Mardi-gras Drug Recap

* make us famous


Show up for a bruncheon at a charming Mid-City house the morning of Endymion. You smell like ass and cigarettes, and these Williams College KIPP teachers don’t trust you around their two-year-old. Take completely audible bumps on their front porch with a giant Bowie knife. Realize baby laxative and a stomach full of Rally’s spicy chicken sandwiches are a bad combination. Commit completely audible crimes against humanity in their beautiful marble toilet.


Give the last of your tax return to a crustpunk from Washington for like, eleven, ten... maybe eight or so pills. Time your dosage to peak at sunrise and walk with Eris. Describe it as “holy” for the next two weeks to the annoyance of everyone around you. Stalk up to all the gorgeously-costumed hipster art goddesses you’re intimidated by and whisper heartfelt words of tenderness about how much they inspire you. It will touch their souls. They’ll still probably think you’re lame.


Perfect for those hurricaney Lundi Gras nights when you want to feel for 25 minutes like you’re capable of experiencing pleasure again and not about to spend a week as a hungover shame-slave.


Stands for “Demonic Mind Torture.” Prepare a few soothing songs and then at the last minute change plans, take three giant hits and blast-off to Brahms’ unbelievably intense 3rd symphony. Lose your shit completely. Crawl under a four-dimensional circus tent. Watch a giant boot with the words “YOU’RE DEAD” on it stomp you out of existence. Wake up unaware of who or what you are and wander home in existential panic. Demand hour-long therapy meltdown conversations with your friends, who now hate you.