We picked the latter.
Once a week we would get drunk, stoned, and head over to these classes, held in a church and held specifically for minors who'd been caught with alcohol or a joint or so.
There were maybe a hundred of us all together and we were broken into groups, each of which was run by a former alcoholic. They passed out charts, pamphlets, etc. and lectured us against the dangers of letting our lives turn out like theirs had. James and I had a field day. Most all of the other kids there were the dregs of teen humanity, while James was president of our Honor Society and I was, well, me.
One day, the woman who led our group was explaining how very risky it was to take both quaaludes and alcohol together, that if you take a certain amount of both you could lapse into a coma and die.
"Well, how many?" said a particularly-scummy member of our group.
"How many what?"
"How many 'ludes can I take, before I die? I wanna do one less."
We were rolling.
She passed out a chart to all of us, showing a graph that compared body weight to intoxication.
"If you weigh so and so and drink such and such, you will feel drunk, lose your sense of balance, your reaction time will suffer..." She added more drinks. "And if you drink this many, you can pass out...fall into a coma...die."
I raised my hand.
"Yes?"
"Well, if after nine drinks in two hours you pass out, how can you ever drink enough to make it to the coma part, or die?"
"Um, er--"
"I guess if one of your friends hooks up an IV..."
"That's enough."
We bought a loose joint off of the 'lude guy and ate a pizza.