Shrooms are boring by the 3rd ride.
LSD is indeed exhausting to come off of. The one time I did it, my friends wanted to go out for a stroll, and I didn't, so I stayed in to watch to scifi. Then a bee flew into the apt, and fearing its sting, I spent a very cautious and somewhat uncoordinated hour jockying for position with a newspaper. I didn't want to kill it by beating it to death, because I was afraid the first blow would be a miss, and only provoke a painful response. So I maneuvered to pick him up slowly, and get him to crawl on the newspaper - this took a great deal of concentration and balance. Finally, when I got him on to the newspaper, I walked him over to the bathroom, and he flew off, so I shut the door.
Then I had to pee. Over a jay, I contemplated using the balcony, but decided it would really be inappropriate to just whip it out, and hose people below from a 15 storey height - hell, I could be peeing on my friends as they returned. I considered a few other approaches, but ultimately concluded that I had to address the issue straight on, and concede the bee the advantage - now I had to open the door, not knowing where he was, locate him, and repeat the newspaper technique until I got him in the bowl. Then the bathroom door started to ring - so I opened the door.
I realized that I had opened the wrong door when I was greeted by George Bush Sr, but took the opportunity to pick his brain a little and get his advice. Well, it turned out he is a lot smarter on TV, because he couldn't come up with a better course of action. So I closed the door and paid him for the pizza, so I guess he had his use afterall.
I put down the pizza, as I was anxious to pee, and went into my room. I put on a pair of jeans, and a couple of shirts, gloves, a tuque, and a wintercoat, and then entered the bathroom, armored to the nines. I located the fucker, and spent another 20 minuted getting him to crawl onto the newspaper. This time, when he got on, I got him to the toilet, dumped him in, and as he tried to fly out, whacked him in mid-air right into the bowl, and flushed simultaneously.
Once I was sure he was down for the count, I whipped it out, sweating furiously, and pissed for what seemed like a thousand years. That's when my friends got back, and saw me hosing the toilet like a madman in my winter getup in August, and thought I was freaking out.
So I explained what happened to them, and one of them didn't believe me - he had never seen a bee at these altitudes, and how could I prove that these events occurred? So I said, the same way I can prove I am taking to you right now, Mr. Nixon.
To this day, they are not completely sure I was kidding. That might have something to do with my insistence that Gustav Klimt painted hidden face patterns in all of his paintings, and that they were all looking at me.