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Ecstasy in a non-club/rave context (pg. 3)
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| MisterOpus1 |
| quote: | Originally posted by QuickStep
Damn it!
I was completely believing you in all the stories until the middle of the bum one! damn, I was sooooo excited. |
You believe that I would pop pills over Thanksgiving and Christmas, and play PVD really loud and watch the tracers from the lights on my Christmas tree all the while my whole family is around having a "gay merry time?"
You believe that I'd roll during Easter, tie Easter eggs on the ends of shoestrings and perform some ridiculous routine in my backyard, then snort another pill off a hymnal during Easter sermon and dance in the aisle while the choir sings "Halleluliah"?
You think I would roll with my mother and 3 YEAR OLD NEPHEW underneath a bridge with a bunch of bums, while spiking some paper-brown boozes with pills and listen in on the conversations of some underneath their card-board boxes that they dubbed the "chill-out room"? (wait, you got me on this one, scratch this 3rd story out).
Umm, no comment. :D |
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| butterfly |
| you have a wonderfully vivid imagination. |
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| MisterOpus1 |
| quote: | Originally posted by butterfly
you have a wonderfully vivid imagination. |
Gets me into trouble sometimes. I guess that's what I get for living in La La Land, being all jouped up on whatever for a few years there in life. Don't remember much, but man I guess my abstract thoughts run wild now.
Take the other night for example. I'm sitting in bed with the Mrs., trying to fall asleep. She asked me in that lovely whispery voice of hers, "What are you thinking right now?" Her gentle romantic probing into my mind made me pause momentarily, as I sat back for a moment thinking to myself how lucky I was to have someone so interested in me and my thoughts. I paused upon answering, then replied after a moment of thought, "Well, I was thinking about how life had been going for us lately. I also had been thinking about spending more time with you on the weekends. And then I was also thinking about Daffy Duck." And you know something, I seriously was thinking about Daffy amidst the other floating thoughts about her. I really don't know why. |
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| butterfly |
| quote: | Originally posted by MisterOpus1
Gets me into trouble sometimes. I guess that's what I get for living in La La Land, being all jouped up on whatever for a few years there in life. Don't remember much, but man I guess my abstract thoughts run wild now.
Take the other night for example. I'm sitting in bed with the Mrs., trying to fall asleep. She asked me in that lovely whispery voice of hers, "What are you thinking right now?" Her gentle romantic probing into my mind made me pause momentarily, as I sat back for a moment thinking to myself how lucky I was to have someone so interested in me and my thoughts. I paused upon answering, then replied after a moment of thought, "Well, I was thinking about how life had been going for us lately. I also had been thinking about spending more time with you on the weekends. And then I was also thinking about Daffy Duck." And you know something, I seriously was thinking about Daffy amidst the other floating thoughts about her. I really don't know why. |
some ppl might take offense to that.... has me rofl though. |
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| QuickStep |
hahha, I know, I know.:stongue:
I just thought that they were great stories and hoped that they were real. hahah, I'm gullible, I know it.
Thanks for the stories though! hahaha:crazy: :crazy: |
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| JohnSmith |
LMAO! misteropus, those are some funny stories. You have a talent for writing. you should send those to these guys: http://www.i-mockery.com/antirave/
i bet they would put them up. |
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| kr00t0n |
| quote: | Originally posted by magnasoma
Yeah, and try using an electric toothbrush too clean ur teeth when ur high, fkin fantastic. They don't have them in clubs. |
SO SO SO TRUE!!! :D
I'm always the one missioning with someone to the 24hr Shell down the road from us at like 4am fookered, I love it :D
Everything in those 24hr garage shops are bright and colourful, and the attendents always look freaked out by us, lol! |
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| MisterOpus1 |
| quote: | Originally posted by JohnSmith
LMAO! misteropus, those are some funny stories. You have a talent for writing. you should send those to these guys: http://www.i-mockery.com/antirave/
i bet they would put them up. |
That is one hilarious site! Can't say I agree with it's extreme overzealousness, but there's some very funny parts to it. I can understand others' distastes for ravers, though I don't necessarily share their sentiments completely. Since I've been there myself, I can't really fault those who are there now, though I still look back on those rare occasions I remember and say to myself, "WTF was I thinking?!?"
Then of course you grow up a little more and head to the clubs - and then you really become depressed with the folks who hang out there. Many are just like me, older ravers who need a "home" and come to "enjoy the music". Then there's the littered folks who wander in from the bar district who have no clue where they are - they're just on their weekly Saturday night pub crawl with all their binge-drinking post-college buddies who can't break the Jack-'n-Coke habit and can still find ways to creep behind unsuspecting women on the dance floor and rub their pinky-sized weenies on their buttcheeks. Of course it's always a good laugh when they come behind an unsuspecting female and sport their "wood" in her ass, only to find her ass is a "his" ass because Bill the Crossdressor had to get his groove on tonight.
Then you've got the folks who are just dyin' to get into the "scene" so bad that they run around looking for pills and ask every person in the bar where to buy. Chances are they probably already have some in their pocket - they just think it's the cool thing to do, asking everyone as if that's what you're supposed to do in the "scene". These are the same "cool" guys who's heard of Oakenfold and may probably consider themselves lucky enough to own Another World or more than likely simply own Bunkka or the Swordfish Soundtrack, and they've miraculously become all knowing in the world of trance music, or as they continually mispronounce it as "Techno" to all their non-dance scene friends. These are the same blokes when Paul actually does step up into the box and have been spinning for the past hour they come up to some stranger and ask, "Is this Oakey?", as if they're cool enough to know that ever-so-discrete nickname of his, and upon confirmation of their suspicions from the annoyed stranger they jump up and down yelling, "Oakey! Oakey! Oakey!", unbeknownst to them that that God-aweful chant was done an hour ago before Oakenfold truly came on. I guess they were a little preoccupied trying to ask for pills from strangers who don't move all night but sit at the doorstep. Of course, somewhere in the middle of the set this same 'tard will ask you, "I hope he plays Tranceport!". Yeah, me too you cute little clueless wonder.
Oh, and then you have the afterhours. This is the spot where folks couldn't creep into the stalls at the club well enough and sort out their blow lines because their tweakin' their balls off too much (including Bill the Crossdressor, tweakin' balls underneath that mini-skirt. Why does he always come to these afterhours?). Then of course you've got the afterhours dj's that tend to play an hour or so, until finally their drugs really take effect and decide that it's much better to listen to their record's needles scratch off the center paper part of the record than it is for them to actually beatmix into the next record. Then they say, "ahh it" and hand their duties over to some 'tard who's never mixed beats in his life but seemingly believes it's a piece of cake. After 20 minutes or so of completely ing up and a couple of drugged-out crowd "boos", the original DJ manages to snap his ass out of his self-inflicted K-hole long enough to kick the amateur twirp off and slide in his favorite mix CD, then immediately falls back into the corner where all the cigarette ashes and spilt beer somehow finds a home at. "Ahh, $100 well spent on that DJ" thinks the afterhours host to himself, then attempts to corale back into the house the 2 K-holed E-tards he's never met before out of the middle of the street where they've successfully peed their pants but can't feel any sensation whatsoever. And then, of course, you've got the 2 meatheads named "Biff" and "Spencer" who seemingly have no jobs but pumping iron in the gym 8 hours a day and wear shirts that would only fit a pomeranian puppy, but like to strip off their article of clothing to show their man-boobs to everyone while giving the excuse that "it's too damn hot in here for this shirt" ("Jesus, wear a bra for Christ sake!" I say to myself), as if they're expecting a m'enage a twat from everyone there at that point. They also somehow always manage to have a few clubwhores follow them in to grace everyone with their appearance. These Arnolds and clubwhores supposedly like the music - I mean, they've got some good "techno" CD's right? And they always tend to know when a good DJ comes into town, because they somehow are always there. I'm not sure I've seen them get up and dance once, come to think of it. I wonder if they even "head knod"? Well, they are there too, just as an appearance of course. Usually it's where they find more blow for themselves, and tend to skip out right when Mr. Amateur DJ attempts to mix beats.
After the sun thankfully comes up (which hardly anyone notices anyway), you realize it's time to go because the gay landlord who lives below runs upstairs in his lovely red satin Hugh Hefner look-alike bathrobe and storms in to break up the party. "What the hell iss everyone doing sstill up at thisss time in the morning?!?!?!" he hisses in his high-pitched lispy voice. "I can't believe you, Chrisss!!! You'd better pack up your thingsss buddy, 'cause I'm lettin' your pretty little asssss outa your rent contract now!!!" "Hey Chris, there's a gay Hugh Hefner yelling at you, you'd better get your nose out of that and come out of the bathroom!", yells one clueless tweaker. And thankfully that god-aweful afterhours party comes to a close.
And then the long drive home, and of course you have to hear those morning birds chirping in the morning, as if God made creatures to remind you just how early the morning is, and just how unproductive your life is at this moment walking into your house at 8 AM. "These cute little birds do nothing but work work work, while you idiots do nothing but destroy what little braincells you have left all night," God says to you as you stumble inside. And then of course you're too ing tired to step into the shower, but you know that if you don't you're going to smell up your entire bed with that smokey, puke-ridden, beer-spilled shirt, that only club shirt you own that you can't wash and refuse to dry-clean so you hang it up to hopefully air-dry that wretched smell out, and your pillow will smell like your head which currently smells like you combed your hair with Fat Albert's skid-marked tighty-whities. So you manage to shower off and feel a little better, put on your comfys, and slide right into bed. Only you realize your heart is beating 150x/minute, and you conclude that it must be because the drapes aren't keeping the light out enough. Since you missed that part about nighttime being the time where the majority of the world sleeps, you make a fruitless attempt to create an "artificial" night by grabbing a couple of blankets to go over your drapes. Of course they don't fit quite right, and you resort to a few thumbtacks and even a couple of nails where necessary to get those ing drapes up, because the sun is now your Mortal Enemy. Now that it's completely dark you think all is well, but for some reason your heart is still beating out of your chest, and you do everything in the world to reason with yourself that it's anything but that 8-ball you snorted up your honker right before gay-Hefner walked in to break up the afterhours. So somehow, after 5 Advil, 3 Tylenol PMs, a melatonin, soothing jazz music on the radio, and some strange pill that Biff the bodybuilder had given you and promised it will help you "come down", you manage to fall asleep. Then of course the next 3 days you can't understand why the you did all those stupid ing things, but Satan himself must have created short-term memory, because your stupid-ass soon forgets that 3-day misery and you're ready to do it up all over again come Saturday.
I'm getting old.
Sorry, what the hell was this thread about again? Please excuse me going down memory lane. Just ignore. It was all a bad dream. Let's get back to issues here. Focus people. |
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| JohnSmith |
| LMFAO!! holy , funniest thing i have ever read on this board! |
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| zarathustra |
| :haha: R O F L :haha: |
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| Shakka |
| God damn! That was funny as hell. |
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