And I don’t mean fun scary. Fulfilling the promises of Boomer-era acid PSAs, these are self-destructive onslaughts; their after effects — sleep slips itself into that funny chasm where the people that aren’t really there mingle with those that might be — long outlast their welcome.
None is a blast — they don’t beg to be spread like dirty jokes or spied between trembling fingers in the dark. Some are at-your-own-risk rickety; others are drainingly visceral head wounds. But each stops just short of sadism; and, before long, what starts as “Why did I see that?” goes from “Did I really just see that?” to “You’ve got to see this!.”