“eh, really doesn’t affect me anymore”.
“What do you mean?”
“It just doesn’t affect me”
“Really? just try some, I think it’s good.”
“I doubt it”
“Just try some”

It is around 9pm on a typical Friday at the Hostel. The above conversation is referencing MDMA. Molly, E, X, whatever.

The game plan for the evening was to hit Webster Hall, the largest club in NYC, to see Orchard Lounge (vaguely: electronic music). As with any situation in life, this plan was best carried out if ‘rolling’.

OK Mr. DARE. I see your disapproving look. Easy. Prior to passing your suburban judgement, let me ask you this:

Ever scored a perfect score on the LSAT, without studying?
How about received a full scholarship, to a T10 Law School?
Are you the top of your class, while still living a life Charlie Sheen would blush at?

No? Really!? None you say?…
Well, shut the fuck up and let me introduce you to your antagonist. A participant in the intro discussion, someone who can check off all the above questions, and my friend: “Raven”.

Raven is smart. Really smart. Probably in the top 5 smartest I know. Interestingly, and in what would traditionally be a sharp contrast, she is also in the top 5 active ‘drug’ users I know. She even once told me that there isn’t a drug she hasn’t tried, which is impressive because I’m pretty sure she could name more than Erowid.

Like if Amy Winehouse had the mind of Neil degrasse Tyson. {if you don’t get the Neil reference, stop reading this and use google}

My introduction to Raven came at an outdoor music festival in middle of nowhere Tennessee. Here her actions and mannerisms shared a striking resemblance to Hunter S.Thompson. Well, if Hunter was attractive, black, female, and lesbian. Whatever, all analogies fall apart under scrutiny.

During the first 24 hours of our acquaintance, Raven took down 13 different drugs. Yes, I counted, I was that intrigued. Raven’s whole festival was an exaggerated Fear and Loathing, but set in the woods of Tennessee. And the Hawaiian shirts were replaced with Kesha’s changing room rejects, and Raven didn’t wear large yellow glasses, she wore glitter.

Talk to Raven about drugs, and her only advice will be to “take more of them”. By the end of that discussion she will have you convinced it is the only way to fully realize potential. And it is hard to argue with her personal results.

Back to this night- after a small sample from the other guest, Raven decided Molly was again her friend, and secured 1 gram for the show. Raven isn’t a guest at the hostel, but often comes by. If you can’t already tell, she is one of the most interesting girls I know, and we love having her come hang.

I’m not going to debate pseudo drug aficionados on dosing, but let us say 1 gram is enough to get AT LEAST 5 normal people ‘rolling’, if not 10 first-timers. And the whole bag? That would dump enough serotonin to have Eeyore doing the happy dance.

Joining us on this fateful Friday would be “London” Raven’s older ‘friend’ of indiscernible Middle Eastern descent. London was visiting from, well, London, and I guess they were fucking despite the obvious age difference. Also headed out, two girls from Ireland who were staying at the hostel. Their introduction to Raven had come a few nights earlier, and recognizing a hot mess when they saw one, couldn’t wait to see the fiasco this night had in store.

After adequate (read:excessive) pregaming at the hostel, we made our way to Manhattan and towards Webster Hall. Raven was wearing a shirt obviously made for a boy, ripped down the left side. Her pants were a tightness runway models would struggle to get into, also shredded. In her hair were numerous, large, red, feathers, which continued down her left arm. Her shoes were tie-dyed, with wings flapping out of both sides. Competing the package was a large metal chain with a golden box-charm thing that would made any rapper jealous, clanking around her neck. Yes, people were staring.

Joke was on those people however because upon entry, it became clear that Raven was conservatively dressed for the event. Outside the contemptible outfits, it was the typical scene at Webster- hoards of underage-ers, mostly bros, sweaty from the music, most in need of a shower (Jerry Sandusky’s heaven). If not drunk, everyone is fucked up on some type of substance, eyes in the back of their heads, raging to the music while throwing up their hands. (they’ll eat anything I tell you)

It is also massive. 5 floors, all playing various types of music: kill-yourself death metal in the basement, rap above that, top-40 spinning in the middle, the main stage at the top, where Orchard Lounge was to perform. We explored, making our rounds, losing each other, finding each other, and eventually ending up directly in front of the main stage at the top floor.

After what couldn’t have been 1 hour, Raven came up to me, pupils already wider than Rosie O’Donnell’s at Golden Corral:

Raven: “MORE”
Brent: “What?”
Raven: “I need MOREEE”
Brent: “..what? the entire gram is gone?”
Raven, taken aback: “of course”
<Raven had not shared any of this bag>
<the giant has awoken>

After it was made clear that I not only didn’t have any, that I did not want to ‘throw down’ on more, Raven took off, in search again of the ill-tasting elixir.

Using her feathers as a rager’s dowsing stick, she returned less than 10 minutes later, gleaming as she showed off her new gram bag. Still illegal as the first. Sill not giving a fuck.

Caution and moderation were never Raven’s strong points, and with a gram of molly flowing through her veins, they aren’t even in her vast vocabulary.

For the next 5 minutes she stood there, close enough to touch the main stage, using her pinky to shovel molly into her mouth like it was her first day out of Auschwitz.

At some point she disappeared, or I just decided to not give a fuck, and returned my attention to our Irish guests.

Not long after, I saw a light at my feet. Not the synced lights coming from the stage, but a pale, lone light, one which I followed down to the ground. There, it formed a near perfect circle around the 75% empty bag which once housed Raven’s new acquired molly. Scanning up, I saw Raven, hands up, looking like a dog who was shown her own mess. Fuck.

Next to her, you would have thought someone told London she was adopted. Her eyes were welled up with tears, and she was quickly looking back and forth between the bouncer and the floor mouthing some inaudible words. Raven started shaking her head repeating “not mine”. A bouncer significantly taller than Raven then grabbed her shoulder and lead her through the crowd towards the back of the room.

If you’re thinking ‘follow her! save her!’- you’re an idiot. I’m not the captain of this renegade boat, fuck going down with it. However, that isn’t to say I wasn’t concerned. On the contrary, especially given the circumstances.

As you may be able to put together, LAW schools generally do not respond well with their students breaking the LAW. And drugs? This is not good. Seeing as Raven has a full scholarship, this decision could be, literally, a costly one. VERY VERY costly, given the school. It could also mean expulsion from the school. And then what about the bar? They might never accept her with such a charge on the record. In the drop of a baggie, Raven’s life path, and future career could have been forever altered. Immediately, because I’m obsessed with the concept, I started thinking about the butterfly effect, which ended with me convinced the only future for Raven was giving hand jobs to retired school bus teachers in the shaded corner of an Applebee’s parking lot so she could pay for smack. Drugs don’t ruin lives, drug laws and tests do.

I pretty quickly send her a text, the time was 2:45am: “What happened?”
She responded at 2:49am: “Ditched a mag of molly got setained but walked away witg law school skilla”

Given the quickness in her response, and the content, I thought this poorly spelled text was the end of the story. I literally sighed with relief. The geriatric hand jobs will again be left to Raven’s free will.

The Irish girls and I continued partying, removed of the liability of Raven. Bouncing around, hitting every floor, really having a great time, only finally leaving when the lights came on and last call was announced.

Exiting the club around 4:30am, almost a full two hours after Raven assured me she had ‘walked away’ I immediately heard loud yelling.

You know times when your eyes and your brain don’t get along. It’s as if your eyes are telling your brain something, but your brain just won’t believe it. You end up standing there momentarily, with a dumb look on your face, as eyes finally win brain over? This was one of those times.

The vision in contest was: Raven, still complete with feathered hair, half a t-shirt, and shredded skinnys, in full out drug-beast mode. Frantic, high pitched yelling, animated by hands being waved causing her to look like a fucking red feathered ostrich trying to fly. Molly hitting her in full force, coupled with red bull vodkas had her in a manic state. It couldn’t be real. It was like a parody of John McEnroe reacting to a bad call.

The recipient of this drug fueled rage: the bouncers….of the club…..the club she had just been thrown out of ….by the same bouncers. The bouncers who ALLOWED HER to LEAVE after being CAUGHT WITH ILLEGAL DRUGS. I still struggle to understand whatever logic Raven was employing at this moment.

Recognizing the impending train wreck, I ran over to where she was yelling. After tapping her on the shoulder, she looked over, and I honestly jumped back. There was no white in her eyes. Her pupils had taken battle with the iris, won, and formed what I can only imagine aliens look like.

It took him a minute to recognize me, and control her rage:
Raven: “brent? Brent. BRENT! They HAVE MY ID.”
Brent: “What??”
Brent: “…what?….whatever, let’s get out of here”
Brent: “THIS is illegal? THIS? what about everything inside the club.”
Raven returned her concentration to the bouncers
“GIVE ME BACK MY ID!! THIS IS IN VIOLATION OF {some law I didn’t recognize}”
Bouncer: “Honey, just go home.”

The bouncer at this point came over to me.
Bouncer: “Your friend is fucked up on some drug and is an arrogant bitch”
Weird, the guy had never met Raven, but it is like he knew her her whole life.

Bouncer: “You should really get her out of here”
Brent: “Got it.”
Brent: “Raven, fuck this, we will get your ID tomorrow, come back to the hostel for tonight”
Raven: “NO”
Brent: “Come on! you’re going to get fucking beat up, or arrested, let’s go”
Raven: “NO”
Brent: “..dude!”
Raven: “NO”
Raven: “I am NOT LEAVING until I get my ID. NO!”

I tried grabbing Raven at this point and pulling her to no avail. Another thing about Raven, and often the case with smart people, when she thinks she is right, it is like a leach, NOTHING is going to get her off it. To give up is to admit defeat. Added to the fact that she already has a minor case of bitchy-black-girl syndrome, this discussion was going nowhere fast. A sober Raven may have been able to control her ego to a point of leaving, but not the 10X-normal-dosage-rager-Raven. She was right. And HAD to prove it.

Raven: “I should call the cops”
This time the debate was between my ears and my brain. I again paused. Had Raven, the raging girl, dressed like an undernourished hooker, who had only hours earlier been kicked out of the club for a Schedule I drug, punishable (post-RAVE Act of 2003) 500-1 times stricter than marijuana, with the potential to lose her scholarship, law school admission, and current life’s route just said that. Had SHE really just suggested calling the cops?

Raven answered this debate for me: “I AM GOING TO CALL THE POLICE”

Raven is going to call the police??
Raven, is, going, to, call, the, police.
Raven is going to call the police!!?
Raven!? is going to call the POLICE?!

I had to repeat this in my mind several times before I could actually believe it. The terrible consequences, which she had SO luckily avoided just hours earlier, she was going to bring UPON HERSELF. The Applebee’s parking lot was again in play.

Brent: “This is fucking stupid! YOU ARE GOING TO GET ARRESTED. PERIOD”
At this point Raven turns to the bouncers and gives them two middle fingers. The girl is pure class.
Brent: “Raven! you are fucked up. THIS.IS.STUPID”
Raven: “FUCK OFF”
Brent: “Come ONNNN girl, LEAVE”

At this point I decided that the best move was to hail a cab, and either convince, or force Raven into it.

Keeping one eye on Raven, and one eye on the street we were on, I managed to hail a cab. The Irish girls jumped in, and l asked them to leave the door open.

I walked back over to Raven, grabbed her arm, and told her we were leaving.

Brent: “This is fucking stupid”

Fuck it. It is now 5am, I am tired, hungry, voiceless from the club, and ready to go home. I have no more patients for the stubborn-raging-Raven routine. I got in the cab, and told the driver to go.

As we were leaving, I saw Raven, phone now out, most likely calling the police. On herself.

I know many of you right now are thinking I am the bad one. That I should have punched, kicked, knocked out Raven to get her in the cab. Listen. I tried, hard. And Raven, stuck like the leach, would not let go. She would have literally put her fists up and fought before being dragged into a cab, effectively proving her ‘wrong’ (at least in her mind). I had not the effort to hit a girl at this point.

The Irish girls and I return home, now closer to 6am, completely drained. I was still thinking of Raven, but my mind and body soon drifted off.

Not even 30 minutes later, around 6:30am my beautiful come down was interrupted by a telephone call. Jolting up, and getting hit by a wave of horrible pains, I frantically looked for the source of discomfort. Finding the phone, my first instinct was to throw it out the window to make it stop. But I’ve pulled that move before, and it gets expensive.

Collecting myself I mutter: “Hello”
It is London, crying hysterically. It takes me a good 3 minutes to calm her to the point of comprehension, then another 30 seconds to cut through her accent, but finally I received perhaps the most predictable news ever:

“Raven has been arrested”

It was like someone calling to tell me they couldn’t find a job after graduating from UF.
What the fuck did you think was going to happen?

Brent: “..ohhhh…fuckkkk…..really?”
London: “..you need to call her school and have them get her off”
Brent: “……..well…that really isn’t how it works..”
London: “can you hire a lawyer?”
Brent: “……are you serious?”

The conversation went much like this for 10 minutes with London crying while intermittently  trying to convince me of ways to get Raven off. The true extent of Raven’s actions became clear in this time, as I learned London was staying with Raven, and Raven, being in jail, made London effectively homeless. During the whole charades in front of Webster Hall, she had been waiting back at the dorms, for Raven to go back and get her ID.

That was an epiphany. Raven made it home first? YES, Raven had made it all the way back up to her place, legal-incident free, only to get in a cab and RETURN to Webster Hall, and begin yelling. Apparently you can’t get into her school’s dorms without the ID, hence the big fucking deal. You can make your own joke here.

Feigning sympathy, I told London that we had more than enough beds, and she should come out to the hostel, and stay here until everything was sorted out. She responded well, however, would not hang up until I promised to call the precinct at which Raven was held, as well as her school in attempt to set her free.

The phrase “there are no dumb questions” is bullshit. We ALL know there are dumb questions. There are many. It is difficult however, to find a dumber question to ask a highly respected school than- “can you get one of your students out of jail?”

I felt like R. Kelly calling about employment at a preschool. A student answered the phone at the school (probably a classmate of Raven’s) and his response was quite predictable. The dickhead laid on the sarcasm so hard all I could do is give a weak “dammit” and hang up. Wannabe comedian. Fuck that kid.

During all this I was also under the grip of a mutant bastard of a hangover. “Little Boy” and “Fat Man” had mated and detonated their offspring in my skull. Resisting the urge to jump off my roof and end the pain, I just kept muttering as I paced and prayed for relief to everything I had ever read about on Wikipedia. ‘fucking Raven and her stupid fucking arrogance. fuck this. this sucks.’ etc

Still fuming, I made the second promised call. To the jail where I assumed Raven was being held.

This call went about as well as Gigli in theaters. I ended up with some early morning shift woman who obviously dropped out of some shit NYC public school only to then fellate some higher up to be able to answer calls at the jail so she could be close to her fucking baby daddy. Seriously, the woman could have collected federal aid for being mentally handicapped. A dolphin has a higher IQ. That isn’t even an insult, it is stating a fact.

In summary: I gathered no information on Raven’s charges.
Whatever. Reap what you sow. I’m going to sleep.

I text “annnnnndddd Raven is in jail” to her two closest friends I know. Hoping to relieve myself of the ‘save Raven’ campaign, and pass out.

Two full days pass, with no word from Raven. Apparently she has other friends and each of them attempted to contact me during those two days. I responded to all 3 with the same text “still in jail. no word”.

Finally, 50 something hours later, I hear from Raven. Not by returning one of the many voicemails, or texts, but via a Facebook message proclaiming “IM A FREE GIRL”

I screenshot, relay this information to concerned parties. Two ask what that is referencing.

After going back and forth on the issue of whether it was ‘my fault’ that she got arrested (which almost pushed me over the edge), I got the rest of the story from Raven:

Apparently, as I was leaving Raven was in fact calling the police, insisting the club had no right to retain her ID. After they showed up, the bouncers inevitably recounted the reasons they initially kicked her out. When the decision of who to believe came down to a raging lunatic dressed like a fairy or sober employees of a well established business, the police handcuffed Raven and took her to jail, initially on disorderly conduct charges, and later narcotics possession.

The pigs drew up some common admittal of charges and told Raven it was the easy way out, and likely her best option. Raven, being a genius and well informed on these issues, knew this was BS and gave them the safe sex talk (to go fuck themselves). They threatened about tapes from the club, showing her using the drugs. She told them put up or shut up. The mentioned contacting the school, and the likely consequences. She asked specifically what she was being charged with. Finally, they told her to get a lawyer, because she was going before a judge. She said thanks but no thanks.

So, Raven, fresh off two nights in jail, decided she would represent herself.
On drug charges.
In a New York City Courtroom.
Against the largest club in the city.
With what could be described as her life hanging in the balance. And…..


You read that correct. The same Raven who called the police on herself two night prior was able to get all the possession charges dropped, and the conduct reduced to a fine.

NOBODY does this. Convincing an animal shelter to release a dog to Mike Vick is easier than this. Seriously, seasoned lawyers can’t guarantee dismissal, much less a 1L.

AND after making bacon out of the prosecution, did Raven gloat in her success and walk away?

NOPE, not this black girl. Not content with stopping there, she started to put together a suit against Webster Hall, for falsifying the police reports that they had video of her doing drugs. Video that they couldn’t produce. She stood not only to get off on all the charges, but MAKE MONEY in the process.


So I guess to get back to the questions from the beginning Mr. DARE:
Ever taken on the largest club, in the largest city in America, on drug charges, and not only GOT OFF, but MADE MONEY in the process?

Obviously this question is rhetorical.

But let us not be too quick to count one for the ravers everywhere: SHE CALLED THE POLICE ON HERSELF.

No matter how impressive feat this may be, NONE of it would have been necessary had Raven not returned to the club, and called the police to begin with.

As you can imagine, this is an incident we often use to chastise Raven given any opening.

“Whatever Raven, you called the cops on yourself and got arrested.”
Her response- “Yeah, but I got off…..AND made money”

Verdict is still out on which of those statements is better.

and, although Raven is certifiably a genius, it doesn’t take one to stand up for your rights if you are in a similar situation. It just takes exposure. See link below.