Let me preface this entry by recalling that one of the only rules you had to abide by while staying at the Flying Pig was that you could not smoke weed in the main entrance room. That pretty much dictated how my stay at the hostel was going to be: imposed with very few limits. Hence, it was not the cleanest, most efficient, or most normal place I have ever stayed, but that is what you expect and enjoy in a place like this. Filled with trustafarians, backpackers, and random European kids I suspected were too young to be there, it was organized chaos.
The first night, someone had decided they would rather sleep in my bed, and upon contacting the "management", they told me just to pick another bed. I had a relatively difficult time sleeping because others in my dorm-style room were doing some sort of drugs I decided not to partake in. The breakfast was like any other hostel I had been to: bread, butter, jam, orange juice, milk, cold cereal, etc., with one exception: a glorious hard-boiled egg. It was culinary bliss to me at that point.
And of course, the company was entertaining, to say the least. Another peculiarity of the hostel was that the showers were in a high-traffic hallway. This does not bode well for most residents, as they are tripping out of their minds and get confused easily anyway. I remember sporting my towel and walking past a few langouring on a couch next to the showers--which, I might add, had no adjoining changing room. That was fun. There were a lot of good parts to the place, though. The happy room always afforded an opportunity to gawk at people, the drinks were relatively cheap, and it was in a great location in the city. Overall, it was a very fun and eye-opening experience.