I’m going to leave any particular views on drug use over to the Internet trolls and the lovely people who “sell things” down the side alleys near my work, if you like drugs you go right ahead and drug it up. “Fuck it! You only live once”, as famous children’s role model (a certain Purple Dinosaur) once said. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my… extremely limited exposure to drugs is some of the best and worst ideas ever in the whole of creation are conjured up in these altered states. But by far my favourite inventions are the culinary creations that surface, particularly at around 2AM when everyone has gone past the 50:50 drug to vital fluids ratio.
Several years ago I was at a party with a particular Ex-Missus and if you’re a regular reader of the Scroll, you’ll know that 103% of parties I go to, I know:
1) The person that invited me.
This particular party was no exception. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t consider myself to be particularly shy or anything but the night basically consisted of my now Ex-Missus fraternising her way around the room in a breezy, gliding sort of fashion, as she so often did while I took up most of a corner with a premixed vodka + lime concoction in a can, trying to force-drink away my awkwardness. I was always required to drink those god-awful things while I was with this particular Ex-Missus, as she was not yet of the legal drinking age and I was often stuck buying these sugary Lollywater cans for her. #Whipped. So, as I slowly got drunk/diabetes in the corner from said sugary Lollywaters, some of the “cool” kids had turned to the use of the marijuanas. Now, I’ll say again that I have nothing against the use of the MJ, but that particular night I didn’t feel like it, or something. So instead I resigned to watching and laughing my arse off whenever someone did something particularly worthy of a Fuckwit title.
|Use of this MJ is totally fine|
The party’s Stoner Brigade which included my extremely petite and therefore drug susceptible Ex-Missus had moved onto some seriously Geinious* antics. The Brigade’s leader/dealer (let’s name him Hermione for anonymity) had taken it upon himself to test every component within the kitchen as to whether or not it would taste good deep-fried. This certainly seems to be a successful tactic for McDonalds/KFC, but it seemed slightly less prosperous here. Hermione’s first effort was a lemon wedge that someone had in their drink. After four Brigade members received burns on their arms from the oil spitting everywhere, Hermione was still not fazed. He then turned to something slightly less edible; greasy paper towels. The paper towels crisped up rather nicely until they sort of resembled a poor-man’s poppadum, and according to Ex-Missus, they were rather tasty.
Hermione, having pleased his Brigade’s appetite somewhat, turned to creating his main course. With a flurry and a flash he flew around the kitchen, gathering up ingredients with amazing precision. At this point I had to leave the room, half due to nature calling and half due to laughing so hard I thought my bladder would explode, killing me and those I loved in a hellish firestorm of urine and denim shrapnel.
When I returned, everything was silent. That is, except for the rather loud chewing sounds coming from the little Brigade, with Hermione at the centre. Their backs were turned to me and they were crowded around the stovetop. There were no sizzling sounds, just the scrapes of metal on metal. As I walked toward them I could see that each person had a spoon in one hand and was repeatedly sticking it into the pan, scraping something up, sucking on the spoon briefly, and then would dive in for another serve. I came and stood behind Ex-Missus, who had the largest measuring spoon in the kit buried in her mouth and then looked down into the pan. What I saw was not a mixture of all of the ingredients Hermione had gathered up before I had left the room, nor was it anything even remotely similar.
In the pan was a pool of lukewarm cooking oil and melted peppermint lollies, which Hermione, Ex-Missus and the rest of the Brigade were snarfing down like deranged zombies.
|These lil' fuckers here|
Perhaps drugs aren’t the best idea, after all.
* Misspelled for comic effect