Everything started out pretty decent here, but then at about the third taco in I started hallucinating and reality began to warp itself around me as I forgot who I was, why I needed to eat, and why hummingbirds need to be eradicated from this universe at once.

I’ve gotten a little baked before, who hasn’t? Granted, I’m a weirdo and it takes a fairly large amount of Good Shit™ for me to take flight, but I’ve dabbled from time to time. Controlled substances aren’t really my thing, though occasionally I partake. So on Saturday my girlfriend thought it would be a good idea for me to try the edible variety. She May or May Not™ have had some at hand and she knows how to cook it like she grew up with a Get Easily Baked Oven. She was telling me all about how her facilitator can make them using those Betty Crocker microwave brownies to speed things up and I was ignoring most of what she said and just looking at her tits while licking my lips. She May or May Not™ have started making the butter using the proper herbs.

…she knows how to cook it like she grew up with a Get Easily Baked Oven.

Later on after some activities, she finishes up, mixes it in the little Betty Crocker microwave bowl, sticks it in the microwave, and utterly fucks it up. There’s smoke coming out of there and everything. After a few minutes of letting it sit to cool, she realizes it’s actually burnt. She scrapes it off the little bowl, tries a tiny bit, and pretends like it’s fine. I May or May Not™ have taken a big bite and almost vomit through my nipples since it’s a much shorter path to get that shit out of me than going all the way to my mouth. This thing was awful, really. It tasted like uncooked pig intestines dipped in cat urine, or Indian food. I asked her how much of it I should eat to feel something. She assured me I could eat the whole thing and feel just enough, that there wasn’t that much in there. I doubted her, because I watched the damn process as she made it, but I went with it anyway. I was able to stomach about 3/4 of the little bowl.

How big is the bowl?

The “Warm Delights” kind. They’re very, very small.

Our plan was to hit up Art Walk. I ate that brownie at around 7 PM. We hung around my place for a bit longer, chatted a little, partook in arts, crafts, and other activities. At around 9 PM or so we thought we should go so we start getting ready. Once we leave the house I told her I was in the mood for tacos and would prefer to sit somewhere rather than fight through crowds to get some at the food trucks. I remembered coming to this place once a long time ago and though I should revisit it since I never had the tacos.

Outside there was a group of rugby players chanting some bullshit in loud white boy parlance. Lots of “woos” and “yeahs”. One of the guys opens the door for us and goes from happy-drunk to serious-drunk in a second, looks me in the eye, and says, “you’re gonna have a great time here, ok? I want you to PROMISE me you’re going to have a great time here.” I’m 6’3″ and this beefcake was taller and wider than I was, so I not only promised him that much but I called my lawyer and a notary to swing by and get that shit on paper for him so he’d have peace-of-mind.

We sit down, take a look at the rather large menu, and order our food. I ordered six tacos of differing variety. Chorizo, chicken, ground beef, roast pork, al pastor pork, and steak. After the first bite of the third taco, it hit me like a Chris Brown.

Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING began to move. Slowly. Stare at something on your desk for about five seconds and imagine it moving toward you. That’s what it felt like. It was scary at first because by this point it had been three hours since I May or May Not™ have consumed and I had forgotten about it. When I realize what’s going on, my mind is racing and I’m trying to capture the words to say to my girlfriend. “I’m… extraordinarily high right now.” She got a kick out of that.

After the first bite of the third taco, it hit me like a Chris Brown.

As I eat the last few tacos, every movement I make feels like labor. I start to feel the teeth in my mouth push against my jaw as I chew. Oddly enough, colors faded for me and everything looked duller than usual, but sounds were better though less punctuated. I started hearing voices in my head, but they were my own voices, but it’s like my mind was narrating everything that was going on in front of me while also reminding me of who I am. Like one voice is saying, “you seem to be doing well, no one is looking. There’s a couple in the back who are having an argument. The waitress is taking long,” while the other voice said, “you’re at a Mexican restaurant. Your name is Orlando. You’re moving your left hand. Your wallet is in your back right pocket, use your right hand, idiot.”

The chorizo taco was tight as fuck, and so was one of the pork ones (can’t remember which) but the rest were meh. They used lettuce instead of onion and cilantro which is a dick move and a little weird considering all the photos had them with onion and cilantro, but whatever. When we finally pay and get up to leave, I was afraid I would fall over or something because a minute before I turned my head at normal speed (which, in this state, it’s like traveling at the speed of light) and thought I broke the sound barrier. She drove, of course. We decided to go home since Art Walk was all but over and it’s probably not the greatest idea to have me walking around a crowd when my hallucinations were leaking over from the audible to the visual.

While in the car I had my first major visual hallucination. Everything went claymation. But not full-on claymation, it was more like half-and-half. If I moved too quickly I would “snap out” of it and things returned to relative normalcy, but if I just kinda sat there and stared everything would be made of clay and it felt like I was in the Nightmare Before Christmas. At one point, I asked for a kiss, and she did. I closed my eyes, moved in, and when we touched all of reality came to a screeching halt and all the electricity in the universe ran through my entire body. I’m convinced that if I wouldn’t have shit earlier that day, I would’ve shit myself right then and there. In my head it felt like it lasted hours, and inexplicably enough the kiss itself felt like it was animated (I don’t know, dude, I don’t know) however it only really lasted like… two seconds.

Then the voice in my head reminded me and I was like, “oh, OK then, dinosaur babies.”

At home it had kicked into its full swing and I’m having trouble differentiating between the voices in my head and her voice. I live in a loft and it’s got metal stairs to get to my bedroom. Each step felt like I was walking on mushrooms. I felt the stairs surround my feet and grow. I could snap myself out of any of these hallucinations, but I had to remind myself of what it was I was going through, and that was hard as shit to do. Meanwhile my apartment was way, way, way smaller than I remembered it, and at one point I looked at my girlfriend and thought, “who the fuck is this person?” Then the voice in my head reminded me and I was like, “oh, OK then, dinosaur babies.”

I thought it would be a good idea to watch a show or something to see how hilarious I’d find it. She just wanted to go to sleep. I put an animated show I like, Frisky Dingo (by the makers of Archer) and those colors also seemed washed out. I got maybe seven minutes into it before I realized I wasn’t following that shit at all and instead was questioning the universe. I turned it off and instead tried to go to sleep. I got myself in the typical big spoon position and after a minute started feeling extremely heavy on my joints. Then my body started YELLING at me. It was repeating, “move, move, move, move, move” and I found myself having an argument with it. “Nah, if I stay like this I’ll eventually ignore you. I get in this position all the time and it doesn’t hurt. It’s all in my head.” And my body is all, “NIGGA YOU IS YO HEAD!” This went back and forth for hours until I gave in. Upon switching positions I looked over at my clock (phone) and a whopping 2 minutes had passed since I turned off the show.

So then time slowed down for you?

Dinosaur babies.

The rest of the night consisted of me arguing with myself over things while a part of my mind kept reciting the things I know with complete certainty. It was weird too, it was shit like, “chocolate milk is milk with added chocolate. Chocolate comes from cacao. Cacao grows on trees. Trees are plants which convert carbon dioxide into oxygen. Oxygen is in dihydrogen monoxide. Hydrogen is the most abundant element in the universe…” That kept going on and on. Intermittently my body would begin yelling at me. It would say fucked up things too, the kind of shit asshole friends would say as a diss to rib on you. “Hey bro, you should go get your left arm checked for a tumor.” Then I’ll be like, “oh shit, seriously?” And it’ll respond, “yeah, you jack off too much and that causes tumors. HAHAHAHA.” My brain was being a complete scumbag. The sounds from outside my window were very loud, and between all that I kept questioning what reality was, if I was real, what happens after death, why reality was what it was, shit like that.

I kept “waking up” and shifting, and it was pissing my girlfriend off. I looked at my clock.

SEVEN MINUTES?!

Fuck this shit. Tacos.

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