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We kept taking out this picture to scare ourselves throughout the day
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The extraction took place on Island of Koh Samui where it's legal.
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| We drove down to the border, planning to drink the tea as we walked into Mexico. Unfortunately, it tastes horrible, like, well, like ground up cactus. So it took us about a half hour to finish our portions. Sometimes this happened. |
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We planned this whole thing as a big crazy outing. None of us had ever “spiked” (get it? because of the thorns on the cacti!) before, so we didn't know what to expect. We thought we'd be all freaked out, on edge the whole time, pausing occasionally to laugh and try desperately not to shit our pants (it seems like I'm always just about to soil myself on hallucinogens). Tijuana can be sketchy as hell, and we were hoping for a big, Ken Kesey-era mindfuck.
It was pretty mellow, though. Came in waves. Our eyes would bulge a bit, things got a little goofy, like experiencing everything through a baby's mind: Huh, that's weird, never thought of it like that before. Then the anxiety would build, and just as we felt a touch of discomfort, we were back to sober. We'd all zone out and stare at funny moustaches or all the photo donkeys painted, inexplicably, like zebras (see above).
We went to our first bar, our stomachs all a bit uneasy. And, after ten minutes of figuring out if four 2-for-1 margaritas were actually four or eight, we relaxed, watching from our table on the roof, as the city moved below us. The employees were confusing and annoying. The busboy stopped by, watching us as he shook his hips and arms, making a little dance, as if to say, “It's a fun day outside, boys, look what I can do. This 50 Cent song blaring in your face from three feet away makes me feel funky.” It was to make us more comfortable, I suppose, to build the party atmosphere of the place, but it wasn't working. We just wanted to sit by ourselves and stare at stuff.
A little girl, fists full of necklaces, came out of nowhere and scared the shit out of Brady. He bounced up from his chair and gasped, thinking her some sort of tiny, beaded monster. Then another employee came up and forced himself in the small area between me and the railing. He was there to tie new balloons. “There's a possibility, sir,” Brady told him, “that those are going to creep us the fuck out,” bringing each of us out of our private trances, back into the world of laughter.
We finished the margaritas and took stock of the situation, figured we could keep our minds in place and decided to move on. We didn't even freak out when, as we were peaking, we walked into a dark, stinky strip club with Rammstein blaring and really obnoxious strobe lights playing rape on our pupils. Some dude with a whistle showed up and dumped tequila all over Ryan. Then we got HOUNDED by the strippers. All strip clubs in Tijuana are essentially brothels, and their employees are fucking incorrigibles!
They dove at us as we tried to find some seats. We were surrounded by plump little brown girls, like a litter of puppies grabbing at teats. I mean, literally, surrounded; there were like eight of them. And we were confused but calm. We didn't freak out at all. They have fat pimp ladies that escort them around the room, offering them up for lap dances, bj's and “naps”. We opted for a bucket of beers and ten (watered-down) shots of tequila instead and hung out for about 5 hours, watching them strut around on stage, like a plumber might, drunk and sexy for the wife.
This is other stuff that happens when you're drunk and on mescaline in Tijuana:
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click the pictures below to download short quicktime clips
 
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