We live in exciting times, and believe us when we tell you we don’t really think that’s a good thing. Between constant threats of environmental disaster, nuclear winter, and continuous news updates about the Kardashians, we don’t know how much more we can take. Fortunately, we find that there’s no better escape than a week-long chemically-loaded venture into substance-induced oblivion. Here’s Rooster’s guide to ye olde vacation bender.

The Set Up

If you have any sort of addictive personality, you understand that stocking up on various substances prior to your actual bender is paramount. Whether you’re a nicotine fiend and need a couple cartons or as many beers as one can carry, it’s important you don’t find yourself sobering up at 2 am in the middle of the week. Conversely, if you have an addictive personality (or were constantly forced to clean your plate as a child) you understand that the procurement of too many substances will result in you feeling obligated to finish them. There’s a sweet spot here. Find it.

The Bender

Look, ripping various forms of psychoactive substances for a week isn’t rocket science, OK? There’s a pretty big gap between “sobering up so hard you affect your friend’s good time” and “alcohol poisoning.” We can’t hold your hand in finding that. We can tell you to test any powders you buy off the street, and we can tell you statistics involving liver cirrhosis, but this is your own vision quest, alright? This is your chance to metaphorically stumble off into the desert, proverbially fistfight whatever Gods you believe in, discover your spirit animal, and return to your village feeling humbled with a faraway look in your eye.

The Comedown

So there you are, having consumed in excess in a way that only a true American could. What now? Well, you have to come down. If the entire world’s population could stay perpetually suspended in a state of eternal bliss brought on by various pills and powders that you bought from Caribbean men on the beach, don’t you think we’d all be doing it by now? Indeed, it is the way in which you recover that separates the experienced drug users from the recreational dopefiends. Buddy, if you’re going to fly that close to the Sun, you better have a plan for how you’re going to get back. Typically, as we board the airplane, we fall into a rhythm of Ibuprofen PM and one beer every two hours. As we get closer to home, forever concerned about whether we’ll survive the return to real life, we’ll space out the beers further and further, occasionally checking to see if our hand has begun shaking underneath the tray table. However, when it’s all said and done, we can’t help but feel recharged, having touched the sun with our bare hands, barely burned, ready to take on another year of constant information, threats of global war, and whatever kind of shit those Kardashian hags are up to