No One Takes Any Drugs Except Me and My Drug-fucked Friends.
I thought to myself in this delusion, hey this might be a good idea to post, I mean what the hell, no one reads it (it's impossible not to read something that's already created [I have no idea what that means]), I can do and write what I want. I'm basically amusing myself... so we met at The ED just around the corner from my abode, and one of my new friends, Chris From Cash-Office, told me that he'd just taken heaps of Ritalin, words were similar to, "I normally take 50mg tablets but I just snorted some 200g tablets and now I'm fucked. Long live the literary revolution. You have ice-cream shoes. 616 is actually the devil's number, not 666 as is easily misinterpreted." "50 what an even number," I replied. I really like that guy. Didn't get allowed in to The Elephant ("The Elephant!" I hear you gasp...), well me and three of my friends anyway because we weren't wearing appropriate footwear. We called them fat cunts and left. Went to The Exeter instead, drank, talked heaps of shit, until Dave arrives with eight tablets of Dexies (Dexedrin? Is that a drug? I have no idea...). Dave was the most completely wasted I've ever seen him. He was slurring his words like a dirty old man... So I take four of them, and tell him, "Us junkies have to stick together," while hugging him and now I'm totally fucked and not going to be able to sleep for a very long time. Hey this is pretty cool, this is what it's like to be inside the mind of a young man who has had at least twelve drinks (beer and bourbon, of course), taken two pills,smoked weed, and taken Valium to lessen the inevitable comedown. Man I wish times like these my parents could find my post and find out how I utterly despise them, how I've devolved, and of how far I've delved into the darkness. Well that was gay...and pretentious. Brief summary of the night, no more random bullshit gargling: stole Dave's pin from his jacket that was being used at his brothers wedding and stuck it into my finger, just below and under the first layer of skin. Waved disfigured finger in front of stranger's faces; they were unimpressed. Stuck a finger under the tendon of my skin so that my finger looks like it's wrigglng inside my arm...Lost a game of pool at Shotz, hit cue-stick forceably against the ceiling repeatedly and did not get reprimanded. Drank random people's drinks without them noticing. Pissed on the doorsteps of a church (possible the highlight of the night[I hope none of you are Christians...]).Set off fire-alarms in buildings and watched fire-engines drive quickly to extinguish non-existent fires. Talked about illegal abortions and murdering children loudly in Hungry Jack's; no one seemed to care; my chips were dry as fuck....punched people's arms so as not to inflict gratuitous pain, just a taste (gay!). A great night all in all. Listening to Show Your Bones by the Yeah Yeah Yeah's, yeah that fucking album rocks yeah. Yeah?! Anyway supposedly I'm the next Hunter S. Thompson, gifted journalistic skills about to undergo an imminent drug/death/crazy metamorphosis. I told my friend, Chris From Cash-Office, my good writer friend who claims has been published, you know, the one with the Ritalin, a basic synopsis from my lastest story Bub (old now but I didn't let on cause it's still kinda good) you know, the one about the addictive hallucinogen... Or is It?! What a cliff-hanger, bet you can't wait to get a hold of that rare treasure that's just looking for a home in a cob-wed ladden attic...It's okay I guess, my friends kinda liked it, they said, You're a great writer but why do you have to write about all of that sick shit? Cartharsis, I replied. "What's catharsis mean?" they said. Idiots... Anyway, totally sick of writing all of this shit now, gonna regret writing this in the morning... Fun times. You guys know I don't do all of this shit every weekend right? It's just youth being used to it's extreme limits (?), only young once, who knows I could wake up tomorrow and have testicular cancer destroying my most vital organs of manhood (now how will I procure an heir...?), as well as my digestive system (?) bowel, bladder, prostate et cetera... Have fun guys. If you're going to pray for my unholy soul pray to Satan; I'm sure I can sell it for amazing thrash-metal technical skills on my guitar. And then the world is mine. AH HA HA HA HA! I'd prefer a Gibson Les Paul or an Ibanez Blah-Blah ...