One of the reasons I’m not a junkie is because the narcotics that exist don’t do it for me. According to the movies I’ve seen, drugs like crack and heroine get you high for a while but then leave you only craving more, willing to just about anything – and I mean anything – to get some more. Hence the occupations of “crack whore,” “heroine slut,” “smack prostitute,” “ecstacy trick” and “opium polesmoker.”
I’ve never tried any drugs, mostly because I’m afraid of the police – they’ve got pepper spray, and pepper spray kills. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette, because I hear that Surgeon General guy can be a real bastard. My fears aside, it’s too hard to get drugs anyway. That’s why no movie drug exchange has ever been successfully completed. Producers and directors, after all, don’t make these things up. Except for “Pirates of the Caribbean,” which is totally full of lies, filmmakers pull their stories from real life. It’s called “cinema verite.”
And one thing these filmmakers know is that these drug deals, they never work out. First you’ve gotta bring the briefcase full of cash to the abandoned warehouse, which is a hassle in and of itself - because Wells Fargo tellers aren’t cool about filling briefcases and abandoned warehouses don’t come up on Mapquest - and then you have to deal with all the potential pitfalls of the exchange. Someone’s probably been flipped by the Feds and wearing a wire, waiting to rat you out, and if that’s not the case the drug lord you’re doing business with will probably just shoot you, take your cash-filled briefcase and keep the money. Because, let’s face it, the only reason the druglord wouldn’t cap you is if he’s got a strong moral compass, because it would be so very easy, let alone profitable, to just shoot you and take your money instead of go through with the deal as promised. You’re probably out of luck, because I saw this thing on the Discovery Channel that says those with strong moral compasses make up only 13 percent of the North American druglord population.
But for the sake of conversation, let’s just say you do pull off the one successful drug deal ever. Okay, then you’ve got your blow, you shape it into lines on a small mirror (and this also assumes you can find one of those small mirrors, because they don’t sell them at the Targets I frequent), then you sniff it up and get high. While you’re laying back in your dazed stupor, you’ve gotta start questioning whether it was really worth all the work for a few moments of bliss. I mean, do you really feel any better high than when you’re playing “Super Mario Bros.” and you’re at the end of a level at the giant block staircase and you time your jump just right so the last digit on the countdown timer stops on a six just as you hit the flagpole, sliding down to enjoy a dazzling display of six – count ‘em – six, life-affirming fireworks? I really freaking doubt it.
Sorry, illegal drug industry. You’re gonna have to do better than a simple high to get my cash-filled briefcases. I’m disappointed in my limited options, and I’m holding out until there‘s a drug that offers something that would make me a bit more like Superman, like heat-vision or freeze breath. If those can’t be done than I’d settle for a drug that gives me temporary x-ray vision, but I’d only pay half a briefcase full of cash for that.
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