You know, sometimes when you meet a girl you would absolute adore to put all sorts of stuff inside and you spend all night pointing your tunnel vision at the small crusty specks of dried-up spit and lipstick in the corners of her mouth, enduring the boredom as she shares with you that she's got a pretty wild taste and that she's evenly keen on both house and dance but likes Madonna a lot, too, and then, when you finally get her home, she keeps going on about her oh-so-wicked quirks, here is what I want you to do: While she's in the bathroom, replace the pregnancy pills in her handbag with morphine (50 mg ones should do the trick), slip some heavy-duty acid in her drink, put Severin Von H.'s "Nothing But a Ceephax Ripoff" on the stereo and then wait. By the time you get to Pink Acid (track 7) you will have had a blast in so many unimaginably special ways, you should probably never tell anyone what happened. Especially not her.