Why don't you go fuck yourself? *grin*
"Oh god... Did you eat all this acid?"
"That's right..." [gestures wildly] "Music!"
"This is not a good town for psychedlic drugs. Extremely menacing vibrations were all around us. We finally made it to the room... the key wouldn't open the door."
"This place is getting to me.... I think I'm getting the fear."
"We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half-full of cocaine and a whole galaxy of multicolored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen amyls."
"A total loss of all basic motor skills, blurred vision, no balance, numb tongue... The mind recoils in horror, unable to communicate with the spinal column, which is interesting because you're actually able to watch yourself behaving in this terrible way..."
"The acid had shifting gears on him. The next phase would probably be one of those hellishly intense introspective nightmares, four hours or so, catatonic experience."
"...and a voice was screaming 'Holy Jesus, what are these god damn animals?!'"
"One of the things you learn after years of dealing with drug people, is that you can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug... Especially if it's waving a razor-sharp hunting knife in your eye."
"As your attorney, I advise you to take a hit out of the little brown bottle in my shaving kit. You won't need much... just a tiny taste..."
"What is this shit?"
"That stuff makes pure mescaline seem like... ginger bear, man."
"Come on! I'll find where you live and burn your house down, you piece of shit!"
"Get up, you pig fucker!"
"With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever, always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he'll never know."
"What kind of rat bastard psychotic would play that song right now?"