Press "Enter" to skip to content

Uh Oh: I Took 500MG of DMT and Even the Intergalactic Elves Just Told Me To Get a Job

Bad news, folks. This weekend I went on one of my journeys into the spiritual realm to convene with the higher beings and, rather than imparting zen wisdom, this time they just sat me down and told me to get a job.

“Why are things going wrong in my life?” I asked as soon as I caught glimpse of the guy. “Hit me with that spiritual truth. What is it? My failure to accept mortality? My attachment to ego-driven success? I can take anything.”

Nothing could have prepared me for what he said next, which was just: “I think maybe you should just get a job, man.”

Huh?? Aren’t you supposed to tell me to let go of earthly attachments or something?

“Yeah, normally we say that, but I don’t think you have any more to let go of. Unless you want to give away your mother’s basement couch or what you call your ‘good socks.’”

I was just as surprised as the rest of you to find out that even the intergalactic elves are starting to sound just like my fucking dad. Classic society, getting to people’s heads even in the sixth dimension. This guy was going on and on about the “hierarchy of needs,” when I thought the whole point of taking DMT was to blast to the top of the pyramid and completely bypass the bottom three. I started to worry if this was a waste of a trip, especially since I had scrounged my last $35 and library card to purchase the stuff. I tried persuading the guy a little more since he was not acting like his usual self.

“Come on man, blow on that little elephant pipe and make the walls have sex with me again.”

But to my disappointment, he awkwardly declined.

“Sorry man, I don’t do that anymore. It’s only fun with people who make at least $20k. Otherwise it just starts to get sad.”
Well, the fuck am I supposed to do now? I have 8 more hours left of this DMT trip to sit with the fact that my life sucks not due to the inherent suffering in life but due to the fact that I’m kind of lazy and have no health insurance. Talk about a high-killer.

“I don’t know, have you looked on Indeed?” he replied.

“How the fuck do you know about Indeed? You’re a sixth dimensional elf.”

“How do you think I got this job? I used to be a script supervisor for Disney.”

After that it was a lot of staring at the floor while he made insincere offers to pass on my resume. The good news is, no matter what this dude says, unless he is telling me everything is going just fine in my life, he’s not even real. I may be unemployed, but he’s nothing but a visual projection of my subconscious mind, and I can easily pass it off as a bad trip until he starts telling me what I want to hear again. Who’s out of a job now, motherfucker?