It's a bit long but worth the read - especially as a word of warning, the year would have been '98 near xmas, cold and wet and miserable - I haven't taken acid since, though loads of mushrooms....
Well here we go...
The night began in a small house in Amsterdam, near Kinkerstraat where our usual dealer said he had a surprise for us, the surprise was a sheet of trips co joined to form the large image of a bicycle and they were both named in honour of Albert Hoffman and the 50th anniversary of his infamous bike ride. Having not had Acid for quite some time we were positively buzzing with enjoyment so we purchased 20 trips, which incidentally was part of the bike seat.
At this point I might add that our Dutch Dealer had warned, as they do in all good horror stories, that these were strong and we would be smart to go very gently, to which we scoffed, as any idiot would do.
With a sense of adventure we set off to inform the rest of the lads of our purchase and foresaw an interesting and eventful night ahead. Little did I know that this was to be the first and last time I ever took acid in an urban environment.
Upon gathering the posse at a drinking hole near Dam Square, We divvied up the goods and contemplated the night ahead or "The Plan" as it was to be known.
Some bright spark (most likely me) suggested we started in "la viande rouge" a seedy strip bar in the center of the red-light known for its aggressive yet playful strippers. Possibly followed by a pub-crawl all the way back up to Leidseplein to end the night in the Melkeweg, which happened to be having a Trance/hip hop night.
Perfect we thought. we took the first trip...
The saunter across to the red light took minutes and we were seated and within touching distance of lady flesh in minutes - the giggling was starting - surprising I thought, usually its at LEAST 30 minutes before people starting showing effects, but no, here we were 10 minutes after necking and already laughing at nothing. The Strippers weren't best pleased, here we were wide eyed and giggling and in no fit state to hand over cash for their routines, while I contemplated this and tried to prise my jaws apart as I was hit by the most intense neck rushes I have ever experienced, one of the younger lads in the group decided to pull a face at the black girl in the leather thigh boots who was gyrating before him.
She of course responded with a swift boot to the face, which sent him sprawling, bleeding and confused into the tables behind whilst we exploded into a rapture of hyena like laughter. I had forgot the natural response of the bouncers to this was to throw us, literally, from the premises.
For some reason here we were split up leaving Pete (name changed for obvious reasons) and I to continue our efforts to the Melkeweg, as we knew the lads would get there.
So we decided to take a 2nd trip
Fu***ng idiots....
The journey from the red-light to leidseplein in a normal state would take 30+ mins, it took us four hours and all I can remember is the scared tourist faces as Pete roared for them to leave him alone as he marched backwards through streets, meanwhile I was ripping reflectors and mirrors from parked bicycles and attaching them to my clothing so I could be saved by something that was watching from far above, apparently.
Pete twice tried to swim in the canals, and thought he was, though he was actually just lying on the concrete making breaststroke actions. The police went by twice on horseback which sent us into fits of panic and Hiding in doorways for tens of minutes until 'the coast was clear' Somehow we reached the melkeweg and got in.
The following I have very little recollection of and has been told to me since by the one member of our group who abstained, apparently I spent a good part of the evening hiding in a bass-bin asking for drinks to be passed in, the drink was of course a triple scotch and red-bull this apparently went on until my mate lost track of me only to sight me on the top balcony of the dance floor with my knob out spraying the revellers below with jets of my steaming piss - they were ecstatic and possibly didn't understand the source. It is also possible that the Hoffmans were in more of them, than just us. He then saw a huge bouncer a la Jaap Stam casually move towards me and level me with a solid right hook to the upper left eye. I crumpled and was carried towards the exit suprisingly still and lifeless, but I was playing possum and suddenly at the exit I made a valiant bid for freedom, wriggling violently and arching my back trying to escape the clutches of the Netherlands neanderthals, they dumped me in the canal out side the door…
This canal in fact......................
I scrambled clear and was last seen running off in the wrong direction falling over everything and anything in my path.
I have no idea how I got home.
When I awoke I was lying on the fourth floor landing of our narrow little shared Dutch house, I lived on the fifth floor. My landlady lived on the fourth. My landlady was a holocaust camp survivor and a very old nervy German woman.
She was also an Artist. I was sleeping under one of the huge canvasses she stored on her landing I had propped it against the wall and made a bivouac for the night (why when I was so close to home!!) I reeked and was covered in blood, mud and urine, I also had the mother of all headaches. I had no Idea what time it was and stumbled upstairs passed the demolished (I had trashed the place) landing to my apartment, I would tidy it later right then I needed to get to bed.
The horror I saw before me in the mirror was unbelievable, still tripping I looked at my face entirely encrusted in dried blood, which had obviously come from the large encrusted scab just above my eye, I carefully dabbed at my face removing the blood and then accidentally removed the scab. The gash started pumping blood, squirting both in the sink and onto the mirror when I looked up. I tried to shower as the blood kept squirting.
There was no first aid equipment in the house so using whatever brain cells I had left (none) I decided to put a pillowcase over my head and use gaffer tape to secure it.
A job well done I thought, I swallowed four hefty painkillers and slowly but surely drifted off.
Next thing I knew I was woken by the rough prodding of a leather glove, attached to a rather burly Dutch cop. his 6 colleagues looked equally unimpressed, but then I was lying with a Pillow strapped to my head, bo***ck naked and sporting a rather hefty erection for some reason.
I did not feel proud of myself. I was cut from my pillowcase with a brief explanation of a very drunken night, Escorted to the cop shop (via the staircase which had a huge blood smear the whole way from the ground floor all along the walls to where I lay like some psychopaths trail) and charged with being drunk and disorderly and advised to leave the premises the next day or my landlady would press charges for damage and harassment.
I spent the evening cleaning the blood, getting my eye stitched and packing.
I hadn't called my friend who had left loads of voice messages on my phone having anticipated the worst. As usual no one else had quite the eventful night I had but that goes without saying.
(
Ed: Thanks for this very very funny story. Shamelessly robbed from
U75 Website forums - credit to original author Skunkito)
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