Lol, there's a thought: a 'shroom bomb. Everyone caught in the blast radius spends the next six hours mentally orbiting Neptune, watching the stars dance an Irish jig as they behold multidimensional non-Euclidian fractals while their neighbors words look like glowing balls of rainbow-colored cotton candy. Tubular, dude. 
My bladder really wants to go in the final 30 seconds before I reach the potty. Straining to hold back the floodgates while I'm fumbling with a button and a zipper is not fun.
My bladder really wants to go in the final 30 seconds before I reach the potty. Straining to hold back the floodgates while I'm fumbling with a button and a zipper is not fun.
