She was a day tripper, one-way driver, yeah

Apropos of a conversation in the office recently: Various drugs I haven’t done, and why I haven’t done them and would never, not that anyone’s ever offered me any: an incomplete list.

Cocaine: Too expensive, don’t want a heart attack, verges into the Heavy Stuff (wherein the involvement of organized crime and/or vigilant law enforcement come into play), IME people using it are totes obnoxious and a boring pain in the ass to be around.

Meth: PLEASE. What a disgusting, backwoods, asshole thing to do. Go back to bangin your sister-cousin-mama and feeding squirrel brains to your halfwit spawn, Cletus.

Whippets: Do I look like the kind of person who would waste whipped-cream propellant when there’s a perfectly good Irish coffee right here just begging for a foamy white topping? Besides, I *heart* my original quantity of spinal fluid, thanks.

Roids: My boobs are big enough already.

X, or E, or whatever the kids are callin it these days: See, the thing is, I hate people. I don’t WANT to get all lovey and huggy and euphoric with every asshole in the room. I also don’t want to trip out to that awful fucking music, or decide against my will that glow stix are actually really kewl after all.

The Tussin: Not the hugest fan of forceful vomiting.

Toads: I don’t lick amphibians, junior.

Peyote: Shaman infestations can really lower your neighborhood’s real-estate values.

LSD: I don’t need to see the mind of god, or explore the universe inside my head for ten fucking hours, or cower at the edge of a cocktail lounge full of vicious flesh-eating lizard patrons while I scheme to find a way to get golf shoes so I can get enough traction in the blood-soaked carpet to walk out of there.