5 Worst Times to Have an Acid Flashback

There's probably never a good time to have an Acid Flashback but I got to thinking about the worse possible times an ex-LSD user could have a flashback. Now I've never had an Acid Flashback and I doubt I ever will, as I've only done LSD once. I didn't hallucinate, I just felt really euphoric. Although I did wash it down with a bottle of Southern Comfort and I was on my own. Boredom is a disease that must be destroyed at any cost. The other reason I did this is because people seem to like lists, apparently they're easier to read when compared to my long-winded rants that occasionally go off topic, much like this is now, so let's just get down to it; 


5) At the Alter of Your Own Wedding

It's supposed to be the happiest day of your life but if you have a flashback whilst stood at the alter, it's safe to say things could go pear shaped. First you just think it's nerves but by the time you've stripped naked, shat into hands and you've smeared large quantities of faecal matter all over your grandmother-in-law [to be], it's safe to say you are experiencing an Acid Flashback. This will more than likely put an halt to the days proceedings and eventually ruin the relationship with the woman that you was to marry, leaving you to die alone.

4) In an MRI Machine

Imagine you've been struck down with some strange illness and you've gone to the hospital for the doctors to figure out what's wrong with you. They've got all their best doctors trying to diagnose you, even the guy with the limp is working on you. They think they've sussed it out and they're just checking your body for anything irregular in the MRI machine, then BAM; you have a flashback. They think it's a new symptom and they go on a new path trying to figure out what's wrong with you. The flashback stumps them and eventually you die of some curable disease.

3) While Sky-Diving

Now this would never happen to me, I'm not into extreme risk taking hobbies such as sky-diving, if I want an adrenaline rush I'd simply inject myself in the neck with a syringe full of adrenaline and kick the wall of the hinges [yes, the wall, not the door, anyone can kick a door of the hinges, it takes a real man to kick the wall of the hinges]. Anyway, having an Acid Flashback whilst sky-diving is going to be shit. Firstly death is inevitable [as you're not going to be able to get a grip and pull the chord to release your parachute – I mean a mental 'grip' not a physical, hand-grasping-the-chord 'grip'], which is good reason for it to be shit, yet the whole process of falling through the atmosphere while tripping your fucking balls off is really going to fuck with your head for the next couple of minutes of your life. You'll be praying for increased falling rate just to end the madness that's taking place in your mind. I'm sure when you're turned for a solid based form to a liquid based form with the help of a concrete [and velocity], you'll breathe a breath of relief – if you could breathe, it's probably safe to say your lungs are so intertwined with gravel they'd be completely useless and you had a Donor Card too – that was pointless!

2) Whilst attempting to Summon Satan with an Ouija Board amongst Friends that Believe in Supernatural Beings and are Extremely Gullible. 

If you can't see where this is going you're a fool. So... you're sat around an Ouija Board with some mates that are “well in to ghost and that”, of course being a rationally thinking person you fully well understand that spirits and Lucifer don't exist, you're just there to pick on the others. But midway through, you're hit with an Acid Flashback. Your gullible as fuck mates wonder what the fuck is going down as you spaz out and talk crazy. One shouts out; “He's speaking in tongues!” They all squeal like little four year old toddlers, as they clamber around the room, spilling the Ouija Board to the floor. “He's possessed by Satan”, screams another friend. Then one of your mates [probably the one you secretly hate, but everyone else likes him so you're forced to hang around with him, even though you know he's really a proper cunt] decides to be a hero and come to the rescue [see, told you he was a cunt]. He quickly grabs the nearest heavy blunt object; lamp, bottle, small child, and proceeds to smash your skull open, whilst quoting The Exorcist; “May the evil inside of you be gone, may the evil inside of you be gone …”, he continues to pound away as your brain slowly oozes out of your cranium, forever spouting lines from The Exorcist; “... you're mother sucks cocks in hell!” [see, he really is a cunt]. It's safe to say you're no longer having a flashback because you're dead.

1) When Defending yourself in Court on Charges of being Clinically Insane

OK, maybe the average Joe Bloggs doesn't find himself in this situation that regularly, I understand that. But imagine it; you're in court having to defend yourself on charges of being clinically insane, I'm not sure how you made it to this point, maybe it had something to do with you using shit as paint substitute on your grandmother-in-law [to be] at your wedding. Either way you're there. It's actually going quite well, you're presenting yourself as a normal run of the mill citizen that just had a 'bad episode' once and people shouldn't judge you on that. Then the inevitable happens, you start tripping out, you attempt to clamber out of the witness box onto the Judge's lap, he yells for security, you take his wig and place it on your head, elevate yourself to his desk and begin to dance around like a Native American. Security attempt to capture you, so you try to fend of these 'cowboys' with your 'axe' [the Judge's gavel]. You strike them across the head. You jump from the desk and run towards the jury, propelling yourself into their box, crawling across them as you lash out pain with your 'axe'. Eventually security grab you and everything calms down, by the time you come around from the flashback it's too late. You will be spending the rest of your days in one of those jackets where the sleeves tie together at the back.




So there we have it. Remember children drugs are bad and you should never do them.

Best Man for Hire

I'm opposed to marriage, it doesn't make sense to me. A large portion of marriages fail and although a few couples stay together, I simply assume they live miserable lives and would divorce but they're used to each others company and they know they're not going to get anyone else, so they just plod on until death do them part. Plus, one day I hope to have some money in my bank account and I don't see why my 'wife' should be entitled to that just for marrying me. Also, the whole ceremony seems like too much. Seriously women, what's wrong with you? “I want a big church wedding!” Get a grip, why throw so much money at something you'll eventually regret? Of course if I ever do get married [which I not], it'd have to be a simple affair; registry office, t-shirts, jeans, trainers, Southern Comfort, Wedding Space Cake. A Church wouldn't even be on the cards. I can't enter a House of God without bursting into flames. Although that seems like a good escape plan if I ever get trapped by some woman; [Vicar talking to my Bride;] “Sorry, no wedding today. Your fiancé spontaneously combusted when he entered the church, now he's dead.” Yes, that is me pointing out that I'd rather be dead than married.

Although I'm opposed to marriage I would love to be someone's Best Man.

This might seem hypocritical, but let me point out I'm against me getting married, if other people have deluded themselves into thinking that marriage is for them, they're more than welcome to go ahead with it. I'm not going to attempt to talk anyone out of it. I will advise them to open a secret bank account so they can afford to live after the inevitable divorce comes. But that's it, other than that I will give them [false] congratulations and wish them all the best [as they'll need it].

Anyway, like I said, I would love to be someone's Best Man. Being a Best Man is the best role possible in a wedding - well the clue is in the title. The Best Man gets to all the best stuff; organise the stag-do, give a speech and fuck the best looking bridesmaid. Who wouldn't want to be the Best Man?

If I was someone's best man this is how things would go down:


Stag Do

A usual Stag Do would consist of large amounts of alcohol and probably a strip-club with the Groom eventually getting handcuffed in a random place after being stripped naked. I like to think of myself as a unique individual, but the typical Stag Do is already fucking awesome, of course I'd just have to turn it up a notch;

Firstly forget just a one night Stag Do, the one I'd organise would be a weekend affair. Starting Friday afternoon ending Monday morning.

Secondly forget Blackpool or Brighton or some other shitty UK destination for all the action to go down. Nah, we'd be taking a quick flight to Amsterdam – Mecca for stoners. You see, large amounts of alcohol is good, but intertwined with copious amounts of cannabis is much better.

Thirdly forget a simple strip-club, because we'll be having orgies with the top-priced prostitutes, the best Amsterdam has to offer. It's important for the Groom to have some of the weirdest sex ever, seeing as soon he'll be married and everyone knows married couples only do the missionary position on the rare occasions that they do actually have sex.

Best Man Speech

It's important that the Best Man's Speech is funny, so it's a good job I'm fucking hilarious! Of course, the speech would consist of some brilliant and embarrassing stories about the Groom. I'd then denounce the idea of marriage, just to make the mood of the room uncomfortable. I'd then proceed to use the word 'cunt' as many times as possible. Then I would drop a freestyle and promote my album. I'd end the speech with a video of our prostitute-filled orgy from Amsterdam, with the backing track of some horrendous heavily metal band.

*The speech is totally dependant on how drunk I am at that stage of the day. It could be what I just described or it could be a drunken, slurry rant that nobody can comprehend.

Sleeping with the Best Looking* Bridesmaid


I'm not going to go into detail, this is between me and her. All I'll say is that it will involve a dead squirrel and a power-tool. 



*Again this depends on how drunk I am, I may end up pulling the worse looking Bridesmaid depending on the strength of my beer-googles.


So there it is. Simple stuff, but bound to be legendary.

Now the problem for me; I need someone to be a Best Man for. Yes, I have plenty of friends, but they're not the best looking group of people [no offence guys] and even if they are likely to get married I know I'm going to get looked over for the obvious reasons [see the list of things I want to do – situated above]. I know that I'll get passed up for a friend that is sane and willing to help the proceedings of the wedding go well, whereas I'll simply be a massive hindrance to the whole situation.

So I'm willing to hire myself out as a Best Man to anyone willing to take me on. No charge. Just the pleasure of being your Best Man is payment enough. Leave contact details in the comment box below.

*Ben Broughton is also available for Lesbian Hen Nights too.

Minimum Wage Slave

I’ve been in constant employment for seven years, ever since I was studying for my A-Levels, in my own sad way I’m quite proud of this fact and seeing as I was voted; “Most Likely to Claim Dole” in my year at school, I feel proud that I’ve proven my ex-classmates wrong, it’s one of the few things I have over ex-classmates; apart from not having multiple babies (with different mothers), not having been to jail and not having a serious (Class A) drug problem – yes I have my alcohol and marijuana addiction, but it could be worse.

The problem is I’ve worked for the same company for all this time. It’s one of those big supermarkets; I not say which one because I don’t want to advertise it in my Blog (if they throw me some of that money that they pay for Z-List Celebrities to be in their television adverts, I’d probably consider it). Anyway, the thing is although I’ve worked there for so long, I’m still treated like a piece of shit, in fact, I’m treated worse than a piece of shit because pieces of shit don’t just get shouted at for any reason so the shouter can feel better about him/herself. That’d just be weird to see someone screaming at a piece a shit, although it would be entertaining. Take a minute now to picture a gentleman in a shirt and tie, stood leaning over a piece of shit, bellowing at it, tiny splats of spit exiting his mouth as his rage increases, his face getting redder and redder, as the pile of shit simply stays still (it is a shit after all, what else do they do?). Now imagine a fly landing on the shit, the man is still shouting, the fly begins to take off and accidentally flies into the man’s mouth, he panics and chokes to death – it may be impossible, but it’s a slightly funny image. In an attempt of bringing this back to whatever point I was making; I thought that being treated like a piece of shit was just the usual thing that happened when you started a job (at the time I was 17, I kinda believed I’d get the short end of the stick for a while), but SEVEN YEARS (yes, capitals, it’s a long time) later I’m still in the same position. Stagnant in the ranks of a supermarket, feel free to mock my insignificant existence.

Stop the mocking, continue reading …

The thing now is that as I’m entering the real world I desperately need to make more money, living life without student loans is so fucking hard. I can barely understand how people have done it for so long. It kind of makes me wish I’d used those loans a little wiser too. All I did with that cash was fritter it away. I wasn’t even one of those idiots that goes out on the first day (of getting the loan) and blows it on a massive wide-screen plasma TV, now I actually wish I had done that, at least I’d have a massive wide-screen plasma TV in my possession. I wish I’d have gone to the Casino with a grand, walked up to the roulette table and placed it all on red. Yes, I could have lost it all but at least I would have taken a chance to make more money. I have nothing to show for all that loan money that’ll I’ll be paying back for the rest of my life*.

So I have to work for that money, the problem is the more time I spend at work the more I want to kill myself. When I’m at work and the hours slowly drag by, I keep thinking to myself; “I’m here earning minimum wage for this shit”. At times my thoughts drift to me plunging a screwdriver into my temple just to break the suicide inducing monotony. The thing is, I think, no … I know I’m so much better than my job – OK, I’m not going to find the cure for cancer, but come on I surely deserve something better than lugging shopping trolleys around. I’m sure plenty of people think/know that too. But I couldn’t give a fuck about what other people think/know, this is the real world after all now, it’s time to look out for number one. The last sentence is worrying to me, as I’ve just reread it, I’m a socialist and work is making more right-wing the more time I spend their. Although, I’ve never understood why more people aren’t socialist that share my position. The amount of people in this country working for companies that make unbelievable profits but only see pittance, must be huge, yet they all just take it on the chin. For fuck sake people, when are we going to rise up? Make it fast, because the way I’m leaning to the right, I’ll be a full blown capitalist, hell-bent on protecting my own interests, making as much money as possible and voting Conservative by the end of the week.

Growing up I actually deluded myself into believing what teachers used to spout about education being the key to everything, that’s one of the reasons I attended University. But look at me now; working a shitty job and in loads of debt. No career prospects to look forward too. Why the fuck did I even bother? I could have just stayed in my incest ridden town working the same shitty job (that I have now) and avoided this gargantuan debt situation that haunts the back of my mind every time I attempt to sleep. It’s as if a little oager is by my bed, whispering in my ear as I start to nod off; “Think of that debt Ben … You’ll never pay it off … That anchor’s going to weigh you down for the rest of your shitty life.”

The thing is I’m only just starting to come to terms with the fact that I’m going to have to walk down the same path millions of people have walked before me. The same path millions [of people] are walking down now. The same path millions will follow me down later in life. I’m just going to have to work a shitty job for the rest of my days. I’m going to have to swallow my pride, rid my mind of any thoughts of my own grandeur and be ordered around by ill-informed, unappreciative, lazy bosses, I’ll have to work with fellow employees that will do aspects of the job wrong and leave me to carry their weight, I’ll have to take shit from customers and still treat them as if their were some kind of deity that must be praised and I’ll have to do it all with a fucking smile on my face. Grinning from ear to ear as the pennies slowly amount into my bank account because I am nothing more than a minimum wage slave.

I thought there was more to life than this, but I guess there’s not. I suppose I’ll just slip into the life that most people live; working a dead-end job, just scraping by, living for the weekend; getting wasted on what little extra money I have to relieve my mind of the horrendous week that preceded Friday night. That’s the rest of my life in a nutshell. That’s what I have to look forward too, and sorry to break it to you; but that will more than likely be your future too. Of course there’s always the slim chance you’ll get a career, best of luck with that. Me on the other hand, I could win the Lotto, maybe I’ll get lucky and get hit by a bus or maybe I’ll just spike myself in the temple next time I’m work.


*I do have my crippling alcohol addiction, but I don’t count that, it was already festering, it’s just that the loan money took it into overdrive.

I know after a long hiatus, this isn’t ‘very funny’, but as most of my half-finished Blogs I had were deleted, I’ve started from scratch. This was more about me getting shit off my chest. I’ll be back with drug talk and cock jokes soon enough. Peace.