True story about acid.
A friend of mine in college was kind of a pothead. He lived with two other guys I knew, sort of. One of them, who shall remain nameless decided to take acid one night. During the course of the evening he then decided that he was dead, and that he needed to call his mother. After trying to convince said man that he was not dead and that calling his parents was unwise in his present condition, they eventually gave in and let him call. I imagine they were a bit lifted themselves at this present in junction.
The phone call went something like this.
Guy: Hi, dad? Is Mom there?
Mom: Hi son.
Guy: Mom, I'm dead.
Mom: loses her shit.
Guy: I just called to tell you I'm dead Mom.
Mom hangs up and calls local police.
The roommates kind of figure out what's happening and proceed to flush all paraphanelia down the john. The police then arrive to take the one guy to sober up. The next morning a DEA agent arrives at the house and asks permission to prove the acid man's stuff. The friend reluctantly relents after being told that the dogs would be produced to provide reasonable cause if he did not comply. A sensibel man, my friend reluctantly agreed, and then bummed a cigarette off of the agent. Suitably freaked out, he then proceeded to hole himself up in the library for many hours studying.
When he arrived home the tripping roommie's room was completely empty, everything gone. Nobody heard shit from him for like a week and a half, and then he called saying he went home and that he was alright. A couple of months later I saw him back in Charlottesville playing Drums on the street corner, looking somewhat high. Though, eventually a year or so later I saw him again working at subway, where he seemed much more sober and together.
