A Gentleman’s Guide to Boofing

(drugs up your bum) - Part 1.

Let me tell you about the happiest day of my life.

It is said, there are only two reasons a gentleman should ever welcome drugs into their inner sanctum*: business or pleasure.

*to boof.†

In terms of your hard-headed business-boofer, any coke dealer worth their salt has clenched their way out of a pinch**. I never had the self-control for that line of work - or the standoffishness, for that matter, or the numeracy, for another.

I swore my terrible oath to the Ancient League of Gentlemanly Boofers for neither love nor money. My first and last attempt at keistering Class A’s was just for shits and giggles. If this cautionary tale, gives you half as many of the latter, as it did me the former, then I will not have boofed in vain.

Rule 1: A gentleman never boofs in vain.

On a whim, I decided this so-far-uneventful Tuesday night was the night. I would place an ornament on the devil’s shelving. Dear reader: the whimsy of ramming ecstasy up your anus, on a Tuesday evening, is the very essence of youth. Today, I wouldn’t even have the derring-do for a Wednesday night takeaway. Let’s not go toooo mental now.

Now, part of me, wishes I could blame the boofings of yesteryear on some uncontainable party; where one thing lead to another, and that other thing was my bum.

But:

Rule 2: A gentleman never deceives the origin of a boofing.

At the time of my inaugural boof, me and my mates were playing house as unconvincingly as young, male students do. For example, in lieu of clearing our backyard trash-swamp©, we stole a plank and laid a gangway across it. Job done. Mainly, we would smoke skunk and marvel over the breakfast bar we were somehow leasing. That’s like actually our breakfast bar, man.

We had reached another critical-seeming juncture between weed and food - when I upped the ante, several-thousandfold. That school night, my drug use escalated at the velocity of failed scare campaigns.

Listen son, one minute you’re puffing a few toots on a bogey, giggling at Lord of the Rings 2, the next you’re hunched over the downstairs sink with your kegs ‘round your ankles, slamming a quarter-gram rock of god-knows-what up your chuffer.

However:

Apologies, I don’t know if that’s right. My finger has never really been on the pulse of the meme game - nor my gluteal arteries. I needed the consultation of a boofing sage. Now, you must understand, at this time, the Gentleman’s Guide to Boofing was nothing more than a twinkle in a young man’s bottom.

My mate was a northern Shaymen who had run his laps of the psychoactive gauntlet. He’d tumbled out the other side with a rascally grin and no meaningful damage. Not to mention an abstract wit, which could nail a cunt to a wall with a craftsman's precision. A man who’d explored the limits of neighbouring universes, I ventured he knew the dimensions of his own backdoor. He gave me a rare, serious nod, as if he’d been expecting the question.

There is a recurring glitch where lost humans tune out, right after asking for directions. This observation wouldn’t meet the threshold of a mention, were the junctions in question not the winding waterways of my anal canal.

Yeah, yeah, alright, up there, round the corner, I know when I’ll feel it, can’t miss it. Got it. Whatever.

Normally, the consequences are no worse than a gruffed reversal out of some sleepy cul-de-sac. As I would soon find out, this particular cul-de-sac was very much alive - and there was no going back.

Rule 4: A gentleman always heeds the word of a master boofer.

In my bathroom mirror, I caught myself in a blackmail-worthy compromising position and laughed. Wondering aloud, with not a trace of remorse, how exactly my life came to this point?

Stay tuned for Part 2 of the Gentleman’s Guide to Boofing will be next week.

If you liked this, check out…

The Magic of the Afterparty

5 Phases of a Pillhead

The House that Pills Built

5 Stages of Drinking

---

† boof·ing

/ˈbuːfɪŋ/

noun (informal, slang)

1. The act of introducing substances, especially drugs or alcohol, into the body via the rectum for recreational or smuggling purposes, often to intensify or accelerate the effects.

Wrong Channel does nothing if not expand your vocabulary. Sidenote: normally I’ll use a funny word sparingly, out of fear for stretching its magic too thin. In this article, I will be boofing, way more than is traditionally advisable, because 1) the right to its context was hard-earned. 2) I, may be wrong, but I suspect boof may be the only word in the storied history of the English language that can sustain its funniness over the course of a generation. Boof.

**I don’t like to generalise, but most folks in that line of work are career homophobes. Spare a laugh for the inner conflict of a cornered crackdealer, as they make that first grudging use of their prison pocket.

---