Not sure WTF is going on, but I got a bunch of messages this week about ye olde fée verte—that mean, green absinthe. I thought this stuff was supposed to be kinda fancy-pants and faux riche—something you drink to pretend you know something about Toulouse-Lautrec, something you delicately sip after fucking around with sugar cubes and fire. Instead, here are some of the messages: "I guess I was running from the cops, no pants, just socks...," "Sweaty and dizzy, like I was doing METH," "So hung I started crying. Weeping...," and my favorite: "We thought we found an island. When I woke up, I was face down in a grassy ditch and my breath smelled like sausages. She said I tried to molest a 16-year-old boy."
They say absinthe doesn't actually have hallucinogenic or psychoactive properties. Hmm.