What was your freakiest dope freakout?

I will never forget this as long as I live . . . . We headed out of Denver east on 70 across the High Plains, my lady driving, I riding in the passenger seat. We toked up some Sinsemilla bud until we got well and truly stoned. We must have been doing about 70 mph as we pulled alongside the car on our right and drove alongside it. I just glanced over at it. Then did a double take.

There was nobody in the car.

Whoa . . .

When I looked again, I saw that the driverless car was being towed on a hitch by the car in front of it.

But for a couple seconds there, I was seriously buggin’!

I’ve had one really bad one.

I was in a car with two teenage guys [one was my stepbrother, but I hardly knew him at this stage, and the other was his friend] who were using their bong while trying to drive in busy traffic in the city of Melbourne. I had a few cones and after a while became extremely paranoid. I was freaking out in the back seat that we were all going to die in a car crash.

I was only indirectly involved in this one…
My best friend was hanging out with this guy, and they decided to take a few hits of acid. He started freaking out while the were watching tv, and runs out into the street. She’s tripping, doesn’t know what to do, and calls me at 1 am crying. I tell her to go get him, and she hangs up. When she got outside, the guy was screaming and flipping out in the street, and someone called the cops. An ambulance showed up, and they took the guy away to the hospital. She called me again from the emergency room. She couldn’t go home to her parents tripping, and this guy wasn’t going home, so she was stuck. She was also upset because as she was standing outside smoking a cigarette, a dwarf came up to her and told her smoking would stunt her growth, and started laughing. How bizarre is that? Anyway, I told her to call another friend of ours, who had her own place, and see if she could go there. I lived at home at the time, and I would have had to answer too many parental questions if she showed up in the middle of the night.
The guy was ok, but apparently the anti-depressives he was on didn’t mix well with the acid.
Rose

Me and 3 other friends were driving around stoned. After going tothe 7-11, we were looking for a secluded place to smoke up. We ended up driving down a overgrown road behind an abandoned fish packing plant. At the end there was a turnaround with knee-high grass all around and a chain-link fence blocking further access. My friend half turned around and we started smoking up. After we were done, someone remarked that our surroundings looked like that of a typical horror movies. The atmosphere absolutely died after that. After about 15 seconds of this, someone checked to make sure his door was locked, and it set everyone off. Looking back, it was pretty lame, but it was an almost supernatural terror at the time.

I got pulled over while driving stoned one time. I was alone in the car, and as the cop pulled over behind me, got out of his car approached me (in slo motion, natch), I was terrified. He said, “License and registration, please.” I handed them over, he glanced at them and said, “Do you know why I stopped you?”

“No officer,” I stammered. He said, “Your left taillight’s out.” He wrote me out a repair order, handed back my license and registration, and walked away. I was so shaken that I was still sitting there on the soft shoulder ten minutes after he left, hazards flashing tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.

I was tripping on acid one night, plain white blotter, when a pal of mine and I decided to go roast a bowl at the old skate ramp. We climbed the ladder to the top, and proceeded to smoke.

The moonlight through the woods turned into stained-glass. The woods, alive with the rustling of squirrels, became an army of the undead bent upon eating me. I could clearly see emaciated corpse-heads peeping up from the top of the ladder to the deck, waiting for their chance. So I did the only prudent thing: I kicked away the ladder.

Shortly thereafter, we decided we should go. But there was one problem. I had kicked the ladder away, so we’d have to slide down the rotting, splintered ramp. No problem. One destroyed suede jacket later we were down. The undead were still pursuing, though, so we made out fast.

Once we made our way into the street lamps, my friend excoriated me for my paranoia, and the destruction of his jacket. Then he stopped and said, “dude, you’re bleeding.”

I looked at my thigh and realized that my femoral artery was cut clean through. Blood rushed out, and I watched myself die a fearful, miserable death.

Then I realised that it was just a splinter in my ass, and I cooled out some. Retrospect tells me that I should not watch so many Romero films, but hey, who gets the chance to live them but the stupid and the heavily drugged?

You say this like they are two separate kinds of people.

Acouple come to mind …

When I was about 14 or 15, at a party at my friends house, we were toking up in the garage. It was some very potent stuff. I sucked in a seed and almost choked on it. The coughing fit combined with the sheer ass-kicking of the pot sent me off on a glorious trip. Looking back, I think it may have been laced because I was halucinating like crazy. Tracers abounded, I heard and saw everything three times. The ceiling was pulsing colors and waving like a sea. I just sat in a corner grinning like an idiot.

Another time, I didn’t freak out as much as I just saw it as the most amusing thing ever. A friend and I decided to trip and go see an Arnold movie. Unfortunately time held no meaning for us so we arrived at the theatre an hour and a half early. So he dragged me around the corner to where there was one of these “Magic” clubs. You know, the card game thingie. I was never into that stuff too heavily, and I just stood there watching what in my mind were the quintessential nerds of the century, fighting to the death over this silly game. I’m sure they were all fine people, but I was in no condition to judge. I friggin’ cracked up. They all hated me and kicked me out for not taking the game seriously.

My freshman year of college, I had been smoking weed (although I really think it was laced with something else, because usually weed doesn’t have such an intense effect on me) and later, I was trying to sleep, but I kept seeing these flashes near my door. I became convinced that this guy in my chemistry class was out in the hall taking pictures of me. I got so scared and paranoid, I couldn’t even be in my room alone. My roommate was out of town that weekend, so I banged on every door in my hall until someone would let me sleep there.

Thank you very fucking much.

Anyway:

On my 18th birthday I smoked up, and then burst into tears because I was still living at home and I would never make any mark in the world and nobody appreciated me and nobody noticed me. I was profoundly depressed for three weeks after that.

Aw man, that’s really sad. :frowning:

A year or two ago on a saturday night I was sitting around with my friends really stoned because it was my apartment and I didn’t have to go anywhere, when suddenly I started feeling nauseous. I couldn’t figure out what it was at first, I felt it must be psychological. Suddenly I realized that it was a completely real, physical need and ran upstairs without saying a word. I rushed to the bathroom, sat down on the toilet and had diarreah for a few minutes.

That was unpleasant enough high, but afterward I still felt queasy. It must have been the burrito and fries I had for dinner. After wiping, I got on my knees and vomited for three straight minutes into the toilet (which still reeked of my previous session from a few minutes before). I recall reflecting on how sharp my olfactory senses were and then I went blind. With my eyes open I couldn’t see. I stayed blind, nauseous and half-paniced for 3 or 4 minutes until my vision came back.

Moral of the story: Never get food poisoning while high.

little tip for you: don’t be holding the bag of brownies when an attack of the munchies takes hold.

i had 3 simultaneous trips at once on a overdose of brownies a couple of years ago.

#1: an overwhelming sense of deja vu. everything i saw was something from my childhood. the people i met were friends of mine from my youth. the campground transformed into the front lawn of my childhood home. everything i did was “just like that time when i was 10,” even though “that time” never happened.

#2: every thing in the world had it own unique word. if i scratched my elbow, that was “jopelling” and the word would pound into my brain at maximum volume:
JOPELLING
JOPELLING
JOPELLING!
so i’d stop scratching. but, alas, my toungue was touching my teeth. you know what that is, don’t you?
WERZATION
WERZATION
WERZATION!
it was really annoying. but it’s pretty hard to avoid doing anything when everything has a word for it. i remember being particularly obsessed with the word for “first dumb schmuck to ever die from a brownie overdose”
LOSIZINSKI
LOSIZINSKI
LOSIZINSKI!

so i closed my eyes and put my head on the table. which rid me of #1, but brought #3 to my attention.

#3 bright, flashing visual images that reminded me of the opening to Love American Style, repeating over and over again. seemed like letters and numbers in horrible colors, pulsating, THROBBING.

thought it would never end, but eventually just opened my eyes and saw no hallucinations. just say no, kiddies.

About the same time as in my earlier post I was friends with a dope dealer (who was also a Hare Krsna initiate – a backsliding one; they’re not supposed to do drugs). One evening over at his house he got out some sinsemilla Cannabis buds of a new variety I had never seen: they were tinged with a pale aqua color. We toked up.

That had to have been the most potent marijuana I ever experienced in my life.

Sitting on the couch I went into a trance. I felt my body levitate and hover a couple feet over the couch. Since one side was a little heavier than the other, I tipped over sideways about 175 degrees until I was floating with my head down. Then my body began to spin around and around, very rapidly. Whew! I’d never had a high like that!

1991: Fresh out of the service, had been a good boy for nine years. Wondered what good ol’ KY weed tasted like. Must have gotten some laced with God knows what. Lying on a very gaudy couch, floral patterns, etc. Swear to God I saw the face of Patrick Stewart in the pattern. Became very paranoid, just knew that Captain Picard was gonna kill me.

Except for one hit off a j in 1994, I haven’t touched the shit since. Sometimes you can’t (and shouldn’t) go home again.

Sir

I did some blotter acid with a friend of mine one summer day a few years back. We decided to take a walk around the neighborhood and enjoy the sunny day.
Well, we’d just turned the corner when we heard lots of sirens approaching at high speed. We had enough time to get seriously paraniod before a police car and an ambulance raced down the street past us. Since we were walking in that direction anyway we decided to keep going and follow the sirens.
Another block away, around another corner, we saw that the police car and the ambulance had pulled up in the street next to the inert form of a man who’d been hit by a car and he looked just like Captain Kangaroo! Same haircut, same red jacket, everything!
So my friend and I walk past this horrible scene trying to act like there’s nothing unusual about seeing one of our favorite childhood TV characters lying in the street in a pool of blood. This forced calm attitude probably made us look really suspicious.
We didn’t say much to each other until we’d gotten back to my friend’s house. Once safely inside, my friend turned to me and said, “Dude, did we just see Captain Kangaroo get hit by a car?”
“I’m not sure”, I said, “turn on the news.”
We watched the news for a while and didn’t see anything about Captain Kangaroo being killed by a car. We eventually got bored with the news and started in on some serious Pink Floyd music on the stereo and the whole episode faded into the background of the whole trip. To this day I’m not sure if I really saw what I think I saw.

Back in high school, a friend (that’s it a friend) went with some other friends to a subdivision under construction to park in a newly paved cul-de-sac and get high. And then the police came and stopped by. They didn’t want anything from these girls, they were just looking for a run away. We didn’t know anything about the run away. I mean, the girls didn’t know. What a mess though! When they pulled up, one of the girls had been rolling doobies using the door to the glove box as a table. She had slammed it shut. Anyway, so the girls got their doobies rolled and were smoking them. My friend then kept freaking out and hearing sirens. Everyone thought it was really, really funny, but my friend did not and still does not think it was funny at all.

A while ago, i was on legal medication for being a bit, er shall we say unwell. We were trying different combinations of of meds to see what worked best and we one night i had to take amytriptalene and some sleeping tablet…

I started by feeling a bit odd and then noticed that my dressing gown, hanging up in my wardrobe, seemed to be moving. I looked closer and saw two very small people clog dancing in the folds of the gown. Of course, i realised that the meds were obviously tripping me out so i lay back to enjoy the ride (having never taken illegal hallucinagenics (sp?) in my life). That was all fine and dandy and the little people were dancing quite well, but it was late so i decided to turn the light out and sleep it off. I lay in bed and looked around… and there was a big shadowy aboriginal man dancing round my bed. This was quite scary, but then a woman appeared writhing and crying on the floor by my bed. Then she knelt up and tried to get into my bed and i could feel the bed clothes being pushed aside by her. I was pretty freaked out by this because i suddenly thought… if i can feel it, is this real? So i shouted “NO!” at her and she recoiled and the dancing aboriginal man went to comfort her. The lampshade by my bed was flickering and intermittently becoming an owl and the woman was still trying to get under my covers and i kept having to shout “NO!” at her. I must’ve looked like an utter lunatic.

I freaked out and i wanted to get out but i was too frighted to move. Eventually, i managed to get out of the room and things got better. Little wicker baskets of flowers kept appearing by my feet :slight_smile: In the end, i went back to bed and simply kept my eyes firmly closed until i fell asleep.

I didn’t take amytriptalene again.

Fran

One of my friends in college -K- was especially paranoid, so we got her good a coupla times. The first time, we were at a fancy hotel, having a surprise b-day party for E. And we were on mushrooms. When he made the ramen that we brought (we were poor students, not about to pay for room service) he couldn’t eat it because we forgot untensils. So I ordered 5 forks from room services. Wookiee and I were the only ones listed on the bill, so K, E, and Mike freaked out. They kept saying things like “no one orders just five forks!” When they finally brought them, 45 minutes later (how hard is it to find 5 forks?) those three were hiding in the bathtub, with the curtain pulled and the lights off. Later, to punish K for flipping out (she was teh ringleader of the trippers), I started talking in my Dr Claw voice, saying stuff like “K, I’ve come for your soullll.” Everyone else picked up on it. She freaked wayyy out. When we started speaking normally, she said, real slowly, “I not sure if you know this, but you guys were all just possessed by demons.”

Another time, again on boomers, in a wooded part of a park late at night, 6 of us got split up, me and two others, and K and the other two. A cop car had already come by and checked out our car. So when we go split up, the three of us ran to the car and moved it. We then went thru another part of the park, and came back to meet up with the other three. We told them how we had seen the pigs tow the car. K was so upset, she threw up.

It’s just too fun to fuck with some people, especially when you’re in the same state of mind.

Then there was the place, out in the sticks, where we used to go to toke up and run around. One saturday night we were ot there on robotussin and pot, havin’ fun for a while. Then on thursday or so, we were watching TV stoned, when a news bulletin came on saying that they had found a body out there, and it looked like it had been there since Saturday night. Oh, did we freak, especially, of course, K.

As for me personally, probably the time, on acid, that I thought my face was sliding off, and that I needed a stapler or maybe some glue. Luckily, I was too stoned also to do anything about it. I don’t think I would’ve, even if I could’ve.

I’m sure there’s a better one I’ve forgotten.

A buddy and I were out late one night cruising around and smoking, basically wasting time with no motives whatsoever, when it became apparent that our vehicle needed refueling. Now, having spent all of our hard borrowed money on weed, we decided that our only recourse would be to “help ourselves” to some fuel. Knowing that the local college campus parking lots had always been a plentiful resource of unsuspecting vehicles in the past, we headed on over there. However, the late hour (1-2am)was to our disadvantage as the lots were nearly void of accessible vehicles from which to choose. On the way out we spotted a decidedly decommissioned utility truck being stored behind the maintenance building. It was a big, rusted box truck that looked like it hadn’t been in active service for at least five years. We tapped it for two gallons (all it had) just the same.

About 1 1/2 hours later we found ourselves parked in an out of the way corner of the local supermarket lot, which was closed and deserted at that hour, putting the finishing touches on our THC induced euphoria. Within a short time we noticed a vehicle approaching the entrance to the supermarket, moving at an unusually slow pace. As the vehicle turned into the lot, we were shocked to discover that it was indeed the utility truck that we had earlier become familiar with. It made a slow sweep of the lot, traveling perhaps 2-5 mph (we were parked in a far, somewhat secluded corner), and exited back to the highway where it continued to travel at the same 2-5mph (posted speed was 45mph).

Soon thereafter, we had convinced ourselves that the vehicle was possessed by a demon and we had awakened it when we drained it’s fuel tank, and now it was out looking for the perpetrators to exact revenge.

We sat there for another four hours fearing that if we left our secluded spot, the demon truck would surely sense us on the highway and put an end to our thieving ways.

In the years since, I have been unable to rationalize the appearance of that truck.

Memo to self: Never touch “Hawaiian Baby Woodrose Seeds” again.

I was 19, in my sophomore year of college in St. Louis. One Saturday night I was planning to go see the Grateful Dead Movie with some friends from college. I ate the Hawaiian Baby Woodrose Seeds (which contain a compound called lysergic acid amide, not entirely dissimilar from lysergic acid diethylamide) before going. Actually, I had pounded them up and put them into capsules, because they taste absolutely disgusting if you just munch them. Even now, over 23 years later, I feel nauseated just to recall the name “Hawaiian Baby Woodrose Seeds.”

It was a mistake to swallow them before setting out.

The trip came on faster than expected. I became confused on the way to Katie’s house once I turned onto Hampton Avenue and couldn’t remember where I was. So I pulled into the nearest place, a McDonald’s. I called Katie on the pay phone from the parking lot and told her I couldn’t drive any more, please come & get me. She said, “We’ll be right over, hold on.”

They never showed up.

I sat in my car and ran the engine to keep warm (it was February). I smoked some Cannabis and lit an incense stick while waiting. After what seemed forever, I got tired of waiting and went into the McDonald’s. I ordered an orange juice — the only thing my stomach could handle. As I sat in a booth and drank it, I looked into the intensely glowing bright orangeness of the juice, I thought it looked just like molten lava deep within a volcano. Then I started peaking.

I realized that all my life had led up to this one perfect moment, that my entire destiny in existence was now fulfilled, and my life was over, I was now dead and liberated from samsara, and attained blissful samadhi. I went through the “ego death” taught by Timothy Leary in The Psychedelic Experience (based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead). I decided to go to the lavatory.

But on the way there, my legs suddenly turned to jelly and I wound up sitting on the floor of the corridor, momentarily blacked out. Next thing I knew, a couple 15- & 16-year old kids were shaking me, saying, “Come on, man, you gotta get out of here or you’ll get busted!” I looked at the kid’s face turning an astonishing variety of beautiful colors, blue, green, aqua, red, yellow… I calmly replied, “It doesn’t matter, anyway, I’m dead now.” The kid said, “No, man, you’re not dead, you’re just fucked up and you’ll get busted if we don’t get out of here!” So I went out with them and got in the back seat of their car and they drove off. I started expounding my metaphysics to them and passed out. When I came to, they handed me a beer and I suddenly felt normal again. They said, “That sure was some weird stuff you were talking, but we didn’t understand any of it.”

That was my flaming youth … I haven’t touched any mind-boggling substances in many years now. Don’t think they made me the way I am now, because I had already been warped from the beginning. :stuck_out_tongue: