Thursday, 1 July 2010

12 Common Recreational Narcotics and Their Influence on Equestrian Prowess

In honour of Prof. David Nutt, a clever man with a great name who was fired for telling a politically inconvenient truth. One of his many apposite quotations about narcotics stated that taking Ecstasy was no more dangerous than riding a horse. In the spirit of science, I decided to go one further, and take a bunch of different drugs, and then try to ride a horse. Here are my findings:

You ride the horse perfectly, at one with its natural rhythm. After the ride, you and the horse sit on the grass and discuss post bop third stream jazz while eating dark chocolate and hummus.

You ride the horse normally, only it takes you til eight o'clock in the morning. You spend all the next day swearing that you'll never ride a horse again.

You ride the horse hard. He eventually throws you because of your cruelty, so you run off and try and fuck his girlfriend.

You ride the horse all night and all the next day until you reach Paris. The French eat the horse.

You ride the horse around the same field three hundred times, listening to progressive psi-trance. You then dismount and hug the horse for two hours. No-one can decide which one of you is the sweatier.

While you are riding the horse, it turns into a construction made entirely of rice. Each individual grain of rice then explodes into a swirling constellation of infinite universes. The universes coalesce into a Rolodex which you flick through until you find a picture of a horse you recognise. You dive into the Rolodex to find that you have travelled exactly three feet.

Magic Mushrooms
You are unable to ride the horse, due to excessive laughter and the niggling conviction that your left hand has become invisible.

You become convinced that the horse hates you. You hide in a tree for six hours, humming Dazed and Confused and wetting your jodhpurs.

You ride the horse to Glasgow, where you both fit right in. The horse eventually betrays you over a once-in-a-lifetime smack deal, and you die in a squat with a kitten and a dead baby.

You paint the horse in bright colours and ride it through the American Midwest, freaking out the squares. You eventually declare that the horse is God, you are Jesus, and you wake up in a California penitentiary with a swastika on your forehead.

You ride the horse at extreme speed into a bus-stop full of children, killing seventeen of them. You escape punishment, as the government decides that alcohol is perfectly safe, and that the horse must have had a technical malfunction. The horse is destroyed, and turned into glue. You appear in a series of popular beer commercials and turn into John Terry.

The horse falls asleep.

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