-ups led me to where I am today and made me the man writing this very article. So, are we going to talk about the time I took eight Percocet and survived? Nope, too sad. How about the time I took ecstasy and fucked so many times in one night that I almost had a heart attack? Nope, you guys really don’t need to know that much about my sexual prowess. No, dear degenerates... today, we’re going to talk about the first time I did LSD, because I took six hits my first time. For those of you who aren’t in the know, six hits of acid is a whole fucking lot for your first time. And, with that being said, let’s begin.

Back when I was 17, I went to a party at a buddy’s house. Typical school party, you know? Drink underage, smoke some weed, watch some movies and maybe engage in some risky sexual behavior, if it came down to it. There were lots of black lights and beads hanging off shit, if you know what I’m saying. Like, Jerry Garcia’s soul sprayed diarrhea all over the room. So, we order a shitload of pizzas and start busting out the beer and weed. At this point, I need to make a painful admission to all of you. When I was 17, I hated beer and totally loved Mike’s Hard Lemonade (and, you can eat my entire ass if you have a problem with that). It’s an important detail, however, so I had to fall on that sword. Anyhow, the party was mostly dudes and two girls. One of those girls was a seasoned LSD aficionado, who wanted to drop six hits that night and asked the acid provider to drop sugar cubes with liquid acid into her drink. And, this is where the plot twists, dear readers...

The guy giving the acid assumed she was drinking the Mike’s Hard Lemonade, because sexism was around then, too. She was not drinking it—I was. So, I walked into the room, finishing my delightful malt beverage only to be informed that I’d just chugged down six hits of acid. FUN TIMES ABOUND! They informed me of the mistake and told me to strap in for the roller coaster ride. About an hour in, I started to get tracers and colors became brighter but nothing crazy was happening. It was also at this time, that the guys decided to put on Fantasia—that’s the Disney film that already looks like a goddamn acid trip. So, I watched this movie until the television started talking to me and decided that this wasn’t the movie for me right now. I moved to a couch in front of a poster of The Crow, because I don’t make solid acid decisions, apparently. So, after having a full-blown conversation with dead as fuck Brandon Lee, I was removed from the couch area, because I got insulted when he stopped talking to me and I was rather vocal about it. Listen, I don’t do surprise drugs well, okay? Luckily, I calmed down quickly and we all laughed about it. Crisis averted! Or, was it?

At this point, I was craving the FUCK out of orange juice, because I guess that’s normal on acid. I decided that driving was a great idea, when I was in a frame of mind that allowed me to talk to a dead celebrity on a poster. SPOILER ALERT: it was a terrible fucking idea. Luckily, a more seasoned acid taking friend followed me out to the car, got in with me and immediately played The End by The Doors. You know what that song does when you’re on acid? It bums you all the way the fuck out. It immediately makes you cry and think about repressed memories. It also makes you get out of a car and run back into the apartment, to get away from the Jim Morrison demons that just showed up. All those things happened and I’m reasonably sure I also pissed my pants. All bad, except that I didn’t drive...I’d have surely died, if I’d have driven. Speaking of dying, I walked inside and went directly to the bathroom and took what I later learned was a two hour...shit? I dunno if I took a shit, but I do know that I looked in the mirror and that’s the worst thing you can do on acid. Holy fuckleberries of Christ, did my face turn demonic in the mirror. 0/10...I do not recommend, even a little bit.

Shortly after the mirror from hell, I passed out near the peak of my trip. Being scared shitless by my own face makes me tired, I learned. Side note—falling asleep at the peak is bad. Dreams trip balls too, man! And, man, did my dreams trip balls. Apparently, I was screaming and sweating and even sleepwalked into the kitchen and pissed in the fridge thinking it was an outhouse. I woke up the next day, totally fine and not even remotely hungover. That was the last time I took six hits of acid.

Happy druggy April!