I’ve always been interested in “smart drugs,” and the smart drugs that have been en vogue for the last several years are nootropics. I know you have Google, dear reader, so you can look that up if you want to know more.
Yesterday, I was talking with a friend from the Netherlands who happened to be selling bottles of a nootropic energy drink. He did warn me: “In this country, you guys have 5-hour energy drinks…this one is a 5-DAY energy drink. If you drink this on Friday, you better be ready to party Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and maybe Tuesday you think about sleeping.”
I don’t know about you, dearest reader, but whenever I find myself talking to anybody from the Netherlands about drugs, I feel the need to knock them down a few steps, just because they usually have that smug, “I’m from Holland where they invented drugs, so try to keep up if you can, but you Yanks are light years behind what we do everyday back home.” sort of attitude. So I handed him a few dollars. “Give me that,” I scoffed as I took the small white bottle from him. I held the bottle up to my face to try to read the ingredients on the label, but the print was ridiculously small and I suspect also Dutch, so I rolled my eyes and unscrewed the cap.
“Hey, if you haven’t taken these before, you’re only supposed to drink half… the… bottle.” He almost didn’t bother finishing his silly sentence since I had already downed the entire thing. “Fuck you,” I said not so much to by Hollandic friend as to the universe in general, just to sort of summarize the general state of things. This viscous liquid tasted like slightly expired cough syrup, but pleasant. I felt the stuff kick start my heart immediately, just like Motley Crue. A glance at my watch let me know my heart rate was suddenly somewhere in the triple digits, and I had the nearly overwhelming urge to call the governor and share some of my ideas on how exactly this state should be run.
“I have to go,” I told my friend. “You weird Dutch fucker.” No idea why I said that, but it seemed like an obvious thing to say. My respiration rate had increased, my pupils dilated, and as I was crossing the street to my car, I could feel both of my middle fingers involuntarily contracting and then become erect as the other fingers knelt down next to them, forcing me to flip off all of the cars in the intersection. A few of them honked and yelled, but I interpreted that simply as the peasants recognizing greatness.
The rest of the day is a rather ghastly blur, thankfully. I know I ended up back here sometime after sunset, pacing around in a circle with my shirt pulled up over my head, reciting trivia about the Manson family to family of gypsies that I had hallucinated. That went on for some time until I decided that something had to be done to take the edge off, so I drank a large pitcher of grappa for dinner. That helped, and I managed to nap on the marble floor of the kitchen for a couple of hours.
And now it’s time for Night Number Two. There is a 20-foot purple penguin standing in the backyard, staring in my window. He seems like the sort of purple penguin who really wants to hear trivia about the Manson family, so this might work out for both of us.
N.P,: “Immigrant Song” – Led Zeppelin