Most readers may not know this, but I am an unlicensed and self-appointed professional in the realm of substances and behavioral science. Please take everything I say here as actual fact and do not consult a professional for any reason before ingesting a chemical based on the advice of a strip club DJ—treat yo self.
This is my favorite drug, by far. I probably smoke weed three, four or even five times per day and it’s solely responsible for my ability to focus, sleep at night and avoid killing people in traffic (the light is fucking green, Karen). But, even though it is "technically legal" in Oregon, it’s treated as "technically legal" in the same manner as openly carrying an AR-15 or making out with someone half your age—it’s still shunned in public. What’s even weirder, is that alcohol often gets the opposite treatment, in terms of stigma shaming. Sure, Corona the beer will kill more people than Corona the virus, but we’re gonna go ahead and install huge parking lots outside of bars and run Budweiser ads at the car lot. Roll up into the club smelling like weed? Sorry guys, but we can’t let you in. Puke on yourself at the club while waiting in line? That’s a laugh. Here’s a napkin.
So, with weed, I don’t know one bartender, stripper, bouncer, patron or fly on the wall that wouldn’t rather be around drunks, as opposed to stoners (at least, in terms of safety), but that doesn’t stop the odor of cannabis from being secondary to skin color, in terms of subtle discrimination faced while out on the town. One workaround, obviously, is to rely on the vape pens and edibles. My workaround, on the other hand, is to just not give a fuck. I DJ at places that trust my ability to do my damn job, and until weed becomes a problem or causes me to fuck up, my employers generally look the other way. But, I still have to burn in the parking lot, while being allowed to take shots from behind the DJ booth.
As a customer, weed can often be used as a reason to profile or otherwise fuck with you and your crowd, depending on the attitude of the bar and what part of India you flew in from, before checking out the barn-slash-strip club outside of town. So, get high with the DJ in the parking lot if you decide to go this route. But, realize this—the odor and red eyes are the only drawback of being stoned, from the bar’s perspective. If you tip well after ordering your third plate of nachos, trust me, the bouncer won’t say shit about the half-burnt Backwoods behind your ear.
Oh, how I love and despise alcohol at the same time.
A drunk crowd is amazing, to an extent—yes, with enough sauce, you can get the brothers to start singing along with "Don’t Stop Believing," while a drunk white girl with no ass actually loosens up enough to twerk her hip bones (the effort was appreciated, Becky). But, one shot over the line and anyone will lose their shit. Over-consumption results in violence and vomit. Blackouts result in waking up in strange places (I’m not talking a rest stop or your ex’s house, but, like, passed out in the corner behind the video poker machines). Your wallet decides that it’s time to move out of your pants and never come back again. Oh, and where did you put your keys? Hopefully not the ignition.
I’ve always believed that alcohol turns people into their real, awful selves, which is why drunk folks often become grandiose, whorish and honest—my type of people. But, this is at an obvious cost, traded on a market with no floor. In other words, your stock (reputation, attitude, ability to stand up, etc.) may fall quicker than Constellation Enterprises (makers of Corona beer) did. You may lose money, friends or even your life, all because you wanted to relax enough to socialize, stretch out and perhaps nod your head to music. This is a small dividend, if the risk is being tossed into the back of a cop car, ditch, ambulance or all three.
Obviously, as a club DJ, my job depends on people being able to drink semi-responsibly. However, some of us (like myself), can’t even drink water without taking our anger to Facebook and penning a rant about how the government is a scam and that we’re not afraid of the cops who will eventually come for our guns, once they find out we’ve been browsing 4Chan (author’s note: I "love the government, would never own a gun and respect the thin blue line," yadda, yadda). So, alcohol is basically the slot machine of substances—yeah, it can pay off now and then, but most people lose. Speaking of slot machines...
I don’t do meth, but my DJ booth is located near the video lottery machines and, hoo boy, do the video lottery machines appeal to the tweaker crowd. Yes, much like the cops I mentioned in the last paragraph, I "love and appreciate the fine folks at the Oregon Lottery for helping generate revenue for public parks" or whatever the fuck. But, only because I want my club to stay open. With that said, video slots attract tweakers like they were broken electronics filled with copper wire and Slipknot tickets. In fact, I’m convinced that somewhere, on the outskirts of Rockwood, there is a tweaker convinced that they can take apart the video lottery machines. Newsflash, dude—if you even unplug one of those bad boys from the wall, an Oregon Lottery rep will drop out of a helicopter, land behind your seat and "delete you" from "the registry," before you both disappear into a cloud of smoke. I know, because I accidentally knocked out a power cord from the video lottery machine at my old club at 2:15 and, by 2:16, a police report had been filed, I was in federal custody and two new billboards about how scratch-it tickets pay for national forests appeared out of nowhere.
So, I’m guessing that if the tweaker crowd, who is visibly felonious, not buying beer and often covered in open sores, is on to something, especially if the fucking state is ensuring that their drug toy of choice is fully functional. What that something is, I will never know. But, they seem to like it.
Other than that, I don’t know much about meth, besides the fact that tweakers don’t often hit the club, unless there’s slots to be played or metal be stolen.
Hallucinogens are my second-favorite substance, behind cannabis and tied with bacon. Acid...well, not so much anymore, simply because I don’t trust the people who are manufacturing it these days. However, one time, I did so much acid that I met God, and she was like, "Bruh, why don’t you just eat mushrooms? I make them myself!" So, I have switched to ’shrooms and have enjoyed pretty much every trip, thanks to keeping my dosage under two grams and making sure that there’s enough water, snacks and Ween on hand, before munching down on the first stem or cap.
‘Shrooms are great for public events, as long as there’s no spotlight on you. For instance, you can dance your ass off at the club or jump around like a moron at an outdoor concert, but open mic nights and karaoke bars may be a bad idea—you don’t want the whole room staring at you, for any reason, if you’re tripping balls.
Another thing to consider with L.S.D. and ’shrooms is the duration of the high. Because getting fried takes up a significant portion of your night out and/or shift, it’s best to not only blend in, but to also have an excuse as to why you’re just a little off. Say you’re sick or that your pet just died. This will explain the watery eyes, the giggle cry and the fact that you just need some time alone right now, should the boss man or bouncer get too pushy with the questions.
Sometimes, when the cops come for your machete, you just want to get naked on a rooftop and scream the songs of your tribe, while smearing yourself in shit. Personally, I’d rather watch G.G. Allin concerts on video if I wanted this experience, but, hey, if P.C.P. is your thing, have fun (just wash your hands).
Heroin is only acceptable if you’re in the studio and it’s the early 1990s. In any other setting, it is a highly addictive, dangerous and socially destructive substance. But, if you have a time machine and a bus ticket to Seattle, I say go for it.
This drug is popular among urban liberals in large, metropolitan areas. You can usually find some from whatever female is exhibiting the darkest shade of green hair and/or her "partner," usually a defeated shell of a person, who apologetically identifies as male and can name more than six Radiohead songs. While free, this drug is highly addictive and can often result in adult roommates, inability to operate a motor vehicle and self-imposed dietary restrictions.
It’s medicine, so it can’t be bad for you. Take as much as you need, whenever you feel like it. The good shit comes from Mexico, by the way. You can pick some up for pennies on the peso via the internet—just be sure to use crypto and have it sent to your neighbor’s porch, while he is out of town.
