You take a hit of Mad 3
It comes to pass that your dear old Uncle Treehugger passed away, and he mentions you directly on his video-taped will, stating "that You shall go into my trailer and take out anything you want. The rest shall be bulldozed and hauled away to the dump."
As you pull up to his trailer to collect, the very trailer he lived in the last twelve years of his life, you understand why his home is being bulldozed. A sorry state his 1960s manufactured home is in: white walls rusted out to a yellow and red blotched appearance; overrun yard filled with trash; the awnings have fallen; the roof sags. You don't plan to spend much time on this project.
You unlock the place with the key the lawyer provided and enter cautiously. It's as bad on the inside as you expected. Trash is strewn everywhere, and a busted back window from a tree limb allows semi-feral cats to freely come and go.
You decide to quickly fill up a couple empty boxes full of paperbacks that look interesting. You take a tarot deck. You spend the most time looking for Treehugger's dope stash, since you know he has to have had one, and . . . bingo! Score! a dime bag of weed, a couple grams of mushrooms, and a single pill in an empty cigarette pack.
The only suggestion as to what the pill could be is the word "MAD 3" written in big black letters across the face of the package, but you have no idea what that means. Maybe it just means that Treehugger had concocted it himself? You dimly recall that he was a big acid-freak and made his own LSD sometimes. That must be what it is.
You naturally decide that it'll be a kick to try it out, whatever it is, and pop the pill without a second thought. Your car loaded with goodies, you climb in and start the drive home.
By the time you... pour the car into the driveway with a ticking blurr... not Cid... El Cid... salve are baked...