Drugs I’ve Never Taken, and What I Think Will Happen If I Take Them at Pitchfork

Drugs I’ve Never Taken, and What I Think Will Happen If I Take Them at Pitchfork

Meth: All my teeth immediately fall out and I throw myself into a mosh pit during Das Racist’s set. When the set ends, I’m found energetically gumming the arm nub of an amputee hipster.

Cocaine: I put on my Ray-Bans and run around during Thurston Moore’s set, telling everyone I really like Eric Clapton’s new sound.

LSD: Toro Y Moi inflates into a giant parade-style balloon, his strings held by members of Superchunk and Guided By Voices. Dan Bejar appears onstage in a Santa suit, and I ask Becky Lang what she wants for Christmas. Becky responds by vomiting a two-foot-tall Zola Jesus, who’s wearing a bellhop outfit and sings “My Little Buttercup” while tap dancing. I give Zola Jesus my wallet, which is later found empty in a gutter outside the House of Blues.

Amphetamines: I strut around chicken-style like Mick Jagger for all three days, without sleeping.

Ecstasy: While Neko Case is tuning her guitar, I have eleven orgasms and collapse. I wake up in the chillout tent with an IV of saline solution in my arm and Julianna Barwick’s phone number written on an Intelligensia Coffee receipt in my pocket.

Heroin: I stay in the hotel room all weekend flipping channels, hoping to find a good episode of Alf.

Quaaludes: I change the names of everyone in my phone to the names of acts playing the festival. I then call all of them, complimenting them on their sets and asking them what their favorite t-shirts are.

Crack: I start a fist fight with an ugly, surly guy who turns out to be my distorted reflection in the silver bean sculpture.

Jay Gabler (as seen, above, tripping on Playatta)