Scumbags and Cocaine

A Hollywood drug dealer goes to serve a Hollywood actor and ends up staying over for a little fun and some thinking.

Cocaine. You can say the word a hundred times, it still sounds just as sexy as the first time. What is it about cocaine that makes it so appealing? I’ve been selling the s**t for years but still can’t find one real good reason as to why I love it so much. The fact that it makes me feel like Tony the f*****g Tiger is one, sure, but there’s more to it than just that, which is what’s hard to explain. Maybe it’s when I’m s**t-faced, and I take a bump, I feel like I’m swimming back to shore after almost drowning in the ocean. Or maybe it’s the feeling I get when I’m fixing my lines, making them as straight as I possibly can, the sentiment of excitement that overcomes all of my thoughts, my nose tingling, knowing it’s about to receive the treat it longs for. I love cocaine. I love it because it’s been so good to me, it’s given me everything I’ve ever wanted : p***y, money, my whip, my pad. Although there is one downside to coke, and it’s this: the users. Cocaine users are the lowest form of human trash you can find, and as much as it pains me to admit, it also includes myself. I’m a dickhead. But the worst kinds of users are Hollywood users, which makes this the s****y part of my job because they’re the majority of my clientele. They’re smug enough when they’re sober, but Hollywood users, especially male actors, become Howard f*****g Zinn after sniffing a couple lines, which becomes real f*****g annoying when all you want to do it is find some w***e to stick your c**k into. It’s almost as if they believe the s**t they spit out in public.

Fortunately, their money makes them tolerable and they always throw wild parties, and wherever there’s a wild party, a drug dealer is needed, and whenever a drug dealer is needed in a Hollywood party, I usually get the call. You wanna know why I get the call? Cause’ I don’t look like a drug dealer. Drug dealers that deal to people working in Hollywood all got good drugs, but what people in Hollywood love, especially famous ones, are drug dealers that don’t look like drug dealers. Drug dealers you can hang with. Actors and directors need us at their parties. What they don’t need is a sketchy looking m**********r that will make them look like they hang out with f*****g creeps. That’s where I come in. I sell good drugs and I look good. I go to a party and I can blend in with this ‘’oh so glamorous’’ crowd of this town. Besides, not everyone needs to know I sell coke, only the ones that have money and do. As unbelievable as it may sound, not every person working in Hollywood uses cocaine, and not everyone of them is comfortable being around a drug dealer. I learned that s**t the hard way when I started selling in this w***e town, walking around parading myself like I was f*****g Frank Lucas.

As I’m fixing myself a line while watching some dumb movie on television, I get a call from Francis, this up and coming actor who everyone says will be an a-lister sooner than later. Francis tells me he just got back from Australia where he was working on this movie, a supposed epic with a budget over 50 million dollars, his « coming-out party » as he put it before leaving. He asks me if I have a little « sumtin’-sumtin’ » and if I could swing by cause’ he’s « dying over here » and that it would be « mucho » appreciated, as well as compensated. That’s another thing I hate about Hollywood. They all talk with the dumbest expressions like they’re some charming hip m**********r. Just tell me you want some coke, you don’t need to sway me; I know you got cash and that’s all I’m looking for.

I fix my hair, put on a white button-up and a grey scarf with some black jeans and make my way to the car which is parked at the lowest level of the building I live in. I snort a line before driving out and I wonder if there are any girls at Francis’ because I know he’s going to invite me in for a drink and a couple lines. As I’m riding down Hollywood boulevard, I stop at a red light and notice that Stella, this s**t I use to f**k, is in the car to my left, she glances at me and I put two of my fingers around my tongue and pretend I’m eating her out. This c**t b***h of a w***e flicks me off and rides off quickly as soon as the light turns green.

I arrive at Francis’ and park my car a couple houses down from his because I know that’s the way he likes it. I take out my phone and call him.

- I’m outside.

- Come in for a drink, dude.

I hang up and make my way to his house and I let myself in and he’s sitting on his couch with a couple girls around him and his eyes light up as soon as he sees me.

- My savior !

- My man, Francis.

He hugs me and kisses me on the cheek.

- How you been, bro?

- Doing my thing man, you know how it goes. How was Australia?

- Great man, Australia p***y is the bomb, and I fucked you know who.

Talking about his co-star,this young actress who was nominated for an academy award last year. I wish I could f**k her but these sort of actresses don’t f**k with what is perceived as the scum of Hollywood. Guys like me; drug dealers, pimps, escorts. But s**t, at least we’re honest about what we do, that has to count for something right? While society perceives us as the lowest of the low, we don’t walk around pretending to be something we’re not, actors have become so accustomed to playing someone else as a living, whether it’s in movies, interviews, at charity events or at parties that they don’t even realize they’re acting anymore unless there’s a camera in front of them, but I don’t blame them, they just do for a living what most people spend their whole lives doing with those around them except they get paid handsomely for it. If one doesn’t act in life, he ain’t getting very far, I’ll tell you that much. That’s all reality is; a collection of interactions and moments where we act around each other, afraid of showing the pathetic pieces of s***s we really are in fear of having our feelings hurt.

- Oh yeah? How was she?

- Typical Hollywood starlet: doesn’t give head, frigid as a Popsicle.

I laugh. He does have a point, of the few Hollywood actresses I’ve fucked, he’s completely on point. They never suck your dick because they think they’re above that s**t (unless you can hook them up with a good part).

- Have a drink with me and all my lovely friends, I missed you, you beautiful b*****d.

We make our way to the coach where I pull out a bag of coke that I throw on his lap.

- There you go, dude.

He grabs the bag and stares at it intensely, than the he kisses it.

- I’m so happy to be back. The coke in Australia was terrible.

He looks at me.

- A line to celebrate?

- Go for it, baby dick.

Francis sets the coke on the table and starts cutting up the lines but he’s so excited that his hands are lightly shaking, like the leaves in the trees this evening. The b*****d…he’s so happy to sniff my coke I almost wonder if I could bankrupt this guy. I start thinking about how he’d have to resort to crap parts in B-movies because of his financial troubles, how he’d do about eight straight to DVD movies a year to make ends meet, how the media would absolutely lynch him because he doesn’t have the talent to make a comeback and I’m sure the studios absolutely know this. He’s just a pretty boy that’ll be in the spotlight for about five years tops, if that. I look at this peon sniffing my drugs and I want to take all his money. No, I want him to win an academy award first and then take all his money. It’ll be even more satisfying as his fall would be more tragic, which would make my triumph even more considerable. I want to break up his marriage to a Hollywood actress. I want him to lose custody of his future child. I want him to get fucked in the a*s for a role. I wanna watch him cry, seven years from now, sniffing more of my coke, telling me about every single one of his problems. I want him to be broken down. I want him to lose. I want his defeat to be my victory, his downfall to be my satisfaction. I want him to look at me and blame me as I look at him, in all my glory, smiling, as I tell him that I am to blame and that I’m proud of it, that it’s my greatest achievement in this life.

- I’ll sniff your lines if you won’t.

Hearing his voice makes me snap out of my thoughts and I look at him intensely for a couple of seconds. He seems weirded out by the look I’m giving him.

- I’ll sniff my lines.

- Of course, dude.

And I do. And it feels so good that I start going off into my thoughts once again until saint shithead starts blabbing again.

-Man, I’m so glad to be back in L.A.

- It’s a f*****g shithole, man.

He looks at me like I just blasphemed.

- What? Being part of the Hollywood community is such a gratifying experience.

- Yeah, if you’re only into riding your fancy car, banging broads and doing quality drugs.

- Bullshit, man. We bring joy to people’s lives, show them how to treat one another, how to accept the people around them, what love and friendship is all about. We’re ahead of our time on social issues; deeply involved in activism…I’m proud of the work we’ve done for the world.

The teenage girl who’s sitting on his lap is listening to him as if she’s hypnotized by what he’s saying, and I swear to God, as he’s saying this. The girl, who can’t be more then sixteen, has her hand on his c**k. I think about arguing with him, but I realize it won’t do any good, so I just tell him he’s right and that I didn’t think of it that way since I’m so caught up in the party scene of Hollywood. I would have argued if I thought he was worth to argue with but he won’t listen to me, he only sees me as a drug dealer, and he’s so smug that whatever I say will go through one ear and go out the other because that’s what the people in this town are like. Self-righteous, condescending, detached from reality blobs walking around believing to be God’s gift to Earth. I often wonder if these people have any memories of their lives before Hollywood or is it just a distant, faded memory that they have no recollection of? Whatever happened to their friends from high school? Their first girlfriend? I wonder if they think about that the same way regular folks do, late at night, while in bed next to their ugly as s**t wives with a dried up p***y who they dread at the thought of having sex with. Do they even have any friends? I’d bet all my money that all of the people around Francis are people like me, people he parties with and shoots the s**t with but not much else. I wonder when’s the last time he’s had a meaningful conversation? When’s the last time I’ve had a meaningful conversation? I try to remember the last moment of my life where I felt truly happy, or even good about myself, but my mind goes completely blank, as if it’s absolutely empty. I take a look down at the table…with all this cocaine, and I decide to do another line.

Me and Francis keep drinking and doing more drugs, as he gossips about various other people in Hollywood until he eventually gets up and tells me he’s going to bed. He lifts the teenage girl and puts her over his shoulders and tells me that I can crash here and keep having fun with the other girls if it pleases me. I nod and watch him go off to bed while still thinking about the irony I've witnessed not even an hour ago.

- Hey handsome, you wanna take this fun to another room?

I look up and see this teenage girl who looks even better than the one Francis’ is about to f**k.

- Yeah.

I get up, take a bottle, and we make our way to one of the many rooms in Francis’ house because I realize there’s nothing stopping me and nothing else for me to do.