CONFESSIONS OF A FORMALDEHYDE EATER:
One Man's Psychedelic Journey With A Scientific Preservative

Like most people, my first exposure to formaldehyde was a seventh grade biology class, wherein we dissected a frog preserved in the noxious stuff. My first reaction back then was "Man, I bet you could get high from this shit." But I was a lazy kid and I never pursued it. So you can imagine my interest upon recently learning about more industrious fellows dipping their marijuana in formaldehyde.

I promptly went to my local chemical wholesaler in East St. Louis and picked up some high-grade formaldehyde. I then looked up my personal dealer (who, I'm sure you understand, must remain nameless) for a phat bag of Ocala Gold (that's a really nice blend of Florida shwag and either Jamaican or Haitian buds).

I rolled myself a load of joints, soaked them in formaldehyde, and smoked myself into oblivion for a full thirty days. The first few days I was as mellow as a public radio talk show. But by day five, I had begun to have flashbacks to my fraternity hazing -- which included being locked in a closet with a sheep and two cats in heat. On day seven I rented a tiller/mulcher and tore up a local park. On day ten I bought a stun gun from an Army surplus store and gave it to a local kid known to torture small animals. On day thirteen I was thrown out of a Bible study. Day fifteen I converted to Islam. Day twenty-one consisted of tearing the shingles off of my house. Day twenty-two I staged a Nazi/Baptist-style book burning. Days twenty-three through twenty-seven are completely lost. On day twenty-eight I had my front lawn paved over. The last two days of my binge mostly involved staring at a box of Uncle Ben's rice.

It was a fabulous psychic journey -- one with very few side effects. Besides chronic renal failure, anal leakage, erectile dysfunction, spontaneous bleeding episodes, numbing of the ears, difficulty urinating, emotional dependence, extreme calm, an exaggerated sense of well-being, fear, itching, general mental clouding, open sores, thickened saliva, nausea, and vomiting, I felt pretty much my old self.

The verdict is in kids. As when I sniffed glue for a Federal Drug Administration study a couple of years ago (which showed that advanced bonding agents developed by NASA are far more effective than Elmer's glue)— formaldehyde is more fun than a fag with a bag of dicks.