The last time I tripped mushrooms, it went down exactly the way you might imagine it: I was sitting on a patio nursing a beer when an elfin bearded dude — wearing, I shit you not, a stovepipe hat — bounded up and told me to open my hand. I did, and he deposited a warm, tangled ball of 'shrooms in my palm, closed my fingers over it, said "A gift for you" and pranced off without another word. What else was I going to do? I ate them immediately. About an hour later, I bought a bag of Skittles, then spent approximately the next three hours saying to nobody in particular, "The colors. My God,... More >>>