The Great Purge: Me, Reagan, And Magic Mushrooms

(DISCLAIMER: there’s a lot of bodily functions in this story so if you’re easily grossed-out or offended by drug-use, then please stop reading right now. This post is not for you.)

This time of year always brings out the nostalgia in me. The good and bad times, the laughs, the sadness, the uncontrollable vomiting, and the realization that I’ve peed myself as an adult way more times than I EVER did as a child. Like, too many times. (I should probably look into that.)

Anyways, I’m not usually one to stop people from doing drugs.

(Depending on what they are. I’m not a monster, people. I’m not all like, “Hey, you should definitely do that heroin! I’m sure that needle is perfectly safe to use. These guys are pro’s!” Or all, “Meth is probably awesome! Look how much money they make on ‘Breaking Bad’! And most of them seem to have all their teeth still.” So settle down.)

But in this case, I’m saying outright: NEVER EVER EVER DO MUSHROOMS. Just don’t. Ignore Nike and their “Just Do It” mentality. Tell your friends to hop off your jock and that they’re idiots because this is one particular hallucinogen that’s simply not worth it.

I know some of you are sitting here thinking, “I was always fine and love mushrooms so FUCK OFF, ALANNA. I DIDN’T ASK FOR YOUR OPINION.” But to you I say, “I’M NOT GONNA FUCK OFF, I’M GONNA TELL MY STORY AND I DON’T CARE IF YOU DISAGREE. THIS IS MY BLOG. HOW ABOUT YOU FUCK OFF?!”

(No offense. You know I love you guys. But shut up for like 2 seconds and hear me out, K?)

So anyways, I was already drunk on Four Loko’s and awake for almost 24 hours when my friend came over with mushrooms. I wasn’t even trying to do them, but he never let me down before in this vein so after enough, “Just try a little,” I gave in. I’ve done a bunch of acid, I thought. This won’t even be a thing.

“Whatever,” I grabbed the nasty-looking stems and things and shoved them all in my mouth.

This is what they look like. DIRT. And guess what they taste like... DIRT. And shit.
This is what they look like. DIRT. And guess what they taste like…
DIRT. And shit.

I usually don’t gag, but I immediately regretted ingesting this particular fungus.

(It’s poison, by the way. In case you didn’t know. These mushrooms are LITERALLY poison.)

So after chasing them down with some Turkey Hill mango juice, I lied down on my couch. Then I started to feel nauseous. Normally, my stomach is hard as Jason Statham and nothing (mostly) makes me sick. After a while, though, I couldn’t deny it. The room looked weird and my mouth felt heavy. (That’s the only way I can explain it. Hallucinogenic-users probably understand.)

“Excuse me, everyone,” I said to Alessandro and my friend, trying to hold my shit together. “I have to go throw up now.”

I glided elegantly to the bathroom and proceeded to barf my brains out. I barely ate anything that day, so this was a super-fun experience. The odd thing though was that I could not stop. My body was like, “WTF DUDE, WHAT DID YOU EAT?!?!” And I could only be like, “My bee. Blaggghhh.”

I literally was throwing up so hard that I peed myself right where I was on the floor in front of the toilet. (But not only once, my friends. Multiple times.) At least I could laugh. I called Alessandro in, “Be careful. Don’t step in the piss. Blaaghhh.” He came in the bathroom and I had to laugh. Laughing made me barf more. Barfing made me piss myself more.

(I was wearing a really nice pair of pants, too. So sad…)

“I’m Lizzing. Blaghhh.”

Once I had someone to talk to, I managed to throw out some jokes in between bouts of vomit and piss. “This is exactly what Reagan was talking about,” I said, spitting out pieces of stupid fucking mushrooms. “This up-is-down, down-is-left America we live in blaaghhh…”

I might be the only person that can say magic mushrooms brought out my true Republican.

There I was, sitting in vomit and piss, spouting Reagan-era ideology, thinking about how in all my 21 years on the planet had culminated in this.

“Alanna, get up and get in the tub,” Alessandro tried to encourage me.

“No. This is what I deserve. I’m just gonna lie here in my own filth.” (But to be totally honest, I couldn’t get up if I tried.) “I should have listened to my parents and Nancy Reagan.”

The jersey is right: "Just Say No."
The jersey is right: “Just Say No.”

“I’ve let my country down.”

After some incredibly in-depth commentary on society and today’s drug culture, Alessandro was able to help me get into the tub. This was my where I was at this moment in time: a drugged-out fool sitting in a bathtub and making a ton of jokes about Reagan that I don’t remember as my boyfriend sat in the corner, cracking the fuck up.

“This is the low-point of my life.”

And it totally was. So after I cleaned myself up and got dressed, I came out to my living room and scolded my friend for disappointing the Reagans and America as a whole. Everybody was laughing but my message was clear: this shit was not the American Dream. This was a bad dream about America. I went out on my balcony and yelled into the sky as I shook my fist, “I WILL AVENGE YOU, REAGAN!!!!”

And spent the rest of the night feeling like absolute shit. Then, the other night, my other friend was like, “It’s a whole different experience when you take enough that you almost like leave your body.”

“Well, last time, everything INSIDE my body decided to ‘leave my body’.”

I’ll never do that shit again. And it’s all thanks to my incredibly horrifying trip and possibly Ronald Reagan speaking to me from the grave.

Ronald Reagan

He gets it. Don’t do drugs, kids. It’s not worth it. (Or just do acid. It’s much better.)

Also, check out my interview later today on Opticynicism. It’ll be pretty dope.