Back when I was living in Oakland, I learned about this interesting drug called “dippers” — which aren’t really a drug even in the classical sense. A dipper is a marijuana cigarette (a “joint”) that has been dunked into formaldehyde, and then allowed to dry.
How this ever became a thing, I have no idea. I can only image there was a mortician somewhere who accidentally leaked some formaldehyde onto a joint, and didn’t want it to go to waste, so they let the joint dry out, smoked one, and then… boom.
Now, call me old fashioned all you like, but back when I did smoke weed, I just smoked it plain. I’m one of those people who believes smoking a plant shouldn’t be illegal, but since I now work in the federal government, I’m not allowed to enjoy certain plants. It is what is it… but I digress. Back to these dippers.
Dippers, I have been told, are one of the most insane psychoactive experiences you can ever endure. I say “endure” and not “experience” because every account I have ever heard sounds like something awful. People describe feeling isolated from everyone and everything. They say they feel paranoid, and like their entire world is falling apart. I’m told it’s like impending doom from all sides, as if society itself is collapsing around you. Yet no matter how many times they say they’ll never do it again, no matter how negative the experience, they always go back to the dippers.
What I’m saying is, dippers are exactly like social media.