By: Eric Vickers Published: April 20, 2018
We all know what it’s like to get super stoned and to get hungry. If you don’t, then fuck you, you’re beat.
Do you know what it’s like for it to be 5 am, day 3 at a festival after after not sleeping for 48 hours and realize the only nutrition you’ve put into your body are little pieces of paper and a few toots of Peruvian booger sugar? What do you do?
Get out of your tent, make eye contact with nobody, for if you do, it’s totally possible your chances of sleeping will be totally fucked. You’re wearing gym shorts with no underwear on, and your penis is in such an embarrassing state of being. Somewhat like if you emptied a box of golden raisins (unless you’re black, in which case regular raisins) and just mashed them all together. Make sure nobody besides your best friends see you.
Locate the first cooler you see, the chances of food being in that cooler is about 40%. Very slowly walk to the cooler and open it up. Jackpot! There is a jar of peaches in syrup sitting right in the top. You’re pretty sure they’re yours, but in your state of exhaustion and madness, it’s truly impossible to know for sure. Crack that lid, take a sip of some of that sweet nectar, make that face when you’re so hungry and you finally eat, that if somebody caught a photo at the perfect moment on your face, it would look like you could possibly be having an powerful non pullout orgasm. Stick those disgusting wook fingers in there, eat a couple of those succulent peaches, and reward your body for all of the bullshit you just put it through. Make sure to really bury the peaches afterward so you can find them tomorrow before somebody else does. You don’t want to watch somebody eat your nasty fingered leftovers. Stumble back to your tent, fall on your half blown up air mattress, and rest easy.
You’re a show on a Wednesday, you “accidentally” eat just a tiny bit of MDMA, you just got off of a work. Turns out you ate 2CI, and start seesawing between a crushing LSD trip and what you imagine trippy crystal meth would feel like. You’re not hungry at all, but desperate to sober up, and you spot one of Pittsburgh’s worst pizza shops. Bingo. Walk into the shop, avoiding eye contact with anybody, for if you do, somebody is definitely going to ask “What the fuck is wrong with this person?” And in your current state of wooking , there is such a complex answer. You get to the counter, find a way to order three slices of a pie. You get the slices, not hungry at all, but are so fucked up you’ll do anything to get your mind on track. You get the first slice down, no problem. No change to your mental state. As you take a bite of that second piece, all of the cheese falls off, onto your pants which haven’t been washed for 3 weeks. Don’t worry about it, you’re a wook, and can physically ingest much grosser things than the average person. Eat the pant cheese, and the remaining crust of the second slice, and hope once it hits, it’ll bring you back a little closer to normal. It won’t, because you accidentally ate a research chemical on a Wednesday, you idiot, but at least you tried. Take that third slice, and as you walk back to the show, look for another struggling wook to give it to. You’ll look like an awesome person for doing so. Go back inside, and ride this out.
Maybe you just had a great week at work, you’re feeling like you want to keep killing it, you find a show in Morgantown, mostly because it’ll be jam packed with wookettes who might think you’re cute because you’re in (almost heaven) West Virginia. Beautiful eyes, seductive smile, kind of sweaty, but not grossly sweaty. She takes a bump, and offers you one, you don’t want to look like a pussy(because that still matters to you?), figure if you run with her, you might get an OTPHJ, or even better, an ITPHJ. Plot twist, it was ketamine. You find yourself leaning on a 6’3 mega wook, who figures out what’s going on, offers you a bump of cocaine to pull you out of your impending K-hole doom. You accept gratefully, and are forever indebted this large wook. Double plot twist, it was also ketamine. You’re fucked, and don’t worry about eating just get the fuck out of there.
You’re way too fucked up to be in public, if these scenarios have happened to you, and it’s probably time to start to consider re-evaluating your life, but not really making a full fledged change just yet. You’ll be fine. However if your hangovers are starting to get bad, eating before you go to sleep is extremely important to mitigate those effects. Things such as vitamins, Pedialyte, and sneaking a water after every other beer, are ways that you can help apologize to your body for what you’ve just done to it. You fucking wook.