Can you believe all of these extremely irresponsible music fans (read: hippies!) who think it's "radically groovy, man" to buy reduced-price tickets to some floating freak fiesta (say, this Monday's Jam Cruise), stuff their luggage full of dangerous drugs (e.g., marijuana) instead of extra underwear (uh, gross), and then proceed to unabashedly trip out on the high seas like Poseidon freebasing conch shells?
Well, friends, here's the truth: Narcotics are no fun. Even less fun than hippie music. And last January, that point was driven home hard when ICE, the U.S. Marshals Service, the DEA, and the Broward Sheriff's Office busted a bunch of Jammers for a treasure trove of illegal substances and filthy paraphernalia.
Thus, as a public service, New Times presents this helpful list of the top five drugs you should never ever bring aboard a cruise ship.
Marijuana. Sure, toking while cruising might alleviate chronic sea sickness, the boredom of being stuck on a boat for five days with Bruce Hornsby, and those gout flareups from too much flower-power foot-stomping. But it will also lead to the kind of crippling paranoia that'll have you convinced the MSC Poesia is steaming toward a top-secret penal colony for cannabis junkies in the Bermuda Triangle.
Psilocybin. We do not want to hear any bullcrap about how shrooms come from the dirt, and because Sheba the Earth Goddess put them there, she must want us to eat them, and get all touchy-feely with our inner cosmic child, you know. Bottom line: If the feds catch you with magic mushrooms on your pita-bread pizza, it's game over, maaan.
Ecstasy. Just because certain crackpot Benedictine monks claim MDMA (street name Ecstasy, XTC, or Adam) "opens up a direct link between [oneself] and God" doesn't mean it's OK. Go rolling and you'll just waste the night sweating like a hog, grinding your dentures, and humping a stranger's leg to a tune by Umphrey's McGee.
Lysergic acid diethylamide. Listen, LSD is devious stuff. Go ahead, take a trip. But don't be surprised if you wake up thinking you're a 200-pound grapefruit named Timothy Leary that's receiving secret messages from extraterrestrial Hare Krishnas.
Viagra. Everyone wants a taste of that free love. But there's no bigger bummer than being forced to chitchat with a balding longhair who's coming off a four-hour boner near the ice-cream bar. Leave the little blue pills at home, hippie!
