Have an objective to give your bender a theme. For instance, stalking and killing a wild pig with a bowie knife.

Like most of the others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser.

Hallucinations are bad enough. But after awhile you learn to cope with things like seeing your dead grandmother crawling up your leg with a knife in her teeth. Most acid fanciers can handle this sort of thing. But nobody can handle that other trip-the possibility that any freak with $1.98 can walk into the Circus-Circus and suddenly appear in the sky over downtown Las Vegas twelve times the size of God, howling anything that comes into his head. No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs.

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 multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.

I never knew where I was going, but I ripped the tits off of everything that got in my way. By the time they figured me out, it was too late.

And the whole Bush family, from Texas, should be boiled in poisoned oil.

No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs. Reality itself is too twisted.