I host at Modwest because...










Garage (Miami, FL)
April 17, 1984

We read somewhere (Steal This Book, probably) you could get high off peanut skins, and figured why not. A bag was purchased and shelling commenced. It took a long time to generate a respectable pile of the red papery skins, but that was half the fun. We passed the bong around, and, while the smoke whetted our appetites with a delicious fried-chicken smell, we barely caught a buzz. We weren’t sure if we were high or just hyperventilating. We didn’t mind, though. We still had all those peanuts to eat. (NM)

House Party (Queens, NY)
April 12, 1997

The party was lame. In one corner of the tiny, smoke-choked apartment sat the empty keg-turned-ashtray and in another stood my ex. She’d dumped me last week and was now sticking her tongue down my best friend’s throat. I’d already smoked my Mexican dirt weed, so I wasn’t wasted enough to deal with the situation. To make matters worse, the Snoop Dogg CD kept skipping. So, I hit the medicine cabinet. Desperate for a buzz, I tilted my head back and squeezed half a tube of Aquafresh down my throat. No one called the local poison control office, but when I came to I was so ill I forgot all my troubles. (MQ)

Ajax Cleaner
Centro-Fly Bathroom (NY, NY)
May 24, 2002

The eight bumps I’d snorted to make the house music palatable had faded. In other words, the music sucked. I slunk into the bathroom, hoping to score another snort. In the corner, I spied a buff Guido. He caught my eye and scratched his nose. I headed over. "Wanna blow?" he asked. I nodded. We stepped into the stall. From his pocket he removed a tiny baggie. I slipped him a crisp 10-spot. He cut a thick line. I pinched my right nostril, slipped a straw into the left, and bent over. I inhaled. The world went dark. When I awoke, the nurse told me I was lucky; I’d inhaled Ajax. I hate house music. (RV)

Poppy Seeds
Kitchen (Bellingham, WA)
May 23, 2002

I’m supposed to be writing a review about drugs. Household drugs. I’ve long since traded my leopard-skin psychedelic college days for sunny afternoons lounging in coffee shops and reading important books by famous men, so I’m lacking in the story department. I hunted online and found a step-by-step crack recipe, but I needed to buy cocaine. The Robitussin recipes seemed too white trash. And I just couldn’t bring myself to start a meth lab. Then, I saw the dried poppies hanging from our kitchen windows. Don’t ask me; I live with girls. They think flowers are quaint. So, I boiled the seeds for an hour, tossed in some nutmeg, and puked for two hours. I’m so old. (AC)

Bathroom (Astoria, NY)
April 20, 2002

I love bleach. It kills everything. Let me explain. While smoking a joint, I somehow decided to clean my latrine. I generously poured bleach into the tub, toilet, sink, and tile, unawares of the hazardous fumes piggy-backing down my with each toke. My bathroom sparkling, I walked to the balcony to finish the joint. But the joint wasn't its once-yummy self. When I inhaled it felt like a Boy Scout had started a campfire in my throat. I took a final drag and puked a cloudy-white liquid onto a potted plant. Then I went out drinking. (JR)

Pixie Stix
Playroom (Mesa, Arizona)
September 11, 1986

My sister had double-dog dared me to snort the contents of a pixie stix. I accepted her challenge. I choose my favorite flavor and watched as she cut the pixie dust with an UNO card. "Okay," she said, producing a straw. "Get to it." I leaned over the orange powder. I inserted the straw in one nostril, closed the other with a finger, and inhaled. My Kleenex were orange-colored for weeks. (JR)

(childhood cruelty bonus):

Back Patio (Miami, FL)
August 28, 1986

I grew up in Florida, where lizards are everywhere. We used to shoot them with BB guns and break off their tails. A friend of mine once shot about 40 lizards in two hours and stacked them in a pile a foot high. But this review is about the time I was on the back patio of my childhood home. I was six years old, and having a play date with my friend Jon Ralph, who was a jehovah’s witness, incidentally. A lizard scampered across the terrazzo and Jon leapt on it, pinning it with his foot. Jon screamed, "STEP ON ITS HEAD." I did. Its brains were black and shiny. (NM)









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