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I Tripped Balls Easter Morning

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Holy Saturday, West Virginia University. The nicest day of the spring semester could not have come at a worse time. The weather was ripe for day drinking, but half of the students had gone home for the weekend in order to break from the cycle of weekly binge drinking. And to reflect on the awful shit they’ve encountered over the course of the semester, the one chance they get at Easter mass.

I, however, was not so lucky. Down to my last ten bucks and seven hours from home, I was stuck in Morgantown with a near empty fraternity house where the usual residency of 30 was reduced to about eight. The weather brought us all to the front porch and the pledges brought the biggest, loudest speakers they could and set them up like any other day. Natural Light and whippits were purchased and we started indulging.

About an hour into blasting Young Dolph at inappropriate levels and publicly inhaling nitrous, we got a little bored. With half a load on and an abundance of empty canisters, it was only natural to drive them off the porch with a set of golf clubs found in the attic earlier in the year. When the police arrived we said we were playing mini golf, which turned into our next drunken activity due to the abundance of plywood left over from the crafting of paddles, which were perfect for creating obstacles. The eight of us were able to kill an entire day doing this and throwing in some wiffle beer for good measure. By the time night had come, the cases were gone and it was time to figure out what it was like to be a true Morgantown resident — what can we do for fun without the student population around?

The rest of the fraternity who remained in town showed up around 10 p.m. Not being nearly as intoxicated as us, they wanted to head to the bar to try and bang a straggling girl who couldn’t get home or, if need be, a townie. Being as poor as I was on this holiest of Saturdays, I was not convinced it would be worth the trip. The group split in two and the idea of taking a tab sprung up around midnight. Two girls had shown up with a good amount of acid and my interest was piqued. My good buddy Randy had a left over one in his fridge from an earlier date. One phone call later and I was on board.

I had taken acid once before during a borderline blackout and ended up alone watching George Lopez on my friend’s couch. I wanted the real experience, though. Our large party room had paint all over it from a party the week before and glow sticks everywhere. House trips are not uncommon so the weird shit that would ensue was not only permitted, but encouraged.

Besides the random foreign kids jumping our fence at 2 a.m., my blacked out pal dipping his head in an ice filled Yeti 35, and my other friend ruining his trip by trying to do the same thing, the night went on as expected. It was cool and I had a great time, but there was one thing that will forever stain my memory of this morning.

Now I’m not exactly a real religious guy, but there’s a certain shitty feeling you get when you’re passing around a bottle of Evan Williams Green Label at 10 a.m. on your front porch after tripping, especially on Easter Sunday. Cars filled with proud parents and their well groomed kids started flowing down fraternity row to the churches that lay down the mountain below us. It was about time to call it a night and sleep off whatever psychedelics and narcotics I happened to partake in that night. But then, he showed up. Jesus Christ, himself.

Long flowing hair wrapped in a West Virginia bandanna, flip flops, tattered jeans, and an overly positive attitude that cut right through our post acid come down. Also, he was covered in dirt, which threw us all off immediately. Exactly what a modern day messiah would be expected to look like.

He pulled up in his tan 1978 Toyota Land cruiser, rolled down his window, and told us to get in because he was hungry as fuck for some pancakes. We hopped in and rolled off with JC. I did learn that an IHOP meal tastes better than anything after an experience like this and I highly suggest tripping on Easter and getting yourself a short stack with Jesus next time you visit Morgantown, WV.

Image via Shutterstock

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