The NXG Affair

I bought a quarter of mushrooms at about 8 last night. I sold an eighth to my buddy Saddam, took half an eighth for myself, and put the other half in the freezer for a rainy day. I didn’t dose immediately; My dorm had a mandatory meeting at 9 where we were told about the possibility of narcs among students here. I blew this off since I can spot them pretty well. Note that up until 4 days earlier, I had been smoking cannabis at least twice daily for 6 months. Then I stopped cold turkey, telling myself that I should stop buying weed and that if I stayed sober, mushrooms would be my own reward. It’s worked before. Anyway I made myself as prepared as I could: I shaved, brushed and flossed, and scrubbed my face down pretty well. I would have taken a shower but my college is so ghetto that my hall currently doesn’t have any working shower stalls. Anyway I got some cranberry juice from Saddam and downed I’d say a little over two grams of this nice dried cubensis. While I was nervous (or more likely antsy over my weed withdrawal) I relaxed enough to find my trip corner on my bed and tried to watch some Aqua Teens. I got a call from a guy I had a writing class with last semester asking whether or not I had ANY intoxicating substances, ranging from shrooms to beer. I said no, since I was planning to save the rest of the booms for myself, but I had just dosed. He had never actually done shrooms before so he decided to come over. Who was I to say no? About forty minutes after I dosed, this girl Gertrude came over to my room. The guy hadn’t shown up yet and I was starting to have good visuals (double vision, wood grains looked really nifty) so I said f*ck it and decided to walk with the girl. Ten steps out of the building I realized I had forgotten my gloves and immediately those gloves were the hands holding the nuclear football of my entire being. Needless to say I was back there and got em. We walked and talked, I was feeling pretty prolific since the girl had never done booms before and obviously wouldn’t ever have the chance to do em back home, so I had a good forty minute Learyesque sermon which she seemed to get something out of. We took a walk, it was winter so there were no leaves on the trees. I looked up at a tree directly under a streetlamp and it reminded me of a double helix, I thought that the tree was grown in perfectly geometrical pieces and each branch was one segment of a polygon. I started to get a little paranoid at the thought of security finding me in the state I was in, so we retreated to a bench covered by shadow. I sat down and looked at the ground in front of me. I could focus on each pebble and each blade of grass at the same time, and even though it was pitch black out, the ground seemed to glow in a cream-colored hue. Very cool. We went back to my room, and the girl started to babble about some c*nny drama so after tolerating that for about five minutes I asked her to leave and that I’ll see her soon. Well, the kid from my writing class called again, and said something about being at this building about a quarter mile away from where I was, and asked if I could meet him. I said no, come to my window. He was slurring and not making any sense (this gets good later on). I got real irritated and said, “Look, just come to the window”, and slammed the phone down, screaming obscenities as I did so. Then I went into convulsive laughter for a couple minutes. I was seeing a ton of visuals, everything from specks of dirt on my floor to the wood grain of my door seemed to just wash over anything I had on my mind. I was jawless at this point; I felt and looked completely insane, and it felt pretty good. I could feel myself melting when all of a sudden knocking and voices on my window rip me right out of my happy place. It’s the guest of honor, and I can tell he’s f*cked up. I let him in and can hardly keep from shitting myself. This kid is about 275, 6’3”, long black hair and beard, and is wearing fake plastic glasses, a red SKIRT, a grey and red sweater, and a grey scully. I laughed my ass off, needless to say. That stopped as soon as he started doing things. He started getting insistent that I get him mushrooms, and even though I had a little bit left, I wasn’t about to let him get my babies. He took my sweater off my bed, walked around the hall with it, and then brought it back. He was talking about 100 words a minute, and I could tell I wasn’t making it up, since he was moving around insanely fast and not making any rational sense. I told him that I needed to be alone, and just as he was about to leave Saddam knocks and wants to know how I’m doing. I tell him OK, and it’d be cool if he brought over some Futurama (my favorite thing to watch on booms). Then the kid f*cks up all my DVDs (I have them in order), f*cks with my stereo (about to put on HARDCORE?!) and pretty much rips up this seemingly new and perfect environment I had to shreds. Even Saddam noticed something was up with him, and looked at me as if to say “get him out of here”. Then out of nowhere Saddam asks me if he had eaten the rest of my shrooms. I was too oblivious to know what this would entail. The kid (lets call him Dizzy) looks at me with daggers in his eyes, and says, “I thought you didn’t have any.” I quickly say, “Not enough to sell, dude!” He wants to look at them, so I let him have a look. On my second out of four steps back to my bed, I hear the kid say, “I think I’ll have a nibble,” and starts to eat my f*ckin shrooms. I say, “Well I guess you ARE buying em,” and he looks at me like I were speaking Czech. He of course has no money, being batshit crazy as he is, and it’s a 45 minute walk back to his house. Saddam and I do our damndest to have him put the bag down before he eats any more, but he isn’t having it. I get desparate after following him outside and actually try to give him a hug to calm him down. All this time I can't see any of this shit for what it is, so I get bewildered and actually a little outspokenly upset, though I'm good at remaining calm. He keeps saying shit like, “You’ll understand in the morning,” and “Exactly” to everything I’m saying. Then he gets his shit, pockets the bag and walks out, quickly. I’m freaking out. Here’s a kid, edgy as hell, he knows where I am, he knows I do and distribute mushrooms, and I have no clue where he’s going or what he’s going to do. Plus, he robbed me. At first I’m thinking, “Well, he’s a narc. I’m royally f*cked.” Then it dawns on me that he ate the shrooms, and I calm down a little, but not enough to decide what sort of trip I’ve now embarked on. It wasn’t bad, just in limbo. Dizzy actually calls me ten minutes later, tells me he’s going to a restaurant, and then pours compliments about what a good friend I am and how we’ll go on a road trip to Colorado someday. I put the phone down, and I am confused. Ten seconds go by and I feel a bit of a release. I’m not good, but I’m much better than I was. Saddam leaves me alone to reflect for a while, and I write a page of seemingly brilliant notes that really sorts me out. I realize that both Dizzy and Saddam are just as sensitive as I am, and that if we had time to spend with each other, we might make great friends. Re-enter happy trip! Hurrah! I practically run to the bathroom, find Saddam and tell him the news. I suggest we all have lunch the next day. He’s wary but agrees. We talk for about three hours about the world, love, each other’s views of the world and love. My visuals wear off so gradually I had trouble realizing that I wasn’t having them anymore, my mind felt that good. At about 2:15 in the morning Saddam got tired, but I couldn’t even consider sleeping. I chilled out watching good stand up comedy for three hours or so, then nodded off and woke up about three hours later, feeling like I’d been sleeping for a week. I was above wired for the next few days. And guess what? Turns out, our friend Dizzy IS batshit crazy! He wrecked his entire apartment that night and ended up having to move back in with his parents. Probably has to have electroshock therapy, the poor stupid f*cker. I hope he’s learned two very important lessons, three if you count not f*cking up a tripper’s environment. If you steal, bad things will happen. If you act sketch, people will lose respect. I hope that ten bucks was worth it Dizzy! Three life lessons can cost some thousands! Check out my buddy Corky’s first trip ever by searching “People in my Pants” under level 3!