“You goddamn bastard! Go to hell and never come back, or else I’ll send you there myself, you cheap scumbag!”

Confused? Well, you should be. I’ll try to explain things as coherently as I can manage.

The goddamn bastard being mentioned is myself. Hey, nice to meet you. Well, not really, but still… you’re better than no one. So have that sense of accomplishment before you go to bed tonight.

Anyways, I’m pretty much your typical American. Deadbeat, no job, skirting along the poverty line while selfishly depending on the government for welfare, oh, and did I mention I’m a drug addict? I think that’s important to point out, right?

So, I’m bet you’re wondering how someone travels the hard and often times hard path to dangerous narcotics. Maybe he had a troubled childhood? Joined a gang or two perhaps?

Well, sorry to disappoint you folks and psychology professors, but I’m about as middle class white guy as they come. Or at least used to be. I lived in those cozy homes around the cul de sacs that were filled with kiddies going about their days and having fun.

God, did I hate it.

See, I was so boringly dull back then. I wish I had been the nerdy kid. At least then I’d have smarts or some contribution of intellect to my poor excuse for brains. If I was a bully or jock, I could attest to big muscles or even a possible future at a sport. But no, I got the short end of the straw and got chalked up to ‘having no particular strengths or skills in anything’ category in life. Even those prissy drama geeks had more credibility than me.

I basically had the usual living with two parents, no siblings, and enough time to waste doing absolutely nothing with my life. I knew how the usual shebang would go. Arrive at college, pass with mediocre results, get married to some chick, probably cheat on her with a secretary or some random bar slut while she fucks with the gardner, divorce while each of us shares days of the week taking care of some brat, and then comes the glorious slide to alcoholic depression.

The American fucking Dream, everybody. Ain’t it grand?

Now, my fall down the lube-covered slide of drugs actually relates to the person screaming their bloody head off at me. Charles was his name, and making my life as bad as the acne on his face was his game.

Charles was also your typical American. He was a squat, chin beard, obese, butt ugly, racist and Confederate flag toting bastard who knew as much about hygiene as he does women’s rights. Which is none, if you’re too much of a dumbass to figure that out.

Picking myself up from the curb he just threw me on—quite rudely, I might add—I turned around and gave Mister Type 2 Diabetes the one finger salute.

“Piss off, you fat prick!”

So what if I wasn’t exactly eloquent with my comebacks… or insults. It was the thought that counted. Though Charles certainly didn’t appreciate my verbal abuse of his weight or prickiness levels.

“Listen here, you piece of shit!” he yelled at me, pointing to the top of his bar, which I had just been kicked out of previously. “Only paying customers can drink here! And you haven’t paid since your skinny ass got legal! So beat it or else I’ll beat your ass raw!”

Well, I couldn’t really argue a finely made point like that. Time to counter it with a wise comeback.

“I bet you’d like to beat my ass, you chubby freak!” Ha, clearly implied homosexuality accusation. A classic.

Charles crossed his arms, further promoting their near ape-like appearance of muscle and hair. It also made the tub of lard excuse for a belly he had more noticeable. Charles was one half fat, another half muscle, and definitely wholly mean.

“If you don’t get off of my property in the next five seconds…” Charles cracked his paws of hands, each knuckle popping like a gunshot, “I’ll skin you alive and use you for a tablecloth.”

From seeing how dirty his tablecloths actually are, I didn’t doubt him that this was true. Still, at least I could get the last laugh… as pathetic as it was.

“Goddamn bastard,” I mutter under my breath, turning away from the bar with my hands shoved into the pockets of my jacket. I was betting Charles was a smug motherfucker right now, probably gloating it up how he kicked me out. Oh how I wished I could punch that smirk off his fat chops without being pulverized on the curb like a skinny, smart-mouth white guy under a steamroller.

Well, there goes my afternoon getting drunk at the pub. Now how was I supposed to spend the rest of my Saturday?

Let’s see… I didn’t have any cash on me, no food, even less available service friend wise, and no cable after not paying my bill for a couple of months. Heck, I wasn’t even sure if I paid the electric. Or water. Wait, what about the rent?

Okay, so I was kind of screwed. I had absolutely no money or anyone to mooch off of. Not the first time I’ve been stuck in such a hopeless and pitiful situation. Except this time, I didn’t have any drugs to make it slightly better… at least from my standpoint.

So I continued on my way back to my shithole of a home that I was going to be kicked out of soon enough. The day was depressing, as per my life. Cloudy skies on the edge of rain hung overhead. There was also a cold nip in the air, making me wish I had worn more than a threadbare jacket and shorts. Why I was wearing sandals as well, I had no idea. The process of getting dressed, then heading out was left to a mystery that bowl I smoked this morning can only answer.

The town I was inhabiting was, of course, a crapsack. I could go on and on about the ways I despised it, but I can sum it up in quickly enough. It’s your typical American town: unemployment is high, meth labs pop up per capita of rednecks, the police are corrupt asswipes that make their main source of profit from running the drug trade, you can buy weed from some fourteen year old down the street, and if you want to fuck a prostitute then may God have mercy on your genitals and wallet.

All in all, my type of place.

Eventually I reached the alleyway next to my crummy apartment. A dark abode of dank grimness that hinted at nefarious activities of the utmost illegal intent. Also, a dumpster, so it stank most of the time.

It was a shortcut to the front of my apartment, but I sure as hell wasn’t tempted to enter it. Half the time a mugger will come out and rob you blind. Being broke myself, I didn’t give much of a damn about that aspect of the alley. On the other hand, there was also the chance of some crazed lunatic with a chiseled spoon that wanted to tear my face off and fry it with biscuits and gravy. And seeing how lady luck can be a constant PMSing bitch to me on even the best of occasions, I sure as hell wasn’t going to risk going down it.

I looked down to my ratty shoes trudging across the blank concrete of the sidewalk, one step moving slowly after the other. I was hopeful I could find at least one can of soup hidden somewhere in the garbage pile of my home. Maybe even some Mac-and-Cheese if I was lucky. Heck, if I was really lucky, I’d find something that could take my troubles away for a few hours. But luck like that is hard to come by in such a—

“The hell?” I said, interrupting my mental monologue. Backing up a few steps, I found it. The answer to all my troubles. A beautiful miracle that only comes around once in a lifetime.

A twenty dollar bill on the ground.

I didn’t bother checking around me to see if someone dropped it. Because truthfully, I would have taken it anyway. And you would’ve done it too, don’t deny it! Frickin’ hypocrites judging me like a pack of vegetarians around a double bacon cheeseburger.

Oh God… that sounded so fucking good!

I snatched the bill and cradled it like a much beloved child in my hand. The crinkle of the green paper between my fingers felt heavenly. Taking a sniff, I was instantly hit with the ecstasy of the printed bill. Mulla, dough, cash, greenbacks, I didn’t care what you called it. It was money, pure and simple, and it was mine!

I didn’t know what to spend it on first. Perhaps to the drugstore to get a pack of smokes and some much needed ninety-nine cent burritos. Maybe to a fastfood joint to gulf down as much barely processed, meat induced grease and fries as a human stomach can physically consume, and then some! So many possibilities, all open to my thanks to the mighty and generous President Jackson. Gotta love that Indian-killing maniac.

“Pssst,” whispered the alleyway next to me. Not the alley—inanimate objects only talk to me when I was taking some green with a mix of red (pills, you jackass)—but someone in the alley. “Come ‘ere.”

“I will not suck your dick for five dollars,” I answered immediately, already used to this much repeated statement. “Dave does that, and he’s down the street.”

“No, no, no. Me come to yuh for deal, ah. Yuh got dat?”

I blinked. “Mr. Wang, is that you?”

Mr. Wang walked out of the shadows of the alleyway. Now, I’m just going to say this right now. I ain’t no racist. But for Christ’s sake, Mr. Wang was the most racist Chinese stereotype of an Asian man I have ever seen, if you didn’t already take a hint by his name. He was short and hunched over, wore wide, black rim frame spectacles that further pronounced his beady eyes, and had the most ridiculous pair of buck teeth that you’ve ever seen out of a novelty shop. To further play the racist stereotypes up to eleven was a bald head with a long ponytail running down his back with that oh-so-greasy, pencil-thin mustache and soul patch, along with some traditional Chinese garbs of some weird looking pajamas. I don’t know how to describe it, but it was red, had eloquent golden trimmings and some fancy stitching of a dragon on the front, and definitely something you would not expect a drug dealer to tote around in.

“Yesh, ish-a me, Mr. Wang,” the curious little Asian man said, bowing until his pig-like nose nearly touched the ground. “At your service, ah.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, get back in the alley!” I shouted, pushing him back into the alley. I did not want to be seen around the town’s resident crazy, racist drug dealer. Well, the racist part may be chalked up to stupid ignorance, because I’m sure people from China would find Mr. Wang a frickin’ idiot.

“Me have da good good,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you goddamn psycho,” I muttered, getting Mr. Wang back into the shadows of the alley. Checking over my shoulder to make sure no one saw, I turned back to the strange little man. “What are you going on about the good good?”

“Me watch MTV! Rap with brack people!” Mr. Wang said, cradling his grubby paws like a very demented chipmunk. “Me save for best customer! Yuh bestest customer, no?”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Wang, I am,” I sighed. I felt a little bit of dignity leave my body from that release of air. Oh wow, I still had some left. Kind of a surprise, really…

Anyway, back to why I was feeling like a worthless piece of shit (more so than usual). Mr. Wang, in his oh-so-wonderful culture clash, was avoided by almost everyone in town. Even the junkies avoided him. Which was surprising, but understandable. Who wanted to buy their dope from some cliched chinese stereotype when there were so many cliched college dropout stoners to buy it from? This resulted in me being one of Mr. Wang’s best customers, with the reason mostly because… I was more desperate than the other drug addicts.

Yes, even Bob the Maniac, who oftentimes uses his feces to fling at pedestrians in the park, has enough self-esteem to not buy drugs from Mr. Wang, yet I don’t.

Now that we’re caught up on that pathetic note, time to get back to business. “Mr. Wang, they’re called African Americans,” I pointed out, running a hand across my face in bitter disappointment for the situation I was currently in.

Mr. Wang nodded, his spectacles not moving one inch on his trollish face. “Yesh, but good good was in moosic! They be speaking of good good all da time, ah! Me wanna sell da good good to bestest customer, Oriver!”

I rolled my eyes. “My name is fucking Oliver Crop, Mr. Wang!” You know who names their kid Oliver? Sadistic parents that knew children would make fun of said name all throughout school and even adulthood. Kids can be cruel, malicious bastards without one fiber of mercy in their tiny bodies. Also, they put sand down your pants at recess. Fucking bastards, I tells ya.

“Oke, oke, Mr. Fooking Oriver Crupe! Do yuh want good good noaw?”

Mr. Wang smiled his beaver grin and fiddled with his hands. Such dirty, wrinkled hands with claws for fingernails. I wasn’t talking actual claws, but he cut them to sharp enough points for them to count.

“Listen, Mr. Wang,” I began, rubbing the twenty in my hand I kept behind my back, “I really am short on cash right now, so I don’t think I can buy anything.”

While my usual craving for dope was as high as ever, the grumbling in my stomach begged to differ. My body needed substances of various unhealthy and fried levels to keep on going on. And crack sure as hell doesn’t fill an empty belly… except with bitter disappointment.

“But Oriver, yuh bestest customer! Yuh buy crack me make fer good good, yesh?” Mr. Wang asked, as oblivious as his getup. “Me make vary good good dis time, ah!”

Oh man, this guy can be such an annoying little hobbit that also counted as an Asian stereotypes gone to the extreme. I mean, sure, he had some good head trippers on the side, and can make a batch of meth like the best the white trash community has to over, but Jesus was he ever such a batshit insane bastard over it!

“Luke, luke, Oriver, me give vary gewd batch to yuh, yesh?” Mr. Wang leaned in closer, which he could only manage by standing on his tippy toes. And yes, he was wearing those weird chinese sandals that looked more like slippers. Thanks for wondering! “Good good batch me make vary gewd, yuh know? Vary good good, ah!”

“Okay, Christ, I get it!” I replied back with harshness in my words. If the little creep got any closer to me, I was afraid I’d contract SARS or something like that. Fucking damn, now he was making me racist too!

“Eggcelent!” Mr. Wang clapped his hands, a purplish smoke cloud exploding out from his palms. While I was busy waving the smoke out of my face and hoping that whatever it was wouldn’t make me hack out a lung, Mr. Wang held his prize gloriously in his skinny as a skeleton fingers. “Behold, da good good!”

Oh, did I mention that Mr. Wang was magic? Yes, he’s one of those ‘magical drug dealing Chinese men.’ Never thought I’d see it for myself, but it is so.

“Um, Mr. Wang, that’s a bottle of children’s vitamins,” I pointed out, recognizing the bottle label from numerous trips down a drugstore aisle. “The gummy kind, I might add.”

“No! No, no, no, no, no, yuh mistaken, sirry Amerikan. Dis is good good!” Mr. Wang waved the bottle in front of my face. Actually, hearing the clatter inside, it definitely wasn’t the gummies I was expecting.

Peering inside, all I could make out were some purple pills. Unmarked, of course.

This gained my curiosity.

“So, what exactly is in this good good stuff, if ya don’t mind me asking?” While there was a special mystery in ingesting a new drug you had no idea about—like trying a new flavor of candy that could potentially kill you—I had grown too smart to do that shit again. Yeah, learning from my mistakes, what a shocker. After the fourth time you wake up with your face submerged in a urinal, you learn a thing or two, I tell ya what.

“Ancient chinese recipe,” Mr. Wang answered me. “Passed down generation after generation from Jeebus himself.”

“First off, Jesus wasn’t Chinese,” I said, “and secondly, how the hell did you get a recipe from him?”

“Not me, skinny white boi!” Mr. Wang yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. “Hi-cha, what with yuh kids and your minds? Thousands year ago dis happen! Why yuh no listen first time?”

“Jesus, fine, I’m sorry!” I replied hastily. “How much do you want for ‘em, then?” I’d rather risk the pills than be in Mr. Wang’s presence for any longer.

“Trenty-dolla!” he spouted out.

“But that’s all I have!” I held my twenty up to view. “And I need this cash for food.”

“No need dolla fer food! Yuh need for good good! Buy good good and yuh feel gewd!”

Well, I couldn’t exactly argue with a convincing statement like that. Plus, it’s been a good while since I’ve taken some magical Jesus pills. Not since that one Christmas party that I shall never mention again ever!

“Ugh…” I slapped the twenty in Mr. Wang’s hand and snatched the pills. “Enjoy the racist bastard printed on paper, you racist bastard.”

“Thankyuh!” Mr. Wang replied with a disturbing snicker. “Remember, honky, take only one per use, or erse bad things shirt up, ah! Two yuh die badry, but rearry foonny too!”

“Say what about dying badly?”

“Have a rearry good good super fun time, ah!” And with a final clap of his hands, Mr. Wang disappeared in a flash of light and plume of purple smoke that smelled fondly of fried eggrolls and soy sauce.

Well, now that Captain China was out of the picture, I was left with a children’s vitamin bottle filled with some illicit drug of some dangerous nature made by a strange little man who said the recipe was passed down from Jesus himself.

Goddamn, this was going to be some good shit!

I was in a giddy mood as I walked back to my apartment, even if I felt like my stomach was trying to dig a hole out of my belly to hitch a ride to the nearest burger place. But I quelled it with the knowledge I was about to get high soon, and that finding food was the future me’s problem. Ha, the poor bastard!

Skipping rather than walking—because I was happy as a fat kid in a McDonalds’ ballpit, okay—I quickly approached my crummy apartment building. Built back in the 50’s when lead and concrete were the building blocks of the nation, it hasn’t gotten a fresh coat of paint since. Along with any repairs whatsoever. Just a really cheery place to live in. Especially considering who my downstairs neighbor was...

I quickly scuttle up the stairs while taking great care not to make the old wooden boards creak. Once you went up and down them long enough, you memorized all the sweet spots to pass unnoticed by her.

Her being my bitch of a landlady, of course.

“Oliver!” I heard her from down below, the shriek of her call sending shivers down my back. “Where’s my fucking rent?”

“Up your old, crony, wrinkled ass you fucktard,” I muttered under my breath.

“What?”

“It’s in the mailbox!”

I hear shuffling under me, along with some creaks as well. Oh God, I hope she wasn’t getting off her couch. Moving her fat girth from that thing needed great strength, resolution, and for her to be pissed off to high hell.

“You better be right, you skinny prick, or else your meth-tripping ass is gonna get kicked to the curb!” She cackled a bit at that last statement. Her laughs sounded similar to bones being broken from the beak of some vulture just as it sucked the marrow out. Actually, the hacking and wheezing following this laughter sounded exactly like it.

Well, I was screwed, since the rent being in the mailbox was a verbose and basis lie of the utmost fabrication to create a false statement. In other words, I made that shit up.

But that didn’t matter now, for I was about to suckle on the sweet, sweet teat of the gods—which just so happened to be a bottle of twenty dollar narcotics. Though I liked my metaphor more.

Arriving at my front door, I kicked on the handle a bit to wiggle it out of place to enter my sty. The reason for no locks couldn’t be more obvious than the fact that once a robber enters my home, they ain’t gonna find anything of value. Unless they think month-old pizza boxes and weird looking mold to be valuable.

Upon entry, the stench of various rotting items and barely living organisms growing on said rotting items greeted my nose. Faintly you can even catch a whiff of a dry chemical smell in the air, with an almost bitter taste coating your mouth once you catch a whiff of it. This was probably my next door neighbor cooking meth again. Maybe he’ll give me a freeby if I ask later.

Dodging past the minefield of empty beer cans and hot pocket packets, I arrived to my television and switched it on. Ah, my favorite show. Static. Just what the unpaid cable bill ordered.

With that in mind, I tried unsuccessfully to flip on my light switch. Not a flicker of light at all.

Well, so far my morning was getting better and better! Or afternoon. I couldn’t quite tell, since I didn’t have a frickin’ clock working!

Digging the pills out of my pocket, I smiled. These purple little bundles of joy are just what I need to chill for a while. Nothing is more relaxing than drugs. They’re like therapy, but without that annoying human contact! Unfortunately, both will swindle you out of your money.

First off, I was going to need some water. I couldn’t chuck down pills without some liquid refreshment behind it. Which made me also kind of a noob to the entire drug addict thing, but hey, some people don’t have good gag reflexes. More of a disability for a chick than a guy, thankfully.

Arriving in my kitchen—which was really just a tiny alcove with a barely used stove and an even more barely used refrigerator—I found the only clean glass in my cabinet. Rather, glass. Clean was a figurative term I did not discriminate against for kitchenware.

Making it nice and squeaky clean with a quick wipe using my shirt, I arrived to my bathroom. Turning on the facet, I was thankful to see that at least the water hadn’t been shut off. There are small miracles in this world after all!

Filling the dirty glass with even dirtier tap water, I shut it off and swirled the grimy liquid for a moment. Staring back up, I caught sight of my reflection in the poor lighting from the mirror.

I had lean jaws with a hollow look, like something you’d expect to see from an anorexic patient or some starving kid in Africa. Patchy stubble covered my cheeks, the bother to shave or even wash my face lost long ago. I had blue eyes that had lost most of their blueness to gray at this point, and what seemed like permanent dark bags hung under them.

The rest of my body wasn’t in much better repair either. I was skeleton skinny, to the point I was pretty sure I’d be able to see my ribs by now. Most muscle had been reduced due to lazing around the house, stoned out of my mind, and lack of proper food or exercise.

Glancing at my grim reflection, I tried to smile. Just a nonchalant grin to myself, and only myself. But even that was ruined somewhat when I saw my gums being an unhealthy red with my teeth an unusual yellow. Junkie teeth, not from food, but man’s second vice. And no, it wasn’t from sex, so stop asking! I already told you, Dave does that shit, not me!

Reflecting back on my reflection, I realized with a bright clarity that I looked like shit, my life was shit, and I was shit. A shitception piled on top of one another to explain where my life went. I mean, it probably wasn’t going to go somewhere wonderful or grand in the first place, but was this a better alternative?

Looking down at the pill bottle in my hand, I also realized something with a clarification that could outshine the sun.

I didn’t give two shits!

I opened the bottle, dug out one of the treasured prizes, and then popped a purple pill right into my mouth. I was guzzling down water in an instant to gulp the drug down, wincing at the heavily metallic taste.

And now I wait.

A pill, per effect, could take a while. Some longer than others. I didn’t have the time to properly inspect my pill of choice, but it was typical size. Purple too. It can be a whole range of narcotics. Acid, LSD, though probably not ecstasy, since those always seemed to be shaped like Homer Simpson’s face or a butterfly.

Slouching over the sink, I realized now was probably a good idea to lay on the couch, since tripping out in the bathroom can lead me to trying to fuck my toilet. Which I have never done before, ever. Swear to God.

Looking back up at my mirror, I caught something. A faint fuzziness in the glass. Reaching out to rub it, it wouldn’t come off.

“What the hell?” I mutter, wiping harder with my hand. But my fuzzy reflection just kept on wiping back, with the fuzz turning to a full-on blur that distorted my appearance to a warped visage of my former self. My face seemed to be pulled out, like my nose was melding with my lips. Eyes grew larger, to weirdo anime chick levels. So were my ears, which were going full-on elfish at this point.

My glass dropped from my hand, cracking on the floor to explode into tiny shards of glass. I didn’t notice it. My vision was changing. My ears had gone deaf to everything around me. My body was shivering and shifting and twisting and stretching and a whole bunch of other wacky changes.

Dear God… Jesus knew how to cook a mean batch of dope!

I held a hand to my buzz cut noggin and tried to hold my head still as I felt the world shift around me. Like I was being sucked inside a black hole or something. Colors faded to gray while the gray faded to colors I’ve never even seen before or didn’t have a good enough vocabulary to describe. Images from subconscious parts of my brain that I would rather not mention started appearing like rapidly flipping through television stations. They all refluxed on my senses to impart a variety of sensations that made my head feel like it was having the entire era of the 1980’s shoved down and stabbed repeatedly until my brain was beaten worse than what that horrid time period did to the disco. Soon I was bleeding crack through my nostrils while acid dripped from my ears, all at the same time when I was pissing out a rainbow of LSD goodness to all the happy folks of mushroom village, who frollicked into the multispectral rainfall.

To put it in better words, I damn near pissed myself.

Holding on tight to the sides of my sink, I felt more shudders pass through my body. My vision was spinning to a kamikaze death drop to some form of hell as more and more black spots clouded my eyes. My stomach was doing a suicide run to my brain and back again, becoming faster and faster with each pass while he slapped my heart on the ass with each pass. I couldn’t keep myself from shaking like a tree in a level five hurricane, with a tornado to rip me up from my roots and send me crack into a volcano just as a tsunami hit. It really was as if nature itself was dueling itself out in my mind as my trip become more and more… well, trippy.

I stare back up to my reflection. It was even more distorted than before, to the point it was like looking into one of those fun house mirrors you see at a carnival. Except now my reflection was better resembling a trip through a haunted house.

It looked like someone had morphed my head into a… a… a fucking orange! Not the color, mind you, since I was still a weird purplish shade, but my head was literally in a ball shape. No chin or prominent end cheeks like I used to have, and now my nose has dipped and actually rose upward, almost like a pig’s snout! My eyes were practically saucers on my face, take up a great deal of territory, actually. I barely had a forehead at all, except for the… the…

“Holy Jesus fucking Mary!” I shouted, grabbing my head in both hands. “I have a frickin’ tumor growing out of my skull!”

Well, that’s what it definitely looked like, at least to me. That, or a penis, either one, really. All I could notice was a phallic like object growing out of my forehead. Like my skull suddenly got a hard on or something equally horny at that.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” I was hyperventilating now. Reaching out to grab it, I discovered that the tumor actually was there! Not some type of drugged out trip, but I could feel and touch the tumor, and it felt solid enough to me. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”

Trips weren’t supposed to go like this. At least the good ones. You don’t suddenly grow new body parts! And if you did, it certainly wasn’t some crappy tumor on your head! More likely it would be a pair of wings that you think you can fly with, leading up to your death when you jump out of your window. Why can’t that be this right now?

I needed to lie down. Get some rest. Relax my fucked up mind for the rest of the bad trip to come. And then afterward, shove as much fried rice as I can down Mr. Wang’s throat until that old son of a bitch dies!

Couch was too far, so the dirty floor of my bathroom would have to do. Looks like we’re going to be well acquainted… again. At least this time with less vomiting and crying… hopefully.

Hitting my back to the well, I instinctively stifled against the cold tiled wall. Wait, how can I feel the tile if I was wearing a jacket? Looking behind me, I quickly discovered my answer. It was one of those types of trips.

“Dear God, I have wings,” I concluded, feeling slightly let down I didn’t have any open windows nearby. They were small, kind of shitty looking, purplish, just like the rest of me, and most definitely growing out of my back.

I resided with this new biological fact as I slid to the floor, shuddering with greater intensity as my trip took a turn for the worse. As in, ‘I gotta use a bathroom to take a dump on a roadtrip and the nearest restroom is four miles away and oh God, I couldn’t hold it’ worse. Now the diarrhea was being shat all over me. Just wonderful, really, it was.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Well, there resides my failed hope for not vomiting. No time or enough coherent effort to reach the toilet, so the floor shall once again become my residue pool of degenerate filthiness and shame. The upside to this was still no tears!

As the first retch left my body, I was happy to see that thankfully, I had no actual food in my stomach to puke out. Only bile and what remaining self respect I had traveled up my throat, but I quickly swallowed back the bitter concoction back where it came from.

Once my breathing had recuperated somewhat, I felt my body lightening up. Like I was drifting on clouds. Maybe this was the good part about the trip? The actual enjoyment? Because a cloud drifting shebang is just what I needed about right now.

Actually, wait, no, I wasn’t drifting! I was being lifted!

“No!” I yelled, slamming my hands on the floor as I felt my legs lift up. I bit back a scream as my palm connected with the broken glass from the cup from before, but the sharp spike of pain was lost to the dullness the drugs had played on my mind. I was too far gone to react in any proper way other than sluggish fumbling. It did nothing, however, to help with the situation of my entire body being lifted to the ceiling. “Goddamnit, I ain’t gonna fly in my bathroom! My toilet isn’t a landing strip!”

Whelp, my mind was fully whacking out on crazy juice now. The pills were a success! Only now I was being dragged to the heavens by my feet. Better than the alternative, I guess.

Looking down, I caught a glance at the pill bottle. It shimmered in my vision, slowly fading as the air swarmed around it. Like a stone being thrown into a still lake, everything around me rippled and flowed, as if water was being thrown over me. I didn’t know quite what to expect, but certainly now a trip through a frickin’ waterfall of all places.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, the ripples ended. The blurring and fuzziness, and yes, even the psychedelic images of various pulp media sources disappeared. Also, I was no longer being pulled up to the roof.

The following crash and bash of my head later did nothing to help my mood.

“Urgh… what the flying fuck happened to me?” I asked myself, rhetorically of course. Doing a smartmouth reply to yourself is just one step closer to insanity.

Opening my tightly shut eyes, I was instantly blinded by a bright light shining above me. Wait… I thought I didn’t pay the electric bill? How did lights turn on?

“Jesus…” I mutter, shielding my eyes from the bright intensity. Light was thankfully blocked from my hand. Which no longer hurt from the broken glass that had previously been stuck through my skin. Likewise, no sign of injury either. Except, of course, for that fact that my fucking fingers were gone! “Fucking Christ!”

My hands, once glorious, overgrown fingernails that really needed moisturizer hands, were gone. In their place was stubby appendages that were rather stumpy and impractical. I was like a goddamn cripple! Except without the cash benefits from the government to fill the void in my life that my limbs left with money instead.

Touching my face with my stumps, I was relieved to find I could still actually feel stuff with them. Not exactly hands, but more like their half developed cousin. But still… how was I supposed to pick my nose without fingers now?

“Okay, this is weird,” I reflected, squishing my cheeks together with my… things. I lost my patchy beard from before to be replaced with a light peach fuzz instead. At least I didn’t have the pathetic puberty stache along with it. “What the hell happened to me?” I said aloud. I moved my hooves further across my changed face, grimacing at each prod and touch. My cheeks had rounded out to a weird spherical shape, and I no longer had a chin. My nose, too, got disfigured in the strangest way possible. It turned to silly putty and was stretched out, along with my mouth, to stick out unnaturally on my face so that it resembled something like a… snout? That’s the best guess I could use.

Inching upward, I was just frickin’ overjoyed to find my tumor was still there, and even more erect and large as ever. Just what I needed. I swear, if I get brain cancer from this…

“Ugh, fuck it, I’m gonna see what’s up.” And with that, I was up. And then I was down.

Cracking open a lid and grumbling under my breath, I rolled over from my fallen position on the floor to stare back up at the ceiling. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” I said, heaving out a sigh. This wasn’t like a bad—or even a good—trip anymore. My body was all weird and crippled, and I couldn’t recognize what most of my limbs even were. Why couldn’t I have gotten claws or tentacles or something cool like that? But no, I just had to get the short end of the straw on drug addled mind adventures and get stuck with the stumps.

“Twilight, are you still in there?”

“Who the fuck said that?” I replied almost instantly, luckily having managed to lift my torso up from the floor. I used my stumps for one practical purpose to support me upright.

“Twilight, it’s me, Celestia,” the voice said again. My ears—which felt much larger and floppier than I first thought—perked in the speaker’s direction. Looking to my left, I discovered a door. Amazing! “Shall you be much longer?”

“For what?” I asked. Though still generally confused, maybe whoever this was could explain where the hell I am. Probably a police station of some sort still high off my mind after the cops raided my apartment. Wouldn’t be the first time, and seeing how eager they were last, I was going to have to buy a new door.

“Why, getting prepared, of course.” The door opened, with Celestia stepping through. “You said you were having a slight migraine, so you were going to take some headache medicine. Do you feel well again?”

My usual snarky comeback was lost due to the inability for me to form basic vocabulary in the correct structure of sentences. Plus, my jaw was hanging so low to the ground, I’d need a forklift to bring it back up. What was before, swear to Christ, was a unicorn. With motherfucking wings!

Its coat was whiter than freshly fallen snow and its body definitely horse-like, though the wings and horn were… different. Along with the fact her mane was a fucking moving rainbow! Well… more like blue, green and purple, but still, it looked frickin’ awesome! Plus, it was all wavy and stuff, with no wind either! Also, fucking sparkles! It was like a LSD rainbow, but with hair! Hair!

“Uh…” I grunted. Blinking rapidly, I tilted my head, my confused expression just as evident in Celestia’s face. “What?”

“Twilight, please, you must really get off of the floor,” Celestia said. In an instant her horn illuminated itself in a golden field of… something. But whatever it was, it surrounded me too, lifting my body from the ground in a cushioned grip. “You’re wearing your new dress Rarity made for you, so I don’t believe she’d be all too well with you getting wrinkles on it. Plus, you’re on a tight schedule today. I’d have expected you to be off by now.”

“What are you even talking about?” I asked, frowning slightly. Well, at least I was upright again… except on all fours. And not in the way you usually are when you pretend to be a dog or you’re engaged in a degrading act of… well, you know. I was actually on my feet—or rather, stumps, since I couldn’t wiggle any toes either! How did I suddenly lose all my digits?

“The charity event, Twilight. Remember, the one your friend Rarity set up for the new childrens’ hospital in Canterlot? You’ve been preparing for weeks for this day.” Celestia’s horn glowed again and I felt my hair being tugged by an unknown force. “Now, let me just help you—”

“The hell?” I shouted, slapping whatever was touching my scalp. I looked down to discover a hairbrush that I had flung across the room.

“I was just fixing up your mane,” Celestia explained, lifting up the hairbrush again using… whatever it was she was using. “Twilight, you look stressed out. Are you sure you’ll be capable of giving the speech today?”

“Speech? Say what?” I asked, still generally as confused as a chicken with its head cut off. Now I was flapping whichever which way as blood squirted like a geyser from my open throat. On another thought, using a less graphic metaphor would’ve been a better idea.

Celestia arched a brow. “Well, I thought you prepared a speech. You did make one for such an important occasion, right?”

“Um…” Okay, I was backed up into a tight corner with no escape or easily available alternatives. Time to wing it… and no, not literally now that I had wings. “Sure I did!”

“Excellent!” Celestia beamed a flashy smile at me that was about as bright as the sun. “I am just so proud of your abilities to balance your leadership duties with time for your friends with such expert grace. You really are shaping up into a commendable princess.”

“P-princess?” I sputtered.

“Whoops,” Celestia said with a held back grin and blush. “I remembered you aren’t entirely comfortable with the princess title yet. Don’t worry, you’ll become better acquainted with it over time, trust me.” Celestia brushed her wing over my head, smoothing out my hair with her fluffy feathers. “Before you know it, you’ll barely remember being called anything but a princess.”

Well, looks like I was a princess. Look at me now, Mom. Aren’t you proud?

Ending the hair brushing—which I felt was sort of (extremely) creepy—Celestia went to the door and glanced at me one last time over her shoulder. “The speech is going to be delivered in less than fifteen minutes in the castle courtyard, Twilight, though I don’t think I need to remind you of that. Always over-prepared for everything and anything is what a good princess makes, and you have those qualities better than anyone I know. Good luck, and I’ll be sure to drop by when I have time to see how it went!”

The door closed, and I was left alone. All alone. With absolutely no help or better explanation as to what to do. What type of frickin’ drug trip was this if I needed an instruction manual to even understand it?

Actually, why was I even bothering to understand it? It’s drugs, you don’t even need to!

“Okay, no problemo,” I muttered with as much flaking confidence as I could muster. Pounding my chest with whatever was attached to the end of my wrist, I said, “I got this. No weirdo drug trip can take too much out of me. Not even unicorns and princesses can stop me! I can handle anything these purple pills throw at me! I, Oliver Crop, am the man with the plan!”

With that self-motivating talk in mind, I turned around to catch a glance at myself in the bathroom mirror. I stared for a good ten seconds, then added a generous fifteen for extra measure just to be sure.

I was no longer the man with the plan. Heck, I wasn’t even a fucking man anymore!

Purple skin, cliched anime girl wide eyes, a fucking horse… thing’s face, and pink highlights in my hair. It just had to be pink! Frankly, I was disappointed and slightly ashamed my drug addled mind would possibly conceive such a horrid sense of fashion. Well, at least the dress I was wearing was okay. A light, gossamer blue with teal trimmers along with a sparkling violet sash and a dark blue color to finish up the look. Not too showy with just the right amount of flashiness, I really had to commend the dressmaker who made such a stunning outfit.

…

You didn’t hear a fucking word of that!

“Oh. My. Fucking. God!” I said aloud. The most important detail to my narcotic transformation just made itself clear once I spoke. “I’m a chick!” The second most important detail also made itself clearly apparent now that I thought about it.

“And I need to take a piss!”