During the show, several big bouquets of marijuana appeared from nowhere then vanished in a puff of smoke. I snorted tablespoons of white powder, and as a finish to the bit I grabbed my nose and a long stream of salt-like stuff poured out. One by one eight smoking pipes magically appeared between my fingertips, which made me dry as a bone and “gave me cotton mouth,” causing me to spit out dozens of cotton balls. It looked like I drank a huge thirst-quenching pitcher of beer in a fraction of an instant to soothe my parched throat. I pretended to be a little stoned while I did these and other drug-inspired tricks, in the same way I assumed Dean Martin “acted” drunk when he sang songs.
Among my plumb assignments were a charity benefit for the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws at the Playboy Mansion, a party thrown by Elton John on the back lot at Universal Studios, and an appearance at the National Fashion & Boutique Show in New York for Glass Head, a bong manufacturer. My days as an on and off stage stoner are a million years in the past. Now I mostly sip tea in hope of a minor caffeine buzz. Today I rarely even drink alcohol and am far less fun but I get more done, and at my age the less you fall over the better. More about Highdini in my book I Lie for Money.